He was wired tight and edgy. He was in his early 30’s and if he could sleep he would look like he was in his 20’s again. He was looking for DVD’s in the Red Cross office until he redeployed. He was a large muscular man with eyes that kept darting around. He was Special Forces finishing up his fourth deployment: two in Iraq and two in Afghanistan. Special Forces and four deployments carried weight. There was an exceptional look of both kindness and sorrow in his face. Perhaps he bore the weight of knowledge.
The television was on and the talking heads were talking about the surge. They were all experts: committed, passionate and polished. The week before they were all experts on health care and next week they would be experts on oil spills. But today it was the surge of troops in Afghanistan.
“It is hopeless,” he said. “I’ve done four deployments working in the villages and it can’t be done. The problem here are the tribes. They were here before we came and they will be here after we leave. We do something and it gets undone a week after we leave. I can’t see it anymore.”
“Are you coming back,” I asked.
“I’ll be back in six months,” he said.
“Why ?” I asked.
“It is what I do.”
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