Blather

We waited outside the terminal. The horizon looked like a huge, dark umbrella, around whose circumference lights of varying intensity peeked. Belying this image was the sky overhead, full of stars sprinkled in a very deep purple, almost black sky. The air was lovingly warm. I stood there in my battle rattle, sweating under the ballistic vest. They had allowed me a footlocker and my carry-on, a big rucksack. My M-4 was clipped to the vest with a Wolf clip, a quick-release attachment.

The Osprey appeared, sounding like two deep-throated helicopters. The twin rotors pointed at the sky. We ambled the couple hundred meters to the waiting white helicopter. A jockey-sized Marine, the smallest I’ve ever seen, signaled us with a green flashlight and we walked up the short ramp. The helo was full. My flying partner, a Treasury Department civilian, and I got the last two seats at the back. There were green lights overhead to help us find our seats. We stood my footlocker on end and sat down.

Once again, I didn’t know how to latch the four belts. A gentleman of approximately my age, showed me- the two shoulder straps have a thin slot through which the normal-looking lap belt goes, then all three clip into a very normal looking lap belt with a lift-up release.

We taxied (Still can’t get over a helicopter that rolls) a bit then the pilot gunned the motors and we were in the air with a couple of small aerial bounces. I tried a bit of collegiality: I tapped the guy who’d shown me how to work the seat belts, and shouted in his ear, “This is cool!” He smiled and nodded his helmeted head. We saw the lights of the airport; I tried to see Klecker’s layout, but I think we went over a different small compound. Then I noticed that the ramp didn’t close. The Marine had a strap tether and didn’t sit down. Why was that? As soon as we got a bit of altitude, the Marine sat behind a machine gun that I’d overlooked on my way up. Like the Blackhawk gunners, this one used NVG to look behind us and swung the machine gun where he was looking.

We flew just a few minutes, then came down and landed. Everyone got off but my partner and me. The second crewman motioned for us to sit further front, next to him. A couple of minutes later, three soldiers and an unarmed contractor boarded. We took off again, bouncing once before settling into a nice pace. While still fairly low, the pilot veered to the left and to the right. Not quite the steep angle that the Blackhawk achieved, but the square of the open rear hatch showed me a perfect 45-degree angle of the horizon’s lights. The difference with the Osprey’s piloting was that we maintained this angle for longer times, spiraling upward rather than just quick zig-zags.

We made one more stop. I heard the front crewman say “gas.” The soldier next to me began to pick up his rucksack, but I tapped him on the back and motioned for him to leave it on board. We all got off, walked behind a few pieces of T-wall and waited. I took the opportunity to visit the porta-potty with my flashlight showing me where to pee so I didn’t end up with damp boots. Then we waited a bit more. Pretty soon, someone on an ATV drove by and motioned with a couple of chemical light sticks. We tramped single-file back out to the Osprey.

Taking off was getting easier. Sure, there was still the rumble but that indicated power. After getting in the air, there was serious acceleration happening. Good job I had shoulder belts to keep me upright. The Osprey also flew higher and faster, once it got going. The inside of the Osprey reminded me of huge dinosaur entrails- large pipes ran along the ceiling and walls, some white, some grey, some turning here and others going straight there. An Osprey is a raptor, so maybe that’s where the subconscious link to a dinosaur’s belly came from. I sat opposite a window that had instructions on how to open it in an emergency. I wasn’t sure that with my battle rattle on, I’d be able to fit through that window. Fortunately, I’ve not yet learned if I’ll fit through that exit.

Flying with someone manning a machine gun was strange, too. Would there be someone down there trying to shoot us down? This was Iraq, after all. As Iraq’s nighttime landscape scrolled by the small round window opposite, I thought about my companions- all young, all strong, all armed. And I couldn’t help ask myself, “What the heck am I doing here?” No cogent answer appeared in my mind, so I concentrated on drinking water because I was pretty damp all over from sweating under my vest. I noticed that my water bottle was thinner. As I unscrewed the cap, the release of pressure let it get round again. Was going down a few hundred feet really doing that? What would Mr. Wizard have to say about a plastic water bottle and going up and down in a helicopter?

One more stop, and the soldiers got out. The front crewman opened at his aluminum clipboard’s manifest and shouted over the din of the motors, “Next stop.” We nodded. We picked up about a dozen soldiers and lifted in the air. The trip had become a milk run. We got some altitude, sped up, and cruised pretty briskly for about 20 minutes until we got to Al-Asad. I got off the helicopter, slung my backpack over my head and down my arms. Then I put my rifle in front of the footlocker and lifted it, following the few people who were ahead of me. A Marine pointed us to a bus. He stood in the doorway and asked us for our CAC cards. Eventually, I got into the terminal. I dragged my footlocker and rucksack to a bench. Someone returned my CAC card. I checked in with the manifest desk. My travel numbers existed in his computer. He told me that my next flight was in about seven hours. I went to the next counter and checked in with the too-young gal who manned the transient register. ("Womaned" is more PC, but my idiolect won't let me go there grammatically.) I signed in. She showed me a drawing of where the terminal is and how to walk to the transient tents. I got the closest one. Not exactly luxurious, these accommodations: folding cots on a wood floor inside a huge tent. Period, full stop. I got some rest, not really sleep, then I got up and lugged my stuff back to the terminal. I’d been in Al-Asad for three hours. At the manifest desk, they told me my next leg was at 0815, almost five hours away. I watched PBS news on a slightly fuzzy large-screen TV with frequent video drop-outs. We’ll see what kind of transportation I have for the next leg of my flight.

# posted by rich @ 8:39 AM