Yesterday, I packed my bags and flew to Farah, a province in western Afghanistan, where I’ll be spending the next few weeks. Our Task Force provides a “Medevac Chase” aircraft there, and every 2 weeks, a crew of 4 (2 pilots and 2 crew chiefs) makes the trip and enjoys the rotation “away from the flag pole” (i.e. out of sight from our Task Force leadership). I’d been to Farah before – it was one the stops during my first flight with Isaac. I also knew that it was a good place to stay – small but accommodating, relatively quiet, and away from the daily grind back at Kandahar. Being a chase bird essentially means that we provide backup/security/support for the actual medevac aircraft in the event of a medevac mission. In accordance with the Geneva Convention, an ambulatory vehicle/aircraft cannot carry crew served weapons; this code obviously applies to medevac aircraft (hence, the justification for a “chase” bird).
If any coalition soldier in a given sector is injured and requires immediate care, our brigade processes that information and funnels it to the relevant medevac asset. Through a series of communication channels, the medevac and chase crews receive the alert on a small, handheld radio, which will transmit “MEDEVAC MEDEVAC MEDEVAC.” At that time, the PC (pilot in command) runs to the operations cell, and the PI (pilot/what I am now) runs out and begins starting up the aircraft. Getting off the ground as quickly as possible means rendering aid to the wounded as quickly as possible, so those first 20 minutes after the call are obviously crucial.
We arrived in Farah yesterday afternoon and replaced the previous crew. This crew and their 3 predecessors received ZERO medevac missions while on rotation, which means that for a span of nearly two months, being in Farah was almost like getting a two week reprieve from Kandahar. Gene and Paul, two of the crewmembers we replaced, enjoyed a pretty lush schedule – no alarm clocks, plenty of eating, phone calls to home and time in the gym. Why not take advantage of the precious personal time that seems so elusive in Kandahar?!
The FOB itself seems small, quiet, and surprisingly peaceful. The buildings look like old, clay schoolhouses, with native tile, oversized doorways and large common areas. Coalition efforts here appear more developmental than anything. Pictures line the walls of troops in Afghani communities, building bridges or schools, holding meetings with elders, and taking candid photos with children. The small dining facility combines many of Farah’s cultural appeals into an entertaining scene. There’s bearded Italians laughing in conversation, Afghanis in traditional garb serving food, Americans – both clean-shaven and bearded (meaning conventional troops and special forces) quietly eating together, flickering lights from the overworked generator, an Arabic music video on the small television in the corner, and Jimi Hendrix blasting on the radio in the kitchen.
After receiving our in-brief and meeting the medevac crew from the California guard that we would support, we went to our rooms with our guards down in an expected sense of comfort – chances of actually flying a medevac mission were slim to none, and everybody knew it. Our room was small and stuffy, but it provided enough space to kick up my feet and relax. Feeling physically and mentally drained from two hectic weeks, I crawled into bed…my head hit my pillow like a rock.
My dream brought me back home, back with my girl, in some relaxing, summer setting, conjuring happy feelings intertwined with slight anxiety (almost a combination of a romance/chase movie, if you can imagine). I was in deep sleep thousands of miles away from reality when reality woke me from my peaceful slumber: “MEDEVAC MEDEVAC MEDEVAC.” We turned on the lights, scrambled for our clothes, and ran out the door, all putting into practice what we had rehearsed only a few hours earlier. My body filled with adrenaline as I ran out to the aircraft –I quickly set things up, put on my gear, and crawled into the cockpit to begin starting the aircraft. As soon as Kevin (the PC) and the rest of the crew arrived, we goggled up (it was still dark), put in the necessary frequencies/grid coordinates, and postured for launching. My heart raced but I was confident and in the zone. So much for the two-week reprieve.
An Afghani soldier from the ANA (the good guys) had been wounded earlier in the morning and needed transported to the hospital at Farah. We arrived at the LZ (landing zone) and orbited while the Medevac bird landed and received the patient. We took off and raced back to Farah, landed and caught our breath for a few hours. Later in the day, we took him to a larger hospital at Camp Bastion - a British airfield roughly two hours away. As we returned to Farah and set up the aircraft for future missions, it was surreal to swallow what I’d witnessed throughout the day. Seeing our country use its arsenal of resources to save an Afghani’s life was a moving experience. Professionals – soldiers, airmen, and marines; doctors, surgeons, medics, special forces, pilots, colonels, and privates – all worked together, all rushed and ran and labored, to save this young soldier’s life. Seeing diplomacy on such a first-hand, personal level made me proud of our country and helped me appreciate just how much diplomacy and strategy are intertwined.
That aside, the past few weeks have been busy, challenging, interesting, and incredibly fast! It seems like the days have all clumped together into a never-ending Monday, where you wake up in the morning feeling the overwhelming weight of unfinished work from the previous week and crawl into bed at night scratching your head wondering where the day went. I like it this way – no time for self-pity, a consistent list of things to do, camaraderie from shared experiences, and a rushed, “skip in the step” sense of urgency that follows you throughout the day. It makes for great friendships, growing appreciations, a sense of purpose, fast days, and heavy eyes in the evening.
Through it all, I still managed to find some time to celebrate my Christmas “holiday.“ On Christmas Eve, I went to a Catholic service with some friends, squeezing into a pew to enjoy a relaxing escape for a few hours. Soldiers from different services and countries all congregated into the small, makeshift building, and I noticed some senior leaders from my unit sitting quietly amongst the crowd. All of us were probably lost in the same thoughts, thinking back to previous Christmases with family and friends, missing that familiar hand on our lap or the traditions that made our Decembers so special. Sitting in that church brought home just how far away from home I really was, and it was comforting to know the soldiers around me felt the same way. The priest was a Canadian, and his comforting, soft accent was a perfect compliment to the bittersweet aura surrounding the evening. We took some pictures after the service with old friends from school and headed back to get some sleep. I still felt the “spirit of Christmas,” but it was short and sweet – I had another “Monday” to look forward to in the morning.
I was able to talk with my sister, Mom, and Katie briefly on Christmas day (hearing their voices always makes my day). Over lunch I enjoyed a delicious holiday feast at the dining facility, which included turkey, stuffing, shrimp, pies, and other holiday treats. A military band played the traditional holiday songs, and midway through the meal a pair of bagpipes walked the isles of the mess hall and played the four service songs (Army, Navy, Marines and Airforce). Anytime I hear the Marine Corps song I think back to my graduation week at West Point. My four grandparents, mom and I all went to a choral ceremony one evening, and at the end of the event the choir director asked members of the audience from the various services to stand while their song was being played. When they sang the Marine Corps song, my grandfather, Bennie Summers, stood up at a sharp attention. There were only 2 or 3 other retired Marines standing in the audience, and as my grandfather sang the song with pride and tears rolled down his red cheeks, I knew it was a moment I would always remember. Now, I appreciate that memory even more.
Work has been challenging but fun. Tyler and I have many different responsibilities as platoon leaders. We plan flights, account for property, “manage the troops”, etc. We serve as a middleman between our flight company and the Task Force’s operations cell. When our company receives mission requests (usually 48 hours in advance), we choose the aircraft and crews that will fly those missions and prepare briefs for the operations cell to hand off to “higher” for approval.
It’s amazing how much goes into making these decisions...pilot experience, rest (“fighter management”), and training… aircraft hours, inspections, and maintenance. Additionally, our Task Force has a troubling shortage of Blackhawk pilots, and due to this shortage, our company must rely heavily on “staff” aviators to fly missions. (For clarification, each flight company has pilots, like myself, who form crews for missions. The Task Force also has many “staff” aviators – pilots who currently reside in a staff position outside of the flight company but still maintain flight status and can fly missions when needed. Prior to coming to the flight company, I was considered a “staff” aviator). As you can imagine, each staff aviator has a critical position and role in the daily operations of the Task Force, and there’s definitely a cost/benefit analysis that goes into choosing which staff aviator should fly and when. Giving them adequate time to plan and prepare for their flying duties helps mitigate some of the costs of their absence from their staff position. Tyler and I came up with a “forecasted,” monthly flight schedule to help them and us find the right balance between flying and staffing. It’s a work in progress, and this month will be an experiment of sorts to help us develop workable schedules for the future months.
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