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The
best days in this line of work are the ones in
which you get to reward someone for a job well
done.
I
was wondering how to go about that in the case of
young lieutenant Baker, (YLB) who covered for me
while I was in Iraq. He did both his job and mine
while I was gone, and didn't complain a bit as I
exceeded, and then nearly tripled, my estimated 10
days away. In fact, it was due largely to his doing
both our jobs so well that I was able to stay away
so long, and accomplish as much, as I did. Had he
been screwing up in my absence, the commander would
have called me back in a heartbeat.
So
I've been looking for a way to reward him, and last
night one just fell into my lap. The lieutenant
emailed me to let me know that an agency we've been
working with needed someone to represent us at a
meeting in Baghdad. When I read the email I called
him up. "Are you packed yet?" I asked him.
"No
sir," he said, "but I can be in no time, flat."
It
was easy to get the commander's approval for him to
take my place &endash; after all, he'd been doing
my job for the last month, and probably doing it
better than I. Approval secured, we headed back to
our compound, where I fitted him out with my ruck
sack and holster and gave him a list of telephone
numbers of people I'd just been working with. Best
of all, I was able to get him lodging where I'd
been staying.
The
whole time we were getting him ready he kept
saying, "I can't believe I get to go." We put him
on a C-130 this morning. In a few days he'll come
back able to tell his own stories about Baghdad.
Meanwhile,
I'm getting back into my routine here. I didn't get
much exercise during my trip (I guess carrying all
my gear around counts for something, but I didn't
get to run at all.) so I went for a run today. I'd
been running only at night here, but it's now cool
enough that running during the day isn't
life-threatening. That's a good thing, because you
get to see things in daylight that you'd miss in
the dark. I ran along a road I hadn't been on
before, and, at about the two-mile point, when I
was thinking about turning around, I found a low
spot next to the road.
It
rained the other night (That's twice now, since
April, and it made a beautiful sound on the roof of
my trailer.) and in places like this, water has
pooled, unable to penetrate the layer of clay
beneath the sand. Plants that I never noticed
before have sprung up out of nowhere &endash; or
they've been there all along, but in a shrunken,
desert-colored state of dormancy that made them
hard to see. Now they are green and thriving and
even, in some cases, blossoming. The ground around
them is several shades darker than elsewhere, and,
where the clay is bare, inscribed with the prints
of all the creatures drawn there for water. I stop
for a closer look (It's as good an excuse as any to
stop running for a minute.) and see the
one-paw-in-front-of-the-next prints of a fox, the
cross-hatching of bird tracks, the twisting trail
of a sand viper, and the delicate foot prints of a
mouse, who seemed to have been interested in the
berries developing on what looked like a relative
of a creosote bush.
I
had no choice but to finish my run, pick up my
camera, and walk back out there. It's the only
landscape I've seen here (although I saw plenty in
Iraq) that has made me want to paint, so I can't
let it go unphotographed.
In
addition to reestablishing my routine, I needed to
do some flying. More than a month had elapsed since
I was last aboard one of our jets, and I was in
danger of my currencies lapsing. I was
uncomfortable with the thought of going straight
from such a long period of inactivity right into
what could easily become a combat sortie, so I got
myself onto a flight where I would have a
counterpart to keep an eye on me. That turned out
to be a good move. The 12 hour sortie went much
more smoothly with someone along who was used to
the situation in the air, and it went much more
quickly with someone to talk to.
I'd
forgotten how much fun it is to be a member of a
flying crew. The easy joking around on the crew
bus, the familiarity that comes with sharing a
couple hundred hours in the air, all made me a
little wistful about not being on a crew this time
around. Still, I know that if I'd taken a flying
job instead of this liaison position, I wouldn't
have gotten into Iraq, so I'm not complaining. It
was nice though, to get to experience it again,
even if for a short time. I'll have to make more of
an effort to fly during the rest of my time
here.
One
of the best parts of the experience was getting to
occupy the observer's seat for the landing. It was
several hours before dawn, and pitch black outside
the cockpit. I couldn't tell from looking whether
we were over the desert or the gulf. Soon though, a
distant line of lights revealed itself as a highway
along the shore, and an orange glow in the distance
resolved itself into a city.
A
thin layer of clouds at about 20,000 feet reflected
most of the light back down to the ground. The
clouds were lit from below, and the tops were in
darkest shadow. The effect was disorienting, and
suggested that we were flying inverted. The
illusion disappeared though, as we descended below
the overcast. We turned inland, over the desert,
and in a short time, all was black again. The lack
of things to look at outside the cockpit heightened
my awareness of what was happening inside, and once
again, I found myself admiring the precision and
the teamwork that goes into keeping such a large
piece of hardware in the air, and pointed in the
right direction.
I
listened to the navigator, the flight engineer, the
pilot and the copilot, each playing his part
without missing a beat. I'm a little embarrassed to
admit it, but it gave me much the same feeling I
used to get as a kid, listening to my parents
talking to keep my father awake on a long drive
home at night. Then, as now, I was unable to
understand much of what I heard, but the effect was
the same. I knew I had nothing to worry about. I
knew I would get home safely.
A
couple nights ago I was walking past a pool of
light near the perimeter fence, when a flash of
movement caught my eye. At first I thought I was
watching an owl, because I've never known anything
else to glide so silently and swiftly. It wasn't an
owl though. It wasn't even a bird. I'd caught a
glimpse of one of the tiny remote controlled
aircraft used here by the security forces. I saw
another this afternoon when I was running.
There's
something very odd, almost dreamlike, about an
airplane that makes no noise. Later on I saw
another over the center of our living compound.
This one was buzzing like an electric razor, which
seemed much more natural, but while I watched it
did an aeleron role, and then a loop. This seemed
unusual behavior for a security drone, so I headed
to the open area between buildings, over which it
was flying. There, sitting in a pavillion, was the
pilot who'd just received the toy airplane in the
mail. He drew a little crowd, which began
suggesting more and more difficult maneouvers until
they emptied the pavilion in preparation for his
attempt to fly through it. He almost made it. The
little plane flew right in, and looked like a sure
bet to make it through, but a wingtip just nicked a
doorpost on the exit, bringing the show to a
dramatic conclusion. I hope he's able to fix
it.
That's
the news for now. Thanks for your
prayers,
Steven
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Wildlife
in the Middle East
God has given his animals an unchanging and sinless
nature, unlike man, who alone of God's creatures
has the freedom to depart from his godly human
nature.
A
Kingfisher
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