Operation Hot Wheels
Far away in the Middle East, soapbox racing flies the hearts of military persons back home.
- By Allan T. Duffin
- Air & Space magazine, July 2006
In the spring of 2003, I watched in delight as 10 midget racecars—one shaped like an airplane, some rolling on gigantic wheels, all handmade of used hardware and scrap wood—barreled along a makeshift half-mile course carved in the desert. A crowd lined the route, braving hundred-degree heat to watch this unique soapbox derby in the midst of a war, on an air base far from home.
We had arrived at the small aerodrome, tucked away in a remote location in the Middle East, on a blazing hot morning in March. The cargo door of our KC-135 Stratotanker opened with a hum, and we braced ourselves against the inrush of scorching heat and sun. We scrambled down the crew ladder to the concrete ramp and breathed the desert air. Nine other airplanes would touch down around us, unloading another 100 maintenance troops to join our initial contingent of 20. We were all Air Force reservists, activated and immediately shipped overseas to support combat operations during the first months of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Many of us barely had time to say goodbye to family, friends, and employers; none of us knew how long we’d be gone.
The air campaign for Operation Iraqi Freedom kicked off within two weeks of our arrival, and our squadron worked 12-hour shifts, day and night, to keep our Boeing KC-135 tankers flying. Airplanes were launching and landing within minutes of one another. We repaired the broken ones as fast as we could, towing them in careful zigzags around our tiny piece of the ramp. We installed new brakes, filled fuel tanks, swapped out malfunctioning equipment, and signed off each job by rubbing the airplane’s belly for good luck.
But after the mid-April fall of Baghdad, our workload slowed considerably. Soon we found ourselves with too much time on our hands and not enough to keep us occupied during off-duty hours. The base had a well-stocked recreation center, but the troops could take only so many movies, pool tournaments, and video games. People were getting restless.
As squadron commander, it was my job to gauge the morale of the troops. We weren’t going home anytime soon. We were thousands of miles from our families, with a mission that was slowing by the day. Our aircraft maintenance personnel were good with their hands. Many of them loved to build things. I racked my brain for a project that would engage everyone.
I was terrible at driving manual-transmission vehicles, so of course I had been issued a pickup truck with a stick shift. One night, prompted by my lurching around the base, grinding the gears and praying I wouldn’t stall out, the proverbial light bulb went on.
I talked to my squadron, and with their enthusiasm ringing in my ears, I drove up the road to pitch the idea to my boss. The worst he could do was to laugh me out of his office.
“You want to do what?” he said.