We all remember the scene, and if not, the political strategists will remind us of it again and again. President Bush dramatically helped pilot a Navy jet onto an aircraft carrier returning home from the Persian Gulf, and the commander in chief who never actually saw combat was greeted as if he were a conquering hero.

Saddam Hussein had been toppled. The United States and its allies had prevailed.

"Major combat operations in Iraq have ended," the president declared, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Our mission continues," he went on to say, but that modest reminder surely was lost under the blare of a huge banner held aloft by the sea's breeze and the nation's fervent hopes: "Mission Accomplished."

That was May 1. Since then, American servicemen and servicewomen have been dying in Iraq at a rate exceeding one a day. Their names probably are unfamiliar to you; there's no Jeffrey Zahn or Jessica Lynch celebrity among them. Just Marine Lance Cpl. Cory Ryan Guerin, 18, of Santee, Calif., who died July 15 in an accident. And Army Sgt. Michael T. Crockett, 27, of Soperton, Ga., killed in action the day before.

Not everyone died in the kind of combat situation for which he or she volunteered when joining the military. Army Sgt. Jaror C. Puello-Coronado, of Pocono Summit, Pa., perished in an accident on July 13. On the same day, an Army captain from Michigan, Paul J. Cassidy, died of unspecified noncombat injuries.

Both those men were 36 years old. It's easy to imagine the contours of the lives they left behind; families perhaps, hobbies, passions, places in their communities. Many of the occupation casualties are young — 18, 20 years old — and their deaths represent the loss of promise. But by 36, the promise is partly fulfilled, the rest a detectable outline almost within reach.

Now it's over, and their loved ones must be asking: For what?

The nation ought to be asking: For what?

That some of these men and women died in accidents outside the official realm of combat and after the war was technically "over" makes not a whit of difference. They died in service.

They died because Iraq is an anarchic mess, because the enemy has not been vanquished and because those who prosecuted this war from the safety of their Washington offices did not prepare properly for the aftermath and have stubbornly refused to share the responsibility with other nations.

Guerin and Crockett and Cassidy were combatants. They also were victims.

Those of us who initially were ambivalent about this war have grown only more doubtful in light of the administration's misleading statements and unproved predictions about weapons of mass destruction and Iraq's ties to al-Qaida. Still, there's a job to finish in Iraq, and it looks as if the United States is the one to do it.

That job is set in a lousy neighborhood, and the fact that members of the U.S. military will be hurt or killed there should not come as any surprise. Truth is, some of these men and women might have died no matter where they were stationed — in an accident in Germany, or in Texas — and no political leader can be held accountable for all of life's unfairness and unpredictability.

Still, we cannot consign these casualties to public oblivion. During the initial military campaign, the public knew more about the lives of ordinary servicemen than ever before, thanks to embedded reporters and the stunning use of technology. The angry distance that marked the relationship between soldier and civilian during the Vietnam conflict was replaced by a cheerful solidarity.

That's pretty much over now, because the war was supposed to be over. Only it's not. And even if the powers that be don't realize that, the public ought not to lose its focus or its compassion.

The ranks of the killed and wounded inch upward, toward a time when the whole nation will have to ask itself: How many casualties are too many?

© Copyright 1996-2003 Knight Ridder

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