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Twenty-four hours prior to the most humiliating moment of my life, I was riding high–it was a good day in Afghanistan. My platoon were the first troops from the 82nd in country, and our operational pace had been nonstop for four months. I'd seen a lot things, but nothing could prepare me for what was about to happen.
Several high-ranking officers had been selected to go have a meet-and-greet, diplomatic-type lunch with the Afghan warlords that ran the area. They selected me to accompany them to lunch. At the time, I thought that I was some sort of super-trooper, asked to attend because I was the best my unit had to offer. As a PFC (Private First Class), I was probably just there to fill a seat and provide some added level of security. (more…)
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