Here we are, the very end of the Round 3 series. Thank you for following along, and I hope you enjoyed reading. Please consider swinging by the shop and picking up a nice lil treat for yourself or a loved one.
Returning home from the 332d was almost a mirror image of my arrival. I was dropped off at the same dusty tent that I arrived at, but this time with the inclusion of the remnants of my deployment rotation and my replacement. Rather than fly back to Qatar, I had to hitch a ride on an Air National Guard C-130H to Ali Al Salem Air Base in Kuwait. When we touched down in the late evening, my gear was unceremoniously tossed out the back of the jet onto the tarmac. I tossed my bags into the back of a waiting van, and then clambered inside after my gear. A quick ride later, I arrived at the Passenger Terminal to check into the base for the brief amount of time I was to hang around the Rock.
I didn’t make any arrangements for myself at “the Rock.” I was kind of expecting to figure it out on my own, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. It was pure luck that I redeployed with two of the Civil Engineers that I knew from my deployment, and even more luck that one of them had arranged transportation from the passenger terminal to transient lodging. If I hadn’t been able to bum a ride off those guys, I would have had to drag my bags uphill, in the dark, to the lodging office to get assigned my transient room. Again, good, clean living paid off and I was able to toss my bags into the back of a ECES pickup and get dropped off at my room that I happened to be sharing with the Civil Engineering Captain. The little Engineer Lieutenant had to live in a different room, because of ranks or something.
When we arrived, we had no idea how long we would be stuck at the Rock. The flight manifests for the next few days had been solidified with the redeployers who arrived earlier than us, or those who were deployed to Ali Al Salem and other parts of Kuwait. Since the engineers and I were transient from another location, we were told to report back the next afternoon at 1400 to see where we fell on the list of flights home. The first night, we dropped our stuff off at our respective rooms and then hit the dining hall for dinner.
The Rock’s dining hall was much larger and nicer than the 332d‘s dining facility. Not only was the facility bigger, but the range of options was much greater. Walking in and having that range of options for the first time in six months was a little overwhelming. There were different lines for hot food, fried food, made to order food, salads, sandwiches, deserts, and a beverage bar. It was exciting until I dug in and realized that USAF Food is USAF Food no matter where you go. Better than a pre-packaged, constipation inducing Meal Ready to Eat, but not what you dream about on deployment. I ate my dinner in quiet disappointment, then made my way back to my room to sleep.
We spent the better part of a week at Ali Al Salem, alternating between reading chapters of Matterhorn by Karl Marlantes and walking around in the Kuwaiti heat to kill time. I would walk around parts of the base until I got too hot, then dip into the base exchange to buy a drink and cool down, then walk back to my room to read. Rinse and repeat until Matterhorn, a 600 page novel, was finished. In the evenings, the Engineers and I would get dinner and talk about our experiences on the deployment and then go to bed. It was a bit like summer camp, except instead of being filled with fun, structured activities, it was filled with mind-numbing boredom.
Military rotators back home from the AOR often let you check your gear bags twenty-four hours in advance, and the Engineers and I dragged our bags down to the passenger terminal to check in our bags as soon as we could. We still retained our rucksacks, which are supposed to have 72 hours worth of clothing and toiletries packed for contingencies. We got to experience one of those contingencies when our rotator was delayed because the pilots “timed out” when the COVID testing at an earlier airport took too long and they had to stop and rest by FAA regulation.
It wasn’t that big of a deal, just another annoyance on our way home. Our flight was pushed back eighteen hours, and the worst thing was that Lieutenant D realized he left his toothbrush in his checked bag. Eventually we went through the military “ticketing” process and sat in a large waiting area to spend for four hours waiting for a bus to shuttle us over to the rotator. While we were sitting there, the NCO sitting behind the service desk made an announcement over the loudspeaker:
“Captain Jacobson, Spencer, please report to the service desk.”
“What do you think that is for?” I groaned to my travel companions as I stood up.
“I bet they’re making you the troop commander,” Captain E suggested. The troop commander is often the most senior officer in a group, appointed to ensure accountability of everyone during a trip.
“There has to be someone more senior than me,” I dismissed Captain E’s comment. Captain E shrugged and I made my way back to the service desk, looking for a Major or Lieutenant Colonel that would make a better candidate for Troop Commander. No dice. I introduced myself to the NCO behind the desk, a Staff Sergeant who looked like they may have graduated middle school last year.
“Good evening, Sir,” the Sergeant said, “you have been selected to be the troop commander for your flight.”
Shit. I thought. “Alright, what does being the troop commander entail?”
“Well, Sir, there are 269 people on your flight, and you will be responsible for making sure that everyone boards the flight after each stop.”
“How many layovers are there?” I asked.
“Everyone will board busses and be ferried to [REDACTED FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT] where you will all have the opportunity to purchase last minute souvenirs and snacks. You will be responsible for ensuring everyone re-boards the busses and makes it to the jet.”
“Seems easy enough.” I shrugged. Maybe being the troop commander wouldn’t be so bad.
“Then you have one layover before arriving back in Baltimore where your responsibilities as troop commander end.”
“Okay cool,” I said as a reached for the paper the NCO offered me and pulling a pen out of my uniform’s pen pocket.
“Of course, the layover is in Germany, where everyone will be allowed to disembark and purchase no more than two beers.”
I stopped reaching for my pen. “Only two beers?” I asked the Sergeant. I thought I knew where this was going.
“Yes, Sir, and you will be responsible for ensuring that nobody consumes more than two alcoholic beverages while in Germany.” The NCO said earnestly. “Of course, no underage drinking either.”
“Like two at a time?” I asked.
“No, Sir, two total.”
“I’m not doing that.” I stated flatly, pushing the paper back to him across the desk.
“Sir?” The Sergeant was visibly confused.
“I’m not counting people’s beers. They’re grown-ups.” I said firmly. “And I am damn sure not checking IDs either.”
“Okay, Sir.” The NCO hesitantly took the paper back with an annoyed look on his face. I did not care and simply, walked back to my seat with the engineers.
“What was it?” Captain E asked me.
“I was supposed to be the troop commander.” I replied as I sat down in the tattered chair.
“Supposed to be?” Little Lieutenant D was confused.
“They wanted me to count people’s drinks while we are in Germany,” I replied. “I said I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh man,” Lieutenant D said, “you should have agreed to it and then just not counted.”
“It would have have been nice to have a friend in a high place,” Captain E quipped as the NCO from the front desk walked into the waiting area and looked around carefully. We watched him peruse the waiting area, clearly seeking something (or someone). The NCO found what he was looking for, and returned to his desk.
“Captain Berry, Dingle (not his real name), please report to the service desk,” sounded over the loudspeaker moments after the NCO returned to his desk. Pushing his coke-bottle glasses up his nose with his middle finger, the dorkiest looking Air Force Captain you could possibly imagine stood up and awkwardly strode to the service desk. He looked like a socially awkward, confused baby giraffe as he walked.
“I bet you that’s the new troop commander,” I pointed out to my fellow 332d AEW alumni.
“Goddammit, Jacobson,” Capt E griped. “Now we’re gonna have to listen to that guy?”
“I think we could bully him,” I shrugged. My assumption was all but confirmed when Captain Berry returned to the waiting area, with a different stride and carrying a clipboard. He walked like a socially awkward, confident baby giraffe on his way back to his seat.
“Looks like you were right,” Lil Lieutenant D said.
“Yep,” I agreed with Lieutenant D agreeing with me while digging through my rucksack. Finding what I was searching for, I withdrew my pipe and tobacco. “I’m going for a smoke, see you guys on the bus.” With that I walked out of the seating area and into the fading Kuwaiti evening to enjoy one last smoke session of the deployment.
As I was finishing smoking my bowl of pipe tobacco, I watched our checked luggage get loaded onto trucks to be hauled to the airplane. Shortly after the trucks departed, the announcement was made to gather our remaining gear and proceed to the bus. I tamped my pipe out on my boot and returned it, unlit, to my mouth for the walk back to my rucksack.
The flight back to the United States went well enough. The exhausted Airmen all around me mostly slept or watched movies. We landed in Germany super early in the morning, but the little beer-shilling café was open in the tiny airport. Those who had been stationed in Kuwait hadn’t been allowed any alcohol for the duration of their tour, and there was a palpable excitement that their first beers in months would be high-quality German beers.
Captain E, Lil Lieutenant D, and I had been at the 332d where we were allowed three beers every eighteen hours, a veritable frat party by comparison. We chose to just sit down and let the line subside before getting any beers. Pulling up to a table, we watched as Captain Berry, Troop Commander extraordinaire, stood next to the cashier’s till and watched the flight as they obtained their beers.
We mocked him from our little table but decided not to give him too hard of a time. He seemed just a little too eager and probably a little naïve. When the line dwindled to nothing, Captain Berry went and sat down to enjoy his own beers. At that point the two Engineers and I decided it was time to go get our own two beers. As soon as we made it to the till to place our order, Captain Berry sprung up and approached us. He supervised our beer purchases, and we rolled our eyes, took our two beers each, and sat down.
I didn’t even finish my beers, I was simply too tired, and the weird German beer I ordered wasn’t cold, and it sure as shit wasn’t good warm. I gave my second beer to Lieutenant D, and he drank it quickly before we re-boarded the airplane and continued our long flight back to the USA.
When we landed in Baltimore, the two engineers scrambled to get their bags and we parted ways. Both of them were in a hurry to get home, but I was not. Jenny was at Squadron Officer School with both dogs, so I was facing coming home to a completely empty house. Instead, I opted to spend an extra night in Baltimore at a nearby hotel to shower, shave, and sleep before catching a flight the next morning.
I slept like garbage in that hotel bed, waking up every few hours, checking the news and my social media. The plus side was that I was able to wake up and make it to my early flight, and landed in Boston shortly before noon. Completing the mirror of six months earlier, our friends Alex and Laura-Leigh picked me back up from the airport and drove me home. This time, the traffic was atrocious, as if to welcome me back to Boston. I was exhausted, but happy to be back where I had called home for the past couple of years.
It was early in the week, and I knew that I had to go to Hanscom in the morning to check back in to the base, but as Alex navigated us through the heavy Boston traffic, all I wanted to do was get some chicken wings from Buff’s Pub. Alex dropped me off at my townhouse to unpack with the promise that they would return around dinner time to pick me up for Buff’s chicken wings.
I dragged my duffel bags into the house and upstairs, but I didn’t unpack them for several weeks. Instead, I took a shower and laid down for a nap. Jenny and I texted a bit back and forth while she was in class down in Alabama to solidify my plan to fly down to see her and help drive back up to Boston with the dogs. First I had to return to the military office park that is Hanscom Air Force Base and check back in and then I would be free to fly down to see her.
At some point, I gave into my exhaustion and I awoke some time later to the creaks and groans of an empty house and the fading light of the evening. Groggily, I grabbed my phone and checked it for the time, then scrolled through social media. What I saw woke me up instantly.
The damn Russians had steamed across the border with Ukraine, kicking off another war and new fears of World War III. I had just left the last vestiges of the Afghan War behind, and the drum of a new war had already started to beat.