The Longest Goodbye

31 August 2010


Camp Arifjan, Kuwait

Once the new crew was in place following the change of command, we old timers began to feel "old and in the way."  Perhaps I am projecting.  Our whole lives for the past six months have revolved around what goes on in the hospital.  I for one had a hard time staying away, which resulted in more than once observation "Oh...you're not gone yet."

Unfortunately we couldn't beam ourselves out of Kandahar.  The course of events leading to our C-17 flight out of theater was long and convoluted, in classic Navy style.  First we had to get our rooms into inspection-ready condition, and move into a large tent, with over 200 of our closest friends.  Many folks had already moved into the tent by the time I got there.  The first night they experienced a too-close-for-comfort rocket attack in which one person insisted he saw the contrail of the rocket cast light over the top of the tent.  The unexploded warhead was found wedged between two Texas barriers the next day.  Part of the rocket disabled a C-17 on the tarmac, piercing one of its tailfins.

Odd tent decorations

Moving in and out of any facility is not easy.  We are all carrying at least 80 lbs of combat equipment that we have never used - chemical-biological warfare gear, cold weather gear, various tools and garb that had been given to us in Fort Lewis.  I personally had two full seabags, a stuffed-to-the-brim rucksack, and a carry-on, plus my flack jacket and helmet.  I packed relatively light.

One Last Coffee on the Boardwalk

The tent was completely full.  I had a top rack that was not fit for sleeping, even if I could ignore the snoring, joking, bed creaking, and so on.  My bed listed at about 20 degrees.  I took another night of ICU call so I could sleep in the hospital.  The next two nights I crashed on an ICU bed in the corner, and a cot in a distant office, respectively.  Some relished the summer camp feel of the tents but I was more concerned at this point in getting some end of deployment sleep, well-deserved if I may say so myself.

On Friday night, we were feted by one of our friends who works with the special forces.  He got his hands on some local Afghani food - rice with raisins, a chick pea stew, and some dubious-looking goat meat.  After we feasted on the tasty local meal one of the special forces docs honored myself and two others with their unit coin, for taking great care of their fallen comrades.  It was touching.

Waiting in the terminal

That night I had an interesting conversation with a psychologist who was assigned to the special forces.  She had extensive experience with folks "redeploying home" (the unfortunate Army term for going home).  She told me that most folks get annoyed at little things they see on a day to day basis.  For example, one might be at a restaurant where a patron makes a big fuss that his hamburger is taking so long.  The redeployer will get disproportionately angry at this kind of scene - he or she will have seen so much truly worth getting irritated at (wounded soldiers, amputations, broken children) that this will just set the person off.  She strongly suggested that we get together with other folks with whom we had deployed, to reminisce with someone who "gets it."

Inside the C-17

After our final goodbyes with the comrades that had joined us halfway through our "roto," (the ones we remained close to, as the new guys continued to marvel that we were "still here?" more than a week after the change of command), we finally lugged our gear once more to the outgoing passenger terminal.  We boarded buses leading us to two enormous C-17s, the kind I watched take off nearly every day from the flightline.  They are gargantuan up close, and impossibly big from the inside.  We were allowed to take off our flak once seated, though many kept them on for the entire four hour flight.  No peanuts or ginger ale on this flight - it was all business.  Within minutes of being seated we were taking off much too steeply for FAA regulations.  I knew from many nights on the flightline over NA beers and cigars that our tail lights were extinguished as soon as wheels were off the deck - a tactical takeoff.

All grins

We arrived in Kuwait at Ali Asalem, a military terminal two hours by bus away from our Warrior Transition Program destination.  We were led, bleary eyed but happy, to our tents.  Our long route home had begun in earnest.