Arrival In The 'Stan

The C-17 touched down around 4 in the morning on Saturday, 9 October. We were all in our IBA and helmets as we walked down the ramp into the cool Afghan air. In due time, we grabbed our bags from the cargo pallet that accompanied us and walked the short distance to the Arrival Terminal. Well, the term Arrival Terminal is not quite accurate. The building was a dilapidated relic that looked like a left over movie set from an old French Foreign Legion flick. I wanted to walk up to the young Air Force sergeant herding us inside and ask “Beau Geste I presume?”. The heavily plastered walls were made of bricks from another era. Large columns that flared at the top supported a weathered and stained ceiling. The rough thick plaster was cracked and large chunks were missing from the walls and columns in irregular patterns. Although I didn’t see any I am sure there were a fair amount of bullet holes decorating this architectural marvel. In a cramped waiting area there were several mismatched chairs as well as some homemade benches cobbled together from scrap bits of wood. Billions of dollars spent so far on this war and this is my first impression…

After some briefings on what to do and what not to do we were released (Did I mention our ID cards were scanned again?). I was able to get to a phone and call for a ride to the Departure Terminal. The Departure Terminal was only a couple hundred yards down the road so I got there still in the early morning darkness. I dragged my stuff up to the door but couldn’t get in because there were about 50 people waiting to get in and on a flight.

I stumbled my way over to an outdoor break area and plopped down on my bags and cooled my heels for a while. I was exhausted. I did rest a bit on the C-17 flight but, although I was on one of the more comfortable seats on the side of the plane, I was less than refreshed upon arrival. As I rested the sun began to rise and the planes and helicopters started to take off. Eventually the line of waiting Canadian soldiers in full Battle Rattle wound down and I ventured in to the terminal. Although nothing to brag about, at least this one looked like it was out of the 20^th century (circa 1975?). It was run by Canadian contractors with help from several non-fighting NATO countries. I saw some Romanian soldiers (male and female), among others, helping out. I found a guy at a counter and he placed me on the list to fly to Kabul on a flight leaving around lunch time. I was about 10 names down on the manifest and since it was a C-130 flight it looked good for me to be on it.

I went back out and resumed my position on my bags and whiled away the time watching various different aircraft take off. I especially liked seeing the Predator unmanned drones leave with Hellfire missiles slung underneath. It made me smile to see some Canadian F-18s go off to hunt in the southern mountains of Afghanistan as well.  

As I sat there I could tell that Kandahar was a true NATO / international coalition base. I saw soldiers from all over the world – Singapore, Australia, England, Holland, and even Germany. There were lots of contractors as well and some folks who looked like they did the secret squirrel thing.

Sometime around 10:00 a.m. my flight was called. Those of us that were on it lined up at the door with our bags and waited to be let in. We had to pass through a security check point. Our pockets were emptied and our bags were examined while every person was wanded. I made the wand beep somehow but the guy didn’t care and waved me on through. He was from one of our Eastern European NATO countries. I’m sure had one of the Canadian contractors wanded me he would have given me the 3^rd degree at the sound of the beep. Those Canadians looked like a serious lot. Our bags, including carryon, were X-rayed, electronically and physically sniffed (by a dog) and then loaded on a pallet. We weren’t allowed to have a carryon, NATO rules I guess.

After passing through security we were hustled up a flight of stairs to a large waiting area. Passengers are sequestered here until their flight is called. I noticed a box sitting on a counter and went to investigate. I was starving, having last ate in Kuwait the night before, I had a feeling there may be vittles in the box. Bingo. Plastic wrapped diagonally sliced sandwiches. Chicken salad, maybe. I grabbed one and noticed a sticker with the date 9 October on it. At that point I didn’t really know what day of the week it was or what the date was. What was in the wrapper looked good and the date seemed plausible to me. I took the sandwich, grabbed a bottle of water from a glass doored refrigerator, and retreated to a 1970s era waiting room bench of chromed steel and green vinyl. I ate slowly but ravenously; relishing every bite.