I opened my eyes and was immediately blinded by a strong light overhead. I raised my hand to shield my eyes, and got a strong whiff of smelling salts. I sat up, choking – and I was fully clothed, in somebody’s office – or aid station, by the look of it. A nurse was standing next to me, and she said, “Oh, good, you’re back with us, Sir – how do you feel now?”

I looked around me, perplexed. “Fine.” I said tentatively. “What happened?”

“Oh, you just had a bit of a fainting spell – happens sometimes if you get too close to the waters for too long. Just you lie back now, for a few minutes, and I’ll get you some nice hot tea.”

I lay back, on my side so I was not looking into the overhead light, and only then did I notice a beefy security guard leaning in the doorway of the aid station. He was a bit shorter than me, with shoulders almost as broad as he was tall, and short black hair showing under his peaked officer’s cap. He looked at me intently, with a grin on his ruggedly handsome face that could launch a thousand ships. The nurse bustled back with the tea, and I sat up and took a few sips. The security guard, his voice a deep rumbling bass said, “Since you seem to be well, Sir, could you just check your belongings?” I checked quickly – clothes intact, camera case sitting on the table next to me (with the camera inside), wallet in the proper pocket, credit cards, passport, and money intact – except for my last American quarter, which was missing, although all of the other American and British coins were there.

I looked at the guard, still grinning at me, and I said, “Everything seems to be here.”

He came over to me with a clipboard and said, “Could you please just sign here then, Sir – it’s just a formality, but we need a receipt from you that nothing was missing, since you were unconscious for a moment or two.”

He handed me a clipboard with a form, and a space for me to sign and date it, which I scanned quickly and signed. He was close enough that I could read his name on his badge – it was Lucius Quint. I remarked, “That’s an odd name, Officer Quint.”

Still grinning that grin, he said, “My parents were highly imaginative, Sir – thanks. Have a pleasant day.” With that, he turned and strode out, all military precision and bearing.

I got back on the bus, and a few days later, was back home in America. The day after I got home I received an e-mail from my brother Jake saying that he had sent me a package, and to be sure to check everything so that nothing was broken. I e-mailed him back that I was home but no packaged as of yet. A couple of days later the package arrived – rush delivery, no less, which was hard to do from Iraq.

The package was not large, and seemed to contain nothing in particular – some pictures, a postcard or two, and a large brass pot, engraved with