A Jump to the Right

A Jump to the Right

A dear friend of mine whom I will call Traveler spends most of her professional life going through airports. How different the process of traveling with the army her life is. Airports are wonders of efficiency you walk in the door at SFO, and if like her you know what you are doing, you walk out the door at PDX just a few hours later. The Army can make brushing your teeth difficult. In our little jump over the pond and into the kitty litter box it would be hard to make it more complex.
We start the day of, final packing, the last laundry carted to the washers and back to be stuffed into already over full bags. It doesn’t take James bond to figure out that the unit is leaving, the dozens bottles of laundry soap left in Laundromat. Soldiers are chucking the bits and pieces they don’t need, makes it easy for me. I don’t need to buy more soap.
We stack the bags at 1830 and the wait begins. Some time later we load all the bags onto a truck, a pretty good work out all things considered. I call the parents, and chat after arranging to have the phone shut off on the first. Then call my sister to chat it up. More waiting, until the buses arrive. They are school busses to old to be used for schools anymore. Each soldier has his carry on, we sit two to a seat, time to make your buddy smile. The buses get fuel and drive around on post without apparent direction.
The poor bus driver is subjected to the 1st platoon standard entertainment. On other rides, with other platoons the guys will sit and listen to their media players. We entertain ourselves by singing. Between 10 and 20 voices sing everything from rap to 80’s hits even some Motown. The one or two odd balls who know that key are not for opening locks or can carry a tune in a sack are drowned out by the rest.
The driver fails to comment, clearly a wise man. SFC Big Daddy and 2LT Corn Fed know all the words to ‘I Like Big Butts’ considering that they are only slightly less pale than I am it is mildly disturbing. SPC Stonewall next to me has never heard of Johnny Cash, His only excuse is that he is black, I don’t buy it.
At the airfield we have to go through the TSA search. No lighters, knives, or bottles of liquid. Never mind that every passenger is in uniform, we are taking off from a military airfield and carrying our M4s, SAWs and bayonets, that little pocket folding knife is prohibited. It has been said before: “The Army could screw up a wet dream.” I know, it has screwed up mine.
Even the pornography check is pointless as most troops have personal computers. (What do YOU think the internet is for?)
Then we wait some more. Another call to the sister and parents. We continue to wait. The plane boards at 0230, I haven’t slept since 0600. We cram ourselves into seats designed for normal passengers with weapons and outsized carry-on’s. They want the weapons on the floor, taking up my valuable leg room. Mine goes muzzle down by the window.
Time begins to blur, helped with Doans back pills and Tylenol PM. I wak up as we land in pouring rain. We all get off the plane as it fuels. Then back on for the next hop. Again I pass out before the lights of the USA fade below us. We are racing into the sun, shades down to watch the in flight movie. The tape is damaged though only a half dozen of us notice, being the only ones awake.
I fade in and out of consciousness. Time zones and travel have made the time irrelevant. At the next airport they still speak English… sorta. We pile out and head to the smoking area. There is internet for those who can find it. We pile back onto the plane blurry eyed some of us simply following the uniform in front of us. Wedged into the seat again I take my secret weapon and pass out as the green fields are obscured by the clouds. SGT Dozer has been a good traveling companion. He keeps his short legs in front of him as I stretch into the empty seat between us. SGT Nord, our orgional third moved forward to more space as soon as we got altitude the first time.
Back in the galley three soldiers have taken off the ACU top and brew coffee wearing Omni Air International aprons over their T-shirts and ACU pants. I snap a picture and stumble back into my seat.
Kuwait is just like we left it, you could go twenty miles and not be able to tell the last thousand years has passed, or be in a major commercial center. This may be the safest place on earth for soldiers. The Kuwaitis are very effective at keeping the war at arms length while making billions off it. I pity the terrorist who would risk his organizations funding by launching an attack here.
Another ride in the dawns light to the Gateway camp. Sit in a briefing no one listens to except the locations of DFACs and the PX. We unload the truck of our bags and into the tent. Over 60 soldiers in one long have pipe tent. The smell will eventually get bad. For now most pass out. I sign out with the boss, grab CPL Methuselah and go on a pinball bounce. Maybe I will be able to stay awake long enough get my body into the new pattern of day and night. To help myself out I try a new delicacy, the Red Bull Icee.
I call the parents and discover my time calculations were off, it is 4am at home. I look for an internet connection. No luck to find one without a two hour wait. Then head back, the Red Bull wears off and I crash like a DC-10 without engines. Morpheus awaits, sanity may return with sleep, or is that just a pipe dream?