My Iraq

I don’t really know why I am writing this. In some ways it is ironic. Less than twelve hours ago I was complaining to two close friends about how tired I am of reading Iraq war reflections. Yet here I sit in front of my keyboard with a stack of pictures and a bottle of scotch. I have never really written or talked much about my time in Iraq. Not because I find it difficult but mostly because I never really thought I had anything of value to say. The stories that are published online or printed in newspapers and magazines are usually written by officers, senior enlisted men or policy makers who regale readers with strategic and tactical adventures. They relive important moments in the war or walk through the thought process that ended in some critical decision. My war always seemed different than that.

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