a mobilized year

We started early in the morning with a 0400 wakeup. We were about to embark on a journey that we’d longed for and anticipated for months. We were the second of two chalks (groups) in our battalion to depart. Our logistics section had coordinated the day prior with customs officials to inspect our A Bags (traditional army duffle bags containing mostly army equipment and clothes) that morning in our temporary tents (instead of at their location). Most soldiers had sent back their B and C bags (also duffles) and totes (which contained mostly personal items and winter-type clothing and equipment) the month prior due to space considerations. Since the time we sent those bags home, most soldiers had been living out of their A Bags and rucks (which is like a back pack). A good share of soldiers (myself included) had a number of personal items (e.g., a pillow, computer games, books, “souvenirs,” and gifts) that we kept to the end and mailed back via U.S. Postal Service. Here's a picture of the inside of one of the tents we stayed in that holds about 70-80 soldiers:

The customs inspection that morning went without a hitch. Another gate was passed on the journey back home. Soldiers then cleaned and cleared the tents at our temporary housing location. We then drew our weapons and went to an accountability formation. Because of the large number of soldiers in our chalk (around 300 or so), we had to have the accountability formation outside. By that time (1330), it was quite warm out, probably around 120 degrees. We had to do sensitive item serial number checks and confirm that each soldier present had his ID card and dog tags. By the time we finished, the busses were suppose to be there to take us to the next stop. By my use of the phrase “suppose to,” you probably guessed that they didn’t show up on time. So, we waited in the sun for about another half hour before we “reclaimed” our cleared air-conditioned tents. By then, we were all drenched with sweat. Even the tops of my boots were wet from the sweat seeping through (yeah, I know, gross).

The busses showed up eventually and took us to our next destination. We received some briefings and they inspected our ruck sacks and our persons. Even though this was a charted flight (our unit only), with a couple of notable exceptions, we were subject to the same carry on restrictions as civilians who travel—i.e., no Leathermans/Gerbers, liquids, deodorants, sharp objects, etc. It created a perverted situation for us. Specifically, for myself, I wasn’t allowed to bring on a little tube of toothpaste, my deodorant, or a cup of coffee on the aircraft, but I was able (and required) to carry my M9 semi-automatic pistol and my M4 carbine automatic rifle. Go figure. It probably makes sense to someone, somewhere though.

The briefings and ruck inspections finished around 1730 or so. We then sat in a holding area for about six hours before being told that our aircraft was delayed. I’m not sure what the on-time percentage is in the civilian world, maybe 75% if I had to guess, but in the military world it’s got to be less than 10%. Most of the flights, like this one are actually civilian contracted carriers, so I’m not sure it’s a “military” issue. None of my six flights going to and from the States was within three hours of being on time of the scheduled departure. Others with whom I spoke have had similar experiences. I’m not sure what the deal is (perhaps a lowest bidder and/or lowest priority issue?). At this point, most soldiers expected it and most, like myself, were just glad to be getting home, eventually.

So, around 0200 we formed up at the holding area, were given another brief, and got on another set of busses to go to yet another holding area located near the Kuwaiti international airport. We arrived at this holding area at about 0330. We were fast approaching the 24 hour mark since we got up that morning. Virtually everyone was on adrenalin: trying to sleep or relax, but the excitement of returning back to the States was too great for most.

We waited at this holding area for about another hour before getting back on the busses and heading to the aircraft. The aircraft was an MD-11. I was spoiled and had the benefit of sitting in first class. The seats were absolutely wonderful, better than any other first class seats I had ever been in (well, the 4-5 times I’ve been bumped up to first class, anyway). They reclined way back and the seats had foot rests like a recliner sitting at home in the living room. Each seat had a personal monitor that lifted up from the arm rest. These were so nice that I felt a little guilty that everyone couldn’t sit in them. We waited on the aircraft for about 45 minutes of so and were able to watch our last Middle Eastern sunrise for this mission.

Our first stop was Lietzsig, Germany. We arrived there at about 1000 local time. Not much of an airport (or at least the part where we segregated to). There was a convenience store there and that was about it. It was the first time I had ever been to Germany. I bought some toiletries to replace what I was initially precluded from carrying onto the aircraft. Our Battalion Command Sergeant Major let the guys purchase a couple of beers from the convenience store, which was nice. It had been several months for most soldiers since they had had their last beer. After about an hour and a half, we took off for our next stop, which was Bangor, Maine.

Most of the trip over the Atlantic was cloud covered. As we made our descent into Maine, we broke through the clouds and saw an incredible sight: TREES! They were everywhere. Thick, green, lush. Oh, was it beautiful. I think there was a collective gasp on the aircraft when we initially made it through the clouds and saw all the vegetation. It was so green.

As I suppose is to be expected, when the wheels touched down in Bangor, the soldiers erupted with cheers, clapping and whistles. Another box checked in the long-anticipated milestones before getting back to Wisconsin. We were on American soil now. The time was about 1300 local (2000 Middle East time or 40 hours since we woke up before the customs inspections).

As was the case about a year ago when we were headed in the opposite direction, we were greeted very warmly by the people of Bangor. I must have shook the hands of about 50 locals. They greeted each of the 300 or so soldiers on our aircraft. People all over in the entire airport applauded as we came out. What a great group of people. What a great way to come home to the U.S. It really made all of us feel good. I’m frequently told by Viet Nam vets of the stark contrast that they experienced. After we made it through the lines of people, we were handed cell phones to call our loved ones back home to let them know that we had arrived safely back in the States. The cell phones were paid for by a local Maine group. Below are some pictures. Unfortunately, I don't have any of the welcoming line. I was too busy shaking hands!

After we said our goodbyes and shook the hands again of the various people who greeted us in Bangor, we headed off to our final destination that day, Volk Field, Wisconsin. Despite having been up for almost 42 hours straight, the level of excitement in the aircraft was pretty high as we began that last leg of our journey. We were fairly excited about seeing our loved ones, being back home, and finally (and successfully) completing our mission overseas. It had been a long journey.

They integrated our landing in Wisconsin with an airshow that was going on at Volk Field. The pilot over the intercom explained the situation as we descended. We could see the cranberry bogs of west-central Wisconsin as we continued to descend. The trees, vegetation, and cars came into focus. We could see the rolling hills and textured earth. Good memories were recalled more vividly. Everything became more real. And then we saw the runway as the wheels reached for it. After a pause, we heard the screech of the tires touching down. They were immediately drowned out by cheers, roars, and whistles of the soldiers inside the plane. We saw the crowds of people outside of the plane waving their hands, jumping up and down and proudly showing their home-made signs welcoming us home. What a feeling. I thought for a moment about our lost soldiers and their families who weren’t with us to savor the moment, the feeling. After a couple of minutes the doors of the aircraft opened. The cool, fresh Wisconsin air rushed in. We were finally home.