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In Transit: The Trip Home
As we rode the bus from March Air Reserve Base back to Camp Pendleton my friend Grant remarked, “You know, I don’t want to speak too soon, but it’s almost like I never left.†I agreed. I had been leisurely gazing at the southern California landscape for no more than ten minutes, but the desert of the Middle East was quickly fading from my memory even though I was there only 24 hours ago.
Rewind 72 hours. Six of us sat in the chow hall in Taqaddum, Iraq, drinking coffee after our meal. We spent a lot of time in the chow hall, because there’s nothing else to do. When waiting to leave theatre you have to pause at several stops along the way, and there is no real work to be done—just waiting. Imagine having nothing at all to do for four days. Personally, I thought it was glorious. I have a knack for keeping myself occupied. Some found it aggravating. Someone remarked “This is our last dinner in Iraq.†It was a welcome benchmark, but there were many more dinners to come in Kunwait and other places before we would return to the US.
Taqaddum was our first stop out of Fallujah. After four days of napping, working out twice a day, and spending obscene amounts of time in the chow hall, we hopped a C-130 to Kuwait.
We put down in Kuwait a few minutes after dawn. After gathering onto a bus we rode to main side Ali Al Salem and then rode another bus to Camp Virginia where we all ate some breakfast and then went to sleep. Our billeting tent in Camp Virginia was like every other transient billeting tent along the way: a large metal frame covered with a heavy tarpaulin and climate control via multiple air conditioners. Like all the other transient billeting tents we stayed in, the A/C couldn’t keep up during the heat of the day. They blew at full throttle all day long, resulting in frigid arctic temperatures at night yet sweltering 100-degree afternoons. Ever heard that it gets cold at night in the desert? That’s true, but only inside of transient billeting tents and only because of air conditioning. Outside it’s hotter than hell—all the time. It does cool down to 80s right before dawn, but one hour after the sun peeks over the horizon the thermometer starts climbing rapidly. While discussing possible timetable shifts in our travel plans, I once remarked “You know, it would actually be nice if we arrived at March (Air Reserve Base) in the middle of the night. That way we could work during the cool of the day to load and move our packs. Wait—we won’t be in the desert anymore. Nevermind.â€
On this particular day at about 12:10 PM everyone in the tent awoke at almost the same time, gasping for air and wondering why our pillows were soaked with sweat. It quickly became apparent the A/C units just didn’t have it in them, but we endured and a few hours later it started to cool down. Before we could fly out of Kuwait we had to go through Customs. Customs was possibly the single most intrusive and painful event of my life, excluding my flight physical when I entered the Marine Corps. All your stuff that you spent hours packing away in just the right way to make it fit inside your pack–dump it on a table. A Customs representative from the Navy sorts through it all while wearing a pair of latex gloves, looking for restricted items like Cuban cigars, pornography, agricultural items, and flammable/explosive items. After he finishes you move it all to another table to repack it.
After taking care of Customs and all our baggage we moved into another holding tent and waited a few more hours. Finally, we got on a bus, drove to the airport, and boarded our plane. United was chartered to take us home, and because of our large group they brought a Boeing 747. I’ve flown on several Boeing 7xx variants, but never a 747. It was absolutely monstrous. I managed to score a business-class seat, which had a ridiculous amount of legroom. I could actually lay my seat almost completely back into a bed and still not infringe on the legroom of the person behind me. I had my own LCD screen with several channels of television and movies. My seat was adjustable in more ways than I could figure out. It was the most comfortable 11 hours I’ve ever spent on a plane. After we stopped in Germany I decided to put a final cleaning on my weapons in preparation for turn-in to the armory. I used the folding table in my armrest to hold all of the parts in front of me. It’s kind of strange to disassemble and clean a pistol and assault rifle while riding on a commercial airplane, but nobody seemed to mind. One of the pilots even joked with me “We usually don’t like it when people do that onboard. As a matter of fact, we hate it.†He then asked me a few questions about my rifle, and told me that he was a prior Air Force pilot and there was a prior Marine and prior Navy pilot in the cockpit as well. Throughout the flight the flight attendants would bring younger Marines into the cockpit for quick tours. It was certainly a nice gesture, and a much different way of doing things compared to normal commercial flights. However, I should point out that while every person onboard carried a pistol, rifle, or both, no one was allowed to carry knives, matches, or liquids of any kind (ala the British terror plot) onto the aircraft.
The 747 touched down at March Air Reserve Base and after the flight crew thanked us for our service we deplaned. Key members of our battalion were there to welcome us home, and they brought a working party to help load our packs onto trucks—sweet. Several civilian and veteran volunteers had showed up to welcome us as well. After a little bit of fuss we were on our way back to Camp Pendleton via USMC busses that apparently ran on propane. You don’t say.
As we pulled onto I-215 another Marine and I joked “We’re gonna need a lot of flares and flash-bang grenades to get all this traffic out of the way, and here we are—fresh out.†After returning to Camp Pendleton and turning in weapons the busses took us to our final destination: the enlisted barracks. Spouses, friends, and fellow Marines welcomed us back. We quickly retrieved our packs and set out for home, the barracks, the bar, the club…anywhere but work. A full seven days of traveling had finally returned us home. I spent six months and 16 days outside my own bed. No experience of my life has more superlatives associated with it than my deployment to Iraq: best, worst, high, low, longest, shortest, strongest, weakest…the list goes on. I can also definitively say that I’ve never been ready for any experience to be over like I was IZ. It’s good to be home.
Welcome home Jeff! Thank you for your service and the time to write on your blog! I sure have enjoyed reading it, I hope you don’t stop! God Bless you and all that serve our country, we sure do appreciate it beyond words!