Bagram Air Field (BAF) is an unpleasant place. Virtually every passenger I send there from Kabul (because BAF is the arrival/departure point for us) begs me to send them there for as short a time as possible before they fly out of country. Unfortunately, I have to stand firm on their pleas. Since it's a warzone and anything can, and typically does, happen, I send them to BAF three days before their departure date. As I tell them, "I know you hate BAF. But you'll hate missing your flight to Dubai even more."
However, since I work in the Air Operations department, I cut a day off of that and went two days prior. I was willing to be ticked if weather got bad or flights were grounded due to enemy activity; I'm not willing to get chewed out if employees miss their flight through no fault of my own. In six months on the job, I've not had one employee miss his plane flight, though some have been taken straight from the helos to the plane.
It had been over three months since I'd last been to BAF. Some things were the same: the overwhelming congestion of 25-30k people jammed on a base designed to fit a half or third that number; the 40' banks of dust that rose from the clogged roads and lazily drifted or hurled themselves over everything, depending on the wind; the constant roar of jets taking off and flying overhead; and the worn-out look of persevering despair plastered on nearly everyone's faces.
What had changed since my last BAF visit was my standing in the department. I had come back from my last vacation on July 7th, flown back to Kabul after checking in with my boss and him telling me I was doing a great job, and over the course of the next ten to fifteen days proceeded to become more and more perplexed as the boss, Tom, always an emotional guy, got more and more irrational in a series of bizarre and autocratic emails, to the point where my coworker Jim and I went to employee relations because we were concerned we were going to be fired and we didn't know why (other than that we weren't in lockstep with Tom's unhinged behavior). At any rate, Tom actually did threaten to fire me in email and threatened to fire all of us in a phone conference meeting I had the employee relations rep sit in on (unbeknownst to Tom). The rep initiated an investigation of his own accord and recommended Tom's termination before the higher-ups squashed it to a verbal warning. Even though nothing happened to Tom, he quit harrassing us. Lesson learned? Don't threaten a lawyer.
Due to all of that, I was really not looking forward to BAF. Even though Tom had moved out of the department (his impending promotion was why the complaint against him was swept under the rug), he'd stocked the BAF office with his lackeys. The Americans, his sycophants, were cool towards me, but the Bosnians and Philippinos were pleased to see me.
While I was there, I stayed in the transient tent. The outbreak of bed bugs there for the past several months had finally been brought to heel, I was told. I crawled into an open bottom bunk, a mere 18" beneath a 225lb fellow employee and prayed the canvas separating us didn't give way. Fortunately, I got to contemplate greater dangers when the Giant Voice woke me to the sound of "Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!" Even though I know that by the time the alarm goes off the attack has been over for at least ten minutes, I put on my flip flops and body armor and sat in the bunker for thirty minutes until they gave us the "All clear!" I'm much pleased to relate that the thirty minutes in the dark was rather entertaining, what with the guys from the Balkans having a shouting competition, which resulted in a 25-way tie, as well edifying, as there was a geopolitical lecture given by a plumber, which he thoughtfully interspersed with a healthy helping of profanity so as to relate to the rest of us...I think. Or he could have been cursing gibberish myths and rumors. One of the two.
I also managed to do the one thing I didn't want to do, which was to run into Tom. I was speaking with someone else when he walked up. He didn't recognize me at first (I was bearded). "Oh...Andre..." he said, surprised, when it dawned on him. He gathered himself. "Going on vacation?" He offered his hand. Seeing no need to make the situation more awkward, I shook it, babbled something and went on my way.
The flight to Dubai was uneventful. After we landed, when I unbuckled my seat belt, I was quite surprised to realize I was still wearing my multi-tool, a $90 Leatherman, which is like a Swiss Army knife on steroids. Loath as I was to part with it, I handed it over to a bewildered, but appreciative, flight attendant. I'd rather buy another multi-tool than languish in a Middle Eastern jail.
It was only after I got to the hotel that I discovered that the free flight to Dubai not only cost a $90 multi-tool, but also a $250 Ipod and $50 headphones that I'd left on the plane. Dammit. I went to the hotel's "Sketch Bar," surprising devoid of prostitutes, and had a scotch, neat, to unwind. When the scotch turned out to cost $20, I was back on edge.
I met up with an Air Ops buddy of mine who was in town on a business trip. We went and got something to eat as he filled me in on all the department gossip. It turned out Tom had gone crazy with pretty much everybody and their hope was that he would be fired soon. I told my friend, "Good luck with that." Before turning in, we had a drink at the Sketch Bar. This time there were hookers, but they didn't proposition either of us. We were offended. The beer only cost about $10.
When I got back to my room, I checked my flight information for the next day to make sure of what time to be at the airport. My flight was the next day, all right, at 12:10am. I cursed, re-clothed, packed and headed to the airport. I bought another Ipod, shopping being the last thing I wanted to do in Dubai, but Japan being notoriously more expensive than just about anywhere else, and boarded my Air China flight. I have this to say about the Air China Airbus 300 I rode on for six hours: it can go straight to hell. Even though we were at 38,000 feet and it was -50 degrees just on the other side of the fusilage, it was a stifling 90 degrees inside. I inelegantly shoehorned myself into my cramped aisle seat. I'm fairly certain I'd have been more comfortable in the carry-on bins. The twenty-something chinaman with the unkempt haircut sitting in the window seat next to me took the sterling opportunity to awkwardly stare at me in silence the. entire. flight.
My time in Beijing involved taking off my shoes, being wanded and going through several metal detectors before, thankfully, getting on a Boeing for Tokyo (Narita). I slept like a baby.
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