FEATURES
same state of packing as I am, the little devil on my shoulder advises me to inform him of the time. He’s not amused, and that forces a wry smile from me; I knew he’d react that way and I took the pleasure in announcing it. Forces humour is a little different from anywhere else, you can take banter or you can’t, but it can be merciless. Personally, I love it. It keeps me sane when under situations like this I could slump into disinterest.
The corridor outside is now a hive of activity. For the first time we are aware of everyone running around getting their gear together. Raised voices announce that my walking alarm clock has returned and he bellows down the corridor that the wagons are outside to take us and our kit into work. Davie and I grab our gear and head for the truck.
Opening the door from to our building showers us in blinding sunshine and searing heat – compared to the blast blinds and the air conditioning this is a severe shock to the system. Once again we squint as we trudge to the wagons. Big bags in one, rucksacks and us in another. Never get separated from your kit. A rule I live by as much as possible.
After the five minute drive to work, we are greeted by the unmistakeable thumping drone of multiple Chinooks, fired up and ready. We’re informed that we need to draw our weapons from the armoury and told we will be “wheels up” in five minutes. It’s now frantic. In your mind you’re questioning where you’re going, what you’re going to do when you get there and why, but you have no time to voice it. The expressions on the management around you are studied for clues. Do they look nervous? Are they sure what’s going on?
The crewman gives the thumbs up and we run towards the back of the spinning helicopter. The issue sunglasses preventing the majority of the dust getting kicked up into our eyes and the harshness of the light reflecting from the concrete. It’s noisy and cramped, our bags are lined down the centre of the chopper cutting our leg-room. The direct heat from the sun outside gives way to a more claustrophobic heat inside, only the spinning blades above giving some comfort and movement of air. We need to get airborne soon, only the ram air cooling will help for the duration of the flight.
The ramp comes up at the back of the chopper, we’re ready for take-off. I’m sitting
www.raf-ff.org.uk Envoy Summer 2012 13
at the front near the crewman and mime the question “Where are we going?” He shields his microphone and shouts back the reply “Bastion!”
I’m happy with that. Kandahar to Bastion isn’t a long flight, but long enough to catch a kip. I also know that whatever reason for the trip at such short notice, we’re not likely to be put in any direct harm. Not right away, anyway. We’re not going straight out into the green zone to recover a downed aircraft as most of us speculated at one point. Though that scenario is something we prepare for and carry out, it’s not something we look forward to. No-one should, but it does remind us (should some amongst us need it) just what the guys on the ground do every day.
The lift-off is smooth and the nose pitches down and we’re away. From my vantage point I see the other two choppers beside us take a similar attitude and all three of us are soon skimming across the desert. The route is low and fast at first, with some fairly violent manoeuvres, I’m a little irked about this because I can’t sleep through it. But soon the pitch of the noise around us informs us that we’re climbing and before long we are high above the desert and hopefully out of reach of opportunistic small arms fire.
For the first time since a big head thrust itself in my face at 1400L, I relax. I know I may be called upon to do something as soon as I land but I can’t do anything about that now. Looking along the line of my fellow engineers aboard, I see some are already out for the count. Everyone here did a full shift, and was woken from a coma-like sleep. In many ways being woken from a sleep is worse than not getting to sleep in the first place.
Glancing outside I see a chopper relatively
close to us just behind, and a little farther away the third cab is following still. We’ve all made it up and away with no dramas (an engineer’s first priority) and now cruising to our destination. A look down at the barren desert below throws up relatively few settlements and points of interest, so once you’ve done this trip once, you’ve done it.
With my head back in the aircraft, I fish my favourite piece of equipment from the top pocket of my jacket – my mp3 player. Normally some guitar orientated rock would drown out the thumping blades above but today (tonight to me) it’s something mellow, and one final glance around shows I’m probably the last awake.
With a wry smile at Davie’s reaction to being told the time. I close my eyes and with Eva Cassidy’s gorgeous voice serenading me…. I drift off to a much needed sleep.
Bastion can wait.
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