The flight was called and I found a seat near the bulkhead next to the window. It was a short flight—90 minutes depending on the head-winds—but I didn’t want some fucker crawling all over me if he had to take a piss.
I guess I did manage to sleep eventually, because the next thing I knew my head thumped against the window as we landed, waking me up and pissing me off in the same breath. My next conscious thought was of Caro. I knew that I’d have to get a grip on that, because having my mind on her instead of the mission was going to make me fuck up, a situation that could be slightly terminal. I smiled to myself, thinking how pissed she’d be if I got myself killed. I patted the pocket over my heart a little self-consciously, feeling a slight bump from the little pebble she’d given me.
Must be getting soft in my old age. And yeah, 27 could feel fucking old at times.
Most of the guys on the flight were PCSing. Their Permanent Change of Station were to bases across KMC—or Kaiserslautern Military Community—to give it the full name, and Ramstein was the air force base.
I managed to find a café that was selling coffee and found a few Euros in coins to pay for it. Then the waiting started. That’s the military for you: hurry up and wait. Happens all the time, so there’s no point getting your panties in a bunch about it.
I glanced out to the runway and saw a parked airplane: a C-130 turbo-prob. If that was my ride, the flight to Kabul was going to be a bitch and noisy as hell.
It wasn’t long before the flight was called, so I showed my orders to the wing nut in charge, wondering if he could read, the way he scrunched up his eyes scrolling down through the papers. Eventually, he nodded and waved me through. I tossed my sea-bag on top of the baggage cart, praying it would arrive with me on the same flight. It didn’t contain anything that couldn’t be replaced, but I wasn’t looking forward to getting tied up in red tape the second I landed. I made my way to a seat at the back and stuck in my ear-buds, listening to Lifehouse, until I got to the song ‘You and Me’ and then I had to fast forward. Fuck, I really was getting soft. I switched to Linkin Park.
I rolled up my uniform jacket to use as a pillow then closed my eyes, seeing her face smiling behind my eyelids. I’d been dreaming about her for 10 years, but now it didn’t hurt quite so bad.
I wasn’t really asleep—I was just resting my eyes, so when the intercom crackled seven hours later and the pilot said he was prepping to land, all hands reached into the overhead lockers to suit up: helmets and body armor. It was bright daylight outside the window, so that made everyone nervous. A Hercules is a big fucking target. It’s better to fly at night because the cold air is denser, but also because the dark is some protection from enemy fire.
So after traveling for a total of 11 hours, I landed in Kabul.
What a fucking dump.
There are three things you need to know about Afghanistan: one, it’s a shithole; two, it’s hot in summer; and three, it’s a shithole.
I hadn’t been here for 36 months, but nothing had changed. From a distance the Koh Daman Mountains looked beautiful, still covered in snow, despite the 110oF heat at sea level. But up closer, the city was just as ugly and miserable as I remembered.
If you’re doing a winter tour, it’s constant cold and freezing mud; summer tours, it’s dust. Endless, yellow dust: in your food, in your water, in your bed, in the lining of your helmet. Rumor says the dirt out here is 10% fecal matter so the whole place is shit.
And soon Caro would be here, too. I hated to think that she’d be stuck in this rat trap, even if it meant she’d be closer to me.
Yeah, I wasn’t happy to be back.
The sticky heat hit me as soon as I exited the plane, and I breathed in the dust and acrid stench of fuel and hot rubber. In the distance, gray-blue smoke drifted upward. IED? Car bomb? Welcome to Afghanistan.
We’d landed at Bagram Airfield, about 15 miles northeast of Kabul. Most of the guys I’d flown with were in transit to other bases, but my orders took me into the city.
I squinted into the white heat of the sun and slid on my Oakleys, staring out at the acres of tents and shanty buildings that made up the base.
The air was humid, but we still disembarked fast, getting under cover as quickly as possible. In the arrivals area (aka a shed), I had to go through the rigmarole of checking into theater. Despite being ID-checked and listed as getting on the flight at Ramstein, I still had to go through the exact same procedure getting off at Kabul. What the fuck? Did they think anyone might have gotten on the flight halfway? Probably the cheap fucking computer systems they use. Thanks, Uncle Sam.
At least my sea-bag had arrived, which was good. I had to rummage through the baggage cart to find my Dress Blues—if they’d gone missing, they were a bitch to replace.
I strode toward the exit, stopping at the helpfully named information desk, only to find that the car that should have been waiting for me was nowhere to be seen and no one knew fuck-all about it. The US Army clerk couldn’t have cared less, shrugging when I asked him how the fuck I was supposed to get to Kabul. Fucking ground-pounder.
In the end, I caught a ride with a Lieutenant Colonel from the 10th Mountain Division, who bored me to death for 35 minutes about being in Eye-raq for the first Gulf War. At least his transport was an armored air-conditioned SUV.
As we got closer to the city, we were passed several times by kids on motorcycles, customized with carpet over the saddles—the Afghan version of pimp-my-ride. At least something here made me smile.
Because I was working for military spooks, I was billeted next to the Embassy. The colonel raised his eyebrows as he dropped me off, but didn’t ask any questions—not that I would have answered him anyway.
A bored-looking private checked my ID and waved me through security. It was checked again before I was let through the steel and concrete barrier and into the main compound.
For guys who were arriving solo like me, the Embassy’s other role was liaison. I needed to contact my chain of command to schedule the deployment briefs.
I waited while my name was passed up, and helped myself to a cup of water from the dispenser. It was chilled. Nice.
“Hunter, I’m John Nash. Welcome to Kabul.”
A tall thin guy in the uniform of a Captain of Marines stood in front of me. I slammed a salute and then followed him up the stairs.
His office was a tiny room, crammed with filing cabinets and a bank of computer screens. He made sure I sat facing away from them.
“Your last CO thinks you’re a waste of fucking oxygen, Hunter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your present CO thinks you’re redeemable.”
“Good to know, sir.”
I thought I saw a hint of a smile, but since I couldn’t be sure, I stayed standing at attention.
“Take a seat.”
I sat down and tried to look intelligent.
“How’s your Pashto?”
“Rusty, sir.”
“You’ve got eight hours to get it shipshape. The UN is hosting a function tonight for local military, Press, and important Afghan government officials. I want you there, ears to the ground. See what you can pick up, but don’t let it be known you speak the language. You’ll meet your team leader, Ryan Grant, and he’ll go over the fine print. Fact is we want Gal Agha. We need him on our side. We’ve already made him our offer, but he wants to meet face-to-face. Find him, talk to him, impress the fuck out of him, and Helmand will be one degree safer for ISAF forces. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Helmand is the most kinetic province in Afghanistan.”
I kept a straight face. ‘Kinetic’ just meant more shooting.
“Here’s the file—everything you need to know on Gal Agha. Read it, memorize it, fucking inhale it, if you have to. Learn it, so that it’s in your gut and you’re ready to shit facts. Be at UN HQ at 1900 tonight—a driver has been requisitioned for you. Your billet is down the hall, third door on the left. And you’ll be deploying with Grant at oh-five-hundred tomorrow. This isn’t fucking Cuckoo-clock land, and you’re not on the block now. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
I saluted, scooped up the file, along with my sea-bag, weapon and the rest of my shit, and situated myself in my billet to read. I was hot, sweaty and longing for a shower, but I had a file to memorize first.