The Soviets showed us what not to do. We did it bigger.

What We Left Behind

We recently pulled out of the country, and after all that time, it feels like we left things not much different from when I was there over 20 years ago. One of my biggest fears won’t come true now, at least — my son won’t fight the same war I fought. That war being over might be the only thing we can count as a win. Bin Laden didn’t even die there. And I can’t help but wonder how many new Bin Ladens we created during that twenty-year occupation.

When I first went, I was young and idealistic. I thought what we were doing mattered. I thought we were defending something. Now I look back and ask — what’s the legacy? Stock prices for Raytheon and Lockheed? Rows of graves? Kids who never met their fathers?

I feel like I have a responsibility to make the most of my life, knowing how many didn’t get that chance. I’m not sure I’m meeting that standard, but I get up every day and try.


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Afghanistan

Afghanistan was my first war. We were demolishing giant caches of weapons and explosives, and it never made a dent. Blow up one, find two more the next day. The enemy wasn’t just persistent — they were protected. Welcomed across a border we weren’t allowed to cross.

We weren’t chasing ghosts. We were chasing people with support networks that went untouched. Not only was the enemy not beaten, but they were embedded in terrain, culture, and tribal ties we never fully understood.

It’s impossible not to notice how closely we followed the Soviet playbook, almost move for move. The same terrain, the same overconfidence, the same retreat. But when we left, we didn’t just walk away — we handed over more than just weapons caches. We gave them an air force, upgraded their mobility from Toyota Hilux trucks to uparmored Humvees, and left behind decades of infrastructure and training. It was a full military ecosystem, gifted to the same fighters we’d once called the enemy — or their sons. The irony isn’t subtle. We laughed at the Russians for bleeding out in those mountains, then traced their footsteps in boots with better funding.

Looking back, it’s hard not to see the bigger pattern. The U.S. spread itself across multiple theaters, drawing in allies to fight alongside us in Afghanistan and Iraq, while the Soviets concentrated nearly all of their combat power in Afghanistan, relying on client states and proxies—Cuba in Angola, Soviet-backed regimes in Africa and the Middle East—to fight other fronts on their behalf. Both approaches trapped themselves and their allies in grinding, costly quagmires. Powerful armies, foreign alliances, and endless fights that bleed resources, morale, and meaning, leaving behind more questions than answers.



Iraq: Baghdad During the Sectarian Storm

Then came Iraq. I was there during some of the worst sectarian violence in Baghdad. I remember we were finding bodies every couple of days — whether in the trunk of cars, in alleys, or left right in the middle of the street.

We had overthrown a brutal dictator, sure. But we didn’t understand the social dynamics of the region we invaded. I didn’t, anyway. I didn’t realize Saddam had kept the minority in power, and that the majority population had years of resentment built up — years they were now unleashing on anyone tied to the old regime, or anyone who looked like them.

It wasn’t peace we brought. It was a power vacuum. A spark in a room full of fumes.



Abu Ghraib: A Symbol We Couldn’t Escape

At one point, I worked security at Abu Ghraib. Our original mission was perimeter security — watching the outside, keeping the place protected. But in reality, we spent more time dealing with prisoners who had escaped the MPs. We ended up keeping people in, not just threats out. That wasn’t the plan, but nothing over there ever went to plan.

The scandal had already broken — the photos, the headlines, the global outrage. We talked about it, sure — used the kind of dark humor Joe is known for to keep the cracks from getting too wide. It wasn’t cruelty. It was survival.

A whole new group of National Guard MPs had taken over, but the damage was already done. Abu Ghraib wasn’t just a prison anymore. It was a symbol. And we were stuck in it, literally and figuratively.

One day, some National Guard soldiers in MRAPs called us over to check out what looked like a suspicious vehicle — a possible VBIED. Then, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, they took a few shots at it. A couple seconds later — BOOM. The blast was close — maybe 45 feet from us — and heavy, but by then I’d already hit so many IEDs that it barely registered.

My gunner was behind his shield and came out fine. We checked ourselves, checked the truck — maybe a flat tire, but no real damage. Just shrapnel bouncing off the up-armor like rain on a tin roof. And we kept pushing. No dramatic pause, no medevac. Just another entry in a long list of close calls.



Looking Back, Looking Forward

We were trained to win wars. But what we got was something murkier. Something that leaves you with more questions than answers. And if I have any responsibility now, it’s to live in a way that honors the truth of what we saw — not the myths we were sold.

That means being honest about how little we understood, and how little we changed. It means looking at the world now — the instability, the extremism, the chaos — and asking if we helped create it. It means telling our stories, even when they hurt.

Because if there’s one legacy we can leave behind, it’s that the next generation sees through the lies before the shooting starts.

-Mic G