Back to the Future

The time passed too quickly. Shortly after getting home for leave I thought, fifteen days surely is a long time. But here I sit in Atlanta on 24 May already, waiting to catch the chartered flight to Kuwait, via Leipzig, Germany, my leave all but over. I awoke at 0315 this morning in order to catch a 0600 commercial flight from San Francisco International to Dallas. At SFO, I bid my attractive wife farewell once again with the mutual understanding that more than half of my tour already was over: only four and a half months to go. It was still hard to say goodbye.

Following the instructions given to me when I arrived in Dallas, I sought out an adjacent ticket counter at the USO where I would officially report back. The ticket counter was a sea of military members wearing Army Combat and Desert Camouflage Uniforms (ACUs and DCUs), the sight of which actually was shocking. During my short leave, my eyes quickly readjusted to civilian clothes.

The same Texan hospitality I encountered on the inbound flight once again was waiting for us. The USO provided snacks, water, batteries, and other sundry items after we made our way from the check in area to the gate. We boarded the chartered jet for a short flight to Atlanta where we picked up the rest of our group -- some 355 people all together.

We arrived in Atlanta a few hours later where we deplaned briefly and met up with more people in uniform. We re-boarded, this time taking up every seat in the chartered MD-11, and took off for Kuwait via a brief stop in Leipzig, Germany.

On the plane, I sat next to a Army staff sergeant who I learned had served previously in Afghanistan and was now in Tikrit, Iraq. Like me, he was returning from leave. When he learned I was stationed in the International Zone, he asked about the period in April where we received almost daily rocket attacks from Shiite insurgents in Sadr City. “I’ve heard several swish by,” I said. “I’m told if you can hear them, they aren’t necessarily headed your way.” “Not true,” he replied, “and I have the Purple Heart to prove it.” He explained he had been in a guard tower in Afghanistan one night when he heard the familiar swoosh of an incoming rocket. He initially thought he was safe because he could hear the rocket. Nevertheless, it slammed into the guard tower injuring him. “Were you hit by shrapnel?” I asked. He said he didn’t think so; it was likely a piece of the tower which broke loose during the explosion. So, swoosh doesn’t necessarily mean safe. Noted.

We landed in Kuwait City around 1900 local on 25 May, some ten hours in the future as far California and my family was concerned. We stepped out of the plane into a 104F Hair Dryer. Thankfully, we walked immediately into waiting air conditioned buses. Unlike our outbound leg, a Kuwaiti Police escort already was waiting for the trip to Camp Ali al Salem. There, the same Gateway crew as before processed us back in from leave and began separating us into to different groups, depending on our final destinations whether they be in Iraq, Afghanistan or the Horn of Africa.

I had hoped the flight to Baghdad would be leave later in the day, affording us some respite but at a briefing at 2200 we were told to return at 0200. At 0200 we were told that we were to be manifested on a flight leaving later that day. At 0245 we were put again in “lockdown” which you will recall is military speak for “don’t go anywhere.” At 0400 we were told to “stand by” and at 0430 we began boarding buses to go meet our flight. Out on the flight-line we boarded a huge, passenger configured C-17 at 0500 and took off for Baghdad around 0600. Although packed in again like sardines, the advantage of the C-17 is that it’s much quicker than a C-130; we arrived in Baghdad only an hour later. All told getting back to Iraq was much more efficient than leaving, the irony of which was not lost on those of us returning from leave.