AL FADRUZ, Iraq — In a country where every passing U.S. convoy means the possibility of candy, pencils and bottled water, it was as if chests of gold had been plunked down on the ground.

There were eight in all, green metal footlockers filled with sterile, carefully packaged medical supplies that contrasted with the dusty, littered street.

The "tailgate medical" stop was just that — Humvees stopping in the street as a phalanx of U.S. and Iraqi army soldiers cordoned off and secured a chunk of the town.

Out came some folding white tables; up came hundreds of men, women and children.

For Charlie Company, a medical unit of the 29th Support Battalion out of Hawai'i, it was the first such street stop. Children — barefoot or wearing plastic slippers — tugged at sleeves saying, "Mistah! Mistah!" as they politely asked for sunglasses, pens, watches and anything else that wasn't nailed down.

Villagers crowded around the tables with a host of maladies — eczema, a toddler with a burned arm, cuts, allergies. More serious problems were referred to a hospital.

A cooler neglected to one side suddenly had four little hands wedged in as children grabbed bottles of Gatorade and Red Bull.

"It's hard to get used to being mobbed by a bunch of 3-footers, but the smile on their faces makes it all worth it, knowing we are making a difference," said Staff Sgt. Douglas Barbieto, 33, a medic from Kailua.

Company C, or "Charlie Med," treats U.S. soldiers at Logistical Support Area Anaconda and Iraqi army soldiers and civilians mostly at the base gates, but also in nearby towns like Al Fadruz.

Some of the 52 medics in Charlie Med are better trained than Iraqi doctors. They see the full range, from minor injuries to fatal gunshot and roadside bomb wounds.

At LSA Anaconda, some of Hawai'i's citizen soldiers have embraced the people and the work, finding fulfillment in helping. But the blood and guts they also see on occasion is not for everybody.

'SPIRITUAL FULFILLMENT'

Sgt. Sterling Beair, 22, a medic who lives in 'Aiea, has become comfortable interacting with and treating Iraqis at the North gate. "salam a lakem (may peace be with you)," he tells the driver of a blue minivan while on a walk around the area.

Beair, who works for Clinical Laboratories of Hawai'i at St. Francis West, also asks the man in his increasing retinue of Arabic if he's feeling sick.

As he passes a group of Iraqi soldiers who work at the gate, and because Beair always takes an interest in their health and well-being, he's instantly offered chunks of watermelon from the smiling Iraqis.

"Honestly, I see this as more spiritual fulfillment. Every man tries to find purpose in life, and I find purpose here treating the Lord's children and saving life," Beair said. "The key thing is having that life in your hands and not choking."

Spc. Colby Takata, 23, a medic from Hawai'i Kai, recently was on duty at the gate when an Iraqi army soldier came in who had been shot in the shoulder, chest and abdomen. Takata treated the man, who was almost unresponsive, in the ambulance on the way to the Combat Army Surgical Hospital.

In the past four months, his team has seen about five life-and-death cases.

Takata was a student at the University of Hawai'i with plans to go into the medical program. After his Iraq experience, "We'll see how that goes," he said. "Not emergency medical (care). Personally, I'd prefer a clinical environment. There's a lot of pressure to it here. In your hands is this guy's life."

In Al Fadruz, a Shiite farming village of about 1,000 people, the stop was the first of weekly visits to neighboring towns the medics plan to make.

Homes of straw and mud and others of cinder block covered with concrete sat behind mud walls that lined both sides of the street.

The intent was to have Iraqi army medics treat villagers and have the U.S. medics advise, through interpreters, as U.S. forces continue to train Iraqi security forces.

GIVE AND TAKE

At the same time, U.S. military officials met with the local sheik down the street in an attempt to firm up resistance to militants who sporadically fire mortars at LSA Anaconda.

In Iraq, civil affairs assistance comes with the demand that leaders put a halt to insurgents using their villages for hit-and-run tactics against U.S. troops.

The Charlie Company medics ended up doing most of the treating, and Staff Sgt. Matthew Mitsui, 37, from Kane'ohe, was handing out some allergy pills to a woman in a black abaya for her 8-year-old son.

Capt. Ray Ouano, 40, from Burbank, Calif., gave some hydrocortizone cream for eczema to a 15-year-old girl in a pink and purple dress and a veil that exposed only her eyes.

Ouano also cleaned and bandaged the arm of a screaming toddler with second-degree burns.

"OK, almost done," he said, using his best bedside manner. "All pau," he said later.

Barbieto said it was the second time as a company that the medics had gone out. An earlier medical visit was provided at a school.

A boy of about 15 said there are "no doctors, no medicine" in the village, and that "maybe it's good" that the Americans paid the visit.

Sabah Ahmad Ateya, the headmaster of the school, a man in his 30s who was wearing a dark dress shirt and dark slacks, said it was "very good" that the Americans provided medical help. The nearest doctor is about seven miles away, but not everybody can get there, he said.

"But we need it (medical assistance) more when the people go to school," he said. "There are a lot of emergency situations at school."

He asked for bandages, and Mitsui handed over handfuls, along with alcohol wipes.

GLAD TO HELP

Barbieto, a paramedic and federal firefighter in Hawai'i who joined the Guard almost eight years ago, said "getting out in the public and taking care of local nationals definitely is something I hope everyone gets to do."

But the single father of two children ages 8 and 3 said he wishes the yearlong deployment to Iraq was shorter.

"A year and a half away from home (with training) is a long time. Shortened deployments would definitely make it more palatable," he said.

Barbieto plans to stay in the Guard until he makes 20 years, even if it means being deployed again.

"They call our number, they call our number," said the 1990 Saint Louis graduate.

Takata, who was treating walk-ins at the base's North gate, joined the Guard right out of high school. His father had served in Vietnam.

"My dad was all for it, but my mom was like, 'Don't join the military,' " he said.

He had to fight to come on the deployment because back problems almost kept him home, and he re-enlisted for six years in a combat zone, picking up an extra $15,000.

"It's been a good learning experience. I've grown up a lot since I got here," Takata said. "I've gotten close to everyone, especially in my platoon. If I didn't go, it would be hard to look them in the eye afterwards."