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through my head about what was to come: What was in store for me? Would I be strong enough? Would I make the right decisions? How much would I see? Was I prepared to handle the exposure to war and all of its brutal truths?

CHAPTER 3

Day 4
Saying Hello to Bagram Air Field

    30 April 2008
    We left Manas in the morning at about 0630 on a C-17. It was my first ride in a military aircraft. As soon as we boarded, we walked into this huge “bay” where there were several palates full of our cargo that we had checked-in at the bag drag the night before. In the center was an area with seats that looked like hand-me-downs from an old civilian aircraft with torn upholstery and heavily-stained fabric. Additional seating was along both sides of the aircraft, facing the center. The ceiling was high and gutted, meaning all of the inner workings of the aircraft were visible. It was exceptionally loud; earplugs were a must-have item. From what I had been told, a C-130 was much louder, so I supposed it could have been worse.
    The flight was unique in the fact we had no windows to look out of to get a perspective of where we were in relation to take off or landing. This isolation made touching ground interesting. All I had to rely on was the sounds of the landing gear being released, and sudden change in pressure as we descended. I felt I was at the complete mercy of the beast I was sitting in. How funny, I had experienced the same scenario so many times before, yet it never phased me because I could watch the ground come closer and closer. However, in this situation, not having that visual perception made a tremendous impact to the whole experience. In addition to my newly found perspective on flying, I was filled with various emotions, mainly the feeling of knowing and not knowing what was in store for me now that I was there. These feelings sent chills down my spine and my heart into flutters.
    As soon as the plane came to a stop and they opened the doors, we all piled out onto the tarmac in two separate lines; Air Force in one line, Army in the other. The flight line was busy with aircraft from all different military forces and countries. It was quite a sight. Some of the aircraft were unlike anything I had ever seen before. The base was surrounded by snowcapped mountains which were quite beautiful. There were buildings all around the flight line that looked very similar to what I experienced on a normal military base in the states. It actually looked like a pretty nice setup and I thought to myself, This won’t be too bad, at least while I am here on Bagram. We were directed to a very hot, very small tent and began our in-processing with PERSCO. Once we handed over our orders and other required documents, we were released to reacquire our bags and then to report to our duty sections.
    While we waited on transportation, we ran into Mike, another friend from our ACST training in the States, who arrived several weeks ahead of us. He was a pilot and knew we would be arriving that day and was happy to greet us. We made small talk and got through the formalities. “We lost a guy yesterday,” he told us. “He was a Senior Airman in a convoy just over there,” as he pointed to the south mountain range. “He got hit by an IED [Improvised Explosive Device].”
    My heart sank. I naively thought, An Air Force member in a convoy? This just didn’t happen, or at least it didn’t used to happen. This was what the Army and Marines did - not us. Even more bizarre, this poor kid was an Aircraft Maintenance troop, so it was unclear to me as to why he was even on a convoy in the first place. I had not felt I was entering into a war zone, until that moment. The land looked normal; the amenities of Manas were tolerable, nothing like the MASH episodes I watched on TV as a kid. The food was good, the people were normal….but it became a reality. There were people out there dying. My stomach turned; all of a sudden I wasn’t feeling so happy to be