Pager Shenanigans and the ops SUP war

Hi everyone, I hope this post finds you all well. I know the posts are coming few and far between, but I’m deployed, so deal with it! Not much has changed here lately, although it is starting to cool off; it no longer gets up to 125 during the day, it’s only about 105-110 at the peak of the day, which is actually a vast improvement. This base is closing down rapidly now, so it’s a constant struggle to try and accomplish anything that involves support agencies. I guess that’s no different than normal since the “support” agencies normally just make you do their job for them. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been to Finance and been told, “You have to fix this on your own,” I wouldn’t have to talk to finance ever again since my financial troubles would effectively be over. In fact, I bet I could retire and buy an island in the Caribbean with those funds.

The main group of our squadron has left for our new location already, and a skeleton crew has been left here to close this location down and continue flying missions before we deliver the jets to our new location in a short time. I am excited that I will be one of the last crews to fly a jet out of this field, ne’er to return. It’s not something everyone gets to do. But in the meantime, I’m back to living out of my backpack and attempting to live the vampiric lifestyle of the night crew. The other day, we found out that the main group of operators was heading out two days earlier than planned, and when I say we “found out,” I mean a pilot in our squadron found a group of us playing cards at the rec center and says, “Oh hey, they moved the date up by a couple of days for the main move.” I replied, “A couple of days? As in about 18 hours from now?” He said, “Yeah… I guess so. Maybe you should check the squadron to make sure you have all of the info.” I passed out a little earlier than planned so I could get into the squadron earlier than planned so I could double check the schedule and make sure I did have whatever “info” they had for us. I showed up pretty early and found out I had been thrown on the schedule to fly, and had to be in crew rest a number of hours ago. This is what I would consider important information to disseminate. Dan pointed out, “We’ve had pagers on us since we got here. Doesn’t this seem like the PERFECT time to use it?” I said, “Maybe our trailers aren’t pager friendly.” Truthfully though, I tend to agree with him. So for most of the squadron, the last day ended up being a blur of outprocessing and attempts to mail gear either home or to our new location. I have the distinct advantage of having a couple extra days to try and get my ducks in a row before I leave (even though I already had everything done – I don’t always procrastinate), and I get to take my own jet there, but one of the squadron superintendents informed me that I still have to outprocess like I was leaving on a transport. This is what I had to say:

Me: Why do I have to go turn in this crap to PERSCO? I’m taking my own jet.
Superintendent: Because they need to know you have everything in order and sign off on your checklist.
Me: Why? Are they going to make me come back if I don’t have their signature?
Superintendent: Well…No, but you still need to make sure all the paperwork is good to go. They’ll get pretty pissed if you just left.
Me: Are they going to turn green and start smashing things? I have everything I need and I promise you I will double check the forms on the jet before I leave.
Superintendent: That’s not what I mean. Please go by there and turn your stuff in before you go.
Me: We’ll see.

Obviously I’ll be a good Captain and go over there and placate the almighty wrath of the paper stampers, I just find it completely ridiculous that I can’t leave on an OPERATIONAL mission without someone looking at my paperwork and saying, “Yes, you can go. I hereby verify that you are not retarded and have done everything you need to do to outprocess.” Plus, it’s kind of depressing going to the out bound passenger terminal knowing you aren’t going home for a LONG, LONG time. So in the meantime, I’m still hanging out here, flying a little bit and conserving laundry as hygienically as possible, and biding my time before I leave this base behind. It won’t be missed AT ALL.

In other news, a number of the sensors on the night crews have started a campaign to get me brought over to the night schedule permanently. They are literally bugging the crap out of the scheduler trying to get me shifted over so I can fly with them, which is awesome. Simultaneously, someone has started an insidious campaign for me to become the new Operation Superintendent, or ops SUP. A couple of guys had targeted one of the more experienced Captains to try and make him the newest ops SUP, and I guess someone decided that I would be a perfect fit for that job as well. Not that it would be that bad, I would have to sit in front of a computer for 15 hours at a time and say timely things on the radio like, “SUP copies,” or “Stalker driver, line 8 step,” but the point is someone is targeting me. I will not go quietly, and payback will most certainly be a bitch for the offending party. I’ll keep y’all updated on the ops SUP war, and the move in general. Sorry this update is so short and lacking the usual amount of humorous anecdotes, I’ll try and write something longer whenever I get settled into the new location. Take care!

Wellen

Snakes, Spiders, Scorpions and Guns

“So your three biggest fears are Alligators, Crocodiles and brain aneurisms?  Why brain aneurisms?”
“Because a brain aneurism can strike at any time Lana, which is what makes it so TERRIFYING!”
                                                                                                                                -Archer

So besides the crippling heat (which may or may not cause a brain aneurism… I swear it’s so hot sometimes I’m positive I’m about to have one) and being in an active war zone, there are creatures here that want nothing more than to feed on my dead body. Unfortunately for me, they are all quite venomous and very adept at exacting monumental amounts of pain and/or agony before dining on my flesh like the well stocked buffet it is. Also regrettable is the fact that I am immensely leery of one, whereas the others only moderately spook the shit out of me. The three biggest threats are Pit Vipers, Scorpions and Camel Spiders. 

Not much of an explanation is needed when it comes to Pit Vipers. They are exactly what they sound like: wicked, poisonous and mind-blowingly aggressive snakes that can move like lightning through sand and want everything around them dead. I assume these have been summoned from beneath the crust of the earth by evil forces to make my life a living hell. I have a healthy professional concern (because pilots are never scared) for snakes back in the states, and now I’m dealing with their meaner, more aggressive cousins. Normally I just end snakes lives violently with a shovel or crow bar or [insert household tool that doubles as a barbaric weapon here], but no such luck over here. 

Scorpions out here are exactly like what you would think they would be: poisonous, sneaky and big. I’m not really scared of these as much anymore since I grew up around them and have been stung by them a bunch, every time while in bed. Trust me, once you’ve been stung by a scorpion in your bed, the rest of the arachnid family doesn’t hold as much of a threat anymore. Even in subsequent stingings, I would wake up in pain and think to myself, “Not again…” as I proceeded to toss my bed for the offending demon bug. The ones here are worse –IE can kill a person if an antivenin isn’t administered quickly – but I always check my sheets before bedding down and haven’t seen one yet. We’ll see if that luck holds out.

Camel spiders on the other hand are enormous spiders that roam about like 8 legged predators. I don’t mean enormous like “big enough to jump on a chair and howl,” I’m talking big enough that people have fired weapons at these things because they are so intimidating. They’re like tarantulas on steroids. And they love the shade.  This wouldn’t really be a problem if there was more shade here – it is the desert – and everyone didn’t come with a healthy (sometimes too healthy depending on the persons eating habits) shadow in the land of the eternal sun. This doesn’t sound like an issue until the spider spots the shade that the person is creating, at which point the spider makes a bee line to the person’s shadow which is probably as unnerving as it sounds. I talked to someone whenever I showed up about these and he had this to say: “Camel spiders? Yeah those things are fast. They’ll come flying for the shade and no one wants a big ass spider running after them.” Running. He used the word running! I looked it up online, and these assholes can move about half as fast as a human in a dead sprint. Really? So on top of snakes trying to kill me and scorpions trying to sneak under my covers, I have to deal with Usain Bolt’s satanic offspring chasing after me? AWESOME. Again, I’m not too terribly afraid of spiders; I’ve held tarantulas and Brown Recluses are prevalent in Oklahoma (aren’t they Rob? I bet you won’t sleep on the floor in OK again will you?), but a beefy arachnid on Deca-durabolin sprinting after me and my associated shadow will have me running for the nearest border screaming all the way.

This all became an issue the other night when I was shaken from a dead sleep by something… it might’ve been the F-16s that take off right next to me, or it could be my bed itself which vibrates all night long. Seriously. At first I thought I was imagining things/going completely insane until I asked my roommate and he said, “Yeah my last roommate said that bed shook all night long. I guess he wasn’t crazy.” Well, the verdict is in. He’s not. I swear it feels like I’m sleeping on a magic fingers bed that someone jammed WAY too many quarters in and left. Or the generator for our unit is directly under my bed and it’s about to throw a rod. Wouldn’t that be the way to go? The mishap report for that would be quite depressing. “Captain Dowd was killed in his sleep due to a malfunctioning generator located 4 feet underneath his bed which detonated in an impressive fashion and during its death throes, launched a better part of its shredded internals vertically and parked itself in Captain Dowd’s chest cavity.” Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. But I digress... 

I woke up, crawled out of the Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People (it was an actual movie, look it up! There’s your 2^nd pop culture reference Dan), and realized nature was calling. There is nothing more depressing than waking up and realizing two walks through the gravel pit to the nearest latrine is what stands between you and returning to sleep. God help the man who forgets his reflective belt and neglects to tuck his shirt in on the way! So I don my flip flops and reflective belt and as I’m walking out of my room, I’m fairly certain that I saw a slithering something disappear under the steps directly across from my room. Let’s say for the sake of this post it was somewhere between 8 and 24 feet long with the face of Satan himself. Honestly I’m not sure if I really saw a snake, but at night the walk is treacherous enough without an actual snake, and if there is one, we’re now talking real danger. If you’ve seen my deployment photos on Facebook, you’ll realize there are PLENTY of places for a snake to lay in wait for my tantalizing flip-flopped foot to go sauntering past. So I freeze in my tracks as all of this comes crashing into my nonplussed mind while I try and weigh the dangers of walking through this Death Valley against the fact that I might not sleep anymore because of the need to go to the bathroom.  So I’m standing on my porch tallying Operational Risk Management points (for you non-pilot types, ORM points are what we use to mitigate possible risks on a mission), and I’m realizing that my total has rapidly gone from “completely bored by the task at hand” to  “I’d be bat-shit crazy to go another step.” I did the only thing I could think: attempt the precarious pit crossing. Snakes be damned, I had to pee and I am fairly certain you can give yourself cancer if you hold it too long. Ok maybe not, but snake or no, this issue wasn’t going to go away pleasantly without a bathroom visit. I crept off of my porch, and then sprinted away, flip-flops a-flapping, and made it safely to the latrine without a problem.

This sparked an interesting discussion with my roommate J-Flo. We carry guns EVERYWHERE. You literally can’t get into the chow hall without one. I even carry one at church, which is the greatest combination of the 1^st and 2^nd Amendment EVER. Jesus and guns! It’s like being in the South again! But even with all this firepower wandering around, would a person get into trouble for killing a snake with one’s sidearm? J-Flo’s response was terrifyingly close to sounding like it was pulled out of an Air Force regulation:

J-Flo:  You probably wouldn’t get in trouble if you could prove you were in immediate peril.
Me: Uhh, it’s a snake. It WANTS to bite me. Of course I’m in peril!
J-Flo: Well, if you can prove it, you probably won’t get into trouble.
Me: I can’t believe we’re having this conversation… It shouldn’t even be an issue. They should thank me and give me a medal and a bottle of scotch for being such a badass.
J-Flo: You’d still probably get written up.
Me: I’d rather get bitten by the damn snake.

So this ended the discussion. I decided if I see a snake, I’m going to stun it by throwing my gun at it, and then choke it to death with my reflective belt. That’s what Bear Grylls would do. Then he would turn the thing inside out, tied a knot in it, and use it as a bag to pee into so he didn’t have to go outside at night and risk getting bitten in the FIRST PLACE!

I hope y’all are doing well and enjoying your Labor Day. I miss you all.

-Wellen

The One Month List: Army Parking Chicken and Iraqi Sock Monsters

I apologize to everyone for the tardiness of this post. We’ve been pretty busy lately and not a whole lot has taken place that has truly been note worthy. It’s still hotter than hell around here, and nothing makes me happier than showering in some tepid water – you can’t even really call it showering, it’s more like “pushing sweaty soap around your body and praying you don’t smell when you’re done” – and then walking back to my room (all of 300 yards) and breaking a sweat before I get to my door. I hear it’s supposed to start cooling off soon, and I can’t wait for that. 

My schedule as of late has been a veritable nightmare. For four days in a row I would have to show progressively earlier and earlier, which completely messed up my sleep schedule. There were a number of nights where I would have to ride the “A train” (take an ambien) just to fall asleep. All in all it wasn’t too bad, just incredibly disorienting. Most days don’t pass without someone asking, “Anyone know what day it is?” So at least I know I’m not the only one whose schedule is completely jacked.

I’ve now been here over a month which according to one pilot is monumental because, “Now you can start counting weeks instead of days, and it’ll go by a lot quicker.” I have my doubts but I’ll give it a try. I’m coming to the realization now what all I’m going to miss and it’s an aggravating list: football season, deer season, dove season, spring turkey, my mom’s birthday (already missed this), my brother’s birthday, Thanksgiving, my dad’s birthday, Christmas, New years, and possibly all of duck and goose season. LAME! But, at least all of these things are annual occurrences so there will always be next year. Besides all of the events I’m missing (and the obvious people I miss), and in recognition of me making it a full month here, I present a couple of lists of things that I take for granted back in the states as well as some of the things I will have a hard time adjusting to when I get back:

Things that I miss:

·         My quiet house

·         My BED

·         My own kitchen and cooking for myself, and not having to walk a mile to get to the food

·         Carpet (seriously, all of you take it for granted. It’s WAY more awesome than you realize)

·         Good coffee. Maybe it’s just the milk they use here (which may or may not be goat’s milk, I’m still investigating), but something just tastes off.

·         My 4Runner and its sound system. Even though our crew vans have only 40K miles on them, they look like they’ve been driven in a desert demolition derby on a weekly basis. Seriously, these are some haggard and worn down vehicles, like someone every day empties about 8 Dust Busters straight into the AC unit just in case you didn’t did the full effect of sand and dust on the walk to the van.

·         The color GREEN. Something else I took for granted. Everything here is brown, or tan. Or a tannish brown. Or a brownish tan. You get the point.

These are just the first things that come to mind, but you get the idea. Here’s a couple of things I certainly won’t miss:

·         Sand. Yes, it does get everywhere.

·         Mind crippling heat. At 128 degrees outside, I was pretty sure the blood in my brain was boiling and melting my frontal lobe.

·         Getting chiefed all the time for the littlest things: i.e. reflective belts, mustache being too mustachy, shirt not tucked in, socks too long or not long enough, flight suit not zipped up enough, and God have MERCY ON YOUR SOUL if you put your sunglasses on your head.

·         Not having to wear PTs all the time, or the confounded reflective belt

·         Not having to walk across a gravel pit to shower/go to the bathroom, or being terrified of contracting some disease in the facilities

·         Not having to walk across gravel PERIOD (seriously, half of this country is gravel, the other half is sand)

·         Not having to play Army Parking Chicken. This game is played by army assholes who like to walk in front of me while parking. I’m pretty sure they say to each other, “Let’s see how slowly I can walk in front of this Captain trying to park his van without him freaking out and getting out and screaming at me.” Jokes on them, I just floor it now and let our POS vans groan and creek right past their digicammed bodies as they dive out of the way. Let’s just say “Aggressive Parking Procedures” is a new term in my lexicon, and definitely a technique now being employed. Watch out for me when I get back.

·         Pagers. Yes I have a pager here, every Mission Commander gets issued one in case they have to get a hold of you. I laughed out loud when they gave it to me and the obligatory questions followed: “Is this building pager friendly? Do you have a pay phone bank around here?” The comm guys didn’t find this as funny as me.

·         Controlled detonations. ‘Nuff said.

And finally, here’s a couple of things I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time adjusting to:

·         Not carrying a gun everywhere. I honestly thought it would be a drag at first, but now it’s just something normal, and preferable. I’m sure there’s gonna be a couple of days when I get home where I’m rummaging through my house sure that I’m forgetting something just to turn out I’m not wearing a holster and a pager. Although I bet students would listen A LOT more if I was carrying a gun around. Maybe I’ll just wear the empty holster as the definitive idle threat to students: “If you mess this up, and if I were to be carrying a gun, this conversation would sound much different!”

·         Not getting to wear my boonie cap. My boonie cap is a chief magnet because the edges are rolled up like a cowboy hat. Seriously, it’s catnip for them, but it’s worth it! If it looks like a cowboy hat, feels like a cowboy hat, maybe it SHOULD be a cowboy hat. I will miss it dearly.

·         Having to do my own laundry. Here they have an Iraqi run laundry service which has a two day turn around, and they do a damn good job. Although I have discovered lately that sock loss is an international conspiracy, because even they lose one of my socks every now and then. They aren’t stealing them; what would they do with just ONE Nike sock? At least at home the sock triage will be my fault and not on the shoulders’ of the Iraqi Sock Monster.

·         Having to file a flight plan – how do we fill those out again?

·         Teaching ground ops to students…this is going to particularly suck hard. There will be much wailing and gnashing of the teeth coming from me.

·         Not having immediate access 24/7 to caffeine products. It’s INSANE how much caffeine is available over here. I came over here with a slight caffeine dependency, and I can already tell I’m going to leave here with a crippling addiction. I’m talking drink-caffeine-until-my-eyes-vibrate-and-I-have-moderate-night-vision addiction. Coming back should be lots of fun; mind crushing headaches are in the forecast upon my return. Someone should get that show Intervention to show up, because I’m gonna be jonesin’ like a crackhead.

I had been thinking about these lists for a while, and they are obviously not all-encompassing, but a good glimpse of the things that I look forward to when I get back. I hope y’all enjoy, and look forward to hearing back from y’all. Take care!

-Wellen

Friday Night Fight: Air Force vs Army Logic

Welcome to the Holy Month of Ramadan, when terrorists fast during the day and let mortars fly around the clock – I assume this is because they are hungry and cranky. Well, that and the fact that they HATE us with an unfettered passion. Radical Islam actually dictates that if the zealots die during the month of Ramadan, they will actually be let into a better part of heaven… Like the velvet rope section or something. As a result, attacks are slightly more commonplace this month.

I don’t want anyone to get the idea that I am in some sort of immediate peril. Yes, there are mortars flying over the rail, but for the most part they are just taking pot shots at us, and have NO chance of hitting anything.  We also have a really advanced early warning system which if it detects an incoming round, it will try and ascertain (through simple trigonometry and launch analysis) where it will land, and warn the people in the area. The horn that goes off is normally quite noticeable and persists until someone decides the attack is over.

The other night I was taking a break from trying to kill myself in the gym and flying circles over Iraq and found myself in the Rec center checking email and chatting online with some friends.  I had some head phones in and was listening to some tunes, and as result, I did not hear the siren go off or the incoming call. I did, however notice when people started diving for the floor (I do have some  situational awareness), and I followed suit. It must not have been quite fast enough for a nearby Air Force Master Sergeant, who took time out of his trip to the floor to “encourage” me to move faster. His tackle form was well practiced. I felt like saying “If this Indirect Fire Attack were to hit RIGHT here, you persuading me to the floor would not save me.” But I figured it’s kind of like the safety cards on airplanes that say “calmly affix the oxygen mask to your own face before you help your neighbor with theirs,” which he obviously had never read. His Master Sergeant manual must read, “In case of an Indirect Fire Attack, get on the ground. Unless of course there is a Captain sitting nearby not moving his fat ass fast enough for you. In which case, ride him to the ground like you’re hog tying a calf at the rodeo. In this way, you’ll both be safe, or if not safe, then at least you’ll be RIGHT.”

So here I am face down on the grimy floor, pondering how many diseases might be in immediate proximity to my face, when the alarm stopped going off. Protocol states that you’re supposed to stay on the ground for a couple minutes, and then move to shelter until the “all clear” is called. I guess some people decided after the horn ceased that they should be ok to get back up and continue tweetin’ the deets (“Indirect Fire Attack! ROFL!”). The Master Sergeant noticed this and went apoplectic. I could honestly see his eye start twitching. He sat halfway up and bellowed, “DO YALL HAVE SUPER POWERS THAT KEEP YOU SAFE FROM MORTARS?!?!” (Which I thought would’ve been quite helpful, and a really cool super power I had never thought of) “GET YOUR ASSES BACK ON THE GROUND FOR TWO MORE MINUTES!!!” The recipients of the ass chewing reluctantly complied, while the Sergeant got back down as well. For the next 90 seconds, I could see his mind churning, trying to figure out how best to make sure everyone knew he was in charge. I already knew I was going to comply with whatever he came up (within reason), but when he jumped up to take charge, he ran into a road block that for once wasn’t me. It was an Army Sergeant.

The Air Force Sergeant jumps up and begins screaming at everyone in the rec. “My name is Sergeant Smith with base Security Forces. There has been an indirect fire attack in the proximity. You are all ordered to exit this building and seek shelter in the hardened bunkers. NOW MOVE!!!” I had seen some of the hardened bunkers outside by the basketball court, and I, like so many people started hurriedly packing my gear up. I didn’t think that this was the most logical decision, but I was tired and I didn’t feel like going toe to toe with this guy. Well, the Army Sergeant sitting at my table did.

Army Sergeant: “Wait, we’re going outside?!? We’re getting shot at!
Air Force Sergeant (still screaming): “Everyone is directed to move to the hardened bunker until the all clear call is made.”
Me:  (I continue packing but at a much slower rate and thinking to myself) “this could be awesome; maybe I should watch these two lock horns…”
Army Sergeant (upset that his logic doesn’t appear so logical to the Air Force Sergeant): “Seriously! We’re getting shot. I’m not going outside, that doesn’t make any sense.
Air Force Sergeant (totally losing his mind): I’M IN CHARGE HERE! EVERYONE IS MOVING TO THE HARDENED BUNKERS!!!
Me: (thinking to myself), “I was right. This is AWESOME.”
Army Sergeant (enraged): “F*$# THIS. I’m going to the coffee shop.”
Air Force Sergeant (notices I’m the only one still left in there besides him and the Army Sergeant who just walked out): “MOVE IT CAPTAIN!!!!!!!!!”
Me: (thinking to myself), “OK, maybe that was too slow…”

So I go outside and find the hardened bunker already chock full of people who are obviously enjoying so many people in their personal space. I see all of these soldiers and airmen huddled into this bunker, frightened, shaken, and maybe a little annoyed, and I see them for what they really are: an unwilling audience. I decide to screw with all twenty some-odd people in the bunker. I start out by yelling out, “Everybody listen up! This is Captain Dowd. I’m gonna go ahead and take some accountability.” Everyone groans out loud while I chuckle to myself, thinking how much fun pulling rank can be. I then ask, “By a show of hands, how many people don’t have a reflective belt on?” This elicits more groans (as normally higher ranking Sergeants are the ones griping at everyone about this, and DEFINITELY not air crew), and a few hands go up. I respond with, “Well GOOD WORK. Now we’re all dead. Everyone knows that reflective belts repel mortar attacks, and you just ruined that for everyone. Thanks A LOT.” Everyone laughed and loosened up a little bit, and shortly thereafter, the all clear call was made. No one was hurt, and I do know that the Air Force Sergeant was doing what he was trained to do, and he did it well. He might not have made any new friends, but no one can say he did not follow protocol. In no way am I saying what either guy did or said was right or wrong, I just took it for the comedic value I found in it. Hope y’all enjoy, and I’ll update again soon. Take care!

-Wellen

MC-12 Diet Plan

This is my MC-12 diet plan (patent pending). I'm sure this diet will soon gain followership just like the South Beach Diet or Atkins or another similar faddish diet regime. Give this a try if you want IMMEDIATE results:

1. Eat a normal meal whenever you get up. Normal can be your definition, I just wouldn't call anything like "pound a baker's dozen worth of doughnuts" normal.
2. Sweat through your fire retardant flight suit on your walk to work.
3. Fly a 4-5 hour sortie in an aircraft that is practically devoid of working air conditioners, rendering the ambient cockpit temperature a balmy 92-95 degrees while you sit and bake in the sun. Sweat through fire retardant clothing and body armor once more.
4. Skip lunch (because you're retarded and forgot to pack one). Instead, satiate yourself with a power bar, caffeine products and the thought of what you would be eating if you had even the most infinitesimal amount of foresight required to pack said lunch.
5. Land, and make it back to work. Sweat through clothing once more.
6. Head back to your domicile. Sweat a little more.
7. Go to the gym. Turn up the temperature (approximately 85-90 degrees should suffice) and sweat the rest of your fluid out as you put your dehydrated body through the rigors of a challenging workout that ordinarily would have you running for the trash can, but since you have nothing in your gut, puking is not an option.
8. Clean up, attempt to rehydrate. Go eat a normal dinner. By this point your stomach has shrank to a size best described as "indignant withdrawal." You won't be able to fit in as much as you'd like.
9. Do this EVERY DAY for 6 months. Results guaranteed.

This has been working wonders for me, hope y'all find it as effective as I have. Take care!

Wellen

Combat Flying, part II

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. 

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

I'm fairly certain that Magee wasn't referring to flying over Iraq when he wrote this. It would've sounded quite different. How many words can you rhyme with dust? Before I even start talking about the flying, a brief history of the McDozen is necessary to understand what the jets are like here in Iraq *Note: This is not the expressed view of the United States Air Force. This is the expressed view of Will Dowd and all thoughts and historical data herein contained are possibly inaccurate, wrong, and overall merely hearsay passed down from the slightly disgruntled pilots of this program.* OK now that THAT is out of the way, here's how the program started: 

Around 2007ish, Chairman Gates got pissed that the AF wasn't doing enough for the tactical ISR realm. A lot of officers got yelled at and it fell to one group to "fix" the hole in our air assets and come up with a manned ISR asset that would rectify the situation. I think a bunch of colonels probably sat down with a couple of bar napkins and said "How do we stop getting yelled at about this?!?" And thus developed the MC-12 Project Liberty Program.

The basic idea they came up with (a remarkably good idea I must say) was get a King Air Beechcraft 350 and gut it, put in a whole bunch of intel, recon and surveillance tools that the Air Force could use to support ground forces as an airborne tactical MANNED ISR asset. So obviously, the first step was to talk to Beechcraft and get some jets to do this. I feel like the conversation went like this:

Air Force Guy (after explaining their idea): OK, so that's our plan, do you think y'all can help?

Beechcraft Guy: Yeah! That sounds awesome let's get right to it. How many jets do y'all want?

AFG: We're gonna need like (insert number here) total.

BG (seeing a large bonus looming in his immediate future): AWESOME! We can definitely do that. I'll start putting the paperwork together.

AFG: Great, this is such a relief. When can we get the first jet?

BG: Umm, lemme see. OK, it looks like the first aircraft will be delivered to you in July of 2010 (or some arbitrary date really far away).

AFG (panicking): WHAT!?!?! No no no, I think you misunderstood me, we need these jets NOW for retrofitting. Like yesterday quick.
BG: Hahaha, yeah right, that's not really how this works. You give me an order, we build the airplanes, we ship them to you, then you can do whatever you want with them. Did you think we had a bunch just sitting around?

AFG (obviously aghast that his plan is falling through): Well, no...or maybe... But regardless, we need some jets right away. What can we do?!?!

BG: Well, there is one thing you can do, but... you might not like this...

AFG: Tell me, PLEASE. Anything will work for now.

BG: Anything?

As a result of this exchange the Air Force ended up buying a number of Beechcraft off of the general market...Ebay for all intents and purposes. Those first jets that they bought from the public (doctors, lawyers, oil companies, etc) became the initial MC-12 fleet. Some of those jets are still here in Balad. It is into this world I now take you.

So since the jets here were bought off of the general market, there are some very small differences between the tails that we have here. Some of them are inconsequential and meaningless, but some of the differences make going from one jet to another kind of like time traveling. A few are brand new with ridiculous avionics, then you step into another, and beyond looking the same on the outside, the cockpit is much older with completely different avionics. My very first combat sortie was in one of these jets, that I've NEVER SET FOOT IN BEFORE. So we're getting ready to roll to the airplane, and the acting mission commander asks me, "So did you get to fly one of these birds in training?" My response was full of confidence: "Ummm...no. I've seen pictures though, I'm sure I'm good to go." We get out to the jet, I get settled into the seat and immediately say to myself, "Where the HELL IS EVERYTHING!?!?" Every switch seemed to be in a completely different location. Ground ops for a combat mission is fast paced and the last thing you want is a pilot holding everything up for the back enders. This was my greatest fear come to fruition. I started sweating profusely (more than I already was due to the oppressive heat) and tried my damnedest to find everything. To my own credit, I did get most of the checks accomplished in time mainly through sheer force of will, but there were a lot of these questions: "Where is this switch exactly? OK, and what does it do--you know what, nevermind...I'll ask later." We finally get the engines spinning and are taxiing out for takeoff and the weather is HORRIBLE. I'm talking about howling winds and blowing dust to the point of obscuration. The tower couldn't even see us when we made it to our runway. It was, in short, a beautiful Iraq day. I'm thinking to myself, "Great, different airplane, horrible weather, first flight in a combat zone. If I mess this up, my balls are gonna get punted all the way back to the states." But I remembered I am Will Dowd, and I imbued myself with my overwhelming self-confidence that has gotten me this far, and pressed on. We take off, and no kidding were in this sand storm immediately and stayed in it until we finally leveled off. Thank God the jets all fly the same way or else I would've really had my hands full. 

We make it about halfway to where we're supposed to work, and we get a call from base saying to pack it up and turn around for a weather recall. Apparently the dust storm was kicking up even harder and visibility was going to drop down to only a quarter of a mile for a couple of hours. For those non pilot types reading, that's REALLY BAD. We head back and try to loiter over the base for a little so some sort of training can take place, but another jet calls that the visibility is dropping faster than anticipated, so we needed to land NOW. We got vectors around for an approach which we shot down to the bare minimums with some howling crosswinds and luckily got the airplane on the ground before the sandstorm really rolled in. All in all it wasn't a real big issue, it was just a touch too hairy for my very first sortie in Iraq. It counts though right? I guess it has too.

So while everyone has visions of grandeur for their first combat sortie --another particularly special pilot actually told us that he was going to practically save the world from Al Qaeda, nuclear armed conflict, global warming AND zombies on his first mission. We laughed in his face and told him to go peel labels off of Gatorade bottles -- I was just happy that I didn't mess up my first ride in a different jet, and that I then got it back on the ground safely. While I didn't think that I was going to solve world hunger while flying (my delusions of grandeur only go so far), I was at least hoping to experience some of the day to day ops that we execute. But I'll take a safe recovery any day and call it good enough for now. Take care, more updates to follow.

-Wellen

Combat Flying

I've started combat flying, and while I have a few funny stories about it, I can't convince myself to be funny during this tragedy in Afghanistan. It's such a shame that men like that put their life on the line for the people of Afghanistan, and this is what they get. I was reading last night and I came across one of my favorite verses:

All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced;
Those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish.
Though you search for your enemies you will not find them.
Those who wage war against you will be as nothing at all.
                                                              --Isaiah 41:11

While my job entails finding terrorists, I'd like to think that this verse means not that they won't be found, but that eventually there won't be any more enemies. My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the operators who lost their lives.

I'll hopefully post again tonight after my flight

-Wellen