I know generals. I have met them. Not the four-star generals. Not the American generals. Not in Afghanistan, not in Iraq. But I have met some.
I know generals. They eat five miles for breakfast. They eat ten miles for lunch. They run a marathon for dinner. They despise a warm meal. They are lean, they are mean. They are dressed in green.
I know generals. They like West Point. They love Lebanon. They wear uniforms. They like women who love uniforms. They love women who like generals. They were told to win hearts and minds. They did just that. Of those they charmed.
desperately mailing: I know generals
I know generals. They are lonely at the top. There is no one to talk to. Liars, all liars! They are detached from their troops. Detached from home. They fight a war they cannot win. But don't tell your boss. Don't tell your men. Don't crush the morale. Don't let the country down.
I know generals. A cold heart in a cold bed in a tent in a desert. Long days, long nights. Locked-in syndrome. Kabul syndrome! Long letters to Jill. Long walks with Paula. Someone listening. Someone to talk to. To breathe. Someone to be honest with. No more lies, no more fear.
I know generals. General McChrystal: I celebrate my wedding anniversary at McDonald's, everything else is „too Gucci“. General Petraeus: betray us! General Allen: 20'000 emails and still no clue. Appointed leaders in a leaderless time. Honored men in dishonorable circumstances. Afghanistan is a lost case. Let's get the hell out of here. I'm coming home, Barack! Throw a party, Jill! Write my final chapter, Paula! Paula?