Thursday, September 07, 2006

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.

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