Fly Killas

In our last episode, our hero was stymied by the client’s decision to sent one of our group CONUS. Despite the reasons that he may have done this, or the reasons the Company may have allowed it, it turns out that this member was our in-country Project Manager.

Hence, we’re leaderless. The proverbial ship without a tiller, rack without the pinion, state without the head, evening news without the anchor, shoes without the laces, snickered without the doodle, and somewhat annoyed and analogyless.


Some might ask, “what the fuck?” but I’m trying not to curse so much.

In the interest of avoiding my own conniption fit, I’ll skip the fetid meat of the matter and skip towards the bottom line. That being we needed a leader and nobody volunteered.

We have a few qualified candidates here – project managers, folks who know the type of report we’re writing, those with military construction and service experience – but each had enough experience with our client, and just in the first few days, to not want to be his primary POC, and ultimately be responsible for this flaming turd.

As for me, I was really hoping to play second oud on this job, but expediency finally convinced me to step to the fore and accept the role of “Project Leading”. Some day, the Company may assign the “Lead” role to me, but until then, I’m just leading.

I guess it’s something to do and, short of work, there’s little of interest at the KAF. Of course, I get haircuts whenever I can, mostly to enbjoy the smallest measure of human contact, even if that contact is by a gold toothed Slav who prattles on and on and on with her workmates, but those are just once a week. I read some, and walk about, and visit the British Gym most nights, where the guy on the bike next to me last night, if dressed in vinyl clothes would have looked just like “the only gay in the village.” I was amused, but that’s how I roll.

At work, we're in this stick constructed plywood box out in what they call "South Park", an exurb to the KAF. When we first got here, the unit who owns the place (Air Force's Red Horse) was still working on it, so open doors and windows brought in a ton of flies. As such, we keep busy with the two swatters in close reach on the conference room table to whack the buggers, sometimes killing three score or more in a day. With our eradication process advancing, construction complete and the air conditioner finally working, we're only killing a dozen or so each day these days, but were still at it.

Fly killing is our calling. Fly killers is who we are. Fly Killas is how we roll.