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Letter From Bagram

Occasional dispatches from our man in Afghanistan.

• By John Sotham
• airspacemag.com, August 15, 2008

U.S. Air Force Lt. Col. John Sotham, a former Air & Space editor, is currently serving with the 455th Expeditionary Force Support Squadron, 455th Air Expeditionary Wing, at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan. He’s reporting back to us when time allows:

On the Edge of a Minefield (Posted Aug. 27)

I was out in a barren part of the airfield today. We were checking out some conex boxes (shipping containers) that have some of our equipment in them. They’re stacked in one of the old Soviet bunker areas—where they parked aircraft and stored munitions. There had been a dust storm all day and the wind was wicked. I took my weapon off so I could shimmy under the gate of the area we needed to get into. The 30-40 mph wind promptly blew the shipping manifests I had in my hands across the road and into more bunkers. I took off running after them. When you drop something and the wind takes it, you just take off—it’s a Pavlovian response.

I was bolting across the road as the papers blew toward one of the uncleared minefields. I suddenly remembered what the hell I was doing and stopped. The papers plastered themselves across a barbed wire fence short of the field, and I gingerly retrieved them. Mainly because of the fighting this area saw during the Soviet-Afghan war of the 1980s, Bagram is littered with mines and unexploded ordnance. The “no-go” areas are indicated with triangular red signs and other markers. There are also countless hulks of Soviet tanks, armored personnel carriers, and even aircraft scattered across the fields next to the runway and around the base—the Soviets suffered their final defeat in a desolate mountain pass not far from here. The mines and ordnance don’t seem to concern the locals who live outside the base perimeter. They live simply, in adobe dwellings made from the brown, finely powdered soil, and they tend to their farm animals in many of the same areas that are still uncleared.

Fallen Comrade (Posted Aug. 27)

Bagram is the main hub for air travel into and out of Afghanistan, which means it’s also the departure point for the remains of military members killed in action who are being sent back to the States. When remains are readied for the trip to an awaiting C-17, we hold what is called a Fallen Comrade Ceremony, which is usually announced over the loudspeakers about 6 hours ahead. Fallen Comrades mean you report to the road on the way to the flightline, regardless of the time of day or night, in uniform. We line the road and salute in unison as the remains are carried past, usually in the bed of a Humvee.

One ceremony was especially poignant for me. Designated time for us to line the road was 00:00, or midnight. The time was near, and everyone was silent and at parade rest—feet shoulder-width apart, and hands clasped behind your back. In the darkness, the only thing I could hear was the wind. The vehicles came around the corner and down our road—they go very slow, almost walking speed. We came to attention and saluted. There was a light in the back of the Humvee that illuminated the flag-draped transfer case; in the dark, the colors of the flag were absolutely brilliant as it passed in a pool of light.

Visible in the glow was a soldier slumped forward in the bed with the case; I don’t know if he was the squad leader, a buddy, or what. He had the far-away look of someone in grief—despite his combat gear, he looked lost, like a little boy. One of my Airmen who has been having a hard time with these ceremonies was visibly upset; I talked to her briefly and squeezed her arm. She smiled a smile that told me she’d be okay. As always, once the vehicles pass, it’s time to put the experience behind you and go back to work.

Arriving (Posted Aug. 15)

Have been here about two months. It’s a long, painful trip to get here. Military charters all the way, which means you leapfrog and stop where there are troops to pick up. Miami to Norfolk, Virginia, to Volk Field, Wisconsin, where we picked up half a planeload of soldiers.

We were on a World Airways DC-10 that still felt like a regular passenger jet, because, well…it was. But the troops didn’t get the memo, and brought all their weapons on board. It was 3:45 in the morning, and the crew just wanted to get the doors closed and leave. So the Army guys commence to stuffing their gear under the seats. The flight attendants drew the line at the overhead bins. Actually heard on the PA: “Please ensure the muzzles of your weapons are not sticking out into the aisles. Oh, and put your tray table up.”

We stopped for fuel in Bangor, Maine, where we were met by an amazing group of Americans—the Maine Troop Greeters. Since the days after 2001, these volunteers—many of them veterans—have met nearly every planeload of troops either going to, or coming from, Iraq and Afghanistan and other points overseas. At all hours of the day and night. They offer free cell phones to call home, along with coffee, doughnuts, and general warmth and good wishes. After our short stay in the terminal, they stood in line and shook every soldier’s and airman’s hand as we re-boarded the aircraft. An elderly man shook my hand hard and offered a simple, “See you when you come home, Colonel. We’ll be here.”

After we landed in Leipzig, Germany, we got the news that the aircraft had maintenance problems, and we’d have to spend the night—in a hangar that usually houses snow removal equipment. But the German airfield operations crew was good to us. They served us inflight meals for dinner—anything was welcome at this point—and a hot, catered breakfast and lunch the next day until we could reboard.

Next stop: Manas Airbase, Kyrgyzstan, which is where we picked up our body armor and awaited our C-17 to Bagram. There are thousands of troops transiting Manas, so you sleep in a transient tent—mine was full of U.S. Army and Czech troops. Everyone’s toting so much gear that even walking space near the bunks can be tight. The Czechs piled their rifles on a spare cot to make room.

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