I Knew The War In Afghanistan Was A Lie
Nightmares still haunt me. Sometimes it’s the standard stuff associated with classic post-traumatic stress disorder: flashbacks of horrible attacks and images of my mutilated troopers. More often, though, peculiar as it may sound, I dream that my sociopathic, career-obsessed colonel calls to give me another late-night order to do something unnecessary—usually dangerous, always absurd—the next day. We never got along; the man distrusted me from the start. To him, my plainly ironclad loyalty to my young soldiers was suspicious.