It is the people in a war that make it real. There is an enormous gulf between singing a
cadence about killing commies and being faced with a young child, his arms
reaching out to you because he knows that there is a chance that you will throw
him some scraps from your lunch. The
people I met were not faceless terrorists, their only desire to end my
life. They were mothers, fathers and
children, all just trying to survive in a place where either side of an armed
conflict could shatter your world in an instant, and never give a second
thought. The people of Uzbekistan and
Iraq welcomed us into their countries as we came to overthrow their
governments. They trusted us with a mission
that would destroy their lives as they knew them. They cheered our convoys as we made our way
to their capital. How could they have
possibly known that we wouldn’t just liberate them; that we would stay and
become a magnet for groups of militants who would further terrorize their
cities and level their homes? These
people changed the war for me. Instead
of a random enemy they became faces and stories I cannot forget.
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