I'm back at home, returned from the south of Afghanistan. I managed to catch a ride on a Blackhawk where I was the only passenger. I buckled in, gave a thumbs up to the door gunner, and we lifted off the earth. We flew through Ghazni and Sharana across the miles of open desert. I didn't want the flight to end-- I was at peace, the thrumming of the rotors and the rush of the air insulated me from the war and all my attendant emotional lows. That hour on the helicopter was a warm, detached dream, watching villages, sand, and dry hills slide below the aircraft, and I felt nothing, which was nice for a change.
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