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And these people have families.

Yet they have a bond as a group that seems in some ways stronger than the bond of blood. It can’t just be patriotism. It’s got to be that every day they are living on the edge of death and they trust each other to keep them safe.

We roll into Kabul. It is a desolate place. It is a land of muted browns and grays and of cold that chills you to the bone. The Afghanis walk by the side of the road. As we drive by in our car with an army escort, I stare at their grim faces. I am only a few feet from them but I might as well be a million miles away.

We hear later that there was a suspicious car that had to be dealt with on our route. We don’t get much more information than that. There is security for us everywhere. The soldiers who watch over us are incredible, not just as protectors but as people. They go 24/7. They’re always smiling. They seem to have a real love for what they do. I feel completely safe. Of course if they can’t protect the Supreme Commander, then we are royally fucked.

We never see the enemy. If we do, we don’t know it. At least I don’t. And I’m paying attention.

While I’m in the Middle East there’s an ABC News crew reporting on the war. Somebody asks to interview me about my experiences there. I agree. During the interview the reporter asks me to describe my feelings. I try but I can’t. Instead I cry. I hardly ever cry.

It’s snowing in Kabul and night has fallen. We are late for the show. We are always late. The schedule is tight. It would be a miracle if we ever kept to it. A few hundred troops have stood out in the cold and snow, awaiting our arrival. I don’t know of any show I would wait for under these conditions, even when I was a kid. The outdoor stage is small and wooden. There is a sad-looking Christmas tree without enough ornaments on it.

It’s still snowing, but once again it’s showtime.

We are surrounded by a roar pouring out of hundreds of expectant faces.

The show was great, and Robin and Kid end with an improv blues number about being in the army and in Afghanistan. It destroys. To call the night magical doesn’t do it justice.

It kept snowing. The audience was oblivious. Once again they were home. I was there, though. And I was freezing my nuts off.

We take photos with the troops after every show. Robin and Kid give as much offstage as they do when they are onstage. The troops surround Lance Armstrong. A few of the more intelligent guys gravitate toward Rachel. It’s not like it was when the army was all-male. There are women everywhere. Rachel is beautiful, but in the world of today’s army, she is not a complete novelty. I am sure during World War II, Korea, and Vietnam, the troops flocked to the actresses and models while Bob Hope practiced his golf swing and cracked jokes.

Even though we traveled thousands of miles, from one end of a war zone to the other, we don’t see the dead. But every so often you saw a soldier who seemed lost or like he just couldn’t take it anymore—whatever “it” was. Their stare is unsettling. Even when they’re standing still, they seem to vibrate. I wonder if this is a war that is worth the cost of taking a man and making him hollow.

The most surreal moment of my entire time as a USO entertainer comes when we are in a chopper (I love writing “chopper”; it sounds so much better than “helicopter”) flying us to another show. I’ve never trusted this mode of transportation to begin with, but to make it worse, the back of this one is open and a soldier sits at the opening with a mounted gun. I look out beyond him. There’s nothing for miles. I don’t have enough energy to imagine or fear that he might need to use that weapon to pick off an enemy. The gunner beckons Kid to join him. Kid gets up and walks toward the opening. We are flying over some areas where there are practice targets, and so Kid sits down and lets it rip. Then Lance does the same. The soldier beckons to me.

Are you fucking kidding me? Walk across