30.JAN.2012; Forward Operating Base [Injun]

Posted by Jack on Feb 17, 2012 in The.Dispatches | 0 comments

[From Max] I spent a week in limbo.  The transient tent was a windowless time warp cluttered with metal bunks and duffle bags.  The other occupants were a motley group; there was a line squad, a couple of interpreters, and a team of Guardsmen from rural Alabama.

The night I arrived we were smashed by a blizzard.  That night I stood outside the tent, hands thrust in my pockets, and watched the snow blow in sideways.  It made me home sick.  I could barely make out my own breath, twisting off in the wind.  There was a laundry building near by.  Little more than a plywood shack.  The red light bar on the front cast an eerie glow in the storm that I used to navigate around the HESCOs.

By the next morning the entire encampment had turned to ice.  American and Romanian soldiers shuffled about stiffly, with extreme care.  I hardly left the tent, except for meals.  After lunch I went to the gym.  The rest of the time I spent hiding out.

It was nice to kick around with the enlisted guys for a while.

Officers overthink everything.  They talk incessantly about career progression.  It makes my head hurt, and I couldn’t give less of a fuck.

I swapped video games with the Line boys.  I swapped music with one of the ‘terps.  He was a stoner from Nebraska.  I don’t know if he or his parents were first generation, but I couldn’t pronounce his first name.

“Everyone calls me Sonny.”

Sonny didn’t deal well with boredom.  He had a hard-on for Mustangs, and spent most of his money on his twin-turbo Roush.  He was eager to get back to a line company and out on patrol.

The Alabama boys were lead by a pot-bellied sergeant that could only have been in the Guard.  He had a story for everything, each tale taller than the one before it.  He repeated himself numerous times, occasionally echoed by one of his specialists.  They played dominoes morning, noon, and night.

The whole scene was comical, and I quickly forgot the stress of the preceeding weeks.  Late one afternoon I strolled into the MWR facility to check the news and go through my e-mail.  I had only logged on when another lieutenant came in and announced to the entire building that an Information Blackout was in effect.

He was met by a chorus of groans.  I said nothing, x’d out of the browser, and shouldered my weapon.  I went back to the tent and told the others.

“Blackout.  Somebody got greased.”

It was a quiet night in the tent.  I laid on my rack with my eyes closed, listening to music.  Sonny called over to me.

“Hey, LT . . . You should go to Dubai on R&R . . . “

“Huh?”  I unplugged my headset.

“Yeah . . . You should go to Dubai.  I think you’d really like it there.”

“If you say so.”

“Seriously . . . “

“I know they like their cars and shit, but somehow I doubt an Arab Emirites is the best place for a lone soldier on leave.”

“Nah.  Bullshit.  I’ve been there a bunch of times.  They know they owe their whole fortune to the children of Zion – the Jews, and the US.  They love Americans.  Government employees get eighty percent off at most hotels.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, sitting up.

“No, man,” he pulled a card from his wallet.  “Some of ‘em you have to tell ‘em in advance if you’re gonna bring a girl in or not, like this place you have to, but they’re cool with it . . .

“The red light district there is unreal.  The girls are all tested and licensed . . . blondes, Asians, Persians . . . “

He went on in detail.  At the end of the pitch I was no closer to taking leave in Dubai, but I was certainly well informed.  I liked Sonny’s style.

The weather cleared the following morning and the choppers returned.  We got last-minute word of a Space-A flight back to KAF.

A captain I knew came by to see me off, just a courtesy thumbs up and a phone call to make sure my organic battalion knew I was on my way.  He was a good dude.  Prior enlisted.

He motioned me outside of the tent and we stepped out into the snow.  It was one of our guys that got clipped.  Another lieutenant.  IED.  We’d arrived at the battalion at the same time.  My heart sank a little.

The captain slapped me on the shoulder.

A civilian Blackhawk touched down on the HLZ, blowing snow everywhere.  I chucked my shit in the back and climbed inside with the Guardsmen.  We rode uncomfortably low for the first few miles.  Less than a thousand feet.  I stared out the window at the receeding ice below.

Back at KAF I spoke to the guys who handled the Dignified Transfer.  The blast took both his legs.  He didn’t make the Hour.