Dust to Dust

“Gentlemen, from this point on you need to have your body armor and helmets on and there will be not more getting up.” The loadmaster of the C-17 put down his handheld microphone and slung his own body armor over his head. Meanwhile, the two hundred marines and army grunts began to shuffle as those who had wiggled out of their protective gear tried to get it back on while crammed shoulder to shoulder with each other.
I, the lone Air Force pilot other than the ones flying this load of guys into the war zone, didn’t have to move because I never took my gear off. I had figured that it was probably the only time I would actually have to wear it so I might as well get the full experience to see what it was like. Georganne had complained, rightly so, that the back plate bruised her hips and I could see now what she was talking about. As I cinched my helmet down I peeked out the lone 4 inch window on the side of the plane and saw some of the highest mountains I have ever seen. While they would be very intimidating were I down climbing in the midst of them, from 35,000 feet they looked pretty benign. It was weird to think that the mountains might reach out and try to bring down our airplane. Rather, it was the men in mountains wanted to cause us harm.
Despite the pinch of ceramic and Kevlar some were seemed quite comfortable. At least I assumed from the way a few soldiers had their heads thrown back and mouths wide open in sonorous slumber that they were as comfortable as they could be. Others were trying to appear relaxed but they gripped their M4’s with white knuckles. None of us knew what we were going into not just on this steep tactical descent into Kandahar but what would come later. This was the beginning for all of us of a long period in which we would be in harm’s way. Most of the marines and soldiers on the plane would be away from their families and in the sights of the Taliban for a full year starting the moment we touched down. Reading books about how people react to stress is one thing but it was another to witness the various ways these young men dealt with it.
I was most encouraged by the youngest of the marines who didn’t know enough about what they were getting into to be worried. Or maybe they hadn’t experienced their own mortality yet. Things always happen to someone else right? Whatever the reason, over the clinking of weapons I began to hear the skinheads in the back singing “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling.” The song was quickly picked up by more of the marines and soon it rose over even the ever present drone of the C-17’s four engines. They barely made it to chorus though when the tight-lipped First Sergeant bawled at them to “shut the hell up.” I think he was just worried they were embarrassing the Marine Corps in front of the Army and Air Force. Too bad, I liked it.
With a crunch and a lurch we touched down on Afghan soil. After a short taxi, which was disorienting without any windows, the ramp lowered and the cabin was flooded with light. Being one of the first ones out since I was an officer I squinted down the tarmac and walked away from the plane. Kandahar is a bustle of activity. There were choppers whumping whumping around everywhere and small planes dodging them as they battled to takeoff from the one runway. The most noticeable thing though was the dust. There was dust everywhere!
It was like trying to breath in a hot sauna that no one had cleaned in three years with a layer of dust everywhere. It was in my eyes, I could taste it, and I what was that smell? There was a smell reminiscent of being in an old port-a-john. The legendary stench of the Kandahar Poo pond was indeed real. I’ll have more to say about that. Through the dusty haze I could make out a little mountain that had to be pretty close or I wouldn’t have been able to see it in the nasty visibility. It reminded me of Sunrise Mountain which stretches over the flightline at Nellis AFB where I have spent so much time in the past. This would not be any deployment full of glorious flying like a Red Flag though. Nor would I land and be a short drive from the Las Vegas Strip, the most decadent location on earth. No, this would be very different I thought as I stopped to cough and a 20 year old Marine ran into my back poking me with the barrel of an M-249 SAW.