The Humvee in which Sgt. Mike Doxstader rode passed over the same land mine on a Baghdad highway at least three times that night without incident.

Another Humvee in his platoon wasn't so lucky.

A forceful blast ripped the armored vehicle in half. Two of the three occupants remained inside covered in oil. The third, Doxstader's buddy from Virginia, flew 40 feet. The Army reservist and others found him alive but in shock. His legs were gone. They blocked his gushing arteries as best they could. They drove him to a medical facility and headed back out on patrol.

"That's all you a can do," Doxstader said.

When the team returned to the base later that morning, he learned his friend had died, aving a pregnant wife and five children.

That's not the only reason Sept. 7, 2004, remains etched in Doxstader's mind. It was also his 24th birthday.

Doxstader didn't expect to see heavy combat when he was deployed with the 458th Engineer Battalion in November 2003. He was only a few months removed from an LDS Church mission in Chile and had just recovered from a stay in the hospital for a ruptured ulcer.

His unit had cursory training in urban warfare. But the Army assigned it to an active duty infantry combat unit as an experiment. He learned on the job.

Instead of toting scriptures, Doxstader carried an M-16 rifle. Rather than politely knocking on doors looking for potential converts, he kicked in doors to root out Iraqi insurgents. Firesides gave way to firefights.

Doxstader, 25, patrolled the streets of western Baghdad, Fallujah and Abu Ghraib on foot and in armored vehicles. His squad purposely made itself a target. It tried to get militants to shoot at it.

"That's what we did. We drew them out and drew fire and fired back," he said. "Every single day we were mortared. . . . Death was a constant thing."

No shift was less than 12 hours long, some stretched to 20. The baptism by firefight lasted six months.

After his buddy died, Doxstader took his spot as the gunner in the Humvee. He was hit two days later.

A bomb struck the side of the vehicle on the same road not 300 yards from where his friend was killed. The explosion sent shrapnel flying everywhere, including the turret where Doxstader sat. It took a chunk out of his Kevlar vest. None reached his flesh. The percussion knocked him out.

"You don't hear anything," he said. "Seeing white is all I remember."

Doxstader returned from Iraq last March. He works as a readjustment counselor at the Vet Center in Salt Lake City. He often meets with returning troops to let them know what kinds of services are available through the Veterans Administration.