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As far as I was concerned, the war was over. The president said so and we weren’t shooting anyone; we were just killing time, waiting for the word to go home. We spent our days moping around, trying not to sweat too much in our cement buildings as the Iraqi summer heat got hotter. We still did missions, but they felt more like a way of keeping us from going completely stir crazy than anything else—the way your dad might suddenly decide to take you to the park after spending the whole day watching cartoons.
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