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War zone hazards can pop out of nowhere and strike when you least expect it most, catching you off guard and on your heels, three sheets to the wind and at a loss for appropriate adages. Dan and I were completely unprepared then, simply having lunch, when the chaplain major joined us for some drive-by morale-ing. He sat. He ate. He chatted. He subtly queried as to our emotional and spiritual needs. Discovering none, he chowed down and departed. It was all over before we knew what was happening. I felt good relating the story, so it must have worked.
A few nights later, Tim and I sat down next to a couple more Army dudes who revealed themselves as a psychologist and yet another chaplain. For the sake of argument, I introduced myself as the heathen, and Tim as the crazy person. Two on two, and I think we still had them outnumbered.
Standing on the catwalk of a perimeter guard tower, overlooking dense green croplands and a dusty brown adjacent village, I noticed close to a score of Afghan men working slowly and purposefully through the fields. Some of them armed with rifles, but most with crude slingshots. I'm pretty sure the Coalition would win this skirmish, if it had been directed at us. Instead of the human invaders, though, their quarry was more avian, trying to kill the birds, secondarily for food, but primarily for simple pest control.
Slightly drunk with just a hint of a stagger and strolling in the bright starlight through a German military encampment surrounded by mountains on a quiet northern Afghanistan plateau. Priceless.
Once back at Bagram, we were glad to be rid of the German fare. Granted, the DFAC here isn't great, but they will make you an omelet for breakfast, and almost always serve lettuce. On Wednesday and Sunday lunch, though, we head to the tent DFAC near the Corps office for ribs. Tasty, smoky, bar-be-qued ribs, courtesy of a select group of LOGCAP food service employees from South Carolina. Their brisket sucks, by the way (duh, they're from South Carolina) so my recommendation is to stick with the ribs. Or the chicken on days not Wednesday or Sunday. The line will be long, and the wait may be a half hour or more in the sun, rain, and weather, but those ribs, mmmm, might be the best thing about this place. However, the pleasure is fleeting, and ultimately pales in contrast to the massive waste of war. To quote Dan Savage, it's just sprinkles on a crap sundae.
We've had rain here for close to two weeks out of the three. Mostly cool showers, but at any time of day or night. Mud prevails at Bagram.
Somewhat surprisingly, there have been no mortar or rocket attacks on the FOBs, COBs and bases I've been on during this excursion. It's about time. Not, "it's about time we had an attack", but "it's about time I went over here and didn't get shelled."
All told, the pace was the defining element of this assignment. It was brutal. However, we all seemed to have survived the experience, some the worse for wear. Next stop, .... Kyrgyzstan.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Wheels up in six hours.
Read More......
2010-05-08
2010-05-02
Movement
You’d think that, since we’re living feet from an airfield overfull of military assets, and being employed by the Department of Defense, that we’d be able to catch a flight from one base to another. Not so, but that won’t keep us from trying.
It took us three attempts to get from here to Camp Marmal. The first time, we sat in a couple of pickups adjacent to the rotary apron in the rain for two hours before we were informed that the helicopter we were scheduled to ride had never left Kabul. Nor would it leave that day. Our second attempt was a little more successful, in that we actually got on the bird and were in the air for nearly an hour before our pilots found the passes socked in and turned us around. The third attempt was on a much clearer day, and we finally got delivered.
Camp Marmal to PRT Kunduz was a German Air Force flight. It left on time, and delivered us on time.
Our first try from Kunduz to Bagram would have taken us through Kabul. We were strongly hoping it would be “through”, and not “to”, as we had our fears that we might get dumped in the capital and have to wait days for our second leg. Fortunately, this flight was cancelled, and our flight the next day was a fixed wing, just for us, and non-stop. I had my doubts about the stopping when we were waved off on final approach, but one more cruise around the airfield had us safety on the ground.
Yesterday, we made our second attempt to get to FOB Shank, the first try being met with a full manifest. Since we had to be at the rotary terminal at 0400, the alarm was set to 0300, so I could download a couple of emails. We made it awake and to the terminal on time, then waited 45 minutes to reach the counter, where we were informed that our “itinerary was not supported”, which I’m pretty sure meant that we were not going to get out. By this morning, we had completely given up on another side trip during this tour, and have resigned ourselves to, now, twenty more awful meals.
Read More......
It took us three attempts to get from here to Camp Marmal. The first time, we sat in a couple of pickups adjacent to the rotary apron in the rain for two hours before we were informed that the helicopter we were scheduled to ride had never left Kabul. Nor would it leave that day. Our second attempt was a little more successful, in that we actually got on the bird and were in the air for nearly an hour before our pilots found the passes socked in and turned us around. The third attempt was on a much clearer day, and we finally got delivered.
Camp Marmal to PRT Kunduz was a German Air Force flight. It left on time, and delivered us on time.
Our first try from Kunduz to Bagram would have taken us through Kabul. We were strongly hoping it would be “through”, and not “to”, as we had our fears that we might get dumped in the capital and have to wait days for our second leg. Fortunately, this flight was cancelled, and our flight the next day was a fixed wing, just for us, and non-stop. I had my doubts about the stopping when we were waved off on final approach, but one more cruise around the airfield had us safety on the ground.
Yesterday, we made our second attempt to get to FOB Shank, the first try being met with a full manifest. Since we had to be at the rotary terminal at 0400, the alarm was set to 0300, so I could download a couple of emails. We made it awake and to the terminal on time, then waited 45 minutes to reach the counter, where we were informed that our “itinerary was not supported”, which I’m pretty sure meant that we were not going to get out. By this morning, we had completely given up on another side trip during this tour, and have resigned ourselves to, now, twenty more awful meals.
Read More......
2010-05-01
Tweet
If I can’t sleep (which is usually the case), and I have a little spare time (which is rarely the case), I’ll don a pair of sneakers, grab my laptop, and head east first thing in the morning. First stop is the PX/AAFES “mall”, where the ineffective WiFi can be accessed at slightly better speeds than at the end of the day.
After an hour or so of web based frustration, I’ll trek further east to the Dragon Gym – the same name as the gym I would use on Jamaica – and sit on a stationary bike for most of an hour, sort of watching whatever AFN is showing on the big screen, but mostly trying to achieve thought without thought for a time, a Zen like state of vibrating earbuds and frantic pedaling, counting the breaths.
Stolen gym towel in hand, it’s west to the DFAC where, despite our thrill at having meat again after our German experience, Bagram food has lost most of its luster, except for that sheen on the roast beef. Even lowered expectations are no help, and the dread looms larger with each hunger pang. Still, it’s food, and they’ve got iced tea. Really just tepid to cool tea, as there’s no ice. Regardless, it’s better than the coffee, and has the blessed caffeine.
About 17 minutes later, I’ll start the mile trek back to the hooch, passing one of my favorite spots at Bagram. Most of the time, it’s just a small grove of trees. I don’t know the variety. It’s certainly not something that grows in the Midwest. Midsized, small leafed, scraggly-assed. It was blooming when we got here, but that’s mostly finished now. What remains is an immense colony of sparrow sized birds, who appear insanely happy to wake up as a flock and to get together again at the end of the day. There are easily thousands of the small creatures, but they are camouflaged so well in the foliage it sounds like the trees are communicating. If I return from breakfast too late, the birds have already gone to work, and I miss out on the spectacle. It’s too easy to miss in the evening as well, where they reconvene for just a half hour or so towards dusk before they’re settled down for the night.
Seriously, I’m lucky to have noticed anything over the past week, where our increased workload and compressed schedule translated into sub 100 hour week. I expect the same this week, then we fly. I’ll chirp loudly then.
Read More......
After an hour or so of web based frustration, I’ll trek further east to the Dragon Gym – the same name as the gym I would use on Jamaica – and sit on a stationary bike for most of an hour, sort of watching whatever AFN is showing on the big screen, but mostly trying to achieve thought without thought for a time, a Zen like state of vibrating earbuds and frantic pedaling, counting the breaths.
Stolen gym towel in hand, it’s west to the DFAC where, despite our thrill at having meat again after our German experience, Bagram food has lost most of its luster, except for that sheen on the roast beef. Even lowered expectations are no help, and the dread looms larger with each hunger pang. Still, it’s food, and they’ve got iced tea. Really just tepid to cool tea, as there’s no ice. Regardless, it’s better than the coffee, and has the blessed caffeine.
About 17 minutes later, I’ll start the mile trek back to the hooch, passing one of my favorite spots at Bagram. Most of the time, it’s just a small grove of trees. I don’t know the variety. It’s certainly not something that grows in the Midwest. Midsized, small leafed, scraggly-assed. It was blooming when we got here, but that’s mostly finished now. What remains is an immense colony of sparrow sized birds, who appear insanely happy to wake up as a flock and to get together again at the end of the day. There are easily thousands of the small creatures, but they are camouflaged so well in the foliage it sounds like the trees are communicating. If I return from breakfast too late, the birds have already gone to work, and I miss out on the spectacle. It’s too easy to miss in the evening as well, where they reconvene for just a half hour or so towards dusk before they’re settled down for the night.
Seriously, I’m lucky to have noticed anything over the past week, where our increased workload and compressed schedule translated into sub 100 hour week. I expect the same this week, then we fly. I’ll chirp loudly then.
Read More......
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