Regardless, it meant that all of us were stuck at the gates of hell to wait one more day. Stacie and I had a grand plan; we bought snacks and sodas with the idea that we would have a movie day at the community tent in our area. Great plan, right? Seemel like it at the time.. The day started out okay. We woke up and hiked to breakfast. Then, we watched the majority of our group depart at their regularly scheduled intervals. With the crowd gone, I got my Family Guy DVDs out of my luggage and we laughed as we watched the first episode. When it came time to watch the second, there was no remote to be found for the DVD. Being in the AV business and all, this did not discourage me. I simply walked up to the DVD player and searched for the menu buttons. Oh wait, there were none. Faced with the choice of watching the same episode of Family Guy on constant rerun, we decided to pick one of the movies available for our viewing pleasure. Except almost every DVD case was empty. Jackpot, we found “District 9.” Have you ever seen that movie? I had heard about it and because of that, I assumed it must be decent. I was terribly mistaken. I still have flashbacks of what may very well be the worst movie I ever attempted to watch. I don’t know whether I should hate the writer, the jackass movie guys who bought the script or the juvenile who actually made it.
Shortly before 1500, our "person in charge" had completed his journey back from headquarters and told us our mystery group was being split in two. This was especially traumatic as I was being separated from Stacie. I like most of the people in our entire training group but Stacie was the person I spent most of my time with. I would wish that she got to stay with me, but I like her too much to wish the fate “Morgan’s Zeroes” would soon have to endure.
Our group was the first to leave on Friday. So, I woke up Friday morning, re-packed (for about the 5th time at this point) and we set about loading the truck with all our seabags. If I never have to load another truck again, it will be too soon. We boarded the bus and off we went. We left the base and headed on the road. Finally, after 6 days of travel, we were headed towards our final destination; for about ½ mile. Shortly after leaving the gate, the convoy turned around. I was sitting towards the front of the bus so I was able to figure out what was happening right away. The people in the back of the bus didn’t really have a clue yet. It gave me some small joy to tell them we weren't getting on our flight. We went back through the gate and found ourselves back at Camp Walkalot. Our flight was cancelled. We unloaded the truck (at least I got exercise that day) and hauled all our shit back to the tents just in time to help our friends load up their truck. We waved goodbye and looked forward to another day of with less than nothing to do. We were told we would leave the next evening.
The next day was one of the longest in my life. Normally, I enjoy a full day of doing nothing. It’s a great chance to recuperate from the stresses of life and let go of trivial worries. Except this was a full day of doing nothing after 5 days of doing nothing. I don’t even know how I spent my time. I’m sure I went to breakfast Saturday morning…may have even gone to dinner but I doubt it. Our bus left at 1800 and it was still hot out. I know I didn’t want to sweat before getting on a flight to another hot location.
We re-loaded our truck, got back on the bus and started out again. This time; success! We made it to the airport at Al Oxenfree. Good times. We started hauling our bags off the truck. Then, out of nowhere came the order to stop. Not good my friends, not good. A minute later, we were told it was a false alarm and to return to unloading. Just as our last bag hit the ground, we received word flight number two had been cancelled or re-missioned. The cause.is irrelevant; the effect was the same. We were spending another night in Kuwait.
However, this time we were going to enjoy the lovely accommodations at Camp Oxenfree. Now, Oxenfree is probably the largest rallying point for troop movements in and out of theater. This place is jam-packed with Sailors, Soldiers, Marines, Airmen and civilian contractors. There’s a tent city about 20 columns wide and 8 rows deep. Each tent has bunk beds and sleeps 14 comfortably (if that’s even possible). I don’t know whether it was the surge or just the passage of time, but this place looked nothing like the Camp I ahd visited five years earlier. Next to tent city was a recreation city of sorts. There were many of the same amenities and stores as we enjoyed at Walkalot but in the space of half a city block. If it’s a small city block…think Des Moines, not Chicago. Though the living conditions were less desirable at our new location, it was still a nice change of pace. Plus, we were scheduled for a flight the next morning with a 0900 show time.
We did have access to our bags, but had to sift through the pile of them to find the basic comforts of life. At Walkalot, I debated vigorously over the pros and cons of packing a rucksack. In the end, I listened to my shipmates in Walkalot who said “don’t pack a rucksack.” That’s the last time (well, not really) that I second-guess my own instinct.
I sifted through the pile-o-bags with everyone else and eventually found the one that had the essentials. This included a towel, my sleep system and pillow. I already had my underthings and shower basics in my backpack. Fortunately, I’m not the dumbest traveller in the world. After a brief stop at the USO and a late night snack at KFC, I settled in for the night and dreamt of the travels in store for me the next day.
The next morning is Sunday and we have officially been vagrants for one full week. We wake up, repack our essential stuff and muster at 0900 for our morning flight. Third time’s a charm and we are so on our way to Afghanistan. Third time’s a bitch is what it turned out to be. Someone in their infinite incompetency failed to actually manifest us on our flight. So, we are stuck. Again.
Our next flight, later that night was re-routed to another location. Flight attempt number 4 and another night in Oxenfree. At this point, all humor in the situation was lost. I can’t figure out how we actually get people to war; I really can’t. Somewhere along the way, we officially named ourselves “Morgan’s Zeroes” after our senior officer and the famed WWII comedy about American POWs. It was fitting; I did feel a certain kinship to the characters stuck in a Nazi camp. Yes, living conditions were far better but I could certainly relate to the hopelessness of ever actually leaving.
We finally did make it out of Oxenfree late Monday night. Apparently, when trying to leave Kuwait it’s the 5th time that’s the charm. Next stop, the backside of hell. See ya there!
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