Wow! The damn thing is still here and still works.

Amazing.

Well, no fancy build up this time.

It's Round Three in Afghanistan. Yup, I keep coming back to the trough that tried to take me out the first time.

The subsequent trips have been to much lower altitudes with much better attitudes.

Now that I got offa my ass and navigated through the Croation Google Blogger instructions maybe I'll get this thing rolling again.

Tonight is a seeing off party for a pilot friend. For a late twenties early thirties girl she's a rare bird. Only chick pilot I know currently. And, most likely the only one I've ever met that can toss around Corporate names, Government entities, NGO's and 'off the beaten path' countries with the Old Guys. Chad?! Who the hell goes to work in Chad?

Now,

Now.

Now, I woke up this morning at the Faust Hotel
wearing some chicks tee shirt and smelling GOOD!

(Twiddle with guitar here)

Now, I aint been all the way 'round the world
but I been on 6 continents bout 8 times

Now, I don't care which one of those rocks your're standing on, waking up in the morning wearing some chicks Christiaan Audigier tee shirt and smelling like Red Door perfume is a cause for alarm!

(Launch major 12 bar with swampy sexy turn around here)

Random Sameness

"... sitting in an
Oklahoma motel room
listening to
Ray Wylie Hubbard
Live At Cibolo Creek
and wond'ring
if Old Bill was there.

Bill he was my mentor
Taught me a thing or three
about these damned old planes

The night he died I was in Korea
I called home to Texas
Sobbing like a child

Still I ride by Cibolo Creek
Boarded up and closed
Remember a thing or three

In my mind I can see
Bill's motorcycle
perched under the
old live oak trees

I remember a thing or three

In my mind I can see
Bill's lanky frame
leaned against a timber frame
listening to future fame

I remember a thing or three

... sitting in an
Oklahoma motel room
listening to
Ray Wylie Hubbard
Live At Cibolo Creek
and wond'ring
if Old Bill was there."

When You Get The Urge

When you get the urge to, "Do something!" to help United States Service Members, I have a suggestion.

Send your Care Package to:

Col. James R. Griffith
Chaplain U.S. Army
Cheif of Pastoral Services
Landstuhl Regional Medical Center
Wounded Warrior Medical Management Center
CMR 402
APO AE 09180

When you think of a Medevac (Medical Evacuation) you may think of Blackhawk helicopters swooping into a live fire zone or a F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) and whisking away wounded wariors.

That happens all to often but the scene isn't always replete with the thunder and gore of a Hollywood movie.

Also, that may be just the first step.

A MEDEVAC could stem from an illness that the base hospital isn't equiped to diagnose or treat.

What happens then, when the wounds are too severe or the illness is out of the realm of local hands?

The next leg of that MEDEVAC may land at Ramstein Airbase and care continued at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.

L.R.M.C. is a huge nine wing hospital with, I imagine, all of the services one could imagine.

One service you might not think about, I didn't, is the Chaplains Closet.

Think about it. You get MEDEVACed with nothing but the clothes and gear on your back. You land in Germany and get treated. Let's say that you are ambulatory. Maybe even out an patient.

Now what? You're stuck in the clothes that you left the field in. It's doubtful that you have shampoo, a toothbrush, socks, clean underwear, clothes, etc.

All you (and everyone within sniffing distance of you) want is a hot shower, clean clothes and a bed.

If you're lucky, HN2 Ramon will lead you to the Chaplains Closet, hand you a small duffell bag and get you set up.

I began to have respiratory trouble the day I arrived in theater. Immediately upon arrival, I hyperventilated. I figured, big deal, nerves, new place, big dose of the unknown, etc, etc, etc.

It happened several more times until I finally lost count after a couple of weeks.

Then I got what we called the Dirt Flu. I think I told you about it. The air is lousy with dust and burning trash and diesel fumes and Jet Fuel fumes and who knows what else.

I began to get shorter and shorter of breath. Another bout of funk settled into my head and lungs. Just laying down closed off my airflow. Even bending over to tie my shoes or fuel an auxilary tank knocked the wind out of me.

The sudden losses of O2 would bring about a state of panic that I'd struggle to keep in check long enough to get a whisp of air into my lungs.

The worst part is waking up in the pitch black of my little bunk space and gasping for air completely disoriented.

Several nights ago I was walking back from dinner, metering my breath with my steps, muttering about MAYBE going to the camp clinic, LATER.

When I came to the right turn that would take me to the pick-up point for my ride to work, I kept walking, straight to the clinic.

A young Doctor asked what was wrong and I gasped, "I can't breath." He took me seriously. Less than five minutes later he said, "Get in the truck, we're going to the hospital."

I say several nights ago because I'm not really sure when it was. It's all kind of blurry.

We went to the ER, Exams, IV, Meds, Xrays, CAT Scans, to a Ward, Vitals checked every four hours, more Meds, Night?, Day?, visitors?, questions, KC-135, flight to Ramstein, L.R.M.C....

Now, it's Sunday morning. I'm in a little hotel in Landstuhl. I have an appointment of sorts for Monday morning. The last Doctor I talked to said that he anticipates pronouncing me "Fit to Fly" but to where and how?

I expect that I'll be on some sort of flight Home Monday or Tuesday.

When I know, you'll know.

Just remember, "When you get the urge..."

Back on line!!!

So, let's try a couple of lines...

Hello

"Hello Mutha
hello Fatha
here I am in
Doha, Qatar

How'd I get here
and where am I going?
Don't ask me 'cause
I not be knowing..."

No? Not so much?
How about...

"The Whole Lotta Nada
now coming to you from
a non-existant airbase
in an undisclosed country.
Land of the sand
Camel Spiders
and War Fighters..."

Or...

"Off the reservation"?

"Down Range"?

"I've lost my fucking mind!"?
We may be onto something THERE!!!

OK, ok, ok...

I do have to be a little nutZ.

I rolled out of Brightledge on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Headed to San Antonio Int'l Airport. Dropped the Camaro at Avis Rental. Boarded a CRJ, in 1st Class. Didn't even realize a CRJ HAD a 1st Class.

Sometime after dark we landed Washington Dulles. It had been nearly 20 years since I'd been there so a quick and easy terminal change was welcome.

The Qatar Air gate was easy as well and the Virgin Airways lounge was close by. Why does free beer seem to taste better?

Then, things went to full blown, "WOW!!!"

As jaded as I am it takes a real punch for an airplane to impress me. Lemme tell ya what, the Boeing 777 Dreamliner did it.

In no time I was sipping champagne in a seat with more settings than I could imagine.

The whole thing was a little unreal.

I was strapped into a piece of soon to be airborne sculpture. All set for a Trans-Atlantic night. About to get the first stamp in a freshly renewed passport. And, it was a one way ticket.

Nothing unusual about that right?

The night went by in a cozy blur. One glass of champagne a hot meal a cold beer a movie and I was out.

The sun was shining on an unfamiliar land when I woke. Then, we flew into another sunset.

That did seem a little odd. We landed in Doha at six p.m. local and it was already dark. Seemed odd.

I cleared customs and immigration and stepped out into a muggy darkness. There, a fellow stood with a sign full of names. All of them were crossed off except mine. That felt a little like an episode of "The Amazing Race" and I was the last to arrive.

We loaded up in an appropriatley black Suburban and sped off. Eventually we came to a check point. Our first stop of many requied to gain entry to the post.

We arrived at a building that turned out to be home for the next day or so.

Quarters were 8 man rooms with bunk beds and the requisite itchy green wool blankets. Turns out they're not wool anymore but they perfectly replicated the itchiness!

And good god was it COLD in there. Apparently that helps keep germs and bugs at bay. It was so cold I got up at 2 a.m. and went outside to a picnic table.

Anyway, a day and a half trapped on a strange base culiminated in a 10 p.m. Show for a 2 a.m. Go. (We were to show up for our connecting flight 3 hours ahead of the scheduled departure time: Show/ Go.)

Turns out that schedules mean shit. I think it was 4 a.m. before we launched.

OH, and that glorious flight on the Dreamliner. Yeah, forget about it. The second leg of the trip I was strapped into a side facing web seat in the back of a C130 with 70 or so of my newest closest friends and three pallets full of gear.

Gratefully, I can sleep sitting up.

The sun came up while I slept. The airplane landed. The ramp lowered enough for a forklift to get the pallets out and the Crew Chief said, "Get Out!"

We did and the C130 left.

Where am I? I'm right where the Crew Chief left me.

Its a dirty dusty dry hell that alternates between hotter 'n hell and colder 'n shit. The wind blows so hard it makes Texas seem tame. It's full of work and rules and no booze. In fact, that's Rule Number One: No Beer. "You will be denied the one thing that could make this 'Paradise' palatable."

Those of you that are actually reading may have noticed that I didn't answer the question. Well, I'm not certain but I think there is a rule that says I can't tell you. Like I said, I'm not sure but I'm gonna err on the side of caution for now.


So, "First Former Mrs Simpson", there ya have it. Your first installment of, "What it's like there." here.

Wherever the hell it is. I swear I saw Scissor Tailed Fly Catchers today so, I'm a little suspicious...

So, While I'm At It...

"Fun With Melodrama"

3:30 am, FLASHBANGBOOMBUMBADOOMOOMOMM

The J.S. Bach "Fugue in D Minor" alarm on the Blackberry was punctuated with simultaneous lightning and thunder. The storm was right over head.

"Great. I've got an airplane to deploy in four hours. Where are my boots? Damnit!", in the baggage weight reduction act of Ft Benning, GA I shipped my rain boots 'Forward'.

The TV weather guessed the storm cell was small and moving fairly quickly but there were more to follow.

4:30 am, G. Tony rolled up to the airplane in his rented Dodge pickup. His size; height and bulk, allowed him to rent a full size rather than a standard size vehicle. We refer to those guys as "Mutants".

"Good of you to join us G. You're late."

"Aw shut up. I brought doughnuts."

"Fork 'em over."

"Let's get you guys in out of this rain."

Inside the Line Shack the scent of fresh pastry elicited; "Hey! Dog-nuts!", "They're still warm!", "Where's the coffee?"

G. Tony, "Is she preflighted and signed off, are the records on board, the parts, the Form 'F' done, are we ready?"

"Aw shut up. Who do you think you're dealing with?"

"Ok, ok, I know. I want to do one last engine run. You just stand fire guard and get me started then get out of the rain."

The rain fell steadily and the lightning and thunder continued to drift to the East and South. The King Air was sillouetted by the stadium style lights on the edge of the ramp. The ill planned drainage of the ramp began to mainfest itself in the form of a two inch deep lake spreading out over the acres and acres of concrete.

Winding his Mutant frame through the racks in the cabin, G. Tony eventually made his way into the pilots seat. The dim cockpit floodlight came on.

The rotating beacons, navigation lights and logo lights came on.

In the darkness, the sillouette and veil of rain the aircraft lighting accented the beautiful lines of the King Air.

I smiled under the wide brim of my hat, wrapped in my black duster rain coat, despite my deck shoes being soaked in the rising water. A shadowy King Air showing her colors in the dark will always make me smile.

A quick hand sign from the cockpit.

I pointed at the right hand engine, stuck two fingers up into the rain and flicked them just as quickly.

TACK TACK TACK TWIRIRIRIR

The big Dash 60 turboprop rolled to life.

I listened to the motor turn and the prop spin and the change in the sounds as the starter brought it up in speed and oil pressure. The increase in oil pressure began to change the pitch of the props and sound they made. I slapped at the rain drops as the PT6A-60 hit 20% RPM. Just then G. Tony pushed the fuel levers out of "Cut Off" and the big beast sucked in the foul nectar and PHWUMPED to life.

As the engine came on power l awaited a favorite part of wet launches.

The water, inches deep and just inches below the tip of the propeller arc began to dance.

Another quick motion from inside and another quick reply and the #1 engine began to sound off.

The big engines turning. Oil pressure and temperature stable. G. Tony pushed the throttle levers forward, out of idle.

'There they are!', my grin widened as water spouts formed under the prop arcs. As the power increased the little vorticies danced violently.

I watched and listened as the engines were put through the various checks; Feather, Auto-Feather, Auto-Ignition...

'Reverse!' I could see G. Tony laughing as the pitch change redirected the rain towards me. "You Bastard!", I laughed back.

I heard the motors responding to Max Power, 'Uh, G. We're not supposed to go past 80%...much less 104%!"

Up they came. The nose of the airplane dropped suddenly like a nose guard in a goal line stand as the powerful engines pushed the piston of the nose gear down on the nitrogen and hydraulic fluid inside it.

Even inanimate objects responded to the King Air. Golf carts, service carts and trash cans began to 'flee' from (in) the prop and turbine blast

The throttle levers came back to idle. Oil temperature and pressure stabilized. The twin tornadoes beneath the props calmed.

WHAFfff. The fuel levers went into cut-off and the vorticies flattened. And, the airplane was ready to deploy.

More of the maintenance crew had arrived and were scarfing down warm doughnuts.

I have been called a great number of things in 47 years but what I heard that morning made me laugh out loud.

"Mike Scott!!!", it was big Doc Brock, "Look at you. Ya got yer hat and yer black duster! Where's yer brief case and flip flops?"

"Best I can do is soggy deck shoes Doc so quit it."

Those 'in the know' laughed at the reference to an old friend.

7:30 Go Time. The airplane was ready. Maintenance was ready.

As usual we were waiting on the 'Drivers'. "Bus Drivers", "Yoke Actuators", "Trained Monkeys" (after all they leave peanuts all over the cockpit, write on the windows with grease pencils, and, who was the first "American" to Pilot a space craft? "Ham". Look it up.)

Familiar rental cars appeared on the ramp.

Presumably sober pilots climbed out. They chatted nervously amongst themselves and with us.

They were "Deploying", "Going Forward", "See ya 'Over There'". And that's a long trip in a King Air.

The sun was tearing a crease in the clouds. The rain had let up and the lightning had passed.

Finally, all aboard and the airstair door closed.

The rotating beacons twitched to life and the PT6's came to life.

The vorticies reformed.

The taxi light illuminated.

I gave the signal and the King Air began to taxi forward.

I motioned her towards the runway.

And another bird of war departed, bound for turmoil.

The End

Another Random Collision

So, if you can imagine, I went over to the bar for a bite to eat and a beer.

There was a fairly large party with tables pushed up together in the middle of the room.

I noticed that this one guy seemed to tower over the rest of the party. Turns out he was sitting on a bar stool.

After a bit the party began to break up. Some of them left and others bellied up to the bar.

Bar Stool Guy was talking.

Pretty quickly I figured out where he works. I asked and he confirmed.

He kept talking.

He didn't look familiar.

His voice wasn't particularly familiar but it was his cadence that triggered a mental defrag on my part.

Eventually I interrupted him again and asked, "So you're an A&P?"

"Why yes. Yes I am."

"Where'd you go to school?"

"Texas Aero Tech."

"Really. You remember Sharkey?"

You'd a thought he'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. He actually shuddered and his eyes kinda popped. (I'm sure I did too.)

At that instant we both stood, pointed at one another and called each other by name.

One millisecond earlier I couldn't have told you his name.

We not only went to the same school and graduated together but had been room mates for a while.

Hadn't seen each other in 21, TWENTY-ONE years.