U.S. Soldiers Revel in Victory but Feel Pity for Their Foes : Emotions: The tone ranges from swaggering pride in their rout to sympathy for the vanquished Iraqis.

Across the wind-swept and now quiet battlefield, American’s fighting troops take stock of their deeds.

And who can deny them their exultation, these sweaty, grimy, conquering ground-pounders?

“I don’t think we’ll ever be able to do again--what we have done here--in 100 years. . . . It’s the damnedest thing the U.S. armed forces (have) ever done,” said Maj. Gen. Barry M. McCaffrey.

He commanded 26,000 soldiers of the 24th Infantry Division, Mechanized, in a 200-mile-plus spearhead through Iraq, along the western flank of Kuwait from Saudi Arabia to the Euphrates River. Few men carry as many medals for valor as McCaffrey, and few drive their troops as hard: He had his whole division living in itchy, stifling chemical warfare suits for weeks before the ground battle began.

The result was a headlong charge into the teeth of the Republican Guard with a loss of only six dead and 14 wounded.

“This has been an absolute miracle,” McCaffrey said.

In a memorable scene, the 24th roared into enemy territory with tanks flying American flags and leaving behind hand-lettered signs: The 24th Division Welcomes You to Iraq.

One didn’t need to be a general to share in the wonder at the extent of the rout.

“I’m still in a state of shock,” said a happy Sgt. Martin Griffith of Ft. Riley, Kan. His 1st Infantry Division, the famed Big Red One, drove 144 miles in the 100 hours of ground fighting.

Even as destroyed Iraqi tanks smoldered nearby, Griffith let his thoughts drift to the 1-month-old son he has never seen. And, in straightforward, simple language, he offered what foot soldiers do only when battles go well: He praised the wisdom and patience of his commanders.

“I’m glad they didn’t send us in on the ground until they had taken most of them out by air power. I’m glad it wasn’t another Vietnam.”

Also part of the western flanking movement was the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment and its sergeant major, Dalton Southern, 48, of Florence, Ala. Dalton had seen battle in Vietnam a generation ago. He had seen the way Americans treat their soldiers when they feint and withdraw.

“This time will be different. It’ll be like a lost child being returned to its parents,” he said, glorying in the triumph of Desert Storm. “The Army needed this. The nation needed this.

“I needed this.”

When the fighting stopped, not all the voices of American fighting troops were so measured.

A tone of swaggering bellicosity came from some of the troops responsible for destroying 41 Iraqi divisions in four days.

“There ain’t nobody in the Middle East who can beat us. There ain’t nobody that can beat us,” said Lt. Gaylon McAlpine, 27, of Warrior, Ala.

“This will give us a lot of confidence. I think the rest of the world will stand up and take notice too. If the U.S. is going to deploy forces, watch out,” added Capt. William Dolan, 27, of Skowhegan, Me.

Disappointment: After months of training and agonized anticipation, other Americans could not accept that the battle passed them by before they tasted action.

“It can’t be over--we didn’t shoot anybody,” said Sgt. Bobby Martin, 34, of Killeen, Tex.

“No awards. No killing. No nothing,” complained Specialist Theodore R. Aldridge, 20, turning to his commanding officer. “We’ve been ripped off, sir.”

Reality: Those who saw close-up the gory, twisted face of the killing spoke differently, however.

With the 1st Cavalry Division, a reporter came across one Iraqi truck that had been hit by a U.S. missile. Eight bodies littered the scene. The area was cordoned off with white tape, like a police crime scene.

The journalist reported: The headless corpse of one of the soldiers was on its back a short distance from the truck. Another body was wedged inside the engine compartment. Two more lay face up in the bed of the truck, their feet sticking grotesquely over the side.

“I tell my friends it’s different when you see their faces, with blood coming out of their wounds,” said Specialist Daniel Rachell, 20, a helicopter door-gunner from Belleville, Ill. “It shocked me, it really did.”

Pity: For those Iraqi soldiers who lived through the war, the Americans continued to show sympathy for this outgunned, under-motivated, poorly equipped and politically browbeaten foe.

The 3rd Armored Division’s 3rd Brigade had blasted its way through an Iraqi bunker complex in Kuwait, and the Americans got their first sight of the punishment their weapons inflict on the enemy.

An eyewitness account: When the convoy passed through the bunker complex, soldiers were hushed. It was the first sight of death for many of them. Some Iraqi vehicles were smoking and burning. Helmets, boots and brown blankets were blowing in the sand. The air reeked of gunpowder and charred metal.

As they did all across the battlefield, Iraqi soldiers emerged from the rubble, throwing their hands in the air. Their last hope in all the world was the mercy of the unstoppable Americans.

“One guy came up to our truck and he was, like, thin. He looked skeletal. We stopped and gave him something to drink. He said he doesn’t hate us. He said, ‘I still love you,’ and held up a fist to say keep going,” recalled Specialist Richard Ford, 21, of Star, Miss.

Specialist William Ramond, 21, of North Highlands, Calif., continued the story: “The guy was standing there with a big smile, holding all that food and water the vehicle in front of us had thrown to him.

“Yesterday, I would have killed him. But then, today I would have helped him.”

In fact, days earlier in the heat of battle, there was sometimes little such mercy.

An advancing infantry unit, attacking into Kuwait from the west on the last night of the war, relied on the eyes of a scout peering through the green lenses of his night-vision goggles.

“I see some guys in the bunker,” the scout radioed back to his commander. “I don’t know if they are trying to surrender.”

The officer gave an order to fire. “Don’t take any chances,” he said.

Today, these bunkers offer a pitiful look at the life of the men who faced the Americans across the Arabian desert with what must have been unimaginable dread.

In bunker after bunker, plastic sandals stood neatly outside the entrances. Water kettles were commonplace, and small cans of Kraft processed cheese. At one complex, the only sign of fresh food was a crate of small tomatoes, turned black by cold and age. Two-inch-thick cotton mattresses were spread about, and blankets hung across doors.

An eyewitness account: One remote stretch of the desert held dozens of tanks partially hidden behind sand berms and brush stuck in machine guns and turrets. From afar, it looked menacing. But up close, one could see that the wavy strips of green camouflage paint covered rust. Air vents and metal panels were twisted out of shape and filled with holes. Helmets left behind were cracked and camouflaged only with one stripe of green paint that was chipping off. Tucked inside one helmet perched atop a bunker were two plastic bags holding strips of gauze, the only evidence of medical supplies in the entire field of tanks.

“It all makes you feel kind of sorry for them,” said one GI. He would not give his name. His friends would think he went soft.

Down the road in a driving rain, three other softies opened a GI ration pack and tried to coax a scrawny, abandoned dog into eating. The killing was over, but not the suffering in the Persian Gulf.

This story was compiled partly from pooled press dispatches reviewed by military censors.