Welcome to Balad

I think I've earned the right to compete in Travel Hell one-up story competitions. I may not win, but I'm at least in the running.

After a week of little sleep and much back pain and anxiety, I rose at 7:00am on 11 Aug (Wednesday) to be at the armory at 8 and to check in at the airport at 10:30 for a 12:30 flight. I later learned there were six of us on that flight bound for the AOR (Area Of Responsibility, meaning in this case, Iraq): SSgt Padgett, TSgt Goins, 1Lt Martin, Capt Todd, myself and a guy known to us only as "Welch" from Maxwell (the rest of us were SSG troops from Gunter, across town). I was the only one who showed at the proper time to check my bags then watch them get confused and argue about what to do with my weapon.

The AF had issued three mobility bags to each of us. The "A Bag" has standard campout survival stuff in it, including a sleeping bag, mess kit and first aid kit. (The "A1 Bag" is an optional part of the A Bag which we'd also been issued. It includes stuff like the kevlar helmet and various accessories.) I had my flak vest in this bag.

The "B Bag" holds cold weather gear. Why, you might ask yourself, might you need a parka, heavy mittens and mukluks in Iraq? I'm asking myself the same question. Nevertheless, I have it should hell freeze over.

The "C Bag" has all the chemical warfare gear. Not to wage chemical warfare, but to protect oneself against chemical attacks. It is by far the heaviest of the bags and has all sorts of interesting items I won't go into now and hope I don't have to use during my tour. The C Bag has been ceremonially zipped and snapped shut, and with any luck, will remain thus until I get back home.

Then of course there was my dufflebag with all my uniforms and such. And my carry-on with the stuff I wanted for entertainment, as well as those items I wanted to save from being crushed in transit. With my pillow. All told, this comes to four bags and a (heavy) carry-on. You pay a flat fee for every bag over the airline limit that you check, meaning the government paid an extra $120 to ship me and all this junk to Iraq (and and extra $200 for those who were checking three bags).

I mention all of this for the following reasons. First, and of most immediate importance, you get a picture of how many bags were supposed to be on that plane. Second, it gives you some appreciation of what "bag drag" means when you hear some GI talking about doing it. Third, so I could make the "hell freezing over" joke. And fourth, so you can both* marvel at the foresight of our military machine in providing a standard list of items that they issue no matter what just in case you might need them and wonder as the rest of us do what moves them to issue heavy mittens and a parka when they're sending you to the desert.

*"Both" here modifies "marvel" and "wonder." It only coincidentally refers to the size of my readership.

So our flight schedule, so y'all can suffer vicariously through me, went something like this (I kept notes, and I'll even use civilian notation to circumvent complaints from people who can't subtract 12 in their heads. Also, all initial times are in CST, with local times in parenthesis, so you get a real feel for how confused my body was when I got to this godforsaken desert. But I get ahead of myself.):

WED
10:30am: Montgomery, Alabama, check-in time
12:30am: Flight departs
1:45pm (2:45pm): Arrive Atlanta, GA
2:45pm (3:45pm): Depart
4:36pm (5:36pm): Arrive Baltimore, MD
9:45pm (10:45pm): Depart

THUR
5:30am (12:30pm): Arrive Rein-mein AB (Frankfurt), Germany
7:30am (2:30pm): Depart
1:00pm (9:00pm): Arrive Al Udeid, Qatar

FRI
11:00pm (7:00am Sat): Depart

SAT
1:38am (10:38am): Arrive Balad AB, Iraq

But wait. Not so fast. It wasn't going to be that easy.

The first little glitch occurred in Baltimore, where we had to go pick up our bags, since we were transferring from commercial to military transportation at that point. Only one of the seven of our original group received all of their bags (me). The rest of the group had one or more bags MIA at MIA. (Remember what I said about showing up two hours early to check in at Montgomery? Mm-hm.)

So I gleefully checked in for my MAC flight (Military Airlift Command) while the rest checked on their lost luggage. I was joined by Capt Garcia, the man who'd volunteered for Balad with me. He'd flown up the day before with a planned layover in Baltimore. Of the rest, only one managed to get her bags and get on the flight with us to Germany: SSgt Padgett. The rest were stuck in Baltimore with their opposing digits secured in their nether regions, to the best of our knowledge.

So it was that of the original seven (counting Garcia) of our group were already down to three. The three of us, nasty and stinky and tired by now, flew into Al Udeid with a 747 packed to the gills with more tired, nasty and stinky GI's.

At Al Udeid, the flight attendant said over the intercom: "Welcome to Al Udeid. The time is 9pm and it's a balmy 95 degrees. Here ends the safest part of your journey. Good luck and be careful." We were welcomed profusely by the local commander and his reps as we deplaned (I think it had something to do with one of those high-falootin' inspection teams being aboard, which meant the red carpet got rolled out for all of us, to make it look like they always did that).

After that, we were taken into the PAX terminal (passenger terminal...I have no idea how they got "PAX" out of that) where we were briefed thusly: "The flight schedule for the next day is posted at 0100 daily. It is your responsibility to follow the schedule and catch your flight from here. Show times for various flights will be posted. You will be here in person at your showtime and wait for the clerk to announce your flight and ask for passengers, at which time you'll approach the desk with your ID. First come, first served. There are showers behind the terminal, chow halls down in the Coalition Compound, and a beer tent with a three beer per day limit and the day begins and ends at 0200. There's also temporary billeting in the Coalition Compound for those who'll be here overnight. To get to the Coalition Compound, catch the bus that is labelled CC. Do NOT take the bus labelled CAOC. If you will be here for more than 12 hours or wish to visit the CC, you must check your weapon in the armory; there are no weapons allowed in the Compound and you will not leave your bags unattended. The armory is 200 yards down this road. Now file out the tent and wait to retrieve your bags."

OK. Think about this for a second and just try to picture it. We have a 747 chock full, and each person on that flight has four or five bags apiece, at least three of which are army green mobility bags. No conveyer belt, no professional baggage handlers...no lights to speak of. By the light of the moon and a lone street lamp, we formed make-shift fire brigade lines and downloaded two dumptrucks full of luggage, laid it in lines on the runway, and left us to fetch our own. Rows upon rows of bags. Hundreds.

Mine were the green ones.

Well, ok. I'd been forewarned but a seasoned NCO to place a distinguishing mark on my baggage, and thus had thought to pick up a roll of electrical tape on my way to the airport. I'd wanted red or blue--you know, something easily discernible--but all they had was black. Better than nothing. I'd wrapped bunches of black tape around both of the handles of all my bags, and thus was able to eventually locate the four. SSgt Padgett wasn't so lucky. We searched for a couple a hours, but alas...her bag of personal items--all her personal items--didn't make it. We later learned that they'd never left Baltimore.

I showered and changed into my DCUs (desert camoflage utility) for the first time. Then, feeling sporty, I strolled "200 yards"* down to the armory with SSgt Padgett and Capt Garcia to check her M-16 (quite a pain to lug around) then back, by which time I'd ascertained beyond a shadow of a doubt that my boots didn't fit properly.

* It was over half a mile one way.

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