The flight was exhausting, and I wanted nothing more than to
just lay down and sleep. I’ve never been one to sleep during flight, especially
not when the anticipation was burning a hole through the lining of my stomach.
But we were finally on the ground and filing out on to the tarmac. I could see
Hoss waiting for us already through the plane window. When I got to the door my
senses went nuts. The heat was a huge contrast from the air conditioned aircraft
cabin, the roar of the Warthogs accelerating down the runway was deafening, and
the midday sun was unbearable even through my Ray-bans.
Sand had swept the runway in several places and the crew had
deposited our gear on top of a small dune. Hoss strolled up out of the shaded
hanger and said “Welcome to the Bonanza, cowboys. Now grab your kits and let’s
get.” Desperately trying to dust the talcum powder-like sand off my duffle and
keeping step with my pack was quite a challenge, so I eventually gave up on the
former.
Hoss led us past the main hanger where a few rough looking
soldiers were playing cards on top of an old 463 aluminum pallet, the webbing
was drawn down and a few of the crates had been arranged like seats at a table.
Judging by their appearance, I’d have to guess they were Mercs. They sized us
up as we passed by and then went back to their game. I had no idea what they
were up to. Could have been black-ops, security, or something more. It was
above my paygrade and I slept more comfortable at night not knowing.
When we finally got to the command tent, Colonel Cartwright
was waiting for us. Actually he only wanted to talk to Hoss and the squad
leader, so the rest of us had to take a hike. I knew that my buddy Sancho knew 1SG
Robert ‘Hoss’ Roth from a previous assignment. I asked him about the nickname,
because he was a string bean and didn’t look like a ‘Hoss’. Sancho explained to
me that it was all part of the ‘Bonanza’ joke because Col. Cartwright was
actually a rancher from Nevada, like the one played by Lorne Greene in the old
T.V. show. And ‘Hoss’ just played along and the name stuck. I understood this
all too well, since everybody called me ‘Clark’. Seems that back in Basic,
somebody thought I looked like Clark Kent with my BCGs. (AKA - Birth Control
Glasses).
Hoss and our squad leader, SGT Scott, finally returned they
informed us that we were taking the night flight to one of the local occupied
airports. So we sat on the edge of the airfield watching the A-10s roar off for
parts unknown as the sun slowly set on the horizon. Somebody handed me a little bag of chips and a can of Pepsi, the
name was written in Arabic, but the logo and color scheme were the same as I
knew growing up. I opened the bag and started munching on some chips and near
immediately spat them out. I then noticed nobody else was eating the chips, and
everybody was laughing. Had I’d been able to read Arabic, I would have known
that the chips were ‘Fish Flavored’. I popped open the can of Pepsi only to
find myself spitting that out too. It would seem that in a desert where water
is scarce that they tended to use a different ratio of water vs. syrup than
they do in the States. Feeling a little guilty, Sancho handed me a bottle of
water, which I cautiously drank, hoping for no further bad surprises.
We filed up the ramp of the C-130 cargo plane. In the middle
of the floor were 2 big airfreight pallets and a half dozen men sitting on
either side of them. I recognized them as the men we saw in the first hanger.
As we were trying and failing to get comfortable in the web seats on the plane
walls, Hoss told us this was a blackout flight and we should don our goggles
and to wear our face scarfs because the cargo ramp was not going to be closed
completely and it was going to get sandy. He wasn’t kidding either. It felt
like we were being hit with a sand blaster. No need to talk to anyone either,
because the noise of the engines made any attempt at conversation moot.
What seemed like an eternity was probably only about an hour
and a half when we landed on the near dark runway of the occupied airport. Hoss
was the first one out the door. I could see a flashlight in the distance blink
once, and Hoss returned the message. He then sent use, one at a time, towards
the direction where the light had come from. It was good that the distance
wasn’t that far, because on a moonless night like this, it was easy to lose
your orientation. When I reached our guide, he ushered me towards the door of
the airport. It was also pitch dark inside but I could slowly make out the
sight of other men sitting on the floor. I heard a few speaking Arabic. I don’t
speak the language, so I had no idea what was going on. I started to worry
about who they were. Somebody grabbed me and I nearly shat myself, but it was
only Sancho. He told me that these were just the airport personnel and that we
should join them and try to get some sleep until the trucks pick us up in the
morning. I tried, but again sleep did not come easy.
As dawn approached, so did our transport, an old deuce and a
half with a cargo cover. We all piled in the back. The Mercs were nowhere in
sight, so I figured they must have stayed in the plane with the cargo when it
flew off. We veered onto the hardball nearly missing a white Nissan pickup
truck with a couple of Arabs in the cab and their wives in the bed. They were
cussing and spitting a storm. We passed through a town that apparently saw some
action not too long before. The walls of the buildings were riddled with bullet
holes and a few burnt out vehicles were still on the side of the road. Other
than that the town seemed peaceful. Kids were running behind the truck asking
for chocolate. One of my buddies, BigSlater, tossed the kids a few packages of
M&Ms from his MREs. Sancho started screaming at the kids to go away. Only
then did I realize what kind of danger the kids could have been for us, had
they chucked a grenade into the truck or self-detonated an IED. I guess I
should have known better. How fast our mission would have ended.
You may be still wondering, reading this story, what exactly
our mission was. But as you have probably heard before the cheesy saying “I
could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you”. I can tell you that our mission
was successful and that we all came home safely. And that I never, ever, ever…
want to wear MOPP gear in 100° heat.
I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".
Be sure to recommend, if you did.
Thank you
