The "boys" in our Company C

With apologies to Hollywood, our soldiers in combat and after:

...
Gallows humour is a C Company staple. Laughter is a coping mechanism, a way to release anxieties and bottled emotions. "We kind of joke about things now, but what else can we do?" says Corporal Jordache Young, a 29-year-old reservist from Toronto. "We've been out here a long time and we've lost some good buddies. I've seen grown men cry and hug. We're beyond that stage now."

Since its deployment here in August, C Company has been in some of the heaviest combat ever experienced by Canadian troops...

The fighting continued for another five days. On Sept. 6, Cpl. Young found himself in a vicious firefight. "It was hell on Earth," he recalls. Crouched behind a mud wall, the enemy just on the other side, he said a prayer. "All I could think is, 'I'm dead -- I'm dead if they come over the wall.' "

Finally, the Taliban were pushed west, away from a wide corridor made by Canadian combat engineers.

Known as Route Summit, the corridor cuts a straight path north from the Arghandab, through 4.5 kilometres of grape and marijuana fields.

It intersects with Highway One, which links to Kandahar city, the region's main prize.

Still under construction, Route Summit marks the line in this ongoing battle. C Company is there to defend it. Enemy encounters -- or ticks -- still occur. The Canadians now welcome them. "It's nice to be on the defensive for a change," Master Cpl. Niefer says [see Scott Taylor's view on the road construction].

Six of their own have been killed since August. Dozens more have been wounded. Most have returned to theatre, including company commander Major Matthew Sprague. He took a piece of shrapnel to the head during the friendly fire incident.

For weeks, home has been a series of ramshackle agricultural compounds such as Strong Point West, or sandbagged strongholds that run along Route Summit.

The soldiers are dog-tired. "We've seen more than our share," says Lieutenant Jeremy Hiltz, 25, before leading another foot patrol. "I've seen it reported back in Canada that we're these emotional wrecks, but that's just bullshit. We keep stepping up to the plate and we hit home runs every day."

Relief may come soon -- or it may not. It almost doesn't matter anymore. "We always get the rod," says Master Cpl. Niefer, referring to the treatment that has seen C Company left to hold the line for an interminably long stretch.

That's not a complaint, he suggests, it's a boast. "We're still out here for a reason. It's because we're the best."