Saturday-- my NCO was supposed to arrive at some point that day. I checked at the TOC for pending flights into the FOB and they had one incoming flight at 2230 Zulu (0130am). As the sun set there was a huge storm cell scouring the mountains on the Afghan/Pakistan border, lightning illuminating the boiling clouds from within. Wind had picked up and flags were snapping on post. I was sure the flight would be canceled. The team I had replaced 3 days ago was waiting at the LZ with their bags, hoping the Chinook would come in, bringing my guy and carrying them back to BAF, then on to Manas, then home.
I struggled to stay awake until 0130am and I heard rotors beating the air. I rushed out into the dark to the LZ but it was a pair of Blackhawks on a medevac run to BAF. The Chinook was delayed. I went back to my hut and dozed. At 0330am the heavier, deeper thrum of a Chinook shook the FOB. Again, I rushed to the LZ, the night lit up under the full moon. Two huge Chinooks had dropped into the LZ and were disgorging passengers and cargo under the moonlight, but no NCO for me. The Chinooks left a few minutes later, one following the other, engine pods glowing red, powering into the sky.
The doc and tech waiting to get out were standing on the edge of tthe dark field patiently-- they told me the helos were coming back after a quick run to another FOB and then they would go to BAF. They waited with the patience of two men who were but a few days from being back with their families. I know I'll be willing to wait all night when it's my turn... I shook their hands and said "goodbye", closing the door on their tour and symbolically beginning mine. I went to bed. The sun was coming up. It was 0415am.
