Embedded journalism from the front lines of
Afghanistan & Iraq ~ by Mike & Carlos Boettcher

I’m exhausted, jet-lagged and back in my cubicle housing unit, or CHU, at Camp Liberty in Baghdad.  After being away for several weeks to set up the On The Line project, it was good to see Carlos again.  He stayed while I was away and held up better than I would have.

Coming back is always hard.  Any soldier returning from home leave tells the same story – taking that first step away from family and friends and back towards Iraq is painful.  You can see it in the faces of the soldiers who crowd what has become the Grand Central Station of this two front war – Ali Al Salem Air Base in Kuwait.  This is the passenger terminal for American troops coming in and out of Iraq and Afghanistan.

It’s easy to spot which direction a soldier is going.  A smile on his or her face means westbound to America.  No smile?  Back to war.  I wasn’t smiling and milled about with hundreds of soldiers, marines, airmen, sailors and contractors heading this way or that – all waiting for space on a military flight.

Standing by for that flight at Ali Al Salem can be excruciating.  We transients sleep up to twelve to a tent while we wait the 12 to 24 hours required to clear us through Kuwait immigration.  Once your passport is handed back, you are authorized to fly, but waiting for space on a C-130 or C-17 heading to Baghdad or Bagram or a dozen other bases can take days. 

Everyone has a unique way to kill time.  The MWR, or Morale Welfare and Recreation tent, shows a movie six times a day.  There are ping-pong tables, video game booths and a computer and call center where you sometimes wait for an hour to use the phone.  Outside is a gravel road with trailers bearing the signs of fast food franchises.  There is even a hair salon where you can get a buzz cut or a 15-minute neck and should massage.  But mostly, people just wander and I joined the herd.

Finally, my number was called for a C-130 flight to Baghdad International Airport.  During the wait I made friends with an American military contractor who was a former Special Forces soldier. He was on a flight departing 15 minutes before mine – a C-17 – a Cadillac compared to my C-130.  We started talking because he was married at Tinker Air Force Base and as Okies tend to do, we talked about Oklahoma.

We said goodbyes and headed to our respective aircraft – his spacious jumbo, my cramped and noisy airtruck.  After I strapped in, I learned from our aircraft crew that his flight had just been cancelled.

Success and failure, life and death, in a war zone, are to a great degree determined by luck.  I was already in Baghdad.  My new Okie friend wasn’t.  Then it hit me.  Maybe he was the lucky one.