Well, I’ve finally returned home after another round of flights around Iraq. Only one more round to go, and then the turnover with Kenny will be complete. I have to ask one question before I start today: Why is it that civilian folks in a war zone turn into morons as soon as they get off the plane. I’m not saying they all do, a lot of the ex-military folks still have a clue. I was lucky enough to get on an Embassy flight yesterday to Mosul (Northern Iraq). The reason we like the Embassy flights is: they tend not to get cancelled. Most flights are hit or miss until you are actually in the air (and even then there’s no guarantee that you will get to your destination – sometimes other missions take priority). The Embassy flights have a few lucky soldiers and some Iraqi Army guys being moved around the country; but mostly, they have civilian types: State department workers, contractors, and all those touchy feely types (Save the whales, Save Iraq, Save Darfur, other random socialist organizations, etc.). These flights are still run by the Air Force, so there’s some sense of military bearing.
Now my question to you is: when you know your flight is about to board (they tell you over and over when it’s coming up), do you: a) Make a quick head call (restroom break), b) Organize your things, c) Take one last smoke break (for you smokers out there), or d) none of the above? Apparently, if you are a civilian (such as the ones listed above) you choose d) every day and twice on Sunday. We board the plane and, within five minutes, half of the civilians have asked to get off and go to the bathroom, six have left to smoke and three haven’t made it yet because they are still trying to get their enormous amounts of crap together to load on the plane. I had my toes stepped on by four people getting off after we were seated and buckled in (If you’ve ever flown in a C-130 you’ll know that foot room is not a dealer supplied option). Needless to say, we spent an extra 15-20 minutes on the ground waiting for these fools to do what all of the military folks did during the hours we had before we boarded (Embassy flights require you to show up three hours early). Then, to top it off, when we arrive in Mosul, the civilians decide that the landing rollout is a good time to get up and gather their things. When the Air Force aircrew guy yelled at them to sit down until he told them to get up, they looked at him like he was speaking in a dead language (that’s not a good metaphor – these folks are the only ones still alive who get degrees in dead languages – they’d understand him – let’s just say they looked at him like he had three heads). I swear this Airman was about two seconds away from ‘capping’ one of these morons with his 9mm.
When you disembark (get off) these planes, you walk in a straight line off of the flight line to someone who checks you in – if you’re military. If you’re a civilian, you rush to the front of the line like a herd of buffalo, because your time and mission are more important than anyone elses. One of the KBR guys who was leading the line ‘accidentally’ tripped the State department weenie, as he was rushing to get to the terminal first. This elicited some well needed laughter from those of us trapped with these idiots.
Well, we toured aroun
d Mosul with our contact up there. It’s a strange place. The FOB has this country town feel to it. There are awnings on all the shops to give them that General Store look, and they actually have hills and grass (the smell of fresh cut grass was a pleasant surprise). You can still tell you’re in the land of not quite right, though. Pop’s and Omar’s general store just didn’t have the right ring to it, nor did Elvis’ house of leather. The 7/11 signs going up took me as a bit of a shock – seeing as how 7/11 doesn’t exist in Iraq (we’re pretty sure they got some old signs from a junkyard). Anyway, the time spent in Mosul was productive. We jumped on another flight late that night to get to Camp Speicher. We rode on a CH-47 helicopter, which is like a C-130 when it comes to the seats (sling seats with a bar in the middle of your butt). As is always the case for me, I got the ‘half seat’ where one section of seats end. No bar in my butt, but no way to stay on the seat either. They fly with the back door open for the gunner, so I was able to witness a really cool thunderstorm (It’s rained for the last two days – mud, mud, mud). When we arrived, our contact met us and dropped us off at our room. Search as we may, there was no bathroom to be found. Needless to say, Speicher is not on my list of vacation spots (I still need a shower).
Now, on to the best part of the trip – Catfish Air. We were scheduled to leave
Speicher this morning at around 9 AM. Weather delayed that until about noon, but it was worth the wait. Catfish Air is the name of a group of Army helicopters who do nothing but ferry passengers around the country. These guys define the word ‘cowboy.’ They fly day or night, and they seem to have a blast
doing it. Our crew chief carries a Shrek doll with him on every flight. He also carries little baggies full of candy to throw out to kids as we pass them by. Now, you might be saying, ‘How can he tell that they’re kids he’s throwing the bags of candy to?’ He can because; we’re flying at 100-200 feet off the ground. This ride made me think bac
k to EA-6B low-level days in Western Washington. We’re zipping over the countryside, and you can see the faces of the folks you’re flying over. They also don’t have any windows in the helicopter, so that just adds to the thrill. If you haven’t guessed, I’m starting to get over my fear of helicopters. If I can see out the front, it’s actually not too bad. Only two more days until I depart on my final leg of this turnover-a-rama. One more Embassy Flight, and hopefully some more Catfish Air, and I’ll be done. Until tomorrow.
-Grease out.
d Mosul with our contact up there. It’s a strange place. The FOB has this country town feel to it. There are awnings on all the shops to give them that General Store look, and they actually have hills and grass (the smell of fresh cut grass was a pleasant surprise). You can still tell you’re in the land of not quite right, though. Pop’s and Omar’s general store just didn’t have the right ring to it, nor did Elvis’ house of leather. The 7/11 signs going up took me as a bit of a shock – seeing as how 7/11 doesn’t exist in Iraq (we’re pretty sure they got some old signs from a junkyard). Anyway, the time spent in Mosul was productive. We jumped on another flight late that night to get to Camp Speicher. We rode on a CH-47 helicopter, which is like a C-130 when it comes to the seats (sling seats with a bar in the middle of your butt). As is always the case for me, I got the ‘half seat’ where one section of seats end. No bar in my butt, but no way to stay on the seat either. They fly with the back door open for the gunner, so I was able to witness a really cool thunderstorm (It’s rained for the last two days – mud, mud, mud). When we arrived, our contact met us and dropped us off at our room. Search as we may, there was no bathroom to be found. Needless to say, Speicher is not on my list of vacation spots (I still need a shower).Now, on to the best part of the trip – Catfish Air. We were scheduled to leave
Speicher this morning at around 9 AM. Weather delayed that until about noon, but it was worth the wait. Catfish Air is the name of a group of Army helicopters who do nothing but ferry passengers around the country. These guys define the word ‘cowboy.’ They fly day or night, and they seem to have a blast
doing it. Our crew chief carries a Shrek doll with him on every flight. He also carries little baggies full of candy to throw out to kids as we pass them by. Now, you might be saying, ‘How can he tell that they’re kids he’s throwing the bags of candy to?’ He can because; we’re flying at 100-200 feet off the ground. This ride made me think bac
k to EA-6B low-level days in Western Washington. We’re zipping over the countryside, and you can see the faces of the folks you’re flying over. They also don’t have any windows in the helicopter, so that just adds to the thrill. If you haven’t guessed, I’m starting to get over my fear of helicopters. If I can see out the front, it’s actually not too bad. Only two more days until I depart on my final leg of this turnover-a-rama. One more Embassy Flight, and hopefully some more Catfish Air, and I’ll be done. Until tomorrow.-Grease out.
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