“C-17’s are the straight balls” is the first thing I said to myself as I walked into the gargantuan plane. Our air lift to Qatar looked like it was going to be one hell of a ride. I felt like little Tommy Tootone wanting to play with all the buttons, hooks, cables, and switches. Ok, I’m exaggerating but what an effing beast of a plane. Apparently it even comes with jock pilots incapable of sweating or having their hair move in turbulence. This one guy, he said call him Casey, was the most sarcastic guy I’ve ever met and started each sentence off with, “Whelp…” An example, “Whelp were just gonna lay her down right here and be on our way back, we got to get home for lunch, taco salad day.” He was ridiculous.
Otherwise, the flight had little excitement or fun. I had a dip with Sargent Halliday. What a GFD. He told me Copenhagen is the only suitable form of dip for an American man. When I told him I’d dipped Skoal before he lectured me on the finer points of smokeless tobacco. Did you know it is best served chilled when dipped after dinner? I’m starting to accept the taste, not enjoy it, but accept it as part of this experience.
We’re at our new base now, I can’t tell you where, but I will narrow it down by saying it’s a country is filled with dirty, sandy, angry Arabs. They assigned me to Halliday’s bunk house, which will be cool because he’s one of the biggest badasses out here.
I emailed Dirk, my old friend from Atlanta, and he sent me a wireless card that’s supposed to work most places. Well see how good it is. I don’t feel like saving up my stories and sending them in all at once.
This camp’s tone is different. Whereas before it was training and discipline, the rules seem to be relaxed now. Everyone is nervous and ready to go. I guess they’re hyped up and ready to get going on what they trained for. After only being out here about 3 weeks I feel the exact same way.
“LET’S DO THIS”
Tags: C-17, Copenhagen, Middle East, Qatar, War on Terror
