Natchez &8212; National Guard duty has taken Ben Hewitt to exotic, faraway places &8212; Cuba, Kuwait and elsewhere, where he has helped to keep order and perform other duties as a member of the Mississippi Army National Guard 114th Police Company, based in Clinton.

However, in the 19 years the Natchez native has responded to the call of the Guard, no duty compares to that he experienced on the Gulf Coast of his home state, where he rode out Hurricane Katrina in the Jackson County Courthouse and remained for 44 days on the Coast to assist in the recovery and relief efforts there.

&8220;I was told I would get a pretty important medal,&8221; said Hewitt, a Natchez police sergeant. &8220;They said I could choose either a federal or a state medal.&8221;

He chose to receive the Mississippi recognition even though the federal medal would have given him points toward a higher rank.

&8220;This is the highest state medal you can get in peace time,&8221; he said, holding up the colorful Mississippi Magnolia Cross and showing the certificate signed by Gov. Haley Barbour.

&8220;This is a way for me to go out of the guard and show I&8217;ve done something for my state,&8221; he said. He will retire from the unit when he reaches the 20-year mark next year.

&8220;It means a lot to me to have this recognition from the state. It&8217;s the best thing I could ever get.&8221;

On the eve of Hurricane Katrina&8217;s historic destruction, Hewitt, a platoon sergeant in the 114th, was one of 10 assigned to an advance party to go to Pascagoula to be on site when the hurricane hit and passed.

The men took three Humvees, loaded with cots and supplies. They had no idea the mission ahead would keep them on the Coast for a month and a half.

Hewitt described the night before Katrina hit and the day of the storm, Aug. 29, the rising water, the scenes that included watching helplessly as water nearly submerged the three military vehicles.

&8220;Water began to come into the building. We moved to the second floor,&8221; he said.

Others taking refuge in the courthouse were several county employees and their families.

&8220;Then I started looking around at all the papers and important documents on people&8217;s desks and the photos on the walls &8212; you know, the former mayors and judges, things that can&8217;t be replaced.&8221;

Hewitt and his team began to gather those materials and take them to the second floor.

A sea turtle swam by the courthouse as they watched and waited.

&8220;Then all the debris,&8221; he said. &8220;All day long, we didn&8217;t really know how bad the storm was. For a good eight hours, there was no communication.&8221;

When the water began to go down, the guardsmen went to work. They surveyed the devastation with horror, Hewitt said.

&8220;Most of my guys are pretty young. They had never seen anything like this before.&8221;

The vehicles had been submerged above the hoods. He wondered whether they were usable but determined to do all he knew to get them running again. He did, but by the hardest.

&8220;We began going on missions, picking up people and finding out from them what other houses we should check,&8221; Hewitt said.

The rest of his company was held up in Hattiesburg, trying to get to the Coast but having to remove trees from the highway all the way south before arriving in Gulfport after the storm.

Meanwhile, Hewitt and his men directed traffic forming to pick up food and water on the third day after the storm.

&8220;I&8217;ve never seen so many people, lines for as far as you can see, and the first day on that detail they ran out of food and water and told us to close down the line.&8221;

That brought memorable reactions from the desperate people who were told they would have to return the next day.

The incident he remembers best and with most emotion, however, is of a family who drove up in a &8220;raggedy pickup. One woman got out with a kid on her hip, and another younger woman got out with the twin on her hip.&8221;

The older woman in the group said they had driven about 20 miles to get to the water and other supplies. &8220;There are about five families in the swamp. We have nothing. We put all our gas in this truck so somebody could get here,&8221; she said.

Hewitt said he turned to one of his men and said, &8220;Load it up.&8221;

&8220;She hugged me. She was crying. What do you tell someone like that? I just told her everything will be OK,&8221; he said. &8220;They got back in that smoking truck and headed off. That family brought the young guys around. That got their attention.&8221;

Off the traffic detail, Hewitt told his men to get into the Humvees and look for people who needed help.

&8220;We drove around. We found an older woman with about 15 children running around the house. They had no transportation. There was one man with his brother who was a quadriplegic who had no transportation,&8221; he said.

After a few experiences like that, his group became more eager to go on those missions. &8220;They said to me, &8216;now we know what to do. Let&8217;s go back and reload.&8217;&8221;

Hewitt continued to encourage his men to stop and talk to people when they were out in their vehicles.

&8220;I told them, &8216;pull off. Just walk around. There are people sitting in the yards. They want to talk. Ask them what they need,&8217;&8221; he said.

He remembers the 5,000 Guard troops and countless law enforcement volunteers from other states who joined them in the mission, the tent city where they lived and the church groups who provided meals.

Best of all, however, he remembers the Gulf Coast people and their needs and the missions of a few guardsmen who made a difference in the relief and recovery.