Medals...schmedals.
Consider this.
In Sangin there are blokes living in utter sh!t, not washing for days on end, eating the same menu rat packs day after day, sleeping (?) on the ground, fighting for their lives on a daily basis, where the hardest decision can be something like "Do I return fire and give away my position, or just lie low and hope they haven't seen me?" and the biggest worry is getting killed.
Up at Kabul, there are military "advisors", admin staff, police who "patrol" the airport, interpreters, hairdressers, magicians, flower arrangers and a million and one other cling-ons who drive round in aircon Landcruisers wearing neatly pressed uniform laundered for them by the locals, dining in the US-funded dining hall where the toughest decision is which flavour ice cream goes best with which variety of fruit salad, complaining to the kitchen staff that the Coke machine has only got Diet Coke in it again, and then sloping off to their single-bed en-suite portacabin where the biggest worry is if the internet is back up to broadband speed, on the way in tripping over their body armour which has been half-kicked under their bed since day one, to watch Sky TV or e-mail the wifey
They both get the same gong.
(But I am categorically, absolutely, most definitely
not bitter!)