Chaos

calculating a different route home.

I look around the cockpit; four sets of eyes are alternating between the radio and me. “General, sir, I have a direct order from General Billings and your orders are contrary to the completion of my mission.” I am thinking it is fortunate there are not any pilots remaining there or we would soon have the pleasant company of a flight of F- 15’s or F-18’s parked alongside of us.

There is another pause. “Captain Walker. I am then ordering you to return here for refueling once your pickup is complete.”

“Yes, sir. I anticipate a return in approximately 48 hours. And general, sir, good luck to you.”

A much longer pause. “Good luck to you as well, Captain. I hope you get those soldiers out. Lajes out!”

A dark line appears off the nose on the horizon where the blue sky meets the blue of the Atlantic; the coast of Portugal. Our route will take us over central Spain and out over the Mediterranean Sea, skirting the toe of Italy. I would rather have just flown up the central Med and avoid country overflights but our distance and range dictate as direct a route as possible. I expect to be intercepted if there is any military capable of flight left on this side of the ocean. I continue making calls on guard but hear nothing but the continued silence as we make our way through the daylight and into night as the sun sets behind us in a fiery display.

On into the night we fly, taking turns napping and monitoring the flight. Our external tanks long ago emptied, we are on our last few hours of flight with the fuel remaining onboard. About 200 miles out from Kuwait, I start a gradual descent with the bright stars and quarter moon lighting our way. The ground below us is dark with the exception of a few fires in the distance at various points, some just showing an orange glow as the smoke conceals the extent of the fire below. It has been this way since the sun descended, darkening the world above and below as it wends its way around to get ready for its rise and another day.

I feel wary about transiting through this area. I mean, after all, this is a war zone. If there are any fighters still around and capable, odds dictate this is the place they would most likely be. However, there is no reply to my calls on guard or lights suddenly showing up on our wingtips. Nor do we suddenly blow up. About fifty miles out, I see a very faint glow on the horizon ahead of us. I am unsure whether it is just a glow from another fire or actual lights. Continuing my descent, running through my checks, and setting up the nav, I make a call on guard, “This is Otter 39 on UHF guard. Anyone read?”

Playing in the Sandbox

Sergeant First Class Lynn Connell hangs up the phone attached to her computer ever so thankful to have it. That and the Internet service provided here in Kuwait allows her to maintain contact with her boyfriend back in the states; their twice daily calls and contact eases the deployment to a large degree. During the times the Internet was down, time seemed to drag on for an eternity when she was off work. It’s not like she could just waltz down for some beer and darts so it was reading and the Internet. God a beer would go down good, she thinks shutting off her laptop and getting ready for yet another day in the desert.

Today just has the feel of one of those days, well, every day here is one of those days but this one just feels different. Packing up, she opens the steel barracks door and steps out into the blazing morning sun, the temperature already beginning its climb to another scorching day. Sand! I hate sand! She thinks adjusting her polarized sunglasses, her digital camo uniform instantly warm from the sun. Not much longer to go.

Looking over the top of the barracks building as she starts walking over for breakfast, she sees an aircraft descending into the small field located on the camp, silhouetted against the light blue sky. As the aircraft descends below the tan building, she ponders her day. I have to get my shot today, she thinks to herself, the sand stirring up beneath her boots with each step. Perhaps after lunch or after work on my way to the gym. Most of the personnel in her office received them yesterday and, with military personnel having only 48 hours to get one, this is the last day to get it.

Arriving at the dining facility after walking down the sand-covered avenues between the various buildings; Sergeant Connell removes her cap and steps through the wooden door and into the cooler interior. The first thing she notices is the distinct emptiness. Groovy, she thinks heading to the chow line. No lines. It sure seems a lot bigger in here without the usual crowd. Not caring why it is mostly empty, she grabs her usual omelet and notices the usual cook who makes her big omelets is not here.

“Where’s Private Sampson?” She asks as an omelet is placed on her plate and tray.

“Sick call,” the soldier behind the counter and clear plastic separator answers.

Gathering her food, Lynn glances out over the expanse and selects one of the many empty tables after grabbing a paper to read. Hacking away at the omelet with her plastic Spork, she catches up on the headlines. The first few pages note the numerous sicknesses and escalating death rate from the Cape Town flu. Another article reminds military personnel to get their vaccination by the end of the deadline. There are articles detailing the enlisted, NCO, and officer of the month along with an inside view of the tactical operations center she is associated with. The Master Sergeant list is also published and her name is listed along with the other promotees.

“Not bad, two months in a row,” she says under her breath, remembering her picture in the paper last month as NCO of the month.

Finishing her meal, Lynn steps back out into the morning sun and sand and walks through the climbing heat to work. The only thing different about this day from the previous three hundred and some odd days is the amount of soldiers walking about, or lack thereof. While not a crowd, there are usually a fair number of soldiers about on various errands, but today, there are very few to be seen. Lynn sees a couple here and there hurrying about some business or another, well, hurrying being relevant as the intensity of the sun and heat prevents too much of that. Walking into her building, actually a large tent structure, she notices this absence of people trend continuing.

Many desks are situated in neat columns and rows in a large open space to one side of the building and she heads over to her desk. Many of the desks remain unoccupied. She settles in and fires up her computer starting her day. With the screen coming to life and logging in, Lynn opens up her email. Nothing much greets her except a brigade-wide reminder to get flu shots. A few others are reminders of meetings and odds and ends to take care. As she opens up her third email, her commander, Captain Braser, walks into the open area and heads immediately for Lynn’s desk. Lynn stands up at attention as Captain Braser approaches.

“Sergeant Connell, I’m going to need you to cover until 2100. There’ve been a number of sick calls this morning,” Braser says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lynn replies and Captain Braser then turns and walk away.

There goes the gym, Lynn thinks sitting once again. I really hate this place. Well, maybe it will make the day go faster. I hope Jack is still up when I get back. She attempts to log onto her personal email account to send him an email telling him she’ll be working late but gets a notice stipulating that the site has been temporarily blocked and to contact her system administrator. She tries sending a message from her work email but it comes back as undeliverable. Great, she thinks and dives back into work, checking with those under her command to make sure that they will be getting or have received their flu shots along with a myriad of other tasks.

Just before noon, an email comes in extending the time to get the Cape Town flu shots for an additional 24 hours. Good, I’ll just get it tomorrow, she thinks relieved in some way. Lynn spends the rest of the day and her shift handling inquiries, sorting through messes that a redeployment can bring about, and ensuring those under her are doing their jobs. Shutting down her workstation at 2100, she retraces her route back to the dining facility for dinner and then to the barracks. She fires up her laptop hoping Jack is still on but can’t get connected to the internet. Yep, it’s definitely been one of those days, she thinks shutting it back down and settling back on her bunk with her book. I hope it’s up in the morning.

The sun has yet to make its daily appearance but the eastern sky has started to lighten as Lynn wakes up early the next morning and heads over to the gym. The night chill still hangs in the air as she sleepily makes her way amongst the darkened buildings under the outside lights on the building entrances and along the avenues. I need 6 miles today, Lynn mumbles thinking about the marathon she is planning when she returns to the states and the missed run yesterday. Stepping up on the treadmill, she thinks about how nice it