Back in the Saddle

Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell 'em, "Certainly, I can!" Then get busy and find out how to do it.

~ Theodore Roosevelt

Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is the probable reason why so few engage in it.

~ Henry Ford

Flew for the first time in two weeks last night. It may sound silly, but flying is one of those occupations that if you don't do it on a constant basis, you really DO get rusty. There are checklists and procedures that have to be followed, and the lack of familiarity really stands out when there has been a break. The first flight back is usually one were the entire crew literraly spends the whole time "knocking off the rust.," getting re-familiar with where things are in the plane, how things work, how each other works, and how the external players (ATC, Command Post, Maintenance, fuelers, transportation, etc.) work. By the time the day is over you are completely exhausted, even if it hasn't been one of your longer flights.

Yesterday's mission was supposed to be nice and easy, just to ease us back into the groove. Up into Iraq, bring some stuff out and down to Bahrain, then home. Unfortunately first there was a couple hours delay due to a change of mission taskings, then while we were waiting for that, our plane airplane had maintenance issues, so we got bumped farther while we waited for an second plane to return so we could take it out again. All in all, we were delayed 6 hours from our original schedule. Even a short day is going to seem long when you're starting your day after already being up 7 or 8 hours.

The new mission was max cargo. Haven't had that much stuff on the plane since we've been here. Three stops in country, just about every one fully loaded with 5 or 6 pallets of cargo needing to be moved from one place to another. The loadmasters really earned their stripes on this one.

To make things just that much more entertaining, we were blessed with the accompaniment of a staff guy, who "just wanted to go along for a ride," on his day off. We get these once in awhile, and while I can understand them wanting to get out of the office and see what's going on, they really are just in the way, and a burden to the crew. We have to wait for them on all the pre-take-off prep stations as they get their gear. You have to include them in the briefings, find a place for them to ride in the plane, step over and around them as you go about your duties in-flight, and quite honestly follow all the endless/mindless rules and requirements like wearing helmets and flak vests below 15,000' when everyone (including the tactics guys) knows there's little threat anymore. (Why else would they say we really don't have to use lights out/tactical approaches, or flares at so many locations? Curiously enough, those rule changes makes scheduling longer missions easier...)

He was a decent guy, but we had to play the game the entire mission and wearing all the extra gear in and out of three stops just adds to the fatigue of an already long day. Unfortunately, no matter how "cool" a staff guy is, 9 chances out of 10 they'll go back and report your crew for the one pet peeve of the day, like not wearing reflective belts in the airplane or something. Then your boss gets a call, then YOU get a call....

Our big fear was of getting messed with at Immigration, either going or returning. I am happy to report that neither process provided anything significant to report and went very smoothly. I guess we really are back in the game.

Free At Last, Free At Last!

The long awaited phone call finally came. Went down to breakfast this morning as usual, and the aircraft commander was sitting there drinking his tea. Said he had just got off the phone with our DO (Director of flight Ops) and the much anticipated meeting between our general and their general was due to start any time, so if both parties decided to show up, we should know something soon. One hour later the call came. All was forgiven, the constellations had finally aligned, and our sins were finally expunged. Best of all, our "blacklisting" was lifted and we were allowed to return at the earliest opportunity. 

What a huge sense of relief! Not that I really longed to go back and live in a tiny little cell for three more months, dealing with sand, wind, heat, inane uniform rules and the active duty's backstabbing mentality, but I, and my comrades, had made the mental commitment to come over here and do our duty, and to be sent back home like some criminals was just unacceptable to any of us. Conveniently, one of our planes was scheduled through the international airport around 5:30 this evening, so they said, "get your gear, get your butts to the airport, and get yourselves home." No need to say it twice. By 3 pm we were packed, checked out, 50,000 Radisson points richer, and on the van to Kuwait International. Damn sure didn't let the revolving door hit us on the way out. 

 We sat around the terminal for a couple hours and then practically sprinted for the rear cargo door when the plane pulled into parking. It was one of our squadron's crew and there was much back slapping and handshaking going around as we were accepted back into the fold again. The flight back had just the barest flavor of what it must have felt to be on one of those repatriation flights of the POWs after the Vietnam war: big sense of relief, and some euphoria about being back with your own kind... Obviously we in no way suffered, but there was concern over what the future impact of this whole thing would be, so the relief that the whole episode was finally over was pretty pronounced. We made our way through Immigration and customs with more than just a little trepidation. There was a momentary glitch over what set of documents we had vs. what the Qatari's required, but since we had all of them, we just figured out which one they wanted and everyone was finally happy. Our IDs were returned, our stamp firmly planted on the crew orders, and we were IN! After dropping our gear off and cranking up the AC in our VERY stale rooms, we moseyed over to the BRA, the big tent where everyone hangs out and socializes, for a much needed drink and cigar. 

The Squadron Commander bought the first round, and it was one of the most welcomed drinks I've ever had. Looking back just a few hours, it's hard to believe it's over, but now our odyssey is nothing more than another really great crew story! Just as it should be!

Some people get kicked out of bars, Others get kicked out of countries

An adventure is never an adventure when it's happening. Challenging experiences need time to ferment, and an adventure is simply physical and emotional discomfort recollected in tranquility.

~ Tim Cahill

It wasn't the best of times, nor was it the worst, but the past several days have certainly been memorable.

On January 30, 2010, I was deported twice in 24 hours from the same country.

It all began two days prior. My crew returned from a typical Operation Iraqi Freedom mission: Al Udeid - Kirkuk- Al Taqadum-Balad-Baghdad-Ali Al Salem-Al Udeid. 7.4 hours of flying, dropping off and picking up various cargo and  personnel around the AOR. After every flight we had to immigrate into Qatar, going through customs, dropping of documentation saying we had emigrated out from Qatar, thus being authorized to come back. Everything felt like it went like clockwork: we showed our ID cards, along with the customs documentation and flight orders, the guy behind the glass kinda glanced at us, and then waived us through. We grabbed our gear and went back to our rooms to chill for the next mission, a day and a half later.

On 30 January, we reported to the Squadron bright and early, got our tactics brief and flight plans; helmet, body armor, and professional gear; and armed up with pistols and extra clips. Then onto the crew bus and then to customs and immigration to check out before heading to the plane. That’s when the fun started.

As we came up to the counter, we handed over our flight orders will all our names on it, with the mission we were on. The Qatari took the paper, typed into his computer, looked up at us, then reached for the phone. That’s when I grabbed the pilot, Captain Lance Hupp, and told him, “I think we’re in trouble.” Lance looked at me and asked what I was talking about.

I said, “I’ve done this a hundred times. They never pick up the phone. The guy just picked up the phone.” Lance just laughed.

Sure enough, about two minutes later a door in the back opened, and this big fat two star Qatari something or other (probably a Major in their rank structure), came waddling out and did the double glance between us and the computer and the paperwork. Then HE picked up the phone. Next thing we knew, the American liasons who are go-betweens between us and the Qataris, shows up and begins wringing their hands.

Apparently on the document we turned in two days prior, the guy who took it from us filed it without stamping it as processed. So in their eyes, we were trying to leave the country after not officially being allowed into it.

Long story cut short, after lots of conversations, some young Qatari prince guy with big sunglasses showed up and said he would smooth it all out, all we had to do was go out on  our mission, and immigrate in properly when we returned. Seemed legit. I know people who overstay Visas in the US go up to Canada for a couple days and then re-enter the country, re-starting their clocks.

So, we headed out and flew a rather benign OIF mission: Al Udeid-Tal Afar-Talill-Al Udeid.

It all went pretty smoothly. We even stopped off in Tallil to get pizza. They had some contractor who had set up shop right off the flight line that was “famous” among the crews as a place to get a quick, delicious pizza pie when we were out on the road. While there, I got on the SatCom back to our Ops and verified we were cleared back ok. LtCol Ed Tarquenio, our DO, got on the chat himself and swore everything was settled and we were cleared back, no problem! So we headed the two hours back to Qatar.

Of course nothing in the military goes the way it’s supposed to. We landed, got all our stuff off the plane, loaded up the crew van and headed back to process into the country. Not so fast. When we presented our paperwork and credentials this time, the phone got picked up, the rear door opened, our favorite Major and his lackey henchmen suddenly appeared and we were informed that while our previous transgressions had been wiped clean, we were now “BLACK LISTED” from Qatar for a multiple of unspecified reasons and we must leave on the first plane out.

Now to me, this was total BS. I told the US liason guys who came out to usher us quietly out of the country that I wasn’t going anywhere until my Commanders were aware of what was going on. That kind of threw them for a loop. They protested that we had no choice, and I basically said, “I don’t care, I’m a LtCol in the US Air Force and I am not going anywhere until my leadership tells me to, and if you don’t like it, either point a gun at us or call a General and get them involved.” They were speechless, but they went off and called back to our Ops and someone eventually came over.

In the end, the Qataris won out and we were ushered into the departure terminal and told to pick our destination. They wanted us to leave on the first plane out, but it turned to be headed to Camp Bastion in Afghanistan. I said, I am NOT going to go live in a tent on an Army FOB (Forward Operating Base) if I don’t have to, what else you got?

They said, we have a plane leaving for Rota NAS, Portugal. Everybody’s eyes got big at that idea. Then I pointed out that if we went to Rota, we’d never get back. We’d barely been there 2 weeks, is that what everyone wanted? The third options was Kuwait City. That seemed doable. Worst case they would put us back on Ali Al Salem AB, where we all had been a couple times before. It was an hour away be C-17, so getting back didn’t seem too far fetched.

Two hours later we walked out onto the back of an empty C-17 and flew a quick hour up to Kuwait International airport. They lowered the ramp, and we grabbed our helmets and meager overnight bags, and walked off the plane and out onto the tarmac. They pulled up the ramp and taxiied away. We stood there a few minutes wondering what next, until suddenly some guy pulled up in a van and he said he was there to give us a ride to a hotel. Eddie T had made a phone call and got us rooms at the Raddison Blu down on the waterfront.

So we shrugged, climbed in, and were whisked away. No in processing, no military, no civilians, no customs, nothing, Just out the back gate and down to the hotel. Very bizarre.

Sometimes it’s just better to stay quiet, nod your head, and sign where they tell you to. We checked in to a fabulous 5 star hotel, pool, gym, free breakfasts, and huge rooms on the top floor. It was awesome! Our job was to sit tight and wait until the folks back in Qatar sorted things out, one way or the other, so we did… It was glorious. And we were content for about two days… then we got bored.

Our first challenge is we didn’t have any clothes except our flight suits and some official Air Force PT gear. Not really conducive to staying low profile. So we got someone to drive us to a local shopping mall where we bought shirts, pullovers (January in Kuwait is in the 50s), and long pants, underwear, some toiletries, etc. With that we could roam outside the confines of the hotel.

As the days drug on, we got bolder, and then we found that an intel guy from  our unit was a civilian corporate pilot currently living in Kuwait City, and the game was afoot! He knew the good restaurants to go to, where the open markets were, even where we could go golfing! (Who knew Kuwait had a golf course!?)

Meanwhile, we were calling back checking in on what was happening and it might have slipped out we were having a pretty nice time. The Squadron Commander and his staff weren’t happy, but we were like, “If you want us to stop exploring, get your stuff together and bring us back to the base!”  We had done nothing wrong and the whole situation was a total farce.