Fool me once....

When I last left, I was in Bagram Air Base waiting on a Helo ride to a small base called Wazi Kwah. Having waited for this specific flight before, I was skeptical as to the reality of this flight actually occurring. My trust in the military air transit program has been diverted from trust to distrust. When I go for a flight now I am only 30% sure that the flight is going to leave, 20% sure it will leave on time, and 50% sure that I will be having coffee in Bagram the next day with the other Sub guy here, Matt. As you see I have 100% confidence that something will happen.

As I go out to the "steel beach" to wait for the helo, we all gather and climb into a duece and a half truck to take us to the chopper. I am not sure how many people have been in a duece and a half, but they DO NOT make it easy to get into. I am an average sized guy, about 5 Ft 10 inches tall, and I have some minor to major difficulty in getting on. To make it easier the truck's tailgate has a foot stirrup to get up in the bed of the truck. Sadly that stirrup is about six to eight inches higher than it is comfortable to raise your foot. So securing your footing while getting in is, simply, not feasible. So this NAVY LT goes to get in the back of this vehicle. . . step one is to hand my M-16 to a guy already in the truck. . . step two is to raise my foot up. . . step three is to use my hand to raise my foot so that is rests against the stirrup. . .and finally step four is to be pulled to the bed by grabbing the arm of a guy already in the truck. An alternate step four is to take a "running leap" into the stirrup and then to the bed of the truck, but this can lead to injury of both your leg and your ego. As you can see, getting into the bed of the truck is highly dependent on another person already being in the truck. . . I will never be the first guy in the truck, of that I am sure.

The Steel Beach is an area of the runway, at Bagram, built and left by the Russians during their occupation of Afghanistan. Put simply, it is interconnected sections of steel forming about a half of a mile of the runway. It is so damaged and dented that only the helos can use that part of the runway. It is also a torturous place to wait for a delayed helicopter to take off, as the morning sun beats down on all those in the vicinity. We get our bags out of the back of the duece and a half and jump out of the bed of the truck, which is another trick of the trade that the NAVY really doesn't have a lot of skill with (at least not this NAVY LT). After jumping a story off of the truck, I land with no skill on the ribbed steel grating and nearly topple due to the additional weight added by my body armor. We are told that they are not yet sure which helo will be taking us, so they drop us off in the middle of steel beach and we wait. I will admit that the best way to keep the enemy guessing is to keep yourselves guessing as well, but I like things that are planned, especially if I have already been waiting two hours. So I wait. . . and wait. . . and wait. Finally they come out and tell us the helo. Murphy's Laws are fully functional in Afghanistan, as it turns out our bird was on the end of the pad, and we had to haul all of our bags and boxes with us down to it.

I get to Wazi Kwah without trouble, and begin to do my work. I finish within a matter of hours and must now wait for the next bird out. I am staying in a concrete building which has no internally separated rooms, in short a concrete open bay barrack. Directly out the back door of my concrete building were "the tubes." The tubes are literally 8 inch PVC pipes that have been dug into the ground. . . these tubes each had a mesh screen, and served their soul purpose of being temporary urinals. At least I did not have to walk far at night. Next to them was a sight that brought back memories of my conversation with my operations officer. As I told her that I would be going out to these remote operating bases, she replied to me that there were other considerations and I could not just go there at a whim. "For example," she said "There are places that still burn their own poo."

Directly behind a group of individual buildings to the right of the tubes, I saw some tubs burning with flames high, and I took a picture for her of "burning poo."

The very next day the base CO tells me that there is a bird leaving and going to Salerno, but I probably don't want to go there. His assumption is wrong, so he tells me that the bird will be there is eight minutes, how long will it take me to pack. While I was about to explain to him my proficiency at packing, but figured it would be easier just to tell him that I only needed five minutes. It really only took three.

Five minutes later I was at the LZ, waiting for the sound of a chopper inbound. So I waited. . . and waited. . .and waited. It is amazing how every noise can sound like an inbound chopper when that is what you are waiting for. So I waited. Finally the report comes back that the bird has been cancelled, and I went back to the open bay concrete building that I was staying in.

The next day the base CO came to me again, and told me that there was a flight headed to Salerno, it was leaving in twenty minutes. I thought to myself "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me" So I leisurely packed up my bags and walked out to the LZ again. Waiting, like a fool, for a helo to show up. After a little while, I went back to the CO and asked him the status of the bird. His reply was that the bird was late, but it was coming. So I waited. . . and I waited. . . and I waited. I finally went up to get some lunch and sat out in front of the DFAC to read my book. I got through another chapter of Vince Flynn's "Memorial Day" when the sound of an incoming chopper grew and grew until I was sure that the bird was actually coming.

I put my book away and stuffed my bottle of Gatorade in my right cargo pocket. Picking up my M-16 I went out to the road an began the long walk to the LZ. On my left, one of the refuelers started up his Polaris ATV and told me to jump onto the back and hold on. So I jump on the back rack of the ATV with the grace and skill of any good Sub LT, and hold on to the rack with my left hand, my M-16 digging into my back. I tell him, "I'm good" and we headed down the rocky road. As we sped away from my pickup point is when I came to the realization that it probably was not a good idea, but what the hell, I was already there.

As we arrive at the LZ, the ATV drops me off and grabs my bags while I put on my body armor, and then jump back onto the same rack. Then the ATV driver speeds over to the awaiting cargo door of the Chinook helicopter. I dismount the ATV again and wait as the Chinook continues to pour people and gear out of its cargo hold, emptying enough certainly to make room for me and the Local National Interpreter (Terp) that was going with me. With the generous amount of room left, I took my seat, buckled in and took off.

That ride was by far the bumpiest helo trip so far. I am not sure if there was a new pilot or if the winds were just that bad, but there were a few times when it felt like I was on a roller coaster, only I was sitting sideways vice forward in anticipation when we went over the first large drop. Even the tailgunner, legs dangling out the cargo door of the massive two propeller'd helicopter raised his arms in excitement as gravity (or the helicopter) caught back up to us.

The next to last stop prior to reaching Salerno, a familiar face in orange sunglasses got onboard the helo. Unbeknownst to me, he sat down just a few feet from where I was, and it was not until after the bird took flight again that I recognized Coupe, one of the Navy guys that I went through all of my training with. Talking was difficult amidst the noise of the helicopters turbine so we yelled our greetings and quickly told each other where we had been.

As we neared Salerno the air grew more humid and the vegetation on the ground grew more frequently green, telling signs that we were just a few minutes out. Coupe and I got off the bird and I went to my office where many faces were surprised to see me, thinking that I would still be a few weeks out. And I would be if it were not for that fortuitous flight from Wazi Kwah to Salerno, saving me time and money by letting me bypass Bagram.

Helicopters

In the last 12 days I have been in 5 helicopters, four of which actually took me someplace, and the other that did not leave the ground. In preparation for each of these trips I have packed and unpacked my bags for travel. I carry with me one seabag, which contains all of my clothes, sleeping bag, and other items, and one medium backpack, which contains a laptop (not my personal one) and other electronic gizmos. As I discovered packing and unpacking both of these bags was really just preparing me for my packing sprint, which I will explain shortly.

Since my last posting I have been to Jalalabad (J-Bad) and Torkham Gate. The trip to J-Bad was a night flight and it dropped me into an interesting and at the time scary situation. The helo landed, and the aircrew told us to deplane and wait on the side of the helo. Waiting there while other cargo was being unloaded, and knowing that this was my stop, I asked the forklift driver where it was that I was to go to. The guy told me to cross the field and go to the left of a couple of lights. So I grabbed my backpack and slung it on my back over my body armor, then grabbed my M-16 and attached it to the front of my body armor in a D-ring just for that purpose, then, slinging my seabag over my shoulder, I set off across the airfield to the left of the two lights that we saw.

It was at this point that I realized that I had to cross the actual runway that the C-130s coming there land on. Setting my sights on the other side of the runway I look up to see if there are any landing lights headed my way. With no lights to be seen, I run across the runway and make it to the other side, my heart pounding slightly both from the excitement of the run and also from the weight of my gear.

It was at this point that I made my mistake. . . having two options 1) to continue across the airfield to a nearby road or 2) to continue along the runway to another set of lights. I naturally chose option one, thinking of removing myself from the position of being next toa landing C-130. As I make it to the road I see a gated entrance to a compound, with two guards on watch in the hut. As I get closer and approach the gate I notice something about the guards that catches me at a bit of a surprise. . . the guards are most defiantly not American, in fact one of them has a beard and neither of them are speaking English. They look at me almost as confused as I look at them, then one of them says,"I.D?" To which I give them my ID, and then they say, "ARMY" and point down the road which runs along the runway. I thank them and ask them how far it is, to which they reply, "ARMY" and point down the road which runs along the runway. Knowing that I am not going to get a better answer than that I turn and walk along the road.

As I walk along the road I notice a few things, my nerves being slightly shaken at this point. For example there was a man walking in the darkness along the road in the bushes, then I passed what appeared to be an abandoned air terminal (Of course you never really know it is abandoned in Afghanistan), finally, that which shook me wholly to my bones, I saw the equivalent of a convenience store, most definitely not American. Continuing along the road, I came to a curve and around this curve was the first sign of American life... a HUMVEE. I walked a little further and found the entrance to the military base that I was looking for. Now, my nerves relaxed, I asked the guard on duty where I could find a place to sleep being that it was almost 3am. The next day I walked back along my route and discovered that I was in no danger at all, but for the darkness shaking my nerves.

Leaving J-Bad a couple of days later, I flew to a place called Torkham Gate, a small military encampment a few miles from the Pakistan Border at the entrance to the Khyber Pass. This being a day flight, I was able to see the lush valley surrounding J-Bad and the slowly flowing river that ran through it. It was interesting to watch the small town give way to desert. Small bits of civilization could be seen sporadically as newer mud homes were built near older mud homes that had been destroyed by years of erosion.

While at Torkham Gate I met up with some SF guys that were there to check out the area and operations. Together we hiked up one of the closer mountainsides to one of the bases outposts. Taking 26 minutes to get to the top, I was covered in sweat and nearly out of breath, it felt like we ran up the mountainside. Having arrived at the top, we descended the mountain on the far side, along a path that was much steeper than it first appeared. Making our own switchbacks along this steep decline, I felt more like a mountain goat than a hiker. It was the most fun I've had since I started this operation.

The SF guys had a bird lined up to take us out of Torkham within a few days, so we waited for it to come. While waiting it turned out that someone decided to cancel the bird. They were not happy, and called their O-6 to get the bird back, who in turn called some random general. The morning of the flight we were told that it was not coming. As we went to lunch, the SF Major went to check his email. As he read his email he said that we have the bird, and it should have been there an hour ago. Just as he told me to go and tell the other guys to pack their stuff, a person came in the office and said that some helos were inbound. It was at this point that all of my packing preparation came into play, as I sprinted getting all of my stuff together to get it to the helicopter in time.

The helicopter was a Blackhawk, this rounded out my collection of airframes that I could ride in Afghanistan, my collection complete I think that I am now eligible for a free knife set. As one of the last guys to get on, I ended up with what I consider the best seat in the house, though some may disagree and until I ride again I will not know. I was in the front of the passenger compartment facing forward in the middle of the bird. The roof set 8 inches above my head, and one person on either side of me. I was set up with a view through all available windows, each of the gunners and the three that the pilot and copilot had. As the bird took off I could see that all of the traffic on the road that runs along torkham gate was closed off, and people were out of their cars watching the two helicopters leave the area.

Arriving back at Bagram, I called my friend Matt and we retreated to our favorite haunt on Bagram. The place with the only vice allowed... the coffee shop. Here I sit now waiting for another bird to go to another place.

Anniversary

Traveling around Afghanistan is like flying at Christmas. I have now had more flights cancelled in the last month than in the whole of my life. What am I to do? I guess that I will just sit in BAF and blog.

This last flight cancellation was a bit more interesting than most, in that I was actually in the Chinook prior to the rotary blades began to spin. As they blades pickup up speed, the low thump-thump became a higher pitch while the airframe began to vibrate, almost excessively. Within ten minutes the engines had been started up and shut down, the mission was CANEXED. I waited on the flightline for nearly eight hours while someone not on the flightline made the decision to postpone till a later time.

While waiting I met an interesting individual. His name is Chad Hunt, he is a freelance photographer here on his own dime to get out and see Afghanistan through the lense of his camera (which is a pretty sweet 14 Megapixel monster camera). We talked at great length and exchanged email info. He has a website that has some very interesting photsgraphs and a blog on his experiences here, which are substantially different than mine. Check it out! His website is http://www.chadhuntphotography.com.

This week held my one month anniverary in the great country of Afghanistan. Along with this momentus occassion comes two medals that I would have never imagined ever wearing or earning. The Nato Medal (picture not available) and the Afghanistan Campaign Medal (pictured somewhere on this blog). Also, due to my wearing an Army uniform, I now also rate wearing the 10th Mountain Battle Patch on my right arm (finally something to cover all of that velcro). Here is hoping that these are the end of my wartime medals, I would rather not be put in for any of those medals requiring valor or injuries (I don't think my two weeks of rifle training in South Carolina really prepped me for those).

Thats it for now. Hopefully next time I write will be from a different location and with some pictures, this requires that my new laptop hard drive gets here sooner rather than later. Tchuss.

Salerno, Af

The last couple of days have been a blur, and I have let my blogging (is that really a verb) lapse a bit. I have gotten some questions about Salerno, so I will briefly describe it.

Salerno is a tent city, which is slowly being repopulated with concrete structures. I live in one of these tents. The tent, being 30 Ft by 20 Ft, is intended in its current purpose to house six individuals. Right now it houses four, myself and three other Army Officers that I work with. I have been supplied with a cot (a green canvas wrapped about an aluminum frame), a bookshelf (amazingly well crafted by the on site carpenters), and a roof over my head. There are no walls to separate us, though I have set forth to create these walls. . . these barriers.

I work with two civilians who have one of these tents to themselves. They have built more than walls. . . they converted one of those cots to a couch, and are currently building lounge chairs. Their tent serves as my oasis in this desert of personality. One of the others that I live with works the night shift, and thus sleeps from dawn till dusk, leaving me no place to hang out when I finish my work for the day. So I retreat to this small living room with a TV and five AFN channels.

The nights in Salerno are almost like being back at sea. . . give me some saltwater mist and a half asleep lookout and it would be like being on the midwatch on the surface. By this analogy I mean that the sky is clear, with no light pollution to distort the night sky, the stars shine through with amazing clarity, so much so that even the Milky Way shows through. The last few nights have given some fantastic lightning storms on the horizon, providing for great photoops, but sadly my good camera is in Norfolk, and the one I have here is not that good.

This week I also experienced my third different airframe. . . the Chinook Helicopter. I have to say that the awe of it wears off after about forty five minutes. Boarding the helo was interesting. . . we boarded the craft from the back, via the cargo ramp. The path headed toward the helicopter was turbulent with both cool and hot air. Without glasses it would have been difficult to view the twin propellers, the cause of all of this commotion, spinning 8 feet overhead. I carried with me two bags, a backpack over my armor and a seabag in my left hand, my M-16 held snuggly to my body by a large black D-ring. As I approached the ramp, I noticed that the end was a bit higher than it looked from the terminal, in fact it was a bit higher than I raised my right foot. So much so that I tripped onto the ramp, being the third in a procession of twenty-two, it did not seem to be the right time to trip. While it was funny looking back, it was more just sortof embarrassing at the time. . . when someone asked me "Are you OK Captain," I did not correct him to show that I was Navy, I merely let him continue to think that I was in the Army. . . GO NAVY.

The ramp went up in preparation for takeoff, at this I got out my iPod in preparation for the journey. Selecting "30 Seconds to Mars" to listen to, I hit play. As the music transitioned to the chorus of the first song, the helo lifted off the ground, the singer singing "and I will run into infinity." I should have been a DJ, the timing was so perfect. Myself and the 21 other souls flew low over the countryside for a little while. This being my first daytime journey across this country, I took in every bit that I could, looking not just out the portholes across from me, but out the back cargo ramp, open bit to allow a gunner to sit with his legs dangling over the edge, just one movement away from a grim demise.

The countryside was mostly arid, barren land with few oasis' showing themselves around small buildings. As we traveled from valley to valley between the ragged mountains I wondered what use this land could really provide. The mountains at this altitude had few if any trees, but had an abundance of rocks. In a short time we arrived back at Bagram Air Base where I am until my next ride out. . . I wonder if I will get a Blackhawk out of here, and then again if I will trip getting into the craft, a tradition that I hope I have not started as Dr Maturin of the Patrick O'Brien novels does as he boards most naval vessels.

Until next time I get on. . . be safe.