Departure

I awoke on the Wednesday morning bright and early--too nervous to sleep. To occupy myself I watched "Game of Thrones" (awesome, by the way) and double checked that I had everything.

I arrived at the terminal at 1130 via shuttle. The first thing I noticed was that the atmosphere was significantly less charged than the last time. In 2005, when I arrived at the hangar to head out they had rock music blaring, families around, and a super-charged atmosphere that motivated everyone to go. This time it was different--more like everyone was waiting to get on a prison barge. Why? Beats me--it could be one of many reasons. All but three of the 150 of us were going to Kuwait or Qatar, technically not war zones. War fatigue is another possibility--most of the people there were on the second, third, or fourth deployments.

With a planned 1300 departure, we didn't have much time to hang out. I called and said goodbye one last time, and waited for the boarding call.

At 1245, we were advised that the boarding call wouldn't come--until 2100 that night. 150 people in a hot terminal, with no transportation.

Ugh.

By 1600 I decided I was hungry enough to spend the $20 to go eat at a restaurant. I took a taxi to Chili's, by myself, and directed the waitress to bring glasses of Blue Moon as fast as she could. An hour and half later I was back at the terminal, feeling much more relaxed than when I left.

2100 came and went. And 2200. By 2300 we were finally boarding and I got the first perk of the trip--first class. I always thought those seats looked comfortable (and yes, they were better than coach) but they're not as good as I imagined.

After a 30 minute taxi we were finally airborne into the midnight sky. I looked across the aisle, thinking of the kids and how this was the furthest away I had ever been from Ben and Lilly. The thought lingered on my mind until I saw the lights from the eastern seaboard drift into darkness.

Goodbye

When I left to go to Qatar in 2005, Monkey was 6, Cowboy was just over four. It was Patriot Day 2005, and we were departing from my home-station at Davis-Monthan AFB in Arizona. Dropping me off consisted of a 20 minute drive to the base, so we decided to drop the kids off at their school first.

They both knew I was leaving--Monkey had broken down a few days earlier because we told her I was leaving after my birthday, which we had celebrated. As we dropped them off at school, with me wearing a desert uniform that they had never seen before, Sammy gave me a hug and ran off to his pre-school. He clearly had no idea. Sarah, however, did, and it was a very difficult separation, with both of us crying pretty hard. Eventually, she was strong and went into her classroom, and I cried the rest of the way to the base.

Just before the waterworks were turned on

This time was much different. First, we had been expecting this day for a long time due to the delays in getting me out of there. Having a deployment hanging over your head is very difficult because you never really know when your "last" will be--your last real meal, your last outing with the kids, your last beer, etc. Second, we live 3 hours from the nearest large airport--so we had to get up bright and early and drive the whole way out there--knowing what awaited us on the other end. Third, we now have four kids, with the younger two almost the same age as the older two were last time. And lastly, the drop off has to be quick--as we pulled up to the curb and the San Antonio Airport police don't care if you're donating a kidney on the curb--you have 5 minutes.

I was overwhelmingly nervous, since I was alone this time, versus one of three hundred deploying last time. Like shaking nervous. On top of that I was an emotional wreck due to the fact that I was separating from all of them for the first time. After the bags were on the curb, Ben lost it first. He actually got out of the car crying and was hysterical by the time I was pulling my bags away. Sarah and Sammy were as expected, as we had gotten the hardest parts out of the way the night before. SW was holding her own, and I was too, until I started pulling away and something happened.

Lilly, in all her three years, figured it out.

With all her siblings and mother crying around her, on a busy side street with daddy hauling over 100 pounds of bags, something HAD to be amiss. As I was walking away she very quickly ran after me to hold my hand, as if she thought she was coming with me. I kissed her on the head and brought her back to mom. As I walked away she did the same thing again. She didn't cry, she didn't pull me back--she had a very serious look on her face and appeared that she thought it incredulous that I would go anywhere without her.

I lost it.

Eventually I made it into the building and just sat down for a minute to collect myself.

This is going to be a long six months.

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Deployment Eve

Despite all of my preparations, I decided to repack one last time the night before, scared to death that I was going to forget something.  On my last deployment, we had a definitive list of stuff to bring--which I had packed and sealed weeks before I left.  This time, since we are going back into a country that we "quit" six months ago, no one really knows what to bring, so I spent my last day (unfortunately) repacking all of my stuff to make sure I had what I thought I needed.

At about 10pm, when I was in the garage finishing up trying to zip my bags closed, the door opened and Sarah came out.  At first I just said hello over my shoulder.  When she didn't answer, I turned.  She was sobbing and holding a card out to me.  She had colored in a felt cartoon cardstock of a princess with a rainbow in the background.  On the back she wrote:

Dear Daddy,
I love you so much! If you were here I'd give you a hug. But, know that me and the kids are safe. We just want you to come back home safe.
Be Careful,
love,
Monkey
P.S. I've gotta say it again I LOVE YOU!

For ten minutes we just held each other in the garage and cried.  It was so hard for me to see my oldest this upset about anything, let alone something I was having to do.

In the Interim

Good Lord what it takes to deploy someone these days.

We bailed out of Iraq, and I am constantly reminded of how irresponsible we were as a service in doing so.  My experience thus far has been that we bailed and didn't leave anything behind to lead the support structure in regards to what the plan was after we left.  It was (and should always be) obvious that when we leave a war zone we are not actually leaving.  We will always plan to have folks that stay behind to take care of business.  And thats what we did this time.  We just took all the play books with us.

CAST

When I was selected for this deployment I was told that I was going to have to attend a training school called "CAST"--Combat Airmen Skills Training.  It involved 2 weeks of field conditions, living in tents and wearing body armor, low-crawling through the weeds, and shooting multiple weapons for qualification.  To say I was slightly apprehensive about going is a slight understatement.

What I found, though, was (after a couple of days) a manner of calmness that I had not expected.  The days there are very structured.  There is very little confusion as to what comes next, what the plan is for the day, what uniform you need to wear, or what you need to do.  At night, there is absolute silence across the compound.  It amazed me that the thin g I feared the most--more chaos--was virtually eliminated by being at CAST.  

Beyond all of that--it was fun.

I was the lead truck in our convoy details.  I dove into the dirt to unload magazines into the "bad guys."  I ran out into a field of fire to drag wounded soldiers back to cover.  All of these things are matters that I will NEVER have to do, and if I do have to do them--things have gone horribly wrong in any conflict that we are involved in.

But what I grasped the most from CAST was that I left with an abundant awareness that I was going into a combat zone, and I need to get into the mindset that I was doing so--something I had not done yet.

Peace

The only word I can rationally use to describe my life for the last four years is "chaos."  I was convinced that the harder I worked the better off I, and my family, would be.  I was assured on many levels that all my hard work would pay off--at the cost of limited time with family, a crumbling house that I was unable to tend to, and a neglected wife.

Obviously, I was wrong.

While waiting to deploy, and after I was relieved from my job as an Operations Officer due to said deployment, I suddenly had lots of time off.  I took a week of leave while waiting to go to CAST (more on that later) and tried to wrap up the multitude of projects I had waiting to be done around the house.  While I was working on the empty swimming pool (in 85 degree weather--much later than I had anticipated) Princess came outside while the kids were at school and SW was off taking care of business.  I was sweaty, frustrated, and really didn't have time to deal with her.  She went and stood under her kiddie-swing and pointed up.  Begrudgingly, I lifted her into the swing and started to push.

At first it truly was an annoyance--a distraction from keeping me from completing the swimming pool project That I knew the kids so desperately wanted completed.  But slowly, without me knowing it, something came over me that I haven't seen in a while.

Peace.

For 45 minutes I stood there pushing that swing.  We didn't talk, she didn't laugh uncontrollably.  But for 45 minutes all I could hear was the wind in the trees and the constant squeak...squeak...squeak of the ropes on the swing.

At some point I forgot about the pool, forgot about the deployment, and forgot about all the pressing issues in my life.  For 45 minutes all was right in the world, and I was reminded about the absolute perfect innocence of being a child.

Wet Footprints

For a little while now, I've known it was time to go.  I've spent almost seven years of my career at Laughlin Air Force Base flying with the 85th.  Eight if you include the 6 months at Pilot Instructor Training in San Antonio as part of the deal. Once I realized that my time was coming to an end, I started noticing details about the place that I hadn't before--things that make this place, and the experience of being a primary pilot training instructor, somehow worth it in the end.

When a student in Air Force UPT goes on his first solo flight, it is a pretty big deal.  The vast majority of kids that wash out do so prior to achieving this goal.  Quite a few still falter before finishing the program, but the first time you solo a $5M aircraft, you feel like the king of the world.  For decades, when a student lands after his first solo his classmates carry him to tank of water that each class decorates.  It is normally filled putrid water that's been out in the sun for the duration of the class being pre-solo.  They toss him fully clothed into the pool as part of the baptism of becoming an Air Force pilot.  As part of the tradition, there is an unwritten rule that if you are able to make it from the jet back to your flight room without being dunked--the flight owes you a case of your choice of beverage.

As you would expect, no one escapes their dunk.  Even the very rare individual (we had one recently change from his flight suit into a FedEx uniform, grab a handcart, and try to "deliver" boxes to his flight room--he was caught) that makes it back to the flight room is summarily tackled and carried back to the dunk tank.

One of the little details I've noticed recently surrounds this tradition.  Our hallways are carpeted here.  When a kid comes back into the building to change his soaked clothes, he leaves a long trail of wet footprints down the hall.  To me, it resembles a trail left by a ghost.  Every student that has come through this building in pursuit of the coveted wings has left this trail behind them.  To see the trail warms my heart that once again, my instructors have taken a kid who knew nothing about flying and taught him how to master the skies. 

To leave that trail means that you have just had one of the most significant events in your life--so recent that the water has yet to evaporate from the steps you have taken.

Back to the Desert

I've always wondered what I would do if I was tasked to go back to the sandbox.  Specifically, what would I do with my blog.  In the days now of Facebook, Twitter, Skype, and Facetime, the need to have this blog is kind of inefficient to serve its originaly purpose: to keep the homefront aware of what I was doing.  It did, however, make for a very theraputic way to pass the time when I was over there.  So, I've always wondered.

Now I get to find out.

Rather than move to San Antonio for what would likely have been the last time, I've been tasked to go to Baghdad.  My intial reaction (like everyone I've told where I'm going) was "I thought we didn't have anyone in Baghdad??"  Well, apparently we do.

There's a few things different than the last time.  First, it's Baghdad.  When I went to Qatar there was very little combat training involved or gear that I had to bring.  This time around there's a significant amount more of both.  It's a six-month deployment, rather than the four-months last time.  I volunteered months ahead of it last time, whereas this time I was tasked with only weeks to go.  And the most significant:  this time around I'm leaving four kids with SW, rather than two.

I am not thrilled--but I'm not complaining either.  This is going to be a very difficult challenge for me and my family, but it is yet another Desert Odyssey.

On the Eve of Greatness

 On the Eve of Greatness, how do you feel?

Do you feel empowered, just, and prepared?  Or do you feel weak, lost, and hopeless?

On the Eve of Greatness, how did those who have achieved felt?  Did they feel "I have done enough, it is time to move on" or did they say "My time has not yet come--I am ready for more."

On the Eve of Greatness, what is your state of mind?  Is it one of promise or depair?  Are you willing to accept the challenge or do you sit quietly on the sidelines hoping that destiny finds you?  Do you accept the mantle of responsibility or do you hope that the next day will never find you--waiting in the shadows for your time in the sun?

Moments

My time here in Del Rio is coming to an end. It's funny how fate throws twists your way every now and again.  This time around I was actually, for the first time in my career, not looking forward to leaving an assignment for the next one.  Despite multiple assurances that I was in the overall plan for the base, when the time came such assurances fell through. As a result, we're moving on soon. I just don't know when. 

As I am looking back on what can be described as the best and worst assignment of the last 17 years, I have been debating. What were the moments that defined this tour for me? What am I going to take with me once I depart the location that has been home to my family and I for over six years of my career?  I have some time before there's a farewell party for me--we shouldn't be going until sometime is summer. So I have decided to start writing some of these down. 

I've been looking for an excuse, or inspiration, to get my Odyssey going again. Hopefully this will be the catalyst.