17 Years ago today, the Second Battle of Fallujah began. It was the single largest urban battle US forces engaged in since Hue City, Vietnam, in 1968. I usually don't make a big deal of memorializing it, but maybe I should.
The men I fought alongside in Fallujah were the best men I ever knew. Not all of them made it. None of us made it home unchanged.
I share my worst memories with my bravest brothers.
I truly would not have it any other way.
This year, the memories sting a little harder than usual. The disastrous collapse of the US mission in Afghanistan, and the restoration of control to the Taliban, marks the final and utter failure of our adventures in the Middle East.
I suppose it was inevitable. Bringing US-style Democracy to those places was always a fool's errand.
Even so, the images of the Afghanistan pull-out, and the news that we left Americans and Allies behind to face the mercy of our enemies, just hammers home how little we accomplished, despite all the blood, sweat, and tears.
But the one thing that I learned in my years of service is that courage and valor exist independently of causes.
Win or lose, right or wrong, the Marines and Corpsmen of 1/3—and one particular Army Ranger brother—were the bravest sons-of-bitches I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. It was an honor to chew the same ground as those men, and if given the choice to do it over again, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Even knowing how it ends.
So tonight, boys, this cigar and this drink are for you.
To Brave Men and Lost Causes.
May all we meet again in happier times.
I'm an award-winning science fiction and fantasy writer based out of North Carolina. This is where I scream into the digital void. I like cookies.