(06-07JAN2009)
They really should have cots at the APOD.
When trying to travel out of BAF, or when awaiting someone’s arrival, one spends countless hours in uncomfortable chairs, staring at one of the two televisions – one shows AFN Sports, the other a movie. As soon as you walk in, you see the chairs filled with miserable, sallow people, and in almost every case you know you’re looking at a future version of yourself.
The last two weeks it seems we’ve been either picking someone up or dropping someone off every day. A big part of the problem is that you never know exactly when planes will arrive or depart, or whether the person you’re picking up will actually be on one, or whether the person trying to escape will get a seat. There’s a lot of wasted time at the APOD, and a lot of lugging duffle bags in and out of the vehicle.
The last several nights we’ve been waiting for two new colleagues to arrive from Kuwait. Izzy and I have been sharing the responsibility of showing up at the APOD when each flight from Ali Al Salem (the departure point from Kuwait) arrives. We always ask incoming personnel to let us know when they leave, but there is often little time from when a flight manifests to when it leaves, and so we rarely know in advance. It’s pick-up by trial and error.
Tonight it’s my turn to show up at the APOD and hope our new colleagues are on the arriving flight. I show up around 1200 and am told that the flight is about 30 minutes out.
I sit and read a spell, then wander around the APOD and get a cup of coffee, despite the fact that I rarely drink coffee and don’t particularly care for it.
I’m standing in the hallway outside the arrival door when I spot a familiar face, albeit more tired than last I saw it. Jarrod Birmingham, the country singer I saw a few days ago at the MWR clamshell, puts his bag on a nearby chair and leans against the wall next to me.
“Still trying to get out?” I ask.
He nods unhappily and we strike up a conversation. I tell him his show was a lot of fun, which it was, and thank him for coming out to Afghanistan for us. He thanks me, waves off coming to theater, and tells me about the other FOBs he visited on this and the trip he made here last year.
He tells me a story about flying out to one of the really small FOBs, where he was told no performers had ever gone before. That made him feel good, as it should. He flew out there in a helicopter, and they took small arms fire on the way – the pilots then asked him if he wanted to return to Bagram, but he replied “We’ve already flown over the gunman once and survived, why risk it again? Keep going!”
That seems to make sense to me.
We chat for close to an hour, about my job, about his much more interesting job, about home, about his winning some French award for best American Country Music performer (?!), about how I have never won a French award for anything, about the travails of getting around Afghanistan, about working for the USO (they pay every performer the same amount, regardless of their stature), about his friendship with Kid Rock (who I saw a few weeks ago, whom he called ‘Bobby’ and said they rode motorcycles together), about his band-mates traveling with him, about women (he recommended the Ukraine), about beer, and about whether he’d come back next year (undecided).
All the while, I’m watching people walk in and out of the arrivals holding room, though I don’t know who I’m looking for as I’ve never met the two people I’m there to collect. I know they’re both females, which does narrow the choices down significantly since women are far outnumbered in theater.
I’m looking for someone with a hat or shirt with the company logo that I’ll recognize, the company my unit hires contractors from. Eventually, Jarrod sees I’m getting a little anxious, since the flight’s been on the ground for almost an hour, and he suggests I pop into the arrivals holding room and look around.
I excuse myself, not thinking to say good-bye, and step into the room of travel-weary soldiers and civilians. When you arrive in theater, you surrender your military ID card (CAC) so that you can be accounted for in country, and then it’s returned to you. I arrive just as the CACs are being redistributed, so I hear the name of one of my contractors, and see her collect her card.
I introduce myself to one of the women I’d seen walk in and out of the room several times while I stood chatting with Jarrod, and she in turn introduces me to her companion, Heather, my other new contractor.
Before leaving the APOD, we get Jennifer signed up for a flight to Salerno where she’ll be working (Heather is staying on BAF), collect their bags (noting their duffels are bigger than they are, I carry as many as I can), and pile everything into the car.
It’s well after 0100 by the time we check them into billeting. I carry their bags to the door of the hut they’ll be staying in, though I can’t enter, and we make plans for them to meet with Izzy in the morning while I plan to sleep in.
It’s always nice to get new blood in country, and these two both seem nice. They’re admittedly exhausted and ragged from the travel, and Heather has a wicked cough she says she picked up in Kuwait, but they seem in relatively good spirits, and they’re part of the team now.
I remember what is like my first day. Welcome to Afghanistan.
APOD = Arial Port Of Debarkation
BAF = Bagram Air Field
AFN = Armed Forces Network
MWR = Morale, Welfare & Recreation
FOB = Forward Operating Base
