Musa Qala Blog 6: NO ORDINARY COMMUTE
Edition 6:
NO ORDINARY COMMUTE
Commuting isn’t easy at the best of times. Travel into and out of Helmand’s northern district of Musa Qal’eh however, requires a whole new level of resilience.
Heading out on leave involves the planning of a military operation. I can only travel on odd-numbered days – provided I submit my request at least a few days in advance. I can only hope that the day of my flight is not ‘Patrol-Minimise’ – a condition grounding all non-critical movements.
The night before, my flight is confirmed ‘wheels-up’,. I am packed and waiting at the windswept HLZ (Helicopter Landing Zone) before eight. You never want to be caught off-guard if the bird comes early.
It doesn’t arrive.
We are told to wait an hour. We wait. The air-coord thinks we’ll be ok for eleven-thirty.
Just after eleven an incensed crowd of Afghan Army soldiers appear. They are immediately followed by a military ambulance and I quickly see the reason for their rage. Three of their own had been shot by the Taliban just moments before. The ‘Pedro’ – a Chinook tasked with emergency evacuations – is inbound. I grab the corner of a stretcher and help carry one of the men onto the helicopter. The chinook disappears as quickly as it arrives and the HLZ empties of people and vehicles. It is as if nothing has happened. I resume waiting.
The medevac has delayed the helicopter. It is 43 degrees so we find a seat in the shade.
At two, it arrives. We are overjoyed and leap on before it can escape.
Arriving dusty and laden I’m told there is a flight leaving at three am. A good thing I hadn’t planned to unpack.
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I check in at the loading hall – an enormous tent teaming with soldiers wearing all manner of uniforms. We are herded onto the runway of one of the busiest airports I’ve ever encountered. Standing in our body armour and helmets we brace ourselves against the hot spray of sand driven by the relentless jetwash of departing cargo planes. We are marched into the bowels of a giant C130, and strapped in against the netting. As the lights dim and the engines howl, I feel like I am about to parachute out of the back into the night. We stop over. It is just after four am. I’m told of a flight leaving later that morning to Dubai, but there will be no time to sleep if I am to get a seat. No rest for the weary it seems. I haven’t eaten since the previous morning, I’m in the same sweat drenched clothes, and I haven’t even made it out of the country yet |
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