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Dallas:

As good as the training was, we were all happy to be leaving T1G; not only because the heat was taking its toll on us; but also because we were anxious to get “in country” to begin our mission. However, we would first have to spend a few days of additional screening and training in Dallas.  I considered myself fortunate to be in the first group to leave Arkansas for the airport in Memphis. The second group would follow on a later flight.  Our group was transported in an air-conditioned van in the early morning hours before sunrise.  Ah, the simple things we take for granted!  This was so much better than travelling by yellow school bus.  During the ride to the airport, I thought back to the last time I was on the bus.  It was on a trip to buy some bath soap.   

While at T1G, the yellow bus provided a “get away” from the compound, if we so desired. Three evenings a week the bus would travel to Wal-Mart so we could purchase things weneeded, or if we just wanted a break away from the training area.  What a treat – a trip in a yellow school bus with no air-conditioning, to a Wal-Mart in Arkansas!!! Boy, it doesn’t get any better than that!   As training drew nearer to the end, we were rewarded by being allowed to purchase beer during one of our Wal-Mart runs. Of course you can buy beer in Wal-Mart –        after all, it was Arkansas!  For many, the prospect of finally having a beer after a long, hot training day was almost too much to bear.  The excitement of many in the group was palpable.  Not for me, mind you – I didn’t want to invite the gout.  As it turned out, about half of the group would partake.

Larry Bray, a veteran of international police training missions, was no stranger to training for

deployment.  He knew the importance of remaining hydrated during training. However, as I

passed by his bunk, his ratio of two Bud Lights to one bottle of water made me wonder...

Larry's nightcap(s)

                                      

That's Larry on the right.  Apparently, his training methods paid off - Good shooting!

I intially had my doubts about the introduction of alcohol in a training environment, especially

considering that we had all been away from home for almost two weeks.  But for the most part, everyone behaved.  It was none the less, interesting to note some differences emerge between the two groups.  

Our group (I referred to us as Company A) seemed a bit more reserved. I had become accustomed to reading in my bunk, and slowly drifting off to sleep.  Without fail, someone in the room would always shut off the lights by 10pm.  However, on one of the “beer nights” at    around 10:30, I realized that I hadn’t yet completed some required on-line training.  Since I didn’t have a computer, I had to rely on the charity of my classmates to allow me to use one of theirs.  Of course, Patti came to the rescue.  I left the dark, quiet, library-like setting of Company A and visited Patti in Company B, in the adjacent building. I opened the door to blaring lights.  On a flat screen TV that was mounted on a wall, The Hangover – Part 2, was playing.  As three or four guys viewed the movie from their bunks, a few others watched while seated at a table, clutching beers in their hands. Another nick-named Best-dressed, by Nato (short for James Pinedo, from Fresno, California), was hamming it up,providing muscle poses in his ACU’s.

Richard Pullium "Best Dressed" striking a pose

Another was borrowing someone else’s laptop to also complete the on-line training.  One of the

female members of the class who would be assigned as a mental health specialist, had taken

over someone’s top bunk, with the covers pulled up to her neck, also watched the movie from

her vantage point.  Every now and then, when the Hangover provided some laughs, the room

would erupt in a roar.  The laughter would cause a stir among those few who were trying

to sleep.  The poor souls would re-position their pillows over their heads as their covers spilled over the sides of their bunks. 

The contrast between the two groups was notable.  By 10 pm, Company A was dark, with the only sounds coming from a few people snoring over the hum of the air conditioner.  Company B, on the other hand, was more like Animal House.  As I was making my way to Patti’s laptop, Nato, called out to me in his raspy voice, “Hey, Benny Blanco (a nick-name given to me by Patti).  Go to your building and get us some beers!  I went over there before, but Red knew I wasn’t from that building so she looked at me and said, ‘What do you want’?”  “Red” (Rebecca Blackwelder,  also nick-named by Nato) was a recently discharged Army veteran, who had spent some of her deployment in Iraq.  She chasing away Nato, a husky former Marine, who was taller than “Red”, and weighed about 190

lbs., gave the gathering a good laugh.  Still craving more beer and shaking his head, Nato gave her the credit she was due, “Man, she wouldn’t let nobody that wasn’t from that building anywhere near the beer.  She was watching that fridge like a hawk.”  As I set down to complete the on-line training, I thought to myself, “So this was how the other half lived.”

Rebecca Blackwelder (above) AKA "Red" as named by Nato.

James (Fresno) Pinedo, otherwise known as "NATO", near a fridge of course.

Although early morning darkness had not yet given way to daylight, the temperature in the van gave some indication of the coming day’s heat.  As we approached the Mississippi River, the natural border between Arkansas and Tennessee, the maximum load of fifteen people in the van began to add to the stuffiness.  It was just then that I noticed one of the retired Army vets lowering his head and pulling the front of his shirt up above his nose. Someone had passed gas.  As the smell began to spread, Vickie  Dumas (another Army veteran who had been in mission in Iraq, and whom had recently retired from an Alabama sheriff’s department), said, “Oh, that’s nasty.”  Finally, it hit our section – rancid!  Everyone seemed to come to a consensus as to who dealt it. All indicators pointed to a big guy, about 6’4”, who weighed about 230.  I couldn’t believe I was regretting not being in the school bus.  At least we could have fully opened the windows!  Since the offender’s lack of control was a recurring problem, we were thankful that we were only a short distance from the airport.  As soon as we pulled up to the curb, we spilled out of the van, each trying to get a breath of fresh air. 

Having recovered from the ride, we gathered our gear and headed into Memphis Airport.  As we waited in line to check our bags, I learned that one of my colleagues, Jose, had managed to “go over the wall,” the previous night.  He along with a few others from training, had escaped T1G the night before and gotten to  sample some of the night life in Memphis.  He had just returned by taxi about a half hour before we left for the airport.  Since my seat was next to Jose’s, I thought that I had finally caught a break.  He was sure to be tired from a night out on the town, and would certainly sleep the entire way to Dallas, as would I. 

I was right – sleep he did.  He also snored - loudly!  So much so, that everyone within ten rows of us would crane their necks to see where the noise was coming from.  Despite usually being able to sleep through just about anything, I was unable to get some shut-eye because of Jose’s cabin rattling snorting throughout the entire flight.  Since I couldn't sleep, I was more attuned to my bladder telling me it needed relief.  Being at a window seat, I would have to make my way past “snoring beauty”, to the aisle.  I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried my best not to disturb Jose.  Placing my hands on either side of his armrests, I hovered above him as he snored into my face, with his mouth agape.  Because of the cramped conditions, my left foot brushed against his right knee as I was climbing over him.  I was looking directly into his open mouth as his eyelids opened and his eyeballs rolled downward signifying that he had awakened. When awoke, he had a look of surprise on his face as he gained consciousness and tried to figure out why I was looming over him. I’m not sure if he understood the entire context of what was transpiring, but after I told him that I was going to the bathroom, his eyes rolled back up into his head and he returned to his much needed rest.  For the most part, the flight to Dallas was uneventful, with most dozing off for a good portion of the flight.  As for me, no sleep would come; compliments of Jose.

Jose Lebron ("Snoring Beauty") in a more conscious state.

In terms of heat, we jumped from the frying pan into the fire. During our short stint in Dallas (it was less than a week), the recurring story in the news on the Dallas-Fort Worth TV stations was the consecutive number of days of triple digit heat.  While there, I drove a classmate to an orthopedic specialist for an examination (the hand injury he incurred while participating in the obstacle course would prevent him from being deployed). En route to the doctor’s office the temperature on a bank sign read 111 degrees.  Because of the heat we spent most of our time in the hotel.  The accommodations were excellent.  We lodged in an upscale Marriott directly across from the Texas Motor Speedway.  We were provided a per diem for our meals so ordering prime rib or filet minon only cost us a couple bucks out of pocket.  After two weeks in the Arkansas sun, things had finally started to pay off.  

While in Dallas we completed some more on-line training, attended classes in caring for combat injures, and once again, continued with additional medical screening.  A few needed to get military ID cards, some had passport issues, and still others had to have EKG’s or sleep studies done.  I had to undergo another hearing test. After receiving the OK following a final examination by the physician, I was relieved to finally be done with the medical process.

While we were there, I received my final check from the college which allowed me to buy a computer. Buoyed by the prospect of not having to rely on others for computer related issues, I travelled to Wal-Mart to purchase a laptop.  While out, I received a call telling me that I had to report back to the hotel for a medical issue.  I couldn’t believe it; I had already been cleared by the physician!  It could only be bad news.  After hurrying back to the hotel, and reporting to the medical suite, I was informed by one of the technicians that I was still missing my varicella vaccine (whatever that is).  As I rolled up my sleeve, I thought, “Another shot!  Incredible!” 

On one of our last nights in Dallas a small group of us visited Roanoke, on the outskirts of Dallas, to do our laundry.  In the group was Patti, John (the Human Specimen) Green, Vickie, Best Dressed, another candidate from a different class whom we didn’t know, and me.  There were more than a few mutterings as we pulled up to the laundromat.  While there were a number of homes in the area, it still seemed somewhat desolate.  The setting prompted someone to say, “This is Texas, ya’ know;  if somebody shows up with a mask and chainsaw, I’m outta here!”  The laundromat was a few doors in from the town’s main street, on which one could stand in the middle, and literally, “see from one end of town, to the other”.  We stopped in a small restaurant and ordered some drinks and something to eat.  The pizza wasn’t bad considering we were in Texas.  As we finished, Patti, speaking perfect Italian, struck up a conversation with the owner.  As it turned out, the owner had come from Sicily, the same origin of Patti’s parents.  Afterward Patti turned to me and said, “Can you believe it?  What are the odds of that? Here in Texas, I meet a guy that’s from Sicily.  Small world.”  I agreed, but had only one admonition for Patti, “Yeah, that’s neat Patti.  But why couldn’t you start talking it up earlier, before we paid the bill?  Maybe you could’ve gotten us the meal on the cheap…!”  All in all, it seemed like a small, quaint, friendly Texas town; a place that made me wish I had more time to explore and speak with some of the locals.

The few days in Dallas went by quickly.  I finally received word that I would be leaving with half the class on the following day’s flight from Dallas to Dulles in Washington, D.C.; then hop onto a flight to Dubai where we would stay overnight, then catch our flight to Kabul. Again, I was on the first flight out. The other members of the class would be delayed a few hours, then board the next flight and join us afterwards in Kabul.  A few were routed through Germany, and somehow would end up in Dubai for the trip to Kabul as well. 

On the flight to Dulles, I was lucky to get a roomy seat next to the emergency exit over the wing.  After settling in, I would try to get some shut-eye during the flight to DC.  Even before take-off I had just started to doze when a large man with a dark complexion, dressed in traditional Muslim attire, took his seat to my left.  When the flight attendant asked him if he understood that being seated at the emergency exit would require him, if needed, to assist other passengers, it became clear that he spoke no (or very little) English.  I could feel my xenophobia setting in, as I began to contemplate airline hijackings.

Soon after take-off, my “neighbor” fell asleep – a good sign, I thought. Midway through the flight he was awakened by a flight attendant, who offered a meal.  He refused the food, but accepted a can of juice which he stowed into his bag.  Since he was awake, I decided to excuse myself for a bathroom break.  As I stood, I noticed that one of my classmates (the big guy who was blamed for farting in the van) was seated directly across the aisle, just opposite from my new “friend”.  Considering the circumstance, I was glad it was one of the bigger guys in our group that was now seated across from us. He acknowledged my eye contact with a nod, as if to say, “You can go, I got him covered.”  As I turned to walk to the rear of the plane, I noticed that my other colleagues had their eyes trained on the Muslim passenger as well.  They were watching him like hawks.  Through their non-verbal communications, they were too were telling me, “We got your back.”  Apparently, they were suspicious as well.  I returned to my seat glad that others with whom I travelled were vigilant.  At the same time however, I was somewhat bothered that I was profiling this man who had done absolutely nothing wrong (as far as I could tell).   I returned to my seat telling myself that I would cut this guy some slack.  Almost immediately after I returned, he again fell asleep.

Through the window I could see that the sun had started to set.  As the captain’s voice came over the speaker advising of our descent towards Dulles, the Muslim awoke and immediately checked a watch that he kept in his carry-on.  He repeatedly did this over the next ten minutes. After looking at his watch one final time, he slowly began rocking back and forth in his seat with his eyes closed, while silently mouthing something I couldn’t hear.   As I discreetly spied on him, I glanced across the aisle and saw my classmate watching him much more intently.   Given the noise of the airplane and silence of the words being spoken, I strained to hear what was being said.  I was listening for anything which remotely sounded like repeated chanting of “Allahu Akbar”.  While the term is used to praise God, "Allahu Akbar" can also be used as a battle cry.  As such, it had been captured on many confiscated videos of insurgents either planning, or actually executing terrorist attacks.  From both my seat and my classmate’s vantage point from across the aisle, the Muslim was under heavy surveillance.  I had unbuckled my seat belt in case I had to move quickly and hoped that my colleague across the aisle had already done the same. 

Finally, the “mysterious” passenger stopped his rocking, opened his eyes, and immediately began opening can of juice that he had accepted from the flight attendant earlier.  Then it dawned on me.  It was Ramadan, a Muslim holy month of fasting during which no food or drink is permitted from dawn to dusk.  My cabin mate had been checking his watch to determine the exact time of sundown.  Once sundown had officially arrived, he prayed before taking a drink of his juice.  I felt like such a heel. 

As we gathered our belongings after landing, I was compelled to ask him, “Muslim?”  He nodded, yes.  I queried him again, “Ramadan?”  He smiled and said, ”Yes.”  He pointed at me and asked, “Muslim?”  I answered, “No, Christian.” to which he again smiled and simply said, “Oh”.  Feeling both embarrassed and sympathetic that he probably hadn’t had anything to eat since before sunrise, I reached into my pocket and offered him a bag of trail mix.  He graciously refused.          

After landing at Dulles, there was very little time to catch our flight that would take us to Dubai.  I recall one passenger who was moving with our group towards our departure terminal.  With reddened face, he was carrying two bags, huffing and puffing as he hurried towards the gate.  I thought that if he was going to have a heart attack, this would be as good a place as any since he was surrounded by retired cops and military personnel.  As we boarded the plane, a large, wide-body, with aisles left and right, and six seat rows in the center, I wondered what the 13-hr flight almost half way around the world would be like.  As we took off, from Washington, D.C., I sensed a strong sense of departure from the states.  While I was looking forward to the mission, I hoped the time would go quickly until my return.