On the way here I was accompanied for most of the legs by SSG Phoenix and two other soldiers from my company HQ. Their presence was a great improvement from the past few days of lonely waiting. They were on the way to the battalion HQ, and I was lucky enough to catch the hop here about ten minutes after we landed; even got a nice seat up front with the two aircrew members.
The full-faced covers and humorous patches added to their helmets make them seem to be from a different Army. In many ways they are. I still do nothing but wish I could have been an aviator or scheme up ways to become one every time I fly. The signal side has a lot of positives, but you cannot fly around all hooah on an antenna dish. I digress in my jealousy.
Iraq from above.
The scenes and movement below is active, varied, and eye-opening. The countryside paints a deeper picture than ones own knee-jerk reaction to the word Iraq. There is color to it.
Yes, there are decrepit shantytowns, smoke, trash, and nothingness, but there are also children playing soccer, farmers tending the crops, countrymen herding sheep, and villagers getting followed by their dogs as they bike down their own familiar driveways.
Between the cities, crop circles mark and polka dot the sparse desert flatland. It seems that even with nothing, man makes something. The rivers are the only source of fertility anywhere, but the long-handed irrigation machines fill in green within their own own circular reach.
I now sit here in the Camp Connection PAX terminal after a good hearty lunch, a lone game of pool, and a shoulder workout. Other than the flying, it has been a ‘normal’ day so far. This base is smaller than COB Home, but with the smaller size, comes more convenient foot travel to the facilities. With all the time in the world to wait for my early morning connection, I have a moment for a healthy pause.
Thankfully, I stocked up on a few movies from one of my soldier’s share drives before I left. One must find distraction or sleep, because military terminals feel even more like purgatory than an airport terminal back home. At least at ATL, IAD, wherever, one can people watch as others move in between the heavens. Here is a sterile room, a TV, some rows of chairs, and the others service members waiting around with you. And it’s not a trip to see granny in Florida or attend a conference in Vegas. It’s a trip to Somewhere, Iraq.
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