Manas Air Force Base, Kyrgyzstan                                                   24 February, 2010

 

It’s over.  That’s the thought that keeps coming to me, and each time it comes I think it sinks in a little bit more.

After a four-day delay from our originally scheduled departure time, we finally left Camp Phoenix at 2130 (9:30 p.m.) on 22 February.  We actually left twice.  We all loaded up on three Twinkie buses, and escorted by two armed HUMVEEs, we rolled out the gate into the darkness headed for the airport.  We made it to the first major intersection.  Then suddenly the whole convoy made a U turn and scooted back to Phoenix.  I heard sirens when we made the turn, so I thought maybe there had been an incident nearby and we had been ordered back.  It turned out to be nothing that exciting.  Actually, our chalk leader (a chalk is what they call a group of military people travelling together on a flight) had forgotten her paperwork.  We made a quick stop to let her grab it, and then headed out again toward KIA.  I can’t think of any place I’d rather leave twice than Camp Phoenix.

The wait at the airport seemed to last forever.  The Air Force is much more demanding than the civilian airlines.  They want passengers at the terminal six hours ahead of the scheduled departure time.  I don’t know why.  I think they just like to make the Army people stand in the cold.  They wouldn’t let us into the terminal for the first three hours.  It is small and there were other groups going out ahead of us.  Besides standing out in the damp cold, the only place to go was a small “coffee shop”.  The building was made up of about a dozen prefabricated units all stuck together.  It was furnished with wooden picnic tables and there was a counter with drink coolers in one corner.  The ceiling, which consisted of a thick sheet of white plastic, had evenly spaced round scorch marks where there had apparently been light fixtures at one time.  They must have gotten tired of putting out the fires and replaced the round light fixture with rectangular fluorescent ones that don’t spontaneously combust.  That was a good thing because I noticed that all the fire extinguishers were missing; probably used up putting out the flaming ceiling lights.  The whole structure appeared to be of European manufacture judging by the signs that adorned the walls.   At least it was heated and, if you could get near one of the wall mounted heater units, it was warm.

Since the place billed itself as a coffee house, and I was cold, I decided to get some coffee.  One of the two Afghan guys who ran the place informed me that they had no coffee.  He did say that they had tea and hot chocolate.  I know how Afghans make tea and you get a lump of soggy tea leaves in the bottom of the cup, so I opted for the hot chocolate.  I really should have watched them make it.  When the guy handed it to me, it looked right and it was hot, so I was happy.    When I started to drink it, it was nasty.  I figured that it was some weird Afghan mix and, since I had paid $3.00 for it, I was going to finish it.  About two thirds of the way to the bottom I realized what they had done, or more correctly, not done.  They had used powdered hot chocolate mix and added hot water, but they didn’t stir it.  I had a third of a cup of mostly dry cocoa powder.  I thought about asking for some more hot water, but then I realized that the only stirring utensils available were a handful of plastic spoons that other people had already used.  Lesson learned.  Always stir your hot chocolate.

They finally let us into the terminal at about 0130 (1:30 a.m.).   We turned in our bags and settled into the waiting room for what we expected to be another two and one half hours.  The waiting area was warm and comfortable and someone had just gotten the large television set that was on the wall to work when an Air Force Sergeant came in and cheerily announced, “OK, let’s get ready to board.”  No one   complained at all.  We were all ready to go.

We filed out to the apron in two lines.  Our plane was waiting and, thankfully it was a C-17 and not a C-130.  The C-17 is the big four-engine jet transport plane which rides much more comfortably than the turbo prop C-130 though, at that moment, I would have gotten on any aircraft that was leaving Afghanistan.  I have always loved airplanes.  When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pilot.  I’m not sure what ever happened to that dream.  That C-17, with the name of its home base “CHARLESTON” painted on a wide yellow band across its tall tail, will stand out in my memory as one of my favorite airplanes.  It may even surpass the 747 named “Susie” that brought me home from the Gulf War. 

We loaded that plane quickly.  There is no jet way or stairs to a C-17.  You just load over the huge cargo ramp at the rear.  For passenger flights, they slide pallets with standard airlines seats bolted to them into the center of the aircraft where the cargo usually goes.  The seats are like regular economy class airline seats, only closer together.  We were all wearing our body armor and many of us were still carrying weapons and other gear.  I now know how that overweight guy that you never want to sit next to on the plane feels.

I ended up in the second row outboard, port side (left side) seat right next to the forward cabin door, which was wide open.  It was cold that morning; probably around 30 degrees and there seemed to be a funnel of icy air blowing right on me through that door.  Then, for some reason, the crew chief when down the ladder to the outside and they started running the engines up.  I’ve never noticed them do that before.  Maybe it is some type of cold weather procedure.  The pilot ran all four big turbofans up to what had to have been 100%, but we stayed sitting still. Maybe he was just checking to make sure the wings were firmly attached.  Whatever the reason, his engine test really got the air moving and pretty much doubled the intensity of the freezing blast that poured in through that pneumonia hole of a door.  I was very glad when the pilot finally eased off on the throttles and the crew chief climbed back in and closed the door. 

At that point I had been awake for almost 24 hours.  As the plane began to move, I forced myself to stay awake for one more event that I wanted to remember.  It happened at 0313 (3:13 a.m.) on 23 February, 2010.  The wheels of that big, beautiful, if slightly drafty, C-17 broke contact with the surface of Afghanistan.  I was asleep before my watch showed 3:14.

I woke up about two hours later as we were making our final approach to our destination, Manas Air Force Base in Kyrgyzstan.  That is the same place we came through on our way into Afghanistan.  It’s colder here because we are a couple hundred miles farther north.  This place seemed strange and exotic last June.  Now it feels very familiar and comforting.  We are supposed to be here about 48 hours.  Then we will catch a chartered “rotator” flight back to Fort Stewart, Georgia.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve managed to do one more of those “things you should never do.”  They have free do-it-yourself laundry here.  Two things that you never pass up when you travel with the military are chances to get a shower and clean laundry.  I put my dirty uniform in to wash and went to the gym.  They have a great gym here.  When I got done, I took a shower and put my dirty PT clothes in to wash.  As I was taking the last load out of the dryer, I noticed something small in the bottom of the drum.  It was the IPOD Shuffle that Andrew had given me for Christmas.  It had been in the breast pocket of my uniform.  It must have gone through the washer and the dryer each twice.  I felt really bad, mostly because Andrew had given it to me.  I was sure it was ruined.  I took my clean clothes back to the bunk in the large open bay building where we are staying.  Just out of curiosity, I flipped the tiny switch on the Shuffle.  The little light that shows it is on illuminated.  I plugged in the ear phones, which had also been through the wash, and to my great amazement it worked perfectly.  I guess Apple makes good products.

There is a large group of soldiers from the 24^th Infantry Division here right now.  They are headed into Afghanistan.  The last time I was around the 24^th, we were following them over the berms on Saudi Arabia’s Tap Line Road into Iraq.  That was nineteen years ago when most of these soldiers were in diapers.

 It’s hard to believe that I have probably less than ten days left in uniform.  I’m not at all saying that I will miss it in any way.  Being back in the Army has been like returning to a neighborhood that you lived in as a child.  Many of the things that you remember are still there, but many new things have come into being.  All the people you remember are gone; replaced by new and different faces.   One thing is certain.  I am glad that I do not live in that neighborhood anymore.

Sorry no photos on this one.  Running out of power.

See you all soon.

 

 

John Lacourrége

Warden

Council 9543

Knights of Columbus

St, Francis of Assisi Church

Madison, ms