Getting into the combat zone can be a trip. As many folks can attest, it is probably the most miserable 6-9 days of your life. It generally starts out with a long tearful goodbye at the airport while you fight to keep from boarding until the very latest moment allowed by the FAA without having to be re-screened by what can only be described as the Lack of Common Sense Police. Last time I checked little old ladies in diapers are not blowing up airplanes...but I digress. This is followed by another two or three 8-10 hour flights on an airplane designed to carry 350 people but the government has found a way to fit 780...it is not good. Oh by the way, this airplane isn't just carry folks bound for combat but also spouses and children who are moving overseas and are soooooooo excited to begin their new adventure! You can see the dichotomy on this flight...very interesting vibe as you walk the isles. Assuming you survive this little jaunt you are rewarded with 7 more bags each weighing at least 50 pounds to carry around and then you board an even smaller plane with more people and head to your final destination. Every journey over is a little bit different but you get the idea.
This, however, was not my trip. I flew my own airplane over with two other individuals; by this I mean we sat in the cockpit and flew the airplane! A mere14 flying hours later with a short stop in Jolly-Jolly England for some pints of Ale we sky-hooked into our final destination . I tell you this not to brag but to understand how I have set myself up for failure. My attitude when I got here was probably very similar to the New England Patriots in 2007, who after after going 16-0 in the regular season and rolling through the playoffs in to the Superbow no doubt thought "I got this!" Needless to say when I showed up I was not miserable, tired, cranky, pissed off, sore or whatever crazy emotion you can conjure up. I was excited to have just flown over a part of the world I had never seen and oh by the way I just had my first sortie in an airplane designed for hi-end corporate travel...not bad. Oh boy did I need help. I think part of the relief in getting here is that you are no longer traveling, since I didn't go through that experience I cheated myself out of the real joy in getting to the AOR. I think when you go through something like that you appreciate your 4x6 bedroom and communal shower a little more.
Unfortunately for me I also broke one of the cardinal rules for going TDY: I whistled while I packed. If you don't understand why this is such a big deal then you have never gone some place magical while your significant other searched the house for all your passwords so she can pay the bills. If you immediately hate me then your loved one has obviously forgot to get you a gift while he was learning to scuba dive in WWII wreckage of the coast of Honolulu. Bottom line is I set myself up for failure. Excited to get on the road, primarily because the sooner I start the sooner I am done, but also because this is a new and unique adventure for me I forgot to really focus on the emotional toll deploying takes on people.
If you can't see the sh*t storm brewing let me fill you in. My crisis is two fold: 1) Sink and Grey Hairs are left to pick up my mess back home without any real closure to my leaving and 2) I show up in theater prancing around like the newest cast member of Glee. Sink and Grey Hairs have been here plenty of times albeit never to this extreme so I have nothing but confidence in them. In all reality when this is over it will have been much more difficult for me then them since they get the normalcy of life back home. The guys that I am deployed with have been her for months and I am the new guy. And while it may not seem that bad; the food is free and the weather is no worse than Vegas, it does get old and you can see it on the guys about to leave. The air smells roughly similar to a homeless man's armpit and is heinously dirty. So standard new guy stuff applies; take out the trash without being asked, go to work and be helpful, and as always never pass up the opportunity to shut your piehole.
Again remember men and women are over here getting hurt daily. Getting hurt so we can enjoy the life we have come to expext as Americans, so all I ask is that while you are at the gas pump putting in $4 fuel into your full-size SUV for your family of three you consider writing your Congressmen and ask them to please push for an end to the NFL lockout. It's almost August and without football the TV over here is really going to suck. Please don't do that to us.
Cheers,
Beast
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