Afterburners (5 page)

The deadline came and went. No one moved. Nothing happened. No one really knew what was going to happen, though officially we were told to go to minimal manning and again to spend time with our families. I knew for sure we were going though I hadn’t been told.

    We had known our deployment destination for some time, but we weren’t at liberty to discuss it with anyone outside work. I called my mother and we talked for a long, long time.

    She could tell something was wrong, but I said nothing. I wanted to tell her, “Mom, I’m leaving for the Gulf,” but I couldn’t. When she finally did ask if I were going, I told her, my voice clear and firm, “No, Mom, we’re staying in place. My unit isn’t going.”

    It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.

    Katie and I were in bed by 20:00. In her motherly way, Katie wanted to make sure I got enough sleep before anything happened.

    The inevitable phone call came at 23:45. I heard the first ring. My eyes popped wide open, and I jumped out of bed. I knew what the phone call meant and ran to catch the phone before it rang again. I didn’t want it to wake Katie.

    The phone finished its second ring as I picked it up and spoke a timid, “Hello.” I really hoped it was one of our relatives that had forgotten the time difference when calling to Germany again.

    “Hello?” the receiver called out, “This is—” I didn’t have to listen anymore. I knew the voice well enough. I’d heard it hundreds of times. It was Major James. “Pack your bags for the long term; you’re going TDY. Report tomorrow morning at 10:45. Any questions?”

    “No, sir!” I shouted into the mouthpiece, “I mean yes, sir. I’ll report tomorrow morning!”

    “Report tomorrow morning at 10:45,” repeated the voice in my ear, “Bring all your gear!”

    10:45? Wasn’t that a bit late? “Ah, yes, sir!” I replied. I vaguely remember hanging up the phone. My heart felt as if it had stopped cold. In a weird way, I was relieved, elated, and sad, all at the same time. I hadn’t said timid “yes sirs” or “no sirs.” I’d said them loud and prominent. Here was my chance to defend freedom and American interests.

    I turned around, ready to begin packing the A-bags I had never packed because I’d known all along that as soon as I packed them, I was really going to leave. Katie was standing behind me. I jumped back, startled. I didn’t think the phone had wakened her. Then I put my hands on her shoulders and I told her what she already knew.

    Katie’s face went blank. Her eyes registered what could have been only shock or even horror as she looked up at me. She didn’t want to believe what I’d said, so I had to tell her again. “We are leaving tomorrow,” I said, “the order finally came.” My voice wavered. The tortured waiting and not knowing was over, or so I thought.

    Tears began to stream down Katie’s cheeks. We’d been married eighteen months and I’d never seen her cry. God, it stung me to see her cry. It was a strange and moving sight. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, hands rigid on her shoulders until she pressed up against me, wet cheeks pushed up against my chest.

    I held her for the longest time, staring blankly at the white wall behind me. The light was on in the bathroom. I had so much to do. Again I felt sad, relieved and strangely happy. I kind of wanted to go, had wanted to go, and this both upset and confused me. “Yes, sir!” I had told the major. “Yes, sir!” I had been excited; but then I turned to look down into those great liquid brown eyes, and I started to tremble.

    Katie wrapped her arms tighter around me. I around her. Five, ten, perhaps fifteen minutes went by—it seemed both like hours and an instant.

    After my heart stopped pounding in my ears and Katie had calmed, both of us knew it was time to begin packing. Frantically, I began stuffing my belongings into canvas aircrew bags. Katie helped by folding flight suits, BDU t-shirts, and underwear, placing them in my over-the-shoulder bag.

    I was almost done packing when the significance of what had just transpired occurred to me. If we were deploying, the United States had plunged irrevocably toward war in the Persian Gulf.

    Hours later I went to bed but didn’t really get any sleep. I just lay there waiting for the impending doom tomorrow would surely bring, waiting for the alarm clock to ring, and waiting to walk out the door not knowing when I would be coming back—if I would be coming back. Somewhere along the course of those hours, I re-packed my bags, double-checked my will, and wrote Katie a letter.

“The United States is at war in the Persian Gulf!” the news announcer declared ominously as I clicked on the TV. I watched, enthralled by the images displayed, for the next thirty minutes. My face was bright red as emotion flowed over me. From the phone call last night, I’d known it was true, but it took the news announcer’s declaration to really drive it home.

    I stared out the window at the light snowfall as the newscaster announced again, “The United States is at war in the Persian Gulf. A massive air campaign was launched in the early morning hours. As elements of the first massive wave returned to their bases safely, many screamed shouts of joy. No American or allied losses are yet reported. U.S. warplanes continue their ceaseless assaults.”

    After another ten minutes, I finally clicked off the TV. I didn’t know why, but this morning I had to fix the car. A distributor cap and rotor had been sitting next to the door for about a week. Suddenly it had to go in; I just couldn’t leave it sitting there. I was determined to get it done. We owned a beat-up European green BMW with 280,000 kilometers on it. What the thing really needed was a tune-up, but I’d never gotten around to doing it.

    The truth was that I really didn’t know much about cars. I put the rotor in just fine. When I pulled the old distributor cap off, I unhooked everything. I slapped the new cap in place but hooked up the plug wires in the incorrect order. It was true that my thoughts were elsewhere and my subconscious kept telling me I might never be coming home again, but I messed up the most basic automobile repair job ever.

    I’d started on the car at 06:30. It was now 08:30. Hands greasy, frustrated and tired, I cranked that old BMW until it ran dead as I tried to get the right plug order. The truth was simpler than I cared to admit. I didn’t want to have to walk back up those stairs, stare into Katie’s eyes, and tell her goodbye.

    It wouldn’t be like all those other times we’d said goodbye for a week, a day, or even a month. This time it was goodbye, I was going to war. I might not be coming home.

    I recalled then the news announcer’s message, “The United States is at war with Iraq.” Dear Jesus. I’d hoped and prayed it wouldn’t happen, but it had.

    Katie coaxed me back up the long stairs that cut into the hillside to our first floor quarters. Her long brown hair was wet, though neatly pulled back into a braid. She looked radiant and more beautiful than ever. “The car won’t start,” I told her.

    Katie looked at me and smiled. “I know,” she replied, “I know. Why don’t you eat some breakfast?”

    A huge meal was cooling on the table. Katie’s way of telling me she loved me and would miss me. I ate French toast, eggs, hash browns and bacon as if it were the Last Supper.

    While I ate, Katie called Tom, the AMT that lived above us, and asked if I could get a ride with him to the squadron. He said sure. Fifteen short minutes later, I was loading my bags into the back seat of his car.

    I kissed Katie goodbye, presumably for good. How do you say a lifetime’s worth in an instant? I didn’t know. “I love you,” I whispered, adding, “promise you’ll wait for me no matter what?”

    Katie answered in her sometimes poetic way, “My love, I’ll wait for you until the last sunset.” She whispered it in my ear in her quiet tone. The words were simple and beautiful and brought me to the verge of tears. Obviously, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about this moment.

    I wondered why I couldn’t think of anything more to say than “I love you” and “wait for me.” It was all I could think of. I hoped it’d be enough.

    When I arrived at ops, the squadron was a mess. People were scrambling everywhere. Some were sorting gear by type and last name—chemical protective, flight, and field. Some were loading the bags by crew onto trucks. Many others just stood idle, looking lost and confused.

    I checked in with Jimmie. He put a check next to my name, present and accounted for. Captain Wilson was to be my MCC. Good old Captain Willie. The staggering news was that I was on airlift and on crew one. As crew number one, we were going to be the first to fly when we hit our destination running. This was the reason we were on airlift. Military regulations said we couldn’t fly over as crewmembers on our plane then turn around and fly a full-blown combat mission. We could fly over on someone else’s plane and then fly a combat mission. I guess even in the chaos of war there are rules. Crew 1? I wasn’t supposed to be on the first crew. Now what?

    Until it was time to go through the mobility processing line, I was tasked to help with the gear, making sure A-bags 1 and 2 and extra gear were in the correct places. I had an hour before crew number one was to report for processing. 14:00 was our Go time, still three hours away now yet edging ominously closer.

    Able was in the vault double-checking bags for contents from a mountain of dark green canvas bags. “You believe this shit?” he asked me.

    I shook my head. I did and didn’t. “What do you need help with?”

    Able explained what he was doing in his words and in his obnoxious way. I knew he was just being himself and venting steam with strings of expletives, so I didn’t let it bother me. He was actually a good guy once you got to know him. He had a six-month-old baby at home and a stick shift Mazda 323 his wife didn’t know how to drive. Worse still, he lived off post. He had a lot to be upset about.

    “If you knew how my morning’s gone so far, you wouldn’t be so upset,” I began, as I told him about my escapades with my car. He knew that old green BMW well. He’d been there when I bought it. His wife and my wife were also friends. I told him not to worry so much. “Those two will probably be visiting all the time. Katie can drive Debby to the commissary or wherever she needs to go.

    “Providing, of course, the car gets fixed,” I added with a chuckle.

    The hour went fast as we talked and made our way through that mountain of green canvas bags. Before I knew it, it was time to head over for processing.

    Mobility processing went smoother this time. I went through personnel, security police, legal, chaplain, finance, and immunizations in record time. Finance had been authorized to pay advance money, so when I reached the end of the line I was stuffing a wad of twenties into my wallet just about the time a female Med Tech told me, “Unzip and drop ‘em!”

    By this time, I was in a room with three other guys and two other gals, part of crew number one. I dropped ‘em and so did everyone else. One by one we got our gamma globulin shots. After that, rubbing our backsides, crew number one double-timed it back to the squadron. Go time was now an hour and thirty-five minutes away. Crew briefings were scheduled to begin in five minutes.

    We were hurried to the ready room, now the war room. Since the thirteen of us were the last to enter, we sat down in the back. With Go time getting ever nearer, we were growing more nervous by the second. We heard the door open and close and then a familiar face passed by the center aisle to the podium.

    “Congratulations, combat crew. Those of you seated in this room today were selected over all other members of the unit to deploy to the Persian Gulf!” screamed Jimmie. “The first thing we’re going to do is to take roll and make sure everyone is here. I’ll start off with the mission crews, one through three, reading the names down the list by crew. Afterward, Aircraft Commanders, if your crew is present or accounted for, just confirm that for me. Crew one.”

    The chief went through the list of names, thirty-nine primary aircrew members, of which I was one. The ACs responded, each in turn. Then the chief made his way through the long list of personnel on ground status: primary mission planners, intelligence analysts, intelligence briefers, duty drivers, medical technicians, other ground support specialists, and lastly, auxiliary aircrew members. From there the briefing progressed slowly through five additional briefers. Before we knew it, the chief was giving us a sending-off pep talk. “Remember, your destination remains classified. As you leave this room you are not at liberty to discuss it. You will all be met on the ground at your destination, where your first stop will be customs. The flight over, as you were told, is eight hours. Crew one, you’d better get some shut-eye on that transport ride over. You’re going to have a long day. That’s the end of the briefing, combat crew, support crews. Good luck to all of you!”

    We came out of the ready room to find an ops building steadily filling with wives, husbands and children. The chief and the folks from IM had been busy calling families to give us an official sending off.

    I knew Katie had to be somewhere in the crowd; and after getting Captain Willie’s permission, I chased her down. I found her standing alone, holding lunch in a little brown bag. She was wearing a blue denim dress. Her long brown hair stretched neatly in long curly spans over her shoulders. If I had had a camera, I would have snapped a picture right then and cherished it forever. I hadn’t expected to see her for a long, long time, and there she was.

    We looked for a more secluded corner to sit down and talk quietly. Other families were doing much the same. Some seemed cheerful, others downright heartbroken. We didn’t say much in those quiet, tense, and precious few minutes we had together. Soon I was saying goodbye.

    Then I gathered my gear. I started to make my way out the door, when Captain Wilson found me.