This past week I have been quite busy with traveling. Went to two of my FOBs on two different days via two different types of aircraft flown by two different nations. All this traveling made me realize that the average traveler probably knows very little about traveling via military means, and it is my duty to educate. Thus I give you all: A Traveler's Guide to Getting Around in Afghanistan!
The CH-47 Chinook helicopter is by far the Cadillac of the skies. A roomy aircraft with seating for at least 30, it can also hold substantial amounts of cargo and can sling-load larger items like howitzers and HMMWVs (Hum-Vees). The seating is cargo net style, suspended from the interior walls of the aircraft; you sit shoulder to shoulder facing a mirror image row of passengers on the other side. Passengers and cargo occupy the same space, so keep your fingers crossed that the load-master did his space calculations right!
When traveling in the CH-47, one should be very cautious when entering. This bird has two massive main rotors powered by two extremely powerful engines. These engines are located at the rear of the aircraft and produce a substantial exhaust at a temperature around that of the sun. As a major design flaw, you enter the helicopter from the back. When approaching, it is best to be low, quick, and at a perfectly straight line directly to the door. Veer off to one side or the other and you'll know you're off course when your face starts to melt. The CH-47 has two or three gunners depending on the situation. One located on the left and right sides of the helicopter towards the very front, and one sitting on the tail gate at the very rear. All are armed with the M240H machine gun.
The UH-60 Blackhawk is the minivan of the air. An every day troop hauling vehicle, it is the most common vehcile for most flight. With a max troop capacity of 11, you are wedged in like cargo. 4 people sit in the back facing forward with another 4 in front of them facing the rear. So close to each other that your knee caps become well acquainted. 3 sit more forward, with only slightly more room. Cargo space is non existent, so when a passenger decides to bring a large plastic trunk, a large framed backpack, and a small ruck sack - your knees and laps become the only place to store them. Suffice it to say that my trip back today was anything but enjoyable as the inability to move my legs combined with the large box pressing on top of them halted any blood from flowing to my lower extremities. The UH-60 has two gunners on either side of the aircraft towards the front. They are armed with the M240H machine gun.
For those looking for a little flare, the UH-1 Griffin "Huey" helicopter is as close to a convertible as you'll get. Fast, nimble, and compact, they are often found providing air support to the CH-47. Opportunity to ride one is rare, so hop on if you get the chance! As a passenger, expect to ride fully tactical with your legs dangling out the door as you zip across the sky. It's rare to have more than one passenger on board, so the odds of you getting a headset to listen in as you fly are great. Most Griffins are manned by two gunners on either side of the aircraft armed with the M-134 mini gun. Don't be fooled by the name - the mini gun is capable of raining down lead at the rate of 4,000 round per minute.
The Dutch are by far the craziest pilots, flying tactically all the time. My video from a while back was with the Dutch. The Canadians are next down on the list of adrenaline rushes, flying low and fast, but normally in a straight line at a fairly constant altitude. This last trip, we happened to fly during a sand storm. If you do not like the sensation of being tossed about like a leaf in a hurricane, I suggest you avoid traveling during the sand-storm season. Which happens to be forever in Afghanistan. Finally, the Americans are shockingly the most docile of pilots , although you may have to wait upwards of 4 hours before your flight takes off.
Finally, the only other means of transport I can speak to - the MRAP. As noted before, the Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle is uncomfortable, slow, and has zilch by way of creature comfort. Traveling on the ground is the only way to get a good view of what life in Afghanistan is like - too bad the MRAP has very few windows. Take it from me - stay in the air.
I hope you have found this educational, if not totally boring and oddly non sequitur compared to my normal postings. I guess the fact that I've been traveling quite a bit recently has me in a Frommer's / Lonely Planet kind of mood. On the personal side, thank you to everyone who has sent packages lately - I'm extremely blessed and lucky and it makes life out here a little easier every day. On a humorous note, I am now the undefeated, undisputed champion of near-beer pong in Afghanistan. For those who know me, the fact that I have brought this game to this country should come as no surprise. To the rest of my readership, I can only hope you understand.
31 October 2009
22 October 2009
A Comedy of Errors
A comedy of errors is rarely comedic, which begs the question of why we call it such. Before the thespians in my readership take off to write strongly worded emails chastising my ignorance - yes, it is comedy in the Shakespearean sense, ease up on the coffee. It still isn't funny to be in a comedy of errors, although hearing about others does seem to provide levity. As such, I hope you all find the following far more entertaining than I did.
A few days ago I had another trip planned to one of my small distant bases. Our official flight time was 2200 and we had to be at the flight line early. We got there around 2030 to check in and proceeded to stand around. Standing on a flight line, you realize how much hills, trees, buildings, and even micro-terrain help to minimize the wind. One realizes this even quicker after the sun has set and it's chilly out. Especially after standing outside for 3 hours. The astute reader will find that 3 hours after 2030 is after the flight was to leave, and they would be correct. Schedules in Afghanistan are about as good as the paper they're written on. Considering that schedules are all classified secret, they aren't often printed, so there goes the whole paper concept. Translation - they ain't worth squat.
I tried to go sit inside the building that the air control folks were in. It was large, had plenty of seats and couches and even a TV, plus it was heated. Apparently it was not for use by passengers though, so the big warm room sat unused as I sat on a plastic stool in the cold night.
Shortly after midnight we were told to haul our gear over to one of two waiting CH-47 Chinook helicopters. Turns out that was the wrong one and we hauled our gear to the other one. Of course, that one was full of cargo as it had just landed, and instantly all the passengers became indentured servants. Large boxes of helicopter rotors are heavy and awkward to say the least.
After we all got the boxes off and we climbed on and strapped our gear down, we were all told to cram as far as possible to the front. The crew proceeded to load in boxes and pallets of who-knows-what, one at a time. Some 45 minutes later, we finally took off. I would have noticed how cold it was, but we landed about 30 seconds later at the FARP (Forward Arming & Refueling Point).
At the FARP, we were all told to get off the helicopter. Fueling is a dangerous process as they leave the helicopter running. Because of the cargo, we all had to climb out the emergency hatch which was less than graceful considering the large tactical vest and weapons etc. There is nowhere to wait for the helicopter to refuel other than out in the open, and because the engines never turn off, neither do the rotors. The down-wash from a CH-47 is quite noticeable, especially because it has two very large main rotors. So now we are all huddled outside in the pitch black getting battered by the freezing wind of a Chinook helicopter's rotors. Fantastic.
About 15 minutes later the fueling was complete and we climbed back in through the escape hatch even less gracefully than before; it was time to take off. This is the part where I knew the flight would not be fun. The Chinook has two doors on either side near the front for the gunners to protect the aircraft. These doors obviously have to be open for the gunners to do their jobs, which means plenty of wind gets in. At night in mid/late October at altitude - Afghanistan is a chilly place. I take back everything I said about it being incredibly hot. What a change!
On the up side, I knew we would be flying at night and thought to check out a pair of night vision goggles (NVGs) from the armory. In true military fashion, they had the goggles but not the mount or any way to wear them, so I had to hold them. Thankfully they actually worked and I got to watch the mountains pass by as we flew. Without the goggles you can't see squat as we fly completely blacked out.
The flight was about 45 minutes, making it around 0145 / 0200 by the time we landed. We then had to exit again through the escape hatch and wait again in the cold rotor wash for the cargo to be off loaded so we could get our bags. Off loading was much quicker than on loading as they just pushed it out the back of the helicopter as the pilot slowly pulled forward. After we gathered our gear and the helicopter took off, we were again in total darkness. Most of the outlying FOBs have a very strict no white light rule, and as there was next to no moon, it was hard to see more than a few feet.
Luckily, my trusty NVGs came in handy again (and people made fun of me for asking for them...) However, after powering them up, I was even more confused than before. I will take this opportunity to say that I am very disappointed about something: Hollywood and Sillicon Valley have lied to me AGAIN. Every computer game and movie where a guy turns on NVGs, they make a nifty little powering-up noise. Mine did nothing of the sorts, which made me feel just a little less cool.
In any event - after looking around I had NO idea where we were. I gave the goggles to my Chief and he looked around for a second and then proclaimed that we were at a different base far from where we were supposed to be. Not good. After another look, I saw a building in the distance I recognized and realized that we landed at a different place than the last time we were there - so at least we were on the right base, but not really sure where. However, it was now after 0200 and we were supposed to land around 2245. There was no-one there and we all figured they thought the flight was canceled. We had no idea where we were supposed to go. Luckily, someone showed up and picked us up and took us to our tent. A good turn of fate, however short lived it would turn out to be.
The tent had very nice wooden floors and a forced-air heating system and luxury cots. It may sound like a contradiction but if you read my last post about small beds, at least this cot was about 6'6" long and wider than most other ones. As it was toasty warm, I crawled onto my cot and just used my sleeping bag as a blanket. By the time we got settled and everything was worked out it was 0300.
Around 0400 or so, the heater broke. The fan on the other hand did not. The forced air heating system became a forced air system, pumping in the air from outside. As the FOB we were at was located well above 7,000 feet elevation, the air was VERY cold (below freezing), which in turn meant that the tent was very cold (damn near freezing). I quickly discovered that laying on a thin piece of fabric suspended in the air does NOT provide much warmth to ones unprotected back, and I managed to crawl into the sleeping bag for another 3 hours until we had to be up and ready to go.
The rest of the day went off fairly well, we only got the vehicle stuck in a mountain of moon dust one time. I wasn't driving. They had to get a dozer to pull us out; we were so stuck the pickup truck couldn't even tug us out. Luckily the flight home was far less dramatic.
So there's a little taste of life in Afghanistan... it's cold and dusty and the pace is either full speed ahead or dead stop. As much as I may complain though, I like it here. I like it back home better though.
A few days ago I had another trip planned to one of my small distant bases. Our official flight time was 2200 and we had to be at the flight line early. We got there around 2030 to check in and proceeded to stand around. Standing on a flight line, you realize how much hills, trees, buildings, and even micro-terrain help to minimize the wind. One realizes this even quicker after the sun has set and it's chilly out. Especially after standing outside for 3 hours. The astute reader will find that 3 hours after 2030 is after the flight was to leave, and they would be correct. Schedules in Afghanistan are about as good as the paper they're written on. Considering that schedules are all classified secret, they aren't often printed, so there goes the whole paper concept. Translation - they ain't worth squat.
I tried to go sit inside the building that the air control folks were in. It was large, had plenty of seats and couches and even a TV, plus it was heated. Apparently it was not for use by passengers though, so the big warm room sat unused as I sat on a plastic stool in the cold night.
Shortly after midnight we were told to haul our gear over to one of two waiting CH-47 Chinook helicopters. Turns out that was the wrong one and we hauled our gear to the other one. Of course, that one was full of cargo as it had just landed, and instantly all the passengers became indentured servants. Large boxes of helicopter rotors are heavy and awkward to say the least.
After we all got the boxes off and we climbed on and strapped our gear down, we were all told to cram as far as possible to the front. The crew proceeded to load in boxes and pallets of who-knows-what, one at a time. Some 45 minutes later, we finally took off. I would have noticed how cold it was, but we landed about 30 seconds later at the FARP (Forward Arming & Refueling Point).
At the FARP, we were all told to get off the helicopter. Fueling is a dangerous process as they leave the helicopter running. Because of the cargo, we all had to climb out the emergency hatch which was less than graceful considering the large tactical vest and weapons etc. There is nowhere to wait for the helicopter to refuel other than out in the open, and because the engines never turn off, neither do the rotors. The down-wash from a CH-47 is quite noticeable, especially because it has two very large main rotors. So now we are all huddled outside in the pitch black getting battered by the freezing wind of a Chinook helicopter's rotors. Fantastic.
About 15 minutes later the fueling was complete and we climbed back in through the escape hatch even less gracefully than before; it was time to take off. This is the part where I knew the flight would not be fun. The Chinook has two doors on either side near the front for the gunners to protect the aircraft. These doors obviously have to be open for the gunners to do their jobs, which means plenty of wind gets in. At night in mid/late October at altitude - Afghanistan is a chilly place. I take back everything I said about it being incredibly hot. What a change!
On the up side, I knew we would be flying at night and thought to check out a pair of night vision goggles (NVGs) from the armory. In true military fashion, they had the goggles but not the mount or any way to wear them, so I had to hold them. Thankfully they actually worked and I got to watch the mountains pass by as we flew. Without the goggles you can't see squat as we fly completely blacked out.
The flight was about 45 minutes, making it around 0145 / 0200 by the time we landed. We then had to exit again through the escape hatch and wait again in the cold rotor wash for the cargo to be off loaded so we could get our bags. Off loading was much quicker than on loading as they just pushed it out the back of the helicopter as the pilot slowly pulled forward. After we gathered our gear and the helicopter took off, we were again in total darkness. Most of the outlying FOBs have a very strict no white light rule, and as there was next to no moon, it was hard to see more than a few feet.
Luckily, my trusty NVGs came in handy again (and people made fun of me for asking for them...) However, after powering them up, I was even more confused than before. I will take this opportunity to say that I am very disappointed about something: Hollywood and Sillicon Valley have lied to me AGAIN. Every computer game and movie where a guy turns on NVGs, they make a nifty little powering-up noise. Mine did nothing of the sorts, which made me feel just a little less cool.
In any event - after looking around I had NO idea where we were. I gave the goggles to my Chief and he looked around for a second and then proclaimed that we were at a different base far from where we were supposed to be. Not good. After another look, I saw a building in the distance I recognized and realized that we landed at a different place than the last time we were there - so at least we were on the right base, but not really sure where. However, it was now after 0200 and we were supposed to land around 2245. There was no-one there and we all figured they thought the flight was canceled. We had no idea where we were supposed to go. Luckily, someone showed up and picked us up and took us to our tent. A good turn of fate, however short lived it would turn out to be.
The tent had very nice wooden floors and a forced-air heating system and luxury cots. It may sound like a contradiction but if you read my last post about small beds, at least this cot was about 6'6" long and wider than most other ones. As it was toasty warm, I crawled onto my cot and just used my sleeping bag as a blanket. By the time we got settled and everything was worked out it was 0300.
Around 0400 or so, the heater broke. The fan on the other hand did not. The forced air heating system became a forced air system, pumping in the air from outside. As the FOB we were at was located well above 7,000 feet elevation, the air was VERY cold (below freezing), which in turn meant that the tent was very cold (damn near freezing). I quickly discovered that laying on a thin piece of fabric suspended in the air does NOT provide much warmth to ones unprotected back, and I managed to crawl into the sleeping bag for another 3 hours until we had to be up and ready to go.
The rest of the day went off fairly well, we only got the vehicle stuck in a mountain of moon dust one time. I wasn't driving. They had to get a dozer to pull us out; we were so stuck the pickup truck couldn't even tug us out. Luckily the flight home was far less dramatic.
So there's a little taste of life in Afghanistan... it's cold and dusty and the pace is either full speed ahead or dead stop. As much as I may complain though, I like it here. I like it back home better though.
18 October 2009
Some Observations
It's been just over 2 months now. Since my arrival, I have been keeping little observations here and there of strange things that pop into my mind and don't seem to leave until I write them down. Nothing of particular interest, not an update per say, just some random tidbits from the life of a deployed Seabee. As for me - this week has been as hectic as any. I'm not getting much sleep, only on account of my inability to actually fall (and stay) asleep. Work was particularly frustrating with people who have no clue what my job is telling me how to do it or questioning decisions I have made based on only half information. Some people.... It's starting to get quite chilly here at night, although the days still manage to warm to the mid 70s. In any event, time to head to work for my Sunday off, then hit the gym, back to work, then some training and classes. Excitement abounds.
Observations:
Observations:
- The military is biased against tall people. I see it like the hot dog and bun conundrum - hot dog packages come in quantities different than bun packaging, and hot dogs are inevitably 10% smaller than the bun. In my case, the bed I have to sleep in is 6'4" long exactly, and the mattress is probably 6'1" long. If I lay completely flat, my feet hang off the end of the bed and touch the metal of the bed frame on one end. On the other end, my pillow slowly sinking into the gap between the mattress and the headboard, my head touches metal again. Every bed I have ever slept in that was provided by the military has the exact same dimensions. I'm convinced the military has it out for tall people. Don't even get me started on cots...
- Driving a car becomes a novelty after a few weeks of not having one. Then having to drive a steeringwheel-on-the-right, stick shift with the left hand truck - yeah, that's strange.
- Using a toilet with the ability to flush becomes almost foreign when you primary option for facilities is a port-o-john.
- Drinking in excess of 5 litres of water in a single day, and not exploding at the gills, is a shockingly apt method for showing yourself just how much you sweat out here.
- Humans have the incredible ability to adapt to any situation... You'd think rocket attacks a VBIEDs would keep a guy up at night, but not so much.
- I carry a weapon and ammunition on me 24/7. I'm surrounded by more fire power than I've ever seen in my entire life. My command has access to hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition. All this, yet I shoot more frequently in San Diego than I have here. Turns out I traveled 10,000 miles to the middle of a war zone to not shoot a weapon.
- The mind is a crazy place - I have now convinced myself that some terrorist is going to put pit vipers or camel spiders inside the urinal portion of the port-o-let. Every time I have to use one after dark and I don't have my flashlight on me, I just know something terrible is going to happen. I've been safe, so far... but I'm convinced it's going to happen.
- Not to tie into the previous thought, but I am an overly paranoid person. Perhaps paranoid isn't the best term, but I am cautious and observant of those things which I do and how they could be used against me. Without thinking, I recognize patterns in my daily activities such as always walking home the same path, always using the same bathroom stall, doing certain activities at the same time every day, etc. I notice these things and then intentionally change them to keep me from becoming predictable. To the same extent, whenever I am in any setting where sitting down is required, I try my best to have a chair against a wall or at least sit facing the door - not that I think anyone is going to come busting in guns blazing while I'm eating dinner, but if something were to happen I'd like to already be in a position where I can do something about it. Maybe it makes me strange or a little bit mental, but I look at it as a means of being prepared. Same reason I keep a few MREs and water in my Jeep, same reason I always carry a pocket knife, same reason I do a lot of things I do - it's better to be prepared than surprised.
11 October 2009
Another Night in Afghanistan
My wall just shook again from the shock wave of something blowing up in the distance. The speakers throughout KAF told me in heavy English accent that there would be training fires tonight. That was 45 minutes ago. None the less, it doesn't really bother me anymore. I will say that it is nothing like what one would expect from watching the movies. There are no flashes on the horizon, at least none that I can see... I always expected the sky to light up in a brilliant white flash with every blast, but Hollywood has lead me astray yet again.
We are almost at the 2 month mark. 4 more, and it seems like such a distant goal. I think the hardest part about being here, especially now, is being away from friends and loved ones. I could deal with the conditions and the work schedule and the danger and unpleasantness of this place far easier if I had people around me I cared about. Don't get me wrong, I care about my fellow sailors and would do most anything to help them out and to make sure things are going well for them - but they are not friends. I am friendly with quite a few of my fellow officers, but we do not hang out, we do not talk about personal things, we do not share with each other on a level much deeper than acquaintances. Despite having people all around, working in an office with some 10 other guys, living in a room with 3 roommates - there's still a very strange sense of isolation. I have yet to let go of my life back in San Diego, and I'm curious if that's not part of the problem. I'm not truly living here, and I'm definitely not living back home, so there in lies the disconnect.
With the technologies around us, it is both a blessing and a curse. I can write this blog and communicate with people almost at will. I can email my family and call my friends and it is almost like I'm back home. But on the flip side, it is a constant reminder of what cannot be. It reminds me of a time I toured the prison at Alcatraz. On the audio tour, one of the former inmates recalled being imprisoned there, watching San Francisco in the distance, listening to the sounds of people going about their lives and enjoying their freedom. It was a reminder of what was left behind, what was so close and yet impossible to achieve. To the same extent, the updates on Facebook, the emails and phone calls - they all remind me of a life that is on hold for me and still moving for everyone else.
It is not my intent to whine or complain - those who know me even slightly will know that is not my nature. I only intend to catalog those experiences and emotions that I encounter along my journey. I know it is temporary, I know things will get better, and I know that in a few months it will seem like none of this really matters... but promises of better times are a seemingly small consilation.
We are almost at the 2 month mark. 4 more, and it seems like such a distant goal. I think the hardest part about being here, especially now, is being away from friends and loved ones. I could deal with the conditions and the work schedule and the danger and unpleasantness of this place far easier if I had people around me I cared about. Don't get me wrong, I care about my fellow sailors and would do most anything to help them out and to make sure things are going well for them - but they are not friends. I am friendly with quite a few of my fellow officers, but we do not hang out, we do not talk about personal things, we do not share with each other on a level much deeper than acquaintances. Despite having people all around, working in an office with some 10 other guys, living in a room with 3 roommates - there's still a very strange sense of isolation. I have yet to let go of my life back in San Diego, and I'm curious if that's not part of the problem. I'm not truly living here, and I'm definitely not living back home, so there in lies the disconnect.
With the technologies around us, it is both a blessing and a curse. I can write this blog and communicate with people almost at will. I can email my family and call my friends and it is almost like I'm back home. But on the flip side, it is a constant reminder of what cannot be. It reminds me of a time I toured the prison at Alcatraz. On the audio tour, one of the former inmates recalled being imprisoned there, watching San Francisco in the distance, listening to the sounds of people going about their lives and enjoying their freedom. It was a reminder of what was left behind, what was so close and yet impossible to achieve. To the same extent, the updates on Facebook, the emails and phone calls - they all remind me of a life that is on hold for me and still moving for everyone else.
It is not my intent to whine or complain - those who know me even slightly will know that is not my nature. I only intend to catalog those experiences and emotions that I encounter along my journey. I know it is temporary, I know things will get better, and I know that in a few months it will seem like none of this really matters... but promises of better times are a seemingly small consilation.
04 October 2009
King of the Road...
Spent the last few days traveling. Went to one of my FOBs for a night and it was all one hell of an experience. I am the first (and likely last) member of my command to travel anywhere via ground convoy. Let's just say that riding in the back of an MRAP (Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected) vehicle is a lot different than riding in a Blackhawk or really any helicopter. Can't say I'm anxious to ever ride on another convoy, but it was a new experience and definitely a way to see Afghanistan up close and in person. 100% adrenaline the entire time, too.
Sorry for the poor quality of the video, but it's me in full tactical gear inside the noisy and bouncing MRAP. You can see the turret gunner in the background spinning back and forth as he scans his sector.
Being at the FOB for a night, I'm glad I'm normally at KAF. They have it good there, sleeping in RLBs (relocatable buildings) which are basically small conex boxes with a door and window, stacked together to form a building. The rooms are incredibly small, maybe 8' by 12', and you stick 2 or more people in there and it's really not pleasant. The base I was at has some 155mm Howitzers (really big long range artillery) that they chose to shoot off in the middle of the night - sleeping inside a thin metal box does not mix well with large shock waves from outgoing rounds.
I managed to snag a flight home on a helicopter - what took me in the range of hours on the trip out took in the range of minutes to get back. Definitely the way to travel. Catching a flight out here is NOT like catching a flight back home - my dad would have a heart attack. You know it's time to get on your helicopter when you hear the sound of rotors getting louder as they come in for a landing. If you can make it from where you are to where they are before they offload cargo, fuel, and take off - and there's room - you've got yourself a ride! I also quickly learned to keep a note in my pocket when I travel. In big letters: "ARE YOU GOING TO KAF? IS THERE ROOM FOR ME?" If I get the thumbs up - it's go time!
I imagine that may be something to get over when I get back - if I show up to the airport with just a note asking if I can get on the next flight to wherever I want to go, I doubt I'll get very far. Then again, if I show up in a bullet proof vest strapped with weapons and ammo, probably won't get me very far, either.
Sorry for the poor quality of the video, but it's me in full tactical gear inside the noisy and bouncing MRAP. You can see the turret gunner in the background spinning back and forth as he scans his sector.
Being at the FOB for a night, I'm glad I'm normally at KAF. They have it good there, sleeping in RLBs (relocatable buildings) which are basically small conex boxes with a door and window, stacked together to form a building. The rooms are incredibly small, maybe 8' by 12', and you stick 2 or more people in there and it's really not pleasant. The base I was at has some 155mm Howitzers (really big long range artillery) that they chose to shoot off in the middle of the night - sleeping inside a thin metal box does not mix well with large shock waves from outgoing rounds.
I managed to snag a flight home on a helicopter - what took me in the range of hours on the trip out took in the range of minutes to get back. Definitely the way to travel. Catching a flight out here is NOT like catching a flight back home - my dad would have a heart attack. You know it's time to get on your helicopter when you hear the sound of rotors getting louder as they come in for a landing. If you can make it from where you are to where they are before they offload cargo, fuel, and take off - and there's room - you've got yourself a ride! I also quickly learned to keep a note in my pocket when I travel. In big letters: "ARE YOU GOING TO KAF? IS THERE ROOM FOR ME?" If I get the thumbs up - it's go time!
I imagine that may be something to get over when I get back - if I show up to the airport with just a note asking if I can get on the next flight to wherever I want to go, I doubt I'll get very far. Then again, if I show up in a bullet proof vest strapped with weapons and ammo, probably won't get me very far, either.
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