Part of a continuing series reporting on the life of an embedded reporter in Iraq.

BAGHDAD, IRAQ — Once I was off the chopper in the International Zone, a couple of soldiers from the Coalition Press Information Center (CPIC) swung around to pick me up to get my credentials. Within 30 minutes, I had a military-issue “press pass,” and, along with a reporter from the London Telegraph, I was taken back to the airstrip to get the next chopper out.

The Telegraph reporter, Oliver Poole, had been in and out of Iraq since the invasion in 2003, and knew how things worked. Based in Baghdad, he was headed up north to work on a couple stories of his own, but we were scheduled to share part of the flight together.

The weather had been bad for a few nights, and persistent fog had been screwing with the flight schedule, so nothing, we were told, was guaranteed. But we wouldn’t know anything for a couple hours.

Back in the waiting room at the airstrip, I ran into Spec. Seymour, my buddy from the previous day at Camp Stryker. He was among a group of Arab journalists and American soldiers sitting around watching “The Osbournes” on MTV, so we settled in and awaited word.

Poole, a veteran of this kind of thing, filled me in on the particulars of embedded travel in Iraq. The way it works is this: The choppers make several stops along the route. At each stop there are a couple “Space A’s” who are guaranteed a slot, and then there’s everybody else on the list, operating on a first-come, first-serve basis.

Tonight, Poole and I were Space A, so the only thing that...

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