Afghanistan Notebook

Off again, on again, off again

The sagas of military air transportation

Part 2

Right now, I’ve been waiting for a couple of days to catch a flight to Herat. Chances are I’ll be waiting a few more days.

My latest experience with the military air transportation system began Friday morning. Maj. John House, who’s the public affairs chief for the S.C. Guard’s 218^th Brigade Combat Team, told me that our plans to fly to Herat were on hold. Apparently, there wasn’t enough room on a flight scheduled to leave Saturday.

So, I sort of ambled through the day. All my stories and photos for the weekend papers had been filed and I was taking it easy, working on a couple of articles for later in the month.

A few hours later, House told me to pack. It looked like we were on for Saturday morning. So I quit writing and started stuffing stuff into my bags.

Show time for the convoy, which would haul us to Kabul International Airport, was 6:30 Saturday morning. So I woke up about 5:30, got ready, ate a bowl of cereal at the DFAC, Army lingo for dining facility. Then I dragged my bags over to the Welcome Center, the rendezvous point for all travelers leaving Camp Phoenix.

Keep in mind that we had to show up at 6:30 to reach the airport, which is about 3 miles away, to make our check-in time of 7:30 a.m.

Yet, in the grand scheme of the movement, allowing an hour to travel 3 miles is about normal. Anyway, we reached the airport in plenty of time, checked in and waited.

And waited.

And waited. 

Around 9:30 a.m., we learned that we had been “bumped.” That meant we would have to try for another day.

Unfortunately, when you’re in a combat zone you can’t hail a cab and ride back to the base. We had to convoy back to Camp Phoenix. So we hung around “Air Force One,” the mil air lobby at the airport.

This isn’t a bad place as far as U.S. military facilities over here. Instead of a big, open tent that has no air conditioning, Air Force One features the look of a well-worn fish camp. I watched the tail end of “March of the Penguins,” which was on the big-screen TV, and then headed to the PX.

After killing about an hour wandering through the shops, I returned to the lobby. Then we killed another hour, reading, napping and eating lunch. Finally, around 12:30, we were ready for the return trip to Phoenix.

So, about 1 p.m. or 6½ hours after we left Phoenix, I dragged my bags back to my room.

House went to his office and checked on other flights. Sunday was out, he told me. So I slept in to 6:30.

This morning House sent me an e-mail saying to be ready to go Monday. Not a problem – the bags already were packed.

A few hours, later, House called and said Monday was no-go. Maybe later in the week. Not a problem, the bags will stay packed.

Quoting a standard remark of military life, I told House that I would “remain in a state of rigid flexibility.”

House said, “Semper Gumby.”

It was a take-off on the Marines Corps’ semper fidelis, meaning always faithful.

The Army’s version – always flexible.

Fix it real good, please

The Sagas of Military Air Transportation

Part 1

The next time you go to the airport and need to be there a couple of hours early to clear security, consider yourself lucky.

You could be flying mil air.

Mil air is shorthand for military air. And some time ago, in the history of how the military moves people, some wise guy coined the phrase, “hurry up and wait.”

It’s just a fact of military life that when there are thousands of people to move everyday on X-amount of aircraft, you’re going to have to be patient.

And patience doesn’t come easy for everyone, particularly those who face daily deadlines.

The delays happen for good reasons. Evacuating the wounded, moving troops downrange to the fight, and transporting food, water and ammo always will top the list.

Occasionally, airplanes break. You want the crews who fix them to have the time to do a good job.

For example, earlier this month I tried to catch a flight from Bastion Airfield to Kandahar Airfield, which is about 40 minutes by air.

Traveling with me was Chaplain Roy Butler, of Columbia. We left FOB Tombstone around 7 p.m. for a 15-minute trip to Bastion, which is operated by the Royal Air Force.

British troops wait along with yours truly to catch a flight at Bastion
Airfield. We spent about an hour here. The temperature was 120
degrees in the shade of the nylon cover.

The trip, for some reason, took about 45 minutes. Next, we sat in an allegedly air-conditioned tent for about two hours, sweating along with more than 50 British troops. Buses took us to an outdoor holding area, where we spent about a hour waiting to be told that the flight had been cancelled. An RAF representative said the plane had diverted to Kandahar because of a mechanical problem. Repair crews were at Kandahar, not Bastion, he explained.

We’d give it a go the next day, as the Brits say .

So we returned to Tombstone and got reacquainted with our bunks.

As it turned out, we marked July 4 in the company of the Royal Air Force ground crews.

“Shall we throw some tea into the hot tub,” a British officer cracked. No kidding, the Brits have a hot tub at their base.

The next day everything clicked and we got to Kandahar about 19 hours later than planned, but just in time to christen the new dining hall. On the menu was the All-American meal of hamburgers and hot dogs.

In a way, it was pay back. Though I won't blame the RAF for the delays, it's worth noting that Brits stationed at Kandahar had to eat at the same dining hall.

Next installment of "Sagas": Off Again, On Again, Off Again

Gamecock, Tiger fans find common ground

Being in a combat zone can change people, even if one’s a Gamecock and the other's a Tiger.

Turns out that Maj. Mike Harmon, the embedded training team chief at FOB Apache, and his executive officer, Maj. Harry Bird, are fans of the state’s rival universities. Harmon roots for Clemson, and Bird bleeds garnet and black for USC.

But when it came to inheriting the call sign or nickname for their training team, both agreed a change was necessary.

Their predecessors from Puerto Rico referred to the training team as the “Hurricanes.” But Harmon, of Lexington, couldn’t fathom using the nickname one of the Tigers’ biggest ACC rivals, the Miami Hurricanes.

So he and Bird, of Charleston, agreed to change the training team’s nickname to the Dragons.

Everyone seems to be a happy camper for now. But the start of football season is still a couple of months away.

Going for a Sunday drive

 

Being Sunday, it seemed like a good day to go for a drive.

So, Company B commander, Capt. Joe Bullwinkle, of Irmo, invited me ride in a convoy up to Forward Operations Base Apache.

Apache is outside the town of Qalat, some 100 miles northeast of Kandahar Air Field, in southern Afghanistan.

A group of soldiers from the S.C. National Guard'€™s 218^th Brigade

Combat Team is at FOB Apache. Half are in Bravo Company, a couple of troops are from the brigade'€™s logistics task force and the rest are members of an embedded training team. The trainers mentor Afghan army units in the field.

About the size of a city block, Apache is next door to an Afghan army base and near the ruins of a castle built by Alexander the Great.

The Afghans, though, don'€™t seem to revel in history like South Carolinians. While most of castle walls appear intact, a cell phone tower and radio tower stand inside the confines.

Anyway, the troops say they'€™re doing well. And, despite its remoteness, Apache is a good place to be stationed, they say.

"€œEverybody'€™s OK and everybody'€™s doing fine,” said Command Sgt. Maj. Gilliam, of Union. “We’re looking forward to doing a good job up here and going home.”

We’ll have more about the troops at Apache in future articles.

Paradise in the middle of nowhere

I’ve found paradise and it’s nothing but rocks and sand, miles and miles from nowhere.

It’s where wild camels roam and mud huts dot the horizon. And, the front lines of the Afghanistan war are just beyond.

This place of enchantment is known around here as Forward Operation Base Tombstone.

A few dozen Navy and Army folk here, including a squad of S.C. National Guard troops, like it plenty. But this isn’t what most people would consider paradise.

The afternoon temperatures reach 120 degrees and the base lacks basic troop amenities like Internet in the barracks, cable TV, a bank of telephones for morale calls, and an ATM machine for cash to shop the PX.

Tombstone’s advantage, the troops say, is that it’s so small, remote and inhospitable that any officer above the rank of 0-6 (navy captain or army colonel) seldom visits.

Or, as the troops put it, Tombstone is a long way from the flagpole.

The personnel here are a mix of Navy, active Army and Guard. Next door to Tombstone is a British army base, and next door to that is a training base for the Afghan army. The airstrip at Camp Bastian, which is run by the British, is about a 15-minute drive across the desert.

Work, though, comes first at Tombstone. The Guardsmen are members of the Fountain Inn-headquartered Bravo Company, 1^st Battalion, 118^th Infantry. They handle base security and escort convoys, which often deliver humanitarian aid to Afghans.

The sailors are helping train the Afghan army.

Tombstone is in the middle of Helmand Province, about 120 miles from Kandahar City. The area is along-time hotbed for the Taliban and insurgent forces.

Still, the atmosphere on the base is relaxed. When they’re not on duty, service members can wear civvies like T-shirts, shorts and sandals to the chow hall or MWR computer room.

The troops like to rave about their dining hall, which is run by KBR. The food isn’t much different than any other base. What make it special is that most of the staff and troops are on a first-name basis.

A big, flat-screen TV, tuned to ESPN or the news channels, occupies one corner of the dining hall. And, there’s plenty of room for everyone to visit while enjoying their meal.

At larger bases like Camp Phoenix and Kandahar Air Field, the dining halls are huge and most of the troops gobble up their food and then split, making room for another wave.

Even the hooches earn good reviews. Each man’s cubicle is about 9 feet by 9 feet. At some bases, two soldiers share a room about 7 feet by 7 feet.

“It’s nice to have what we have,” said Sgt. John Jessee, of Chester, a member of the infantry unit. “It’s OK that I have to walk a few feet to another building to use the Internet so I can have more living space.”

 

Below is a link to a picture looking east toward Highway 1. A quarry is in the foreground.

 

 

View this photo

Do I hear Echoes?

Another benefit about being here at Kandahar is that there’s an international flavor to food choices and even how one goes about relaxing.

For example, there’s a restaurant on the base called Echoes run by an European Christian troop support group.

I ambled into Echoes the other day after learning that it offered Wi-Fi, enabling me to connect my laptop to the Internet.

Echoes also is a fine place to take it easy.

It has knotty pine paneling, beamed ceilings, marble-topped tables and rattan chairs. A stereo is tuned to deejay rock ‘n’ roll shows from the U.K. and Germany.

And the Internet speed was blazing compared to what’s offered at the MWR computer lab.

Anyway, Echoes seemed to be the most “humane” place I’ve been since arriving in Afghanistan.

The last place that was as comfortable on the eye and senses was the USO Club at Camp Virginia. It’s where we arrived after two days of flying from Mississippi to Kuwait on the first leg of our trip to Afghanistan.

The club had subdued light and big, cushy sofas.  Having slept about four hours in the previous 48, I sat down in one of the sofas, stretched out and dozed off.

I woke up long enough to stumble to a dusty tent and stretch out on a cot.

Home, sweet home.

Chewing the fat with troops

The chow hall is literally the melting pot of Kandahar Air Field.

The facility has only booths with four seats so when it gets crowded you seldom dine alone.

Since Wednesday I’ve broke bread with two Bulgarian soldiers, a Canadian contract employee and a Dutch soldier.

Tonight, I went to dinner with an Air Force major whom I share a room with here at the base. But he was born in the Fiji Islands and grew up in California. So I guess that makes him another cross-cultural or at least a cross-country acquaintance.

Although one of the Bulgarians could speak English, they weren’t much for conversation.

The Canadian was a woman from Quebec whose son is in the Canadian army. She worked it out so she could be at the base the same time he's here.

She also is sort of a mini-U.N. A native of Germany, she met and married a Canadian soldier and moved with him to Quebec.

Quebec, of course, is the French-speaking province in Canada. That meant she had to learn French to communicate with friends and neighbors. She’s also fluent in English.

So I mentioned that I had just seen the Michael Moore flick, "Sicko." We then had an engaging conversation about the Canadian health care system.

The Dutch soldier was just as impressive. At 23, he has been in the army five years.

He offered tips about traveling in Europe -- stay out of the big cities -- and we talked at considerable length about the Dutch military. Although his country has about 1,000 troops down in Afghanistan, none are in direct combat roles, he said.

While most folks might think that’s a good deal, the soldier was frustrated. He’s a truck driver and can only drive inside the fence at the air base.

He’d prefer to go outside the wire, as they say, and drive in convoys. “That’s what I’ve been trained to do,” he said.