I fought through the fog of jet lag imposed sleep to a tent that was oddly awake. It was almost midnight and the gargantuan tent, intended to hold around 180 women, lacked the somnambular quality indicative of the hour. At the far edge of the tent, a small huddle of women chirped nervously. The pre-tremor environment spoke of an earthquake to come. Suddenly, one woman withdrew from the group and squawked down the hall “Ladies, wake up. We are expecting a rocket attack. You need to get to the bunkers, now!” I scanned the bunk next to me, home to my lone female Soldier. Not there. Scrambling into my combat boots, which accessorized stylishly with my gym shorts, I continued looking for my Soldier. Nothing. Grabbing my weapon, I followed the covey of women to the door, but cut away as we emerged from the tent. A yell into the latrine produced my unknowing Soldier, and following flight I found the bunker. It was little more than a 3 sided concrete tunnel, about 4 foot high. Protection against shrapnel alone, and then only for those lucky enough to be in the middle. The eight inches of concrete would prove little cover if hit directly. As women flocked together amidst the pressing walls, it was clear that there was not room for all. As I considered the situation, the MPs pulled up. “It’s a false alarm. Go back to bed.”

Cleared by Occupation

All Soldiers coming into Afghanistan begin at Bagram, taking mandatory classes and waiting anxiously for a flight time to their final destination. During one classes I learned that the confines of Bagram include 20 active mine fields, a remnant of a cruel, indiscriminant, 10 year Soviet war that targeted populations centers and children. One can be sure that mines sown from thousands of feet aloft, never venture outside prescribed fields, right? The most active area of Bagram, home to the gym, dining facility, head quarters buildings, etc. is known as a mine field cleared by occupation – a nice Army way of saying “well, we’ve been walking about for a while … no one’s been blown up yet … I’m sure we’re fine.”

Good Morning, Afghanistan

I knew something was off. The flight from Ramstein, Germany to Manis, Kyrgyzstan was only expected to take 7 hours, but we’d been in the air for at least 9. I was cocooned in my poncho liner, sleeping on the hood of one of my trucks with the intercom buzzed alive “we have been diverted from Manis due to heavy snow fall and are headed straight to Bagram Air Force Base. We will be on the ground in 30 min.” Only minutes later the intercom lectured again: “we are coming into Bagram faster than expected and are beginning our decent now.” And there I found myself, without any time for contemplation, in Afghanistan.

Bagram AFB, I discovered, sits in a valley, surrounded my mountains on almost all sides. Only one area strikes me a passable by vehicle, and I am fairly certain this is the route to Kabul, the capitol of Afghanistan. We trudge across the runway into a small, fenced in areas. As the leader of the chalk, I am directed to move the group into a small tent. As my eyes adjust to the dim, I realize that the tent is full of prostrate men. As Soldiers are want to do, they sleep in any area that even resembles comfort. As we enter, they begin to stir, nudging one another. I scan their uniforms, trying to determine which of the many coalition partners they call home. Romania, their uniforms say. Their sleep-tarnished minds become clear as they realize that one of the American Soldiers in their midst is a woman. I receive word that we were to move inside and shout across the tent to alert my Soldiers, shaping Romanian interest in to shock through a display of female authority.

Inside the C-17 cargo plane my trucks bounce rhythmically, like kids on a trampoline. While most military equipment reaches Afghanistan via ship, my equipment is taxied by the Air Force, due to its sensitive nature. The inside of the plane is unfinished, the walls and ceiling snaked with a myriad of tubing, wires and electronics. The seats we occupy are only an afterthought, flipping out along the wall. This plane was designed for trucks, not people. 2 rows of 5 vehicles consume the cargo space. Heavy metal chains lash each truck to the floor. Two young airman circulate like vigilant sheep dogs, ratcheting down the chains as they give. Despite all these precautions, the truck two feet from my head shifts and sways through takeoff, turbulence and landing.

How to Pack for Afghanistan

If you were wondering what ones packs when preparing for a year deployment, here is a sampling of what one of my Soldiers brought:

- 2 Furbies
- 1 fuzzy pink hat
- 1 butterfly pillow
- 1 Tinkerbelle blanket
- 5 ghetto (her word, not mine) skip-it
- Quarto (some sort of board game, apparently)

In her defense, she’s a sharp analyst, even if she wants to do her work wearing her fuzzy pink hat.

I had to come back in and edit this post because today this Soldier, when I commented on her eccentricities, told me "just be glad I didn't bring sugar gliders."