posted in 15 Oct, 2006 by Ms. Babble
It’s been hard trying to find the right words to express how this all feels… the return, I mean. After going through Navy customs in Kuwait, we boarded a commercial Boeing 757. Our path took us from Kuwait to Ireland to Maine to Wisconsin. Each stop had it’s own interesting emotions.
Kuwait was full of torment. After taking care to pack my bags so that everything would fit, I had to dump everything out for a Navy customs officer and re-pack again. My inspector wasn’t all that bad and he let a lot of things go without actually looking at them. But I was caught off guard when the pouch I used to strap a magazine to my M-4 had a loose round still in it. It literally flew out of my magazine holder and clunked onto the table top in front of him. We both looked at each other and I gave him my “Oh crap!” eyes. He countered my reaction with his scolding eyes and shoved it in the amnesty box behind him. All I could do was laugh nervously and say, “You’d be surprised at how ammunition just floats around like that in Iraq.”
In Ireland it seemed like half the unit stocked up for their liquor cabinets back home. People were snatching up $150 bottles of scotch and whiskey like they didn’t exist back in the states. I just made a promise to save myself for a cold domestic beer back in the U.S.
In Ireland I was reminded at how wonderful that type of climate smelled. The way the moisture sweetened the air was something I had obviously taken for granted. It was cool and green and everything was very much alive. My senses had adjusted to the air of Iraq with it’s constant smell of burning trash, feces, and dust.
My layover in Maine was more of the same. I may as well have still been in Ireland. The local VFW was there to greet us and I could see a few of them smirk as we “ohh & ahh’d” at the smell outside. We just couldn’t get over how it felt! It was drizzling a bit and we hadn’t felt rain for 6 months or so. And even then it was a dirty wet dog sort of smelly rain in Iraq. The rainy season in Iraq creates great lakes and sinking sand pits that make daily life a near hell. But in Maine it was just invigorating.
When we finally made it to Wisconsin (our last stop) it was snowing. Not big clumpy snow but the brutal wind whipped snow that stabs into eyes and ears. There was no possible way for us to prepare for the sort of cold that would greet us outside of that airplane. Of course very few people remembered to pack gloves or jackets. The day before we were literally in a 100 degree desert getting sand blown into our faces. And today we are in 30 degrees getting smacked with snow. How can someone possibly prepare for the shock that causes on a body?
There were a few family members at Volk Field and a troop of VFW folk. It was a lovely effort but a bit awkward too. Most of us were just standing around and a bit agitated after spending the last 20 hours in an airplane. Not to mention the added strain of being VERY cold and feeling out of place in the big airport hangar.
So far everything in Ft. McCoy is familiar from when I mobilized here last year. Everything gives me a feeling of déjà vu. But my head is still back in Iraq.
Funny story:
While some of us were standing around at Volk Airfield waiting to get bused to Ft. McCoy, a family member of someone popped a plastic bag with his hands. In the big hangar it naturally echoed quite loud. A few of us instinctually turned our heads as we had grown accustomed to these noises (of a more serious nature) in Iraq. We noticed each other reacting to the noise and mocked rolling to the ground as if it was an incoming round or something. Then without hesitation we began to recite the recorded message that our post in Iraq would put over the loudspeakers every time we had indirect fire in the camp: “This is the command post. This is the command post. There has been an indirect fire attack. Post attack recognizance teams are released to conduct UXO sweeps. All other personal are released. All clear! All clear! All clear!” We heard that message so many times that it had become ingrained in our brains. A mantra of sorts.
We’ll be bussed back to our armory outside of Chicago in 5 days and finally released back into the wild. God damn has it been a long road.
P.S. Myspace is blocked on the government comp at Ft. McCoy. Bummer cause it looks like a have a crap load of messages and blogs to read. I promise that I’ll catch up to them all when I get home!!
Popularity: 54% [?]
