At the close of Operation Iraq Freedom, I was saddled with a feeling of great sadness and nostalgia, and set down my thoughts on paper. Ultimately, those thoughts became published on multiple platforms, including the official history of the Military Police Regiment (Link at the bottom of the page). A link to those thoughts is here:
My War Gone By I Miss It So
However, today marks the closure of another chapter, in which I played a small part. My first war was one of liberation and controversy. The protection of our ally Saudi Arabia, and the liberation of our de facto protectorate, Kuwait. My second war was one of protection, and more controversy. The maintenance of a very shaky peace that often flared into violence, after unspeakable atrocities were perpetrated by all the original belligerents in the Balkans. The third war was perhaps the most controversial. It was a war of regime change, mistakes, long tours, heart crushing tragedy, quiet triumph, and the shaping of a career and a person. Three times into the breach, from the invasion to the surge, and counterinsurgency in between. It was the best job I ever had.
My final war was a long time coming, or perhaps it is better to say that I was a latecomer to the fray. By the time that I flew into Bagram Air Field, I was a very experienced Soldier, investigator, and leader. I had come full circle from a leader of a small, specialized team, through squads and platoons, culminating in a company – back to a small, specialized team. This team was made up of other very experienced Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and civilians who were subject matter experts in their fields. Our job was true to the original intent of the war in Afghanistan. That was to fetter out and target terrorists. But 2010 was a long way from 2001. The war, the focus of the war had shifted.
The majority of the allied force in Afghanistan was leveraged at winning an unwinnable peace. It was practicing Counter-Insurgency Operations (COIN) and nation-building in a place where the people did not invite us, did not want us to stay, and had thousands of years invested in a lifestyle that is the antithesis of western-style liberal democracy. The original mission was to capture or kill the leadership of Al Qaeda, in which I was there to assist. That mission was subservient to, and largely eclipsed by the effort to “civilize” a loose conglomerate of people who hated each other almost as much as they hated us. So much for what Kipling called “The White Man’s Burden.”
What should have been a punitive expedition to avenge the attacks of 9/11/2001, morphed into a feel-good project that attempted to westernize a region that had destroyed the empirical aspirations of all comers – from Alexander to the Great Khan, from Victoria to Brezhnev – and finally to Bush, Obama, Blair, and Cameron. We began to push western values and systems on a resentful population – pushing them into the arms of their kith and kin, who smiled at us in the ville, and prepared IEDs as we left for the FOB.
As today marks the last day of Bagram Air Field’s existence as an American outpost, it marks the effective end to nearly 20 years of conflict, wherein a generation of Americans learned to ignore the war, and worry about how problematic a word might be. Wherein less than half a percent of that same generation learned what war is about, what loss is about, what politics is about, and what they were about – as individuals. It marks the end of an era. But it reminds me of just how much lunacy ran through that whole theater – and how we fought against bureaucrats and terrorists, sometimes in the same day.
I remember the “Duck and Cover” at the Embassy and the markets of the Kabul. I remember the plaque at the bottom of the flagpole at the Embassy, and tearing up as I read it. I remember visiting friends at the TIF, before visiting enemies inside. I remember all the self-important alphabet agencies, and the comradeship that we felt from agencies that came to visit. I remember telling an AUSA and a DepSecDef how wrong they were for trying to extradite foreign fighters for a show trial in NYC, when we had allies that would handle the issue in a week’s time, as I waved the warrant at them through the teleconference screen. I remember living and working in compounds that still have no Wiki entry, and visiting places that no one will ever write about. I remember the poppies, and the magnificent view. I remember watching the feed from a drone as we waited to see if it was a Jackpot or a Dry Hole. I remember rockets, mortars, and small arms fire, and trying to get accountability of guys that were spread all over the base. I remember the long flights and long waits. I remember the brotherhood, the frustration, and finally, the realization that it really was all a bit redundant – no matter how many or how important the bad guys were that we helped capture that day, because the politicians, generals, and bureaucrats only cared about having a reason to keep the war going. “Winning” was never in the cards – it had been expunged from the deck and become a bad joke uttered with all seriousness on CNN by those that would be King.
Mikhail Moriarti 