You just don’t remember the flies that are everywhere, the dirt that is everywhere, the towering hescoes that are everywhere, and the weapons. AK47s all over the place. Plus whatever the NATO guys are carrying. That’s what you notice first when you get to Camp Eggers.
But first. Back to Kuwait. We missed a few roll calls because there were too many people flying and too few seats but finally got out on Monday on a C-17. It seems chaotic but the military does it all day and all night, so moving people all over the planet is routine for the people behind the scenes. We humped the heavy duffle bags across the compound and settled in for the wait to see if we could catch a seat.
When we made the manifest, we then helped to palletize the bags. (We lugged them to the pallets; the smart guys tied them down.) Afterward, we were bused somewhere (curtains drawn again) and when the buses stopped, we were on the tarmac with a giant C-17 in front of us.
This aircraft was configured for passengers and some cargo. The seats are removable so they can put only cargo when that’s the mission. One row of permanent seats runs down the side, facing the middle of the plane, and there’s a block of airline seats that can be moved on and off in one unit that face the front of the aircraft. No music, no view screens, the seats don’t recline. The planes are Spartan – miles of exposed pipes and wires, steel floor, arch shaped (maybe 25 feet high), with hasps, clamps, gadgets hanging everywhere. It was sweltering from the middle of the plane to the rear (where I was). Cool air was blowing near the front but didn’t make it to the back. It reminded me of that trip to REFORGER in the 80s. I think we were on a C-141 then that had the jump seat configuration – canvas seats with canvas mesh webbing for back rests. Rows along the sides facing inward and then two rows in the middle facing outward. Soldiers on the sides sat facing those in the middle, knees touching. (When you’re on a jump mission, the Jumpmaster will give a command of “Outboard personnel, STAND UP” and the guys along the inside stand up; followed by “Inboard personnel, STAND UP” and the inboard guys follow suit. They’re packed in like sardines and can’t move around. The next few commands get everyone ready to shuffle forward out the door and into space.) Anyway, Myron Fanning and I were sitting under a blower and we were stripped down to our t-shirts. A few feet away on either side, guys were wearing coats. It was January, coupled with outside temperatures that were probably -50, but Myron and I were as warm as on the beach. That heat didn’t make it around the plane, unfortunately. It’s just luck of the draw where you end up sitting. Same thing with the cool air while we flew over Iran.
Everyone dozed. There were red filter lights inside the fuselage (there’s no way you could call it a cabin) that sent an eerie glow throughout the interior. GIs can sleep anywhere, anytime, and they capitalize on those minutes to get some rest. It was extremely uncomfortable but people tried to sleep anyway. The plane had two dinner plate-sized portholes, one on each side of the plane, that were about six feet from the floor. No other windows. (A cargo plane doesn’t need windows…..) The only thing you could see was that it was dark outside. It was very noisy – the Air Force crew handed out earplugs and they’re supposed to be worn. The roaring and engine whining are constant and make you long for stillness. Even with earplugs, it’s head-banging time. But, everyone made the best of it.
I thought about the culture shock again. For military, that was just how it was. People with zero experience doing this kind of thing would be mortified. And confused, probably. It’s just one big WTF?!?! But, despite the discomfort and with the jet lag everyone was feeling, the troops just took it for granted. Shoot, discomfort is the bulk of what they know all the time so they just adapt to it and it becomes their “normal”.
We landed in Bagram after 2100, I think. I started trying to figure out the times (Afghanistan is 1.5 hours ahead of Kuwait) and I guess because I was so tired, it wouldn’t even make sense when I wrote it down. I remember we had a show time at 0200 for the next flight so there was no point finding billeting to get some rest. Instead, we found a DFAC for midnight chow and then just hung around. Flies, flies, flies. Everywhere. Just awful. You know they’ve been in the port-a potty before they come visit the DFAC. You just know it. I’d forgotten how the flies are ever present.
It was cold. Unlike Kuwait where shirt sleeves at night were fine, it was time to break out the sweatshirt. I found a free phone at the MWR office and called Judy at work. I was disoriented and probably didn’t make much sense. I was trying to let her know I was in Afghanistan and OK but I’m not sure what I said. We’d been traveling since Friday (up at 0400 that morning) and it was now Tues early AM, and no one was feeling rested.
One of the guys I was traveling with found a soldier from Hawaii who was carrying a ukelele. He asked to borrow it and started playing for everyone waiting to board the aircraft.
One of the guys I was traveling with found a soldier from Hawaii who was carrying a ukelele. He asked to borrow it and started playing for everyone waiting to board the aircraft.
They called for the Kabul flight and two of us made the manifest (out of the four of us traveling together) but the flight didn’t take off when it was supposed to. Same deal as before – lug your bags to the pallet and get them on so someone can strap them down. (The other two guys made the next flight and it was only a couple of hours behind us.) We walked across the tarmac and waited while the crew got ready for us. Two of the younger guys on the flight crew were throwing a football around next to the plane – a C-130 (made famous by the Airborne in the refrain, “C-130 is a’rollin’ down the strip; Airborne Daddy gonna take a little trip…). It was dark out and cold, and the place was lit up with those klieg/halogen lights. Military aircraft were roaring all over the place and since we were adjacent to the runway, we just stood and watched planes come and go.
The C-130 was configured jump-seat style – as I mentioned earlier. We sat on red canvas seats with canvas cargo netting against our backs. Doesn’t sound like it could possibly be, but it’s comfortable for your back. It’s not so for your legs, however. You’re pretty much knee-to-knee. Same deal as before on the inside – exposed pipes and wires, some insulation, maybe two portholes, and steel cables running the length of the plane for the jumpers to hook up their static lines. The plane was cold but no one vomited, so that was a good deal. (I told Ruppert when he was in jump school that it’s nightmarish if someone on a stick (a line of jumpers) vomits as they’re getting ready to jump. Besides the stink and that the projectiles don’t have anywhere to go since everyone is touching, the psychological factor usually makes a few other guys join in and it can turn into a Roman vomitorium…
Once we landed, we waited for the other two in our group and then a rep from the company came to pick us up.
Oddly enough, the strangeness I felt the last time I was here when I first came into country wasn’t something I experienced. I didn’t see it with those fresh eyes. It looked normal – what I expected to see. The dirt; the sheep walking down the road; the lack of rules for cars as they drove inches apart and changed positions without regard for others; the trash; the dirt (there’s lots of dirt); the people moving everywhere – including the women in the blue “beekeeper’s outfits”; the Afghan National Police (ANP) standing EVERYWHERE with Kalishnikovs; the noise; the houses and compounds made of mud; the simple but beautiful stone walls topped with barbed wire and concertina; the pockmarked, shell-shocked buildings; the conexs being used for shops and houses; uncovered meat hanging in front of stalls; men squatting and bull-shitting (no such thing for women); the nasty looking brown smog that makes you realize you’re breathing shit with every inhalation; everything looking old and tired. It’s a country at war. The capital is in better shape than many parts of this nation.
I’m staying in a safe house – in the same room I was in last time. It’s all within an area they’ve turned into a green zone. Can’t say much more than that. Well secured.Within hours, I ran into four people I knew from my previous time here. Good to see all of them. I wasn’t surprised that they were still here – the place is full of contractors for whom this kind of life is their livelihood. If you can’t find work at home and a contract company offers a job paying double to four or five times what you might make if there was a job at home, it’s a no-brainer for most people. There’s zero on the fun factor, but it makes a checkbook sing.
I should be getting out of here soon and heading “downrange”. Anxious to go – management is here and people are always in a hurry to get away from “the flagpole”. I understand the feeling. I’ll write more when I get where I’m going.
No comments:
Post a Comment