It is the memory of an Iraqi man trying to give away his 4- or 5-year-old son.

Lewis, commander of the 419th Transportation Company, gestured that he could not take the boy to America. He fished his English-Arabic dictionary from his pocket to explain that the child had a chance of a promising future.

"I said he would have a better life in Iraq because Saddam Hussein was not coming back," said Lewis, who had two young daughters back in Salt Lake City. "There is disorder in Iraq right now, but the people have the freedom to go in whatever direction they want to go."

By the time Lewis and his company left Iraq, they had served in the war zone longer than any other Utah-based unit, a grueling span with their "boots on the ground."

The Salt Lake-based transportation company had been mobilized in February 2003, several weeks before the U.S.-led invasion. But because Turkey had refused to allow U.S. forces to use its ports, the reservists found themselves pulling weeks of extra training and waiting at Fort Lewis, Wash., while three ships carrying their equipment negotiated sea and land bottlenecks on the way to the Persian Gulf.

To help fill their ranks at Fort Lewis, about 50 soldiers from Nebraska were attached to the unit. When the Utah soldiers saw University of Nebraska Cornhusker flags tacked up on the barracks walls, someone telephoned the University of Utah, asking for something from the Running Utes. The basketball team sent back a T-shirt signed by every player.

"Good thing both universities have the same colors of red and white," said Lewis, a Nebraska native and longtime Utahn. "And when we got to Kuwait, all that complaining about the rain in Washington seemed silly."

Heat and sand were only some of the conditions the soldiers encountered when they arrived at Camp Arifjan outside Kuwaiti City in April. The 170 reservists found themselves sleeping in a tent designed for 50 soldiers. They had no air conditioning. Waiting time in each mess line dragged on for about 1 1/2 hours. Their equipment was still en route.

"It wasn't pretty, but everyone else was in the same situation," said Lewis. "Four or five days after we landed, 12 of our trucks showed up and within 48 hours we were on our first mission."

The soldiers' first two missions were to deliver diesel fuel to the Iraqi capital of Baghdad. They had no promised escort protection, inaccurate directions and little intelligence help. Subsequent convoys delivered fuel throughout Iraq to American troops, local gas stations and Iraqi power plants. When fuel lines from the tankers didn't fit refinery pipes, the soldiers jury-rigged hookups.

The soldiers usually drove from 5 a.m. to midnight. Two soldiers rode in each truck to spell each other at the wheel. The soldier riding shotgun was ordered to be on alert for snipers at all times.

Four armed Humvees and three 5-ton trucks armed with mounted 50-caliber machine guns provided added security. The trucks could either blow up obstacles or push them out of the way.

Drivers recorded temperatures in the cabs as high as 160 degrees. Threats came from roadside bombs, driver fatigue, potholes, dust storms and civilian traffic.

One afternoon, the soldiers spotted a pickup traveling suspiciously slowly and erratically. It turned out to be a father teaching his son how to drive, a common occurrence back home in the states. The passing Americans waved. Seconds earlier the GIs had their rifles pointed at the man's head.

Around midnight, convoy scouts found a spot to stop for the next four or five hours. The company set up perimeter guards while the drivers slept atop the trucks, on hoods or narrow railing on the sides of the tankers. Soldiers sometimes stretched out on the ground or sand although those spots could be death traps when the convoy started rolling in the confusion of the dark early morning hours.

The company's full complement of 61 trucks strung out the length of the convoys from three to five miles. Although there are no traffic rules in Iraq, convoys took the absolute right of way.

"The most dangerous times were when a truck broke down," said Sgt. 1st Class Mike Merrill, who usually brought up the rear in his armed Humvee.

"If we weren't moving we were sitting ducks," he said. "Speed was our life. When a truck broke down, two or three other vehicles had to sit out there until we got it fixed. If it couldn't be repaired, we'd strip it and make sure it was disabled so insurgents couldn't use it. We left behind three trucks and a few trailers that way."

About six to eight mechanics rode along, usually at the rear so they could fall out when a vehicle broke down.

"It was a constant battle to get parts," said Sgt. John Santaro. "We ended up trading with other units for what we needed. The mechanics were constantly changing tires because the roads were so hot the rubber peeled off. The missions couldn't have been completed without the mechanics. It's amazing what they did with what they had."

The soldiers couldn't shower for the seven to 10 days they were on the road. By the time they got back to Kuwait, their uniforms - stiff from dirt, dust and sweat - could stand on their own.

Acting as a buffer between officers and enlisted men was the company's 1st Sgt. Fia Agata Phillips, an imposing, no-nonsense Salt Lake City woman. Soldiers spoke of her watching convoys leaving the base camp with tears in her eyes.

"When she wasn't making our concerns known to the officers she was kicking our butts when we got out of line," said Merrill. "She isn't someone you'd want to mess with, but she seemed like our mother."

By the fall of 2003, the troops were preparing to return home when orders for all GIs in the Persian Gulf were extended from six months to a year.

"It took about a day to adjust and then we sucked it up," said Merrill. "Everyone came back determined."

This time, the 419th's mission changed from hauling fuel to standing guard. Job descriptions were rewritten to turn drivers into military police. For the next six months the soldiers searched vehicles - about 60,000 of them - coming in and out of Camp Virginia in Kuwait.

In April of this year, the company was again preparing to return home when the 419th was among 20,000 U.S. troops ordered to remain indefinitely because of an outbreak of insurgent fighting.

Somehow, the bad news of the two extensions had both come while the soldiers had been celebrating their expected return home with a barbecue.

"If you suggested a barbecue after that, you could have gotten hurt," said Sgt. Aaron Corley. "Everyone moped around and then got back to work. But we were 7,000 miles from home. It was difficult to know what people at home were thinking."

This time, the company was ordered back on the road.

"Most everything that comes into Iraq is trucked in," said the unit's commander Lewis. "About 3,000 trucks a day cross the border from Kuwait into Iraq."

The soldiers were uneasy because this time they were driving civilian trucks. It was the first time they had air conditioning in the cabs, but they viewed the trucks as attractive targets. Although military escorts accompany convoys, civilian drivers are known by insurgents to be unarmed.

Lewis started talking to his superiors.

"I pushed the issue to get home," he said. "At that time we were borderline combat effective. We had been there a long time."

His rank helped. Most company commanders are captains. Lewis was a major. Although he sometimes attracted stares from active-duty officers "that made me feel like I had flunked the second grade," he said, "my rank helped when I needed to get things done."

Lewis secured steel bumpers for the trucks, which came from a subsidiary of Halliburton, found night vision goggles and scared up 50-caliber machine guns. In the end, concern about armed GIs driving civilian trucks finally ended their tour in late June 2004. The unit was home for Fourth of July picnics and, yes, barbecues.

The first thing Corley did was take off his shoes and walk barefoot through his carpeted Salt Lake City home. The next step was getting reacquainted with the wife he had wed four years earlier.

"It's like dating again," he said. "I don't know what the signals mean. I've forgotten the things she likes. I have to ask questions I didn't need to ask before."

Merrill said he has more patience now and he takes more time with his wife and their three young children.

"I don't watch much television, it's just not that important anymore," he said. "Most of all, I appreciate my family. My priorities are much, much different."

dawn@sltrib.com