We're at a place called Camp Lemonier, a former French Foreign Legion outpost, now occupied by 2,000 members of the U.S. military. They're here fighting the war on terror in a most unconventional way. They're not doing it with bullets and bombs, but with goodwill.

The idea is establish a footprint in a part of the world that is ripe with potential terrorist activity, and try to win over the hearts and minds of the people by doing good deeds--helping schools, clinics and orphanages, training local soldiers how to fight, and helping build infrastructure. The hope is, the 180 million or so people who live in this corner of the world will see that America is not the bad guy, and maybe, just maybe they'll decide that extremism and violence are not the answers.

View the Slideshow from our Trip

So our job is to document what they're doing, especially now at the holiday time of the year, 8,000 miles from home.

The images are breathtaking. The tales are inspiring. The work being done here is truly remarkable. Hampton Roads viewers will get to see the fruits of their labor, and ours, when the show airs Christmas Eve.

Meantime, a man has to eat. And my man Pierre has distinguished himself.

It seems that the Camp Lemonier base record for eating hot dogs in one sitting is eight wieners. We knew we were on to something Sunday, when Big P. casually polished off six franks without breaking a sweat. At that point, Air Force First Lieutenant David Herndon announced that the camp record was a mere seven.

Pierre, as those who know him know, is a mountain of a man, and a determined one at that. It would just be a matter of time until the record crumbled. That time came Monday night.

With a steely resolve, our hero sat down with two plates before him, four dogs straddling each one. The first plate was polished off in fifteen minutes. Then things got interesting.

Pierre started requiring can upon can of Pepsi. Slowly he chewed his way through numbers five and six. About two bites into number seven, our man needed a small detour, as was allowed by the completely unofficial and informal competition rules. He was permitted to remove himself from the table to head to the nearest trash can to engage in what the professional competition eaters call a "reversal." I'll not describe it further. Those who know what that means know. The rest of you don't need to.

In any event, fully vacated now, Pierre was ready to get down to business in the home stretch.

Like a good football coach making smart halftime adjustments, P. switched up his strategy. And for the final one and a half dogs, he ate the meat and the buns separately. At exactly one hour into the glutonous marathon, victory was his! His name was scribbled up on the wall of the D-FAC (dining facility). The graffiti read: "Hot Dog Champ. Pierre Simmons. 8 Hot Dogs. December 3, 2007. And so a legend was born. Or so we thought.

By this morning, word of the King's glorious feat had been painted over.

I guess you could say, it's a dog eat dog world.