Mileposts

Terminal 1 at Dubai is a spectacular place. Fifty foot ceilings and fake palm trees. Food court and hotel. Acres of seating. Shopping and more shopping. One hundred more minutes, and I’ll be done with it and another step closer to home.


At Warrior, the FOB from a couple of days ago, I figured I was as far from home as I was going to get, as it would take another helo ride to get back to Sharana, then a fixed wing to Bagram Friday, then four more flights to get home over forty hours starting Sunday morning. All told, we’ll have had nineteen separate flights over the past three weeks or so. Now I’m down to my last three.

Once I’m on this next one, though, most of the potential trouble will be behind me, as, fourteen and a half hours after departure, I’ll be at Dulles, and I can walk home from there. Finding another way home from the Middle East is a bit harder. Not as hard as finding another flight from Bagram to Dubai, though, which is ultimately easier than finding another way from FOB Warrior to Sharana. There’s really no way to walk that route – no *safe* way to walk that route.

Each leg brings me closer, and while each leg gets progressively easier, the desire to accelerate my travel increases, and the waiting is getting more difficult. Another hour or so, and we’ll process through security once more, wait a bit, then board. If I’m fortunate, the food will arrive early, and sleep soon thereafter. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep for the entire flight, but any time unconscious on a transatlantic hop is time well spent.

For now, there’s reflection on another successful assignment, and wonder as to what will follow.

Read More......

Four and a Wake-up

Well, after the General briefing yesterday, we’re done here, except for that part about leaving, getting on a helicopter and four airplanes and making it back to the Midwest. If the number of flights were any indication of the depth of this shithole,…

When I say “done”, I mean that there’s no more work required to satisfy the contract requirements. Eye Eeee, how does one waste a few days in the middle of the high desert of eastern Afghanland? Besides wailing and ululating.


I started by sleeping in as long as I could, then showered and called the wife. Lay on the bed for a couple of hours, reading my fifth book (Political thriller, farce, two shoot ‘em’ ups, and now a murder mystery). I may delve into the local DVD collections this afternoon, and maybe a snooze on the dayroom couch. I did laundry yesterday, so I’m probably done with that for this trip.

We have one more excursion planned for tomorrow, but not a task included in the scope of work. The Polish airfield that we couldn’t get to earlier has a particular and peculiar drainage problem that I’ve been asked to take a look at while I’m here with nothing better to do. Somehow (who knows), air transportation became available, better late than never, so, although any information gathered won’t help our planning efforts, why waste the experience of a few engineers while they’re here. All they really had to do was say “helicopter ride” and, like the family dog with prospects of a car ride, I’d have my vest and helmet in hand and be headed towards the door. A chance to solve a problem is gravy.

As well, it’s an excuse to get off the FOB. The last thing I want is to be known as a Fobbit – a very derogatory term used to describe the various desk jockeys and support personnel, military or otherwise, who do whatever it takes to maintain the garrison lifestyle. I can’t see the appeal of traveling 8,000 miles just to hang around a large military base, but to others, there’s no consideration of an existence that doesn’t include a well stocked PX, hard sided DFAC, cable TV, and a Dairy Queen/Orange Julius franchise.

Might as well stay home.

Read More......

Over the Wire

Since I landed in country, there’ve been a mess of helicopter flights to various bases in the eastern quarter of Afghanistan, but I never got out of the FOBs themselves. Peering through the chainlink, or even standing atop the Hesco barriers that line the perimeter occasionally, I could clearly see Afghanistan. It’s awfully mountainous there, outside the wire, and there are few places on any of the bases where you can’t see some very rugged terrain in the distance, well beyond the boundaries of any camp.

But I had yet to set foot outside the wire and into Afghanland proper, until this morning. My work in Iraq was reconstruction, not military, and required over seventy missions outside the comforts and security of the Green Zone. Here, by and large, the work I’m planning is already within the safety and confines of existing base real estate, except for a few runways.


The proposed runway at one of the Polish bases was just outside the wire, and we could see the total flatness of the site from high atop a couple of guard towers. Flat ground, by the way, is a pretty good condition for new runways. From my perch behind the sandbags next to the machine gun, I could make an educated guess as to the rough order of magnitude of work required to construct the thing. Not the best of field investigations, but better than others.

At the second Polish base, project timing and security issues kept us from getting close to the FOB, so we needed to rely on firsthand accounts of site conditions from a Master Sergeant who had been there on another mission last week, and tried his best to recall the local environment. Even this was better than much of what we had in Kandahar – or didn’t have in Kandahar, as most of the time we couldn’t speak with anyone who had anything close to a detailed understanding of local site conditions.

Today, though, my Electrical and I donned our helmets and vests and mounted a few MRAPs to get boots on the ground at our new runway site at Sharana. For this mission, we were accompanied by a dozen heavily armed soldiers and their three armored vehicles providing security. It was a simple reconnoiter, really. Exit the FOB, and then encircle the base a mile or two off of the fence until we could identify the upwind end of what had previously been identified as the correct alignment. Take a few snaps, then work the two miles up the ridge to the other end of where the runway could end up.

Simple, though, lasted half a day. There were a few equipment and communications problems that required resolution before we could take off, as well as the requisite pre-mission briefing. Also with our contingent was another consultant, who was interested in seeing a different piece of land that his group is eyeing for something or other. Since this other property was closer to the gate, we went there first and, since we’d already dismounted to look it over, the LTC figured we could just walk the rest of the way. So we did, spread out over a hundred meters or so, our shooters nearby, and the three MRAPs running mostly parallel to us on the bad guy side.

I’m pretty sure now that “Afghanistan” is local for “Land of Rocks and Thistles”. At least, this part of the country is. Lots of black, heavily fractured, fist sized metamorphic rocks, bedded in sand. The scrubby little plants were all thorny or thistly, and seemed to be doing their best to keep from being eaten. I spied a couple of small, very quick footed lizards, and quite a few locusts, but that was it for indigenous life.

Onward we trudged through this landscape, trying to identify from the satellite image we had which rolling ridge was the one we were supposed to be observing. About two miles later, we think we had the downwind terminus identified. The intervening distance was more rocks and thistles, rolling over minor ridges and through dry wadis and drainageways, with 15 to 20 meters differences between the tops and bottoms.

As the sun rose higher towards midday, the forty pounds of Kevlar and ceramic plates I was wearing were starting to remind me of their mass, and the thin air at this elevation was jabbing me in the chest. I looked around at my shooters, wearing not only gear similar to mine, but a weapon or two, 180 additional rounds for their M-4s, at least two spare magazines for their M-9s, plus radios, knives, first aid, and whatever other kit gets strapped to their vests or crammed into cargo pockets, plus the additional burden of making sure I didn’t get whacked. I felt lighter already.

Across one broad valley were a half dozen Bedouin tents – large, white, multi-poled structures right out of history. From the scat and evidence of very selective browsing, I wasn’t surprised when we encountered one of the Bedouin goatherds, pushing a few score of mostly black, long haired animals through his historic grazing lands – lands that will be fully within the FOB perimeter within a couple of years. The LT gave the goatherd a bottle of water and the two groups passed without a word.

Eventually, we identified our ridge, using physical features compared to an older satellite image we carried with us. Unfortunately, the site’s not flat (as it looks from space and later on a piece of paper), but continues the rolling terrain predominant through our hike so far. This condition will undoubtedly increase project costs, but probably not beyond a point where we wouldn’t build the facility.
Whenever we’d stop to confer on the map or conditions, the group would naturally clump much closer together. Standing still in a large group on top of a ridge made us an obvious target for anyone who might have less than honorable intentions, so we tried to minimize our time in this configuration and weren’t particularly surprised when we heard the rocket attack.

However, if they were aiming at us, fully exposed on open ground, their aim still sucks, as the plume came from well inside the base, and we were – safely – outside. Regardless, we hustled back to the relative shelter of the MRAPs as the second and third rockets hit, then waited for the all clear from base operations, not occurring until after the local battery let loose a small flurry of artillery to squelch the local impertinence.

Back in the MRAPs, the air conditioning was cranked and, since the past three or four miles looked the same, our assumption was that the remaining mile would look the same, and our boots were no longer required on the ground. We drove back via the last mile of potential runway, then back to the base for more hydration.

Read More......

Approaching the Wire

Big submittal tomorrow. Our estimated costs are due for the mess of projects that we’re working on. Not that there’s that much pressure on us, except for the occasional early request for cost data on the fuel systems. [They’re high, by the way, as expected.] It’s all been rather lax since the start, and I’m pretty sure my electrical is feeling a little guilty collecting the paycheck.

I’m pretty good with it, actually.


I mean, we are sent into harm’s way, to do everything we’ve been contracted to do while we’re here. That we are more efficient that the government imagined is their problem as far as the budget goes. That we have little to keep us occupied is my problem, or will be my problem for the next week.

I suppose I can walk the perimeter a couple of times – it’s a popular running loop for the masochistically inclined, some three miles around with three or four hundred feet of vertical. I’m already trying the sleeping in thing, and can now make it all the way to 0530. I’m on my fourth book, and ninth missive. I’ve updated my resume, planned a couple of rides, and have reorganized iTunes. I’ve shopped at the PX, eaten at the DFAC, and visited the KBR barber. There’s little left once the work is done.

Last night, I joined our three Air Force minders in some cribbage, which they now play continuously, having even less to do than we do. The First Lieutenant just learned the game, but shows promise. The Captain is good, but out of practice. The Major is a bit of a numbscull.

Once the work is done,… boredom. Waiting to fly.

Read More......

Crossing Guard

My rack at Airborne was a military spec cot, essentially a single sheet of fabric stretched super taut across a metal frame. It’s like sleeping on a board, except a board will eventually warm up. The thin material of the cot tends to suck the heat right out of you and, since nighttime temperatures in our 20 man tent at 7,000 feet drop to below fifty, sleep was bad and the back is really responding poorly.


Thankfully, our helicopter arrived on time, so there was no excess waiting in the sun. We loaded quickly, having gotten used to the process, and headed to FOB Shank, where we spent a hour or so standing at the top of a hill looking out at where our project would eventually be constructed. We would have liked to be looking at exactly where the project would eventually be constructed, but we landed on the wrong side of the road, and we would have needed plenty of guns and armor to cross the street.

Looking both ways isn’t sufficient any more, it seems, nor is simply flying our helicopter to the other side of the street. Ah well. After takeoff, we made a slow loop around the project area, and I took another few score of images and a video capture or three. We’ll leave the details to the next outfit.

We shook Shank and made our way back to Sharana, where we’ll stay for the next week or so, before heading back to Bagram and redeploying CONUS. Moments ago, we learned that we’ll have another two days here, and two days less in Bagram, because there’s no room for us in Bagram. Workwise, it should be no problem, as we have better working accommodations here (and my eight step commute can’t be beat).

Interestwise, it’ll suck, as there is little to nothing going on here, and just little going on at BAF.

Read More......

What's What

Forty minutes by air from Ghazni, and back up to 7,500 feet is Forward Operating Base Airborne. With barely 400 residents, it is by far the smallest FOB we’ve been on this tour. Tucked into a mountain valley, it’s the most scenic as well.


If Congress says it’s okeydokey, we’ll plant a four place helipad here in FY 2011, and spend around a million and a half Yankee Dollars in the process. Elsewhere, we’re planning a number of C-17 capable runways, which may be downgraded to C-130 capable runways in the future (not that a C-130 runway is any shorter (generally) than a C-17 runway, just that we really don’t have that many C-17’s in theatre). It could be, as well, that we really don’t need that many C-130 runways either, but I’m sure Congress has a handle on that issue.

For this tour, the Team is looking at nine projects totaling just over $110 M. When we responded to the request for qualification, we expected 25 projects, which dropped to 15 by the time we signed a contract, which further dropped to eight by the time we got here, but then we added one more during the first couple of days. For nine. This is just a tenth of what is planned for this very specific pot of money in FY 2011 in the eastern and southern sections of Afghanistan. Naturally, there are all sorts of pots of money, each to be spent on various types of construction, men, and materiel. War ain’t cheap.

Along with the scope reduction was a corresponding schedule change, carving a week off of our stay here. The requirement for a post-tour report was also dropped, so two weeks effort in CONUS has disappeared. So, what would have been productive effort through the middle of next month has now been cut to another week and a half in country, then home. Worst, though, is that the actual deadline for the effort we’re doing is a week before we ship out.

Bottom line: Our last week here will be maddeningly boring.

Read More......

Another Day, Another FOB

I expected at least a couple of Polish dishes at Ghazni, but the closest they came were various sausages (patties or links). Perhaps they save the Kielbasas, Pierogis, and other home delicacies for Friday nights, when the other FOBs are serving surf and turf.

Our billet was austere, one quarter of an old brick and mortar structure. Perhaps it was an office or supply area when initially constructed, perhaps by the Soviets. It was subdivided more recently into eight smaller areas with two by fours and plywood, although the walls fail to reach the ceiling by a couple of feet. Just as well, this saved the subdividers from reworking the lighting, so the previously installed (and existing) fluorescent fixtures shine into all of the rooms. Of course, there’s just one light switch that controls them all.


In other multi-man billets it’s the same problem. How can you tell if you’re the last one needing light? Ultimately, I’ve found that the solution is to read as long as possible, and then listen carefully for loud bitching when I flip the switch off. The best part of this plan is that I get as much light as I need. However, when I get up at 0500, it would be considered quite rude to light up the hooch all at once, so I’m usually gathering essentials in the dark or by flashlight and off to the showers at first light when the crowds aren’t so bad.

The bed itself was a ratty metal bunk (sleep on the bottom, gear on the top). The mattress was actually a well used box spring, that wouldn’t quite fit the frame due to some of the supporting metal. At least it wasn’t too creaky, so I didn’t worry about waking up the rest of the building, when I got up at 0500 to start my day.
At Ghanzi, the showers were adequate. Good pressure. Plenty of hot water. Galvanized walls and slatted wooden floor. Nothing remarkable, really (besides those last remarks). No, the toilets were remarkable. As you shall soon find out.
Immediately inside the shower curtain door of the stall is the first step.

Seriously. Users have to step up to approach the toilet. It’s not a big step. Actually, it’s on the narrow side, much less than the length of a foot, and difficult to maneuver while scrambling up the second stair. On this raised platform then, atop the second stair, sits the throne, the front edge aligned with the edge of the step so that, when seated, forward legs would find themselves eight inches below a normal floor elevation. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from disgraced former U.S. Senator Larry Craig, it’s the Wide Stance. Only now do I understand why he would need such a posture.

Except for the gay bathroom sex thing.


Read More......

Short Trips

About forty minutes from Sharana and 400 feet lower lies Forward Operating Base Ghazni. I’d like to buy a t-shirt to commemorate this place, but it’s so small, there’s not even a PX, just a very small Hadji Mart where I could buy another toothbrush if I was so inclined and, since I brought a spare and also got a nice one from the bathroom of the hotel in Dubai, I won’t be indulging.


Small to be sure, and totally Polish. Well, more than half Polish, with a squadron of attack helicopters and a good sized fleet of Strykers. The balance is American, with a lot of kids from various locations in Illinois, presumably with a shared Polish heritage. We’re here to give them a huge new runway to land coalition C-130’s although, with most of the projects the team is working on, the work is so far in the future. Peace could break out before we break ground.

You’d like to hope so. I’d like to hope so, but the activity former known as the Global War on Terror (now: Overseas Contingency Operations) is in full swing here, evidenced by the boneyards of broken, bashed and blasted Strykers that fill a large storage yard here, as well as hundreds of mangled Humvees, MRAPs, Bradleys and whatever else we put on Afghanistans roads in our effort to do whatever it is we Mission Accomplished how many years ago?

This afternoon, while the Polish Command Master Sergeant was showing us a couple of acronyms around the base perimeter, a large and distant boom could be heard to the north, towards the town. Apparently, some martyr thought it was time to see Allah, and blew up a market, killing who knows how many countrymen, maiming and wounding others beyond repair.

Some time later, while outside an adjacent building with my electrical tracking down some aerial data, a half dozen casualties arrived for treatment at the base medical facilities, blowed into smaller pieces than they were when they started the day. Surprisingly little blood on those that made it this far, and more burns and dangly bits than I would have initially expected.
Strangely disturbing.

Read More......

… but you wouldn’t want to live here

There’s a certain something about the Forward Operating Base at Sharana worth mentioning. It’s nearly 7,500 feet above the level of the sea. “Big whoop”, you might opine. Then again, you might have spent your entire life under 1,100 feet, in which case you might state, “I’m nauseous, my large muscles and joints hurt like the bajesus, and my headache is one for the record books.”

Fortunately, the adverse effects fade after a day or two, just in time to head to some base at a lower altitude. After two days, the head only hurts a little bit, but I’m still easily winded.


The Company submitted a proposal recently (upon which I refused to be a part) that would have embedded a multidiscipline design team here for three to (more likely) fifteen months. Fortunately, because I know most of the team as friends, we did not get the work. FOB Sharana is perched on a swath of high ground outside of the city/town/goat cluster of Sharana, a locality where we have failed to win hearts and minds very badly – hence our need to maintain a military presence here.

The surrounding landscape is rugged, and reminds me of parts of Wyoming. At this altitude, it’s barren, nicely devoid of humidity, but of most everything else as well. What remains is brown and rocky, except the dust, which is brown and dusty, or the people, who are just dusty. The PX is understocked, the MWR tent is tiny, there’s little to no connectivity, and the chow isn’t the best. I imagine free time during a long assignment here would be spent in a CONEX hooch watching video, reading everything in sight, and hanging out at the gym. I’d image the best approach would be to work incessantly, as I makes the days pass much faster.

There’s an airfield here that we’re working to improve, provided you consider landing C-17’s on a steep uphill slope an improvement, but most of the personnel (and missions) seem to be directed with the MRAPs. There’re 25 kilopound monsters that patrol this part of the country in packs. Sort of impressive in their hugeness, but really aggressive looking.

If you were to be assigned here for a year or so, it’s likely that you’d get more than a few rides in one, as they’re probably the safest way to visit the countryside.
Other than that bit-o-fun, an extended tour here would require something from deep inside, and a lot more cash than they were offering.

Read More......

If man were meant to fly he’d have wings

When we aren’t walking, we move around by helicopter. That we actually have dedicated air services is of immense relief, in that we now do not have to fly stand by, or first available, or not fly at all, which was the case in Kandahar. Having transportation allows the team to get our boots on the ground at the various forward operating bases and project sites. Hopefully, getting a first hand view of the varied locations will allow for better planning and better outcomes.

We’ll see.


For now, I’m just enjoying the rides. We been using a Russian bird (an MI-8), belonging to the Columbian Air Force, lease by a U.S. company, with security provided by the Australians. It’s a bit confusing, but not so much considering the coalition/contractor approach to the OEF. All one really needs to remember is to bring your ear plugs. These helos are very loud.

They aren’t particularly uncomfortable, provided there’re not too many people or too much stuff on the flight. Base crew is three up front, doing piloty stuff, then a crew chief and load master in the large cargo area doubling as shooters. For us, we’re just more cargo, although we do unload ourselves. If there were only passengers on board, maybe a dozen and half would fit. Fold down benches line the fuselage, and it’s really not clear where the individual seats are delineated, you just toss your gear down the center of the floor and look for a couple of interconnecting seat belt ends.

These types of helicopter flights in theatre are unpressurized, and the doors are cracked and windows opened, allowing a nice breeze to flow through the cabin. At flight altitude, it’s nicely cool, in stark contrast to the ground.

Our flight from Jalalabad to Sharana was to have picked us up at the undeveloped end of the airfield at 0740, but didn’t hit the ground until almost 1130, then needing refueling which took another half hour before we could board. We spent the intervening time standing on a gravel landing zone, under the single scragglyass tree, as temperatures lifted easily into the triple digits. Needless to write, we were all on the dehydrated side by the time we landed which is, I’m sure, in the most middle of nothing place I’ve ever been to.

We’ll move around a bit more before we’re done with this work, and a couple of us are hoping for Blackhawk rides instead of these more sedate commuter flights. Time will tell.

Read More......

Exit the Haze

After several days of dense haze and high winds, the morning light brought clear skies. Through them, I’ve finally noticed that there are mountains in Afghanland. Go figure. Through the haze, largely dust and humidity, all I could glimpse was a shadow, perhaps miles away, perhaps just outside the wire.


With the change in weather came the change in perspective. Bagram Airfield is located on a high plain surrounded by mountains. They’re probably 10 to 20 miles away, and the height is indeterminant. There’s snow on them, though, even in the middle of a hot July. There are numerous ranges as well, two or three lining up behind the closest rocks.

The snow looks nice and cool, a drastic change from the triple digit highs and uber-humidity that hit here every afternoon. Our poor split unit air conditioner cranks all day, but can’t get the room down to the requested 21 degrees during the day. Sometime in the middle of the night, though, it finally catches up, gradually freezing we B-hut inhabitants by morning, only to fall behind the cooling ball early the next day. You’d like to feel sorry for the poor, overworked split unit, but try to remember that it’s just a machine, and they have yet to take over the planet.

Read More......

'Leepy

Staring at the bottom of the rack above me, I pondered the numerous other beds I’ve taken over the years. From many of them, I’ve stared into the space above, working on thinking about nothing, which usually immediately precedes the eye closing and the sleeping – except when I’m nine and a half time zones away from home and I can’t sleep, then I spend some time thinking about other beds, or at least I did last night.


There was the 200 person RSOI tent at Kandahar this last spring, where the creaking of a hundred shaky cots caused by the unstable repose of my roommates and the roar of the adjacent runway made sleep neigh unto impossible. Fortunately, it was just for one night. A little smaller was the One Hundred Man Hallway at Saddam’s palace in the Green Zone. There, 95 of the residents could have qualified for a Triple A snoring squad, and the marble floors, walls, and ceiling did nothing to diminish the sound. I suppose I spent nearly two months in those conditions.

After the noisy hallway, we moved to the Six Man Closet, which reverted to a closet again once we got kicked out of it and kicked into our four man hooches. I think the heavy old canvas tents we used at Norway Lake all those summers ago were also four man, or four Scout, not particularly large or comfortable, but providing some shelter from the Upper Peninsular weather.

For a three person space, my first dorm in Friley Hall, where Bryan and I processed new roommates with ever decreasing duration. Our place on Kellogg worked for three as well. For two, there was the second dorm room in Friley, the one we spent a semester getting kicked out of, and Miss Liberty, the trailer I shared on Lincoln Swing.

Of course, the houses and apartments in Iowa, Jamaica, and Minnesota were (and are) all very pleasantly two person, and much more generously sized. Rooms sized for one include more hotel and motel rooms than I could shake a stick made out of rewards points at, from four stars and above to one star and below. I’ll always prefer a tent in the woods somewhere to a hotel in some faceless city.

For now, home is a B-Hut sized for twelve, although only six live there now, using the top bunks for gear. Imagine living in a garden shed located between the highway and the airport, and you’ll have some idea what it’s like. Uninsulated two by fours and plywood construction, one big room with a single door towards the street. There might have been a window at some point, but I think it’s been boarded over.

Besides, time spent there is best spent sleeping, so the less light, the better. We’re going to be moving through a number of bases over the next few weeks and my guess is that our B-Hut will seem luxurious compared to some of the future accommodations.

There were more, I’m sure. Other shared hotel rooms, the cabin at various times of the year, family and friends houses, crammed onto an aircraft, sleeping on the dirt. Fifteen thousand nights had to be spent somewhere. The next twenty get spent in Afghanistan.

Read More......

Trading and traders

Sitting in my Spartan room at the Dubai Traders Hotel, watching the clock spin towards midnight and knowing that the 0500 wake up call will call regardless of if I've had enough sleep. Why should the phone care, really? I've questioned if I should set a supplemental alarm as back-up, and probably will, but hesitate to do so because I haven't used an alarm since I got back from here the last time. Usually, I just wake up.

But then, unlike now, there was no plane to catch that would drop me into Bagram Airfield, and I really can't miss thast flight, as there won't be another for three or four days. Why there aren't hourly flights is beyond me. Really, doesn;t everyone want to go to the beach in the summertime?

I suppose having the sea near by is a plus for all of the other beaches. Not for me though. This will be another whirlwind tour of continuous 12 hour days (half time, if I haven't mentioned it before). By the end of it, we'll have scoped another few hundred million dollars of military support facilities. I guess we must be pretty good at it, or they wouldn't keep asking us back.

For now, it's a new hotel with a plethora of new plumbing fixtures and light switches and outlet configurations. At least I got the network cable figured out. With that success, I'll call it a day.
Read More......