The Sandbox: A View From Above

September 6, 2011

I got word that I’d be touring the base in Wardak to get familiar with what would be my new assignment. I’d be flying with Bob Molina from my T1G class, and a few others with whom I had been assigned. Also scheduled for the flight was Mike (“Too Tall”) Hall. Mike grew up in Florida, and had worked for the Tennessee State Narcotics Bureau. He stood 6’8” and played pro basketball in the Philippines and Australia. He was also an accomplished musician. I teamed up with him on a number of convoys which were, to say the least, hilarious. Being so quick-witted, he was no stranger to the one-liners, and could throw the barbs with the best of them. If Mike thought he was starting to get under your skin, he became relentless. He seemed to especially enjoy ribbing the retired Bulgarian colonel, Petko. The colonel would attempt come-backs, but his English wasn’t good enough to make any comedic sense. Often, when he would attempt to tell a joke, or otherwise say something humorous, too much time would elapse as he searched for the right English translation, thereby making the punch-line ineffective. Any time Mike directed a barrage of insults and jokes toward him, one could clearly see the colonel’s frustration as he tried his hardest to figure out how to respond in English. This put him at a distinct disadvantage whenever the two would go at each other in front of a crowd. In truth, however, we could tell that the two were close friends, so the good-natured joking was taken in stride, and to the enjoyment of all who witnessed it.

The “Colonel/Too-tall” comedy act didn’t have to be face-to-face in order for the teasing to take place. The clowning around sometimes occurred over the airwaves. We use a coded system for locations, in which colors and numbers represent different sites. For example, when calling in a specific position, one might say, “blue 1-1-5”. Because of his accent Petko would usually fail to pronounce the “L” in “blue”, and instead say “boo 1-1-5”, over the radio. “Too tall” would immediately key the mike, and in his best rendition of the Count from Sesame Street, say, “Wan, two, tree (rolling his “r”, of course) – Ah, ah, ah! After all, Bulgarians do have somewhat of a “Dracula” annunciation. Other than Molina and Too Tall, the other travelers were pretty much unknown to me, except for the two Nepalese Ghurkas who were providing flight security as gunners on board the flight.

As usual, we mustered for the flight early at the regular assembly point. It seemed much different, however, since I would now be a passenger. Of course, should something arise that would require action; all “passengers” were fully expected to respond accordingly.

It was still dark when we arrived at the airport. After going through the first gate, we were told the vehicles could not continue past the second check point since we didn’t have the proper passes. We experienced this on a number of airport runs before. Sometimes the drivers were successful in getting the guards to allow the trucks through; but other times, not. What often determined success was what we might have to offer the guards in return for letting us pass. Used boots, water, or food, could all often be used as barter in getting the trucks past the checkpoint, and saving the passengers the half-mile walk to the flight line. Yes, this was bribery, plain and simple; but often effective in saving our comrades some shoe leather. Unfortunately, for this run, we had nothing of value to offer.

As the sun began to rise, we grabbed our gear, helmets, and “go bags” (small backpacks that contained water, extra ammo, binoculars, snacks, and anything else that might come in handy in a pinch) and started our walk to the flight line, where we would await the chopper.


Aircraft on the flight line, early morning.

I boarded with the others, looking forward to my first ride in a Russian-made helicopter. Prior to this, I had only been on smaller state police choppers which accommodated maybe six people. This was a bit bigger with space for about twenty – much roomier, but by the looks of it, much older as well. As we took off I was hopeful that all necessary maintenance had been performed. Once airborne, I got a better aerial view of urban Kabul as we left it behind, flying in a southwest direction towards Wardak. We flew over the lower ridge lines, but only made it up to about midway between the bases and peaks of the taller mountains that stood on either side of us. As we followed the valleys below, the landscape quickly changed from to urban to rural.

Note: Sorry for the quality of the pictures taken from the chopper – the windows were tinted.


Flying over Kabul in the early morning haze...


...over more rural areas...

...and a some more desolate areas.

Once we were all on board, ear plugs were passed around. Underway, the noise was deafening, even with ear plugs. After coming to grips with the anxiety caused by thinking we were flying too low, moving too slowly, and hence, a “sitting duck”, it felt good to be airborne above the smog, and getting to see the outlying areas from the air. The walls surrounding many of the properties below looked similar to the walls that I saw on TV that encircled the compound in which bin Laden was found.