A New Year

It's been strange coming back to the US after two months in Army-World followed by six months in Afghanistan. Endless days of anxiety, PT, preoccupation, and future-orientation were replaced with lightning fast days of happiness, listening to my kids, over-stimulation and a world that is much much faster.

My family met me at the gate, and when I think of how it felt to have my son and daughter jump into my arms, it still makes me want to cry. A month later, I continue to feel like everyone in my family is just happy to have me back on the continent.

The welcome back to my unit at Nellis AFB has been less than inspiring, which is an interesting and unexpected contrast. In December my NCO and I raised our eyebrows when we didn't receive any communication over Christmas and New Years from our unit, but we figured that we would get a good welcome home pot-luck, or at least an invite to go out for beers and dinner at a local restaurant.

What actually happened was nothing... I had a few days to in-process and then a week of R&R, and then it was back to business as usual. My commander expressed his appreciation by tasking me with his backlogged to-do list. There was a baby shower party for a pregnant officer and talk about a farewell party for our admin technician, but the four of us who had been absent for 8 months were just integrated back into the work flow, carry on.

The first week back at work I sat through our squadron commander's call, which is a 60 minute compilation of guest speakers (public service message greatest hits), awards, and the commander speaking directly to her troops. I guess I was feeling a bit raw and unappreciated, because I was pissed by having to sit through award ceremonies for people who shuffled paper at the hospital while I was deployed. The commander didn't even mention that dozens of people in her squadron had just returned from Afghanistan.

Mostly she just talked about keeping our paperwork straight, keeping sharp for an upcoming inspection, because if our duty sections do poorly it will reflect poorly...

But it's a new year. People don't get it. I get that. I would rather think that they don't get it versus thinking that they don't give a shit. Maybe I hold my military peers to a higher standard-- I expect them to get it, I expect them to empathize, to express understanding, buy me a beer, something? The USAF doesn't get it yet. People still feel that deployment consists of sitting on your hands at a quiet, secure, and well-apportioned airbase. What's the big deal. Shut up and get back to work.

I have found that my non-military friends, my family, my children-- they are the ones that get it, or at least they seem to be sensitive to the gravity.

Seven movies later...

At 2am on January 10th the World Airways DC-10 left Manas. I was seated in an aisle seat with four empty seats to my left.

I sunk into the seat with my iPod and tried to sleep. Three movies and two meals later we landed in Leipzig Germany for fuel and a crew change.

We disembarked into a large departure lounge area. There were clean bathrooms, comfortable chairs, a store, telephones and internet kiosks.

I took twenty minutes to call home and send a few emails. I browsed the store and picked out some chocolate to bring home but the lines were long-- stacked with Afghanistan-bound Soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division.

Another four movies and three meals and we had started our descent into BWI.

When we touched down a huge cheer went up from the rows of Soldiers and Airmen.

We were back on US soil.

A Bottle of Baltica 9

A three hour flight to Manas went by quickly, despite sitting in a small space where two pieces of nylon met on the bench seats. My legs were cramping and I was sitting knee to crotch across from some Senior Airman, but I didn't really care.

We circled down and dropped into Manas. They opened the cargo hold and cold air flowed in. It was much colder in Kyrgyzstan.

We loaded into buses and as we drove down the flight line I looked for a DC-10. It was January 9 and my flight back to the US was scheduled for that day. There was no DC-10 so I figured it had come and gone earlier in the day.

I can't really describe the feelings of being at Manas AB, but relief is a good general description.

Manas is an old Soviet Air Force base and as you drive onto the main part of the base you are treated to views of new US defensive structures and Soviet buildings from the 70's. Trees, old hangars, razor wire.

Manas now serves as a transition point for personnel moving in and out of Afghanistan. They have a system for processing people and it runs pretty smooth.

Within 30 minutes of getting off the bus I was getting swept up in a rush of unnatural energy. I hadn't slept or even laid prone for four days, but I was overcome with a sudden clarity when a logistics sergeant informed us that there were two flights to Baltimore leaving at 2am-- people who were scheduled to leave on the 9th were now due to leave on the 10th at 2am.

I had a long list of things to do, but my new found strength and mental acuity made these tasks seem simple. I made sure I was on the manifest for the 2am flight and was then walked next door to get my ticket for my flight from BWI to Las Vegas. It was really there, in my hand!

The next step was turning in two dufflebags of military issued gear-- this was accomplished in a huge warehouse-- piece by piece I gave back my body armor, my helmet, my sleeping bag, my chem gear, all of my load-bearing equipment.

I left that building with a lightness. I had literally lightened my load but symbolically I was really making headway towards leaving the war behind. The tools of war become integrated with your daily reality, and shrugging them off starts the process of disintegration.

The next stop was Pete's Place-- a large clamshell tent that housed pool tables, wireless internet, big screen TV's and a bar.

I stood in line with my commander, he bought me a beer, and we found a place to sit.

The beer was a 22oz bottle of Baltica 9, which is a Russian beer. It was one of two choices available. It tasted like other eastern European pale bocks I've had-- the most notable aspect being that after one bottle you don't care what it tastes like anymore.

But I was starting to feel normal again, sitting and sipping a beer, thinking about how I would be seeing my kids in just a matter of hours.

I looked around a saw two people who had come from my FOB on the same Chinook flight. They were USAF EOD Airmen, headed home. They were smiling, talking. They looked happy and light. I saw on their faces a reflection of what I starting to feel inside my heart.

Out of Afghanistan

I was told that "show time" was at 10pm, so I muddled through the day, watched some videos, shaved, showered, ate too much for lunch, waited around.

At 10pm we arrived at the terminal and found seats in the crowded bus station atmosphere. Perhaps 100 military personnel and civilians were packed into a small dingy room, waiting to hear announcements about flights out of BAF.

At 11:30pm they announced that those of us who were waiting for the Manas mission should go stand in line at US customs with all of our baggage. Luckily my baggage was preplaced near the customs facility so I was one of the first 30 who were inspected.

This process involves entirely unpacking every piece of gear and luggage and having an inspector poke through it all. They make sure people don't export a variety of things, military hardware and ammunition, I suspect, is the primary target, because I can't imagine what else you would want to bring home from Afghanistan.

After processing the line and moving my bags to a secure yard to await palletization, I moved into the departure lounge and found a seat.

Over the course of two hours they processed over 150 people and packed us all into the lounge, every seat being full, the floor covered with trash, cold weather clothing and carry-on bags. At the back of the room were bins full of the ubiquitous potato chips from UAE and cases upon cases of Blueberry Pop Tarts.

We waited patiently for seven hours before we heard anything, and it was bad news-- the aircraft's loading ramp wouldn't go down so the flight was canceled, but the good news was that there was a C-130 available to take 30 of us.

I was too exhausted to be too upset over this. I kept reassuring myself that soon I would be out, what's another day?

The sergeant read off the paired down manifest and my name was on it. A rush of energy overwhelmed me. Maybe I would get out soon?

Another 4 hours of waiting and we were notified to get ready to leave. Everyone rushed to don Kevlar helmets and body armor, sling carry on bags over shoulders.

We were bussed out onto the flight line and under a cold sky we filed into an idle C-130. The loadmaster packed us in to every available space.

Within 15 minutes the engines wound up and we taxied onto one of the runways. I still couldn't believe that I was leaving. Something had to go wrong, what was it going to be? Fog at Manas? Some valve in a hydraulic system?

In five minutes we were in the air, and after thirty minutes passed I was reassured that we would not be circling back to BAF.

I was out of Afghanistan.

More BAF

I think I've been at Bagram for four days now, living as a transient. The transitional "quarters" consist of big circus tents packed with cots that are separated by maybe six inches of dusty floor. You just walk in and look for an open cot to claim as your own. There are at least 200 cots in a large tent.

 

Sleeping in these tents is a hit or miss proposition because of the overhead lights, people talking, or people dragging gear in and out of the tent at all hours. As I lay on my aluminum and nylon cot, bootsteps reverberate from the floor.

 

I left most of my gear at the hospital and just brought my sleeping bag and a small pack with a book, long underwear, and toiletries to the transitional lodging. This simplifies things and alleviates my concerns about theft.

 

Days at BAF consist of miles of walking, sampling from different dining facilities, using the large gyms, watching movies at the MWR. I browsed the Afghan shops for potential gifts but everything seemed overpriced or of suspect quality and I found myself in no mood to haggle. Cheap Afghan rugs still cost hundreds of dollars and I don't trust the shopkeepers to steer me towards the highest quality at the lowest price. I didn't have the energy to deal with shipping stuff anyway...

 

After walking up and down Disney Drive about 10 times, jacking a few hundred salutes, I got word from the personnel people at the hospital that there was a flight to Manas and I was at the top of the manifest. The "show time" was at 2am. I woke up at 1am, got coffee at the 24 hour cafe, and dragged gear out into the cold.

 

That was almost 24 hours ago and I'm still at BAF. We've been doing one hour checks ever since then, moving from the air terminal to the clinic, to the chow hall. It's cold outside, but everyone will tolerate anything for a chance to pounce on any whisper of a flight to Manas.

Quick Recap

I'm stuck at Bagram now, limited to 30 minute chunks of time on the computers at the MWR, so I have to write fast.

To recap the last few weeks: we had a quiet Christmas after getting tasked to do a short-notice mission to two small COPs in the mountains. Nothing notable occurred.

A Christmas present to me was an email from my commander indicating that we should cease all missions due to our pending re-deployment. He didn't want us getting stuck at some remote COP, missing a return window back to BAF.

That email made me feel relieved and eager, but for some reason the end of the deployment seemed just as far away as ever. After all, I was still there, in the same place I had been all along.

On the 1st of January I received another email instructing me to return to Bagram as soon as possible-- to possibly go home earlier than we expected. He suggested that we get to BAF by the 5th. I thought, "no problem", then it started to snow.

Snow kept air routes frozen for two full days and then a broken snow plow delayed things for two more days. On the fifth day we waited a full six hours at the small air terminal and managed to get on a crowded Chinook as "stand by" passengers. The helicopters were pushing hard to make up for lost time after three days of inactivity.

A wild ride (a little evasive maneuvering, a few hundred rounds of 7.62mm) over three provinces and the slums of Kabul got us to the busy flight line of BAF. Now I'm one face among thousands at Bagram. Just trying to stay busy, stay warm.

I'm starting to process what I've been through, just a little. I bumped into someone I knew from the FOB-- he was a civilian contractor leaving for R&R in the US-- and we shared thoughts.

When it's all said and done, I'm happy that I served those Soldiers. I gave my service to them and I think I made a difference, did my job, and I'm leaving behind no regrets.

I'm not out of this yet, but my work there is done.

BAF

Update: I have moved to Bagram and will continue to blog after I get some outprocessing done. It has been an interesting few weeks.

Right now I am acclimating to the squalor of being a transient. On the one hand I'm dirty and unshaven, but on the other hand I am very happy to be at this big city-like airbase.

Thousands of people are transitioning in and out, so it is crowded and impersonal. But there is espresso! Those of us who lived forward have barely restrained disdain for the people who spent their deployment at Bagram and then loudly complain about how they have to wait a few more days to leave.

I'm just happy to be here.

January 5-- Arriving at BAF from the FOB

Frozen wastes of the HLZ at a FOB in Eastern Afghanistan

Bad weather kept the skies of Afghanistan locked down for rotary aircraft. The day I was notified to leave it started to snow, and it didn't stop for three days.