About two years ago, the SEQ became a Medicare provider and began billing for its paramedic, or advanced life support services. Before that, these services were budgeted by the towns and were free to residents, said Chuck Simmins, past captain and EMT with the East Rochester Ambulance Corps.

Now that the SEQ is a Medicare provider, someone has to be billed for paramedic services. Federal law states that only the transporting agency can bill Medicare, and because East Rochester is not a Medicare provider, the bill falls on the resident.

So if an agency chooses to bill for paramedic services, or become a Medicare provider, by law it has to bill all paramedic calls equally, to discourage fraud and misuse of Medicare, said Rene Reixach, partner at Woods, Oviatt, Gilman law firm in Rochester.

Simmins said the East Rochester corps doesn’t want to bill patients. If the corps chose to become a Medicare provider, it would have to charge for transporting patients, something it has never done before.

Also, becoming a Medicare provider could end up costing the corps more than it can afford, Simmins said.

If the corps becomes responsible for making sure every paramedic bill gets paid, its budget will suffer.

“We can’t become just another commercial ambulance service,” Simmins said. “Our major uniqueness is that we do it for free.”

The Coalition forces' contributions to the nation of Iraq are focused toward improving the lives of its citizens. In some cases, however, the benefits are not limited only to humans.

With the help of military personnel from 1st Armored Division and V Corps and funding from the 22nd Signal Brigade, Iraqi veterinarians cut the grand opening ribbon at the Iraqi Society for Animal Welfare in central Baghdad Jan 21.

The society, made up of military and civilian veterinarians and ministry officials, was formed to address the growing need for animal control in Baghdad.

"It is the first of its kind in the country," said Capt. William Sumner, arts, monuments and archives officer for the 354th Civil Affairs Brigade, an Army Reserve unit from Riverdale, Md., part of Task Force 1st Armored Division. "The society will provide services similar to our Humane Society in the U.S."

Sumner said the studies of Iraq's canine population revealed startling results. Because one litter of pups can multiply into 69,000 dogs within one year, the dog population in Iraq could cause problems on a national scale if left unchecked.

"Diseases like leishmaniasis and rabies are problems related to dogs and pose a real threat to Iraqis," said Sumner. "Our organization will be able to begin addressing these kinds of animal issues."

The Iraqi Society for Animal Welfare will aid in providing solutions to problems like canine overpopulation and disease control. It will also provide adoption and spay and neuter programs, he said.

Until recently, cultural taboos involving animal care in Iraq restricted progress and awareness. Dr. Farah Murrani, assistant director of Baghdad Zoo and director of the Iraqi Society for Animal Welfare, is an English-speaking Iraqi veterinarian who joined the zoo staff last spring and acted as a liaison between Iraqi zoo workers, U.S. Army veterinarians and civil affairs soldiers.

Murrani's willingness to touch and treat "unclean" animals, and her heartfelt desire to aid her country, made her a prime candidate to lead this new animal care center, Sumner said.

"I am a veterinarian, so I am doing what I know how to do in order to help the people of Iraq and aid the reconstruction," said Murrani.

Sumner, whose experience with zoo planning and operations allowed him
to play an important role in the establishment of the new animal welfare organization, said the society's formation is a first step toward a safer and animal-friendly country.

"This is the first step in establishing an animal control program here in Baghdad. We hope it will extend throughout Iraq," said Sumner. "The society is designed not only to help prevent animal cruelty, but to raise the overall awareness of the public for animals in Baghdad."

Lt. Col. Kim S. Orlando, commander of the 716th Military Police Battalion, parent unit of the 194th Military Police Company, had come to Karbala that day to review intelligence indicating that tensions in the city were surging, following a shootout between religious factions four days earlier.

Orlando, 43, of Nashville, was riding along on a routine patrol through Karbala when he and soldiers in three Humvees saw dozens of heavily armed guards for Sheik Mahmoud Hassani standing near the sheik's compound on either side of Highway 9.

Hassani, a Shiite religious leader who had recently moved to Karbala from Najaf and set up a headquarters there, was not enamored of the U.S. presence in Iraq. The Americans had already had run-ins with his men and told them they could not carry arms on the street. But here they were again, in open defiance of the weapons ban. The Americans, led by Orlando, stopped their vehicles, got out and started walking toward the Iraqis. One of them motioned for the Americans to lay down their weapons before coming any closer.

As the Iraqi motioned, he started to swing his AK-47 into firing position, according to 1st Sgt. Troy Wallen, and either that Iraqi or another one fired a shot. Orlando was hit almost immediately and fell to the ground.

"Then all hell broke loose," says Wallen, who was standing next to Orlando. In retrospect, it seems like a well-planned ambush, given the large number of Iraqis on both sides of the highway firing from rooftops, storefronts and alleys. "That one individual decided he wanted to fight that night," Wallen said. "We outgunned them -- that's the only way we got out of there." If Broadwell and her comrades "hadn't fired that night, none of us would have made it out."

Orlando didn't. He died on his way to the hospital, the highest-ranking officer killed by hostile fire in Iraq.

When the fighting erupted, Broadwell was part of a three-truck patrol a short distance away. Their radios crackled with a call for help, and her patrol arrived on the scene within three minutes and drove smack into the middle of the killing zone. Lt. Guerrero jumped out of his Humvee, almost into the arms of Iraqis firing AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades at his convoy. Before they could shoot him, Guerrero heard short, controlled bursts from Broadwell's machine gun. The Iraqis ducked for cover.

Since Broadwell wasn't quite tall enough to see through the weapon's sight, she was gauging the accuracy of her fire with tracer rounds -- every fifth bullet in an M-249's ammunition belt ignites a phosphoric compound that leaves a luminescent trail to help gunners see where they are firing. She remembers feeling terrified, but somehow fighting through it and "walking tracer rounds," she says, into her targets. Somehow, no rounds or shrapnel hit Guerrero, down on the street, or Broadwell, up in the Humvee's turret, although she badly bruised her back after being thrown back in the turret after explosions hit the front of her vehicle.

Guerrero credits Broadwell with saving his life. "She was up there doing what we trained her to do as a gunner," he said. "She kept their heads down."

"She was on top of it," adds Pfc. Jonathan Rape, who was driving their vehicle that night. "If she were two inches taller, it would have helped, but you couldn't expect anything more. All I could hear was that SAW [squad automatic weapon] going off. She seemed so calm. It was three- to five-shot bursts, like she was taught. That told us she wasn't freaking out and holding the trigger down and spraying. She covered the whole right side of our truck."

Tracie Sanchez, the mother of four who was a gunner on the patrol Orlando was riding with, never got off a shot. As soon as the firing started, a round cracked her Kevlar helmet; then a grenade went off a few feet away from her truck, knocking her out of the turret. She collapsed inside the vehicle and credits her driver, Spec. Woodrow Lyell, with treating her wounds and, more important, calming her down.

Out on the street, a combat medic, 25-year-old Sgt. Misty Frazier of Hayden Lake, Idaho, found herself dodging bullets and running from wounded soldier to wounded soldier in a way she can hardly believe in retrospect. "That's the first time I had ever heard gunfire and rocket-propelled grenades go off that close, knowing they were shooting at us," she said. "I was very lucky."

The final woman in action that night, Spec. Corrie Jones, 27, of Shreveport, La., pulled up as part of a three-vehicle patrol to back up Broadwell's patrol, which she could see up ahead in the middle of the "kill zone." She began firing at the Iraqi attackers.

The battle soon ended. But in a moment, she had resolved the question that haunts soldiers who have yet to experience combat: How will they react under fire? "I don't think it's something anybody knows," she says. Now, she adds, "I know how strong I am."

For two days afterward, Broadwell couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. "All I could do," she says, "was sit back and cry." She still has dreams about the firefight, not because she froze in battle, but because she didn't freeze. She knows she shot and killed at least one Iraqi, possibly more. Her commanders believe she and her fellow MPs killed more than 20 Iraqis during the battle.

"That was something I never thought I would have to do," Broadwell says. "I never thought I would have to take somebody's life, but I had to. It was kind of a shock. I wish there was something we could have done differently, but there was nothing we could have done."

For her role in the Oct. 16 firefight, Broadwell was awarded the Bronze Star with V for Valor. Maj. Gen. David Petraeus, commander of the 101st Airborne, pinned it on her uniform, along with the Purple Heart, in a recent memorial ceremony honoring Lt. Col. Orlando and two others killed during the firefight, Staff Sgt. Joseph P. Bellavia, 28, of Wakefield, Mass., and Cpl. Sean R. Grilley, 24, of San Bernardino, Calif. Broadwell was close friends with both men.

Here on Christmas Eve, we've decided to make the Christmas spirit the focus of this, our second time hosting Silflay Hraka's magnificent Carnival of the Vanities. Because you don't have to believe in Christmas to believe in the Christmas spirit. Let me tell you a story:

A number of years ago, we lived next door to a diplomat at the Pakistani Consulate. You might think this would be a recipe for friction, but he was nice enough. 9/11 was several years away and if anyone had a legitimate beef, it was our (formerly Pakistani) Isma'ili Muslim neighbours on the other side. But I digress. Anyway, Christmas comes around, and some bright acquaintance decides to give this Muslim diplomat a bottle of whiskey for the holidays. Since this is sort of like sending the Israeli Consulate a smoked ham, our neighbour came over with an embarassed expression. Would we like a bottle of fine whiskey?

To this day, I still think of it as the perfect North American holiday story: a Muslim giving his Jewish neighbours a bottle of whiskey… for Christmas.