Down Under

Once upon a time, my squadron flew a wide variety of worldwide missions, from destinations across the Pacific to South America, Africa, Europe, and the Middle East. However, since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, we have found ourselves flying almost exclusively to Europe and the Middle East, month after month. It is uplifting when we are offered a destination anywhere else, anything out of the ordinary. So when I saw a Down Under mission to Australia on the scheduling board early last summer, I eagerly signed up as visions of tropical beaches danced in my mind.

The scheduler warned me not to get too attached; it was a low priority mission liable to be cancelled not only for a higher priority mission, but also if maintenance simply could not provide an aircraft to support the mission. I fully expected the mission to go away, but as I was flight planning a day or so prior to the scheduled takeoff, I was told that the mission would go, even if it was listed as a lower priority flight. Apparently we were supposed to move cargo that had people in some very high places watching, even if the priority did not reflect it.

I departed with a crew of four pilots, three loadmasters, and a flying crew chief. After a stop to pick up cargo in California, we headed out on the Pineapple Tracks, the aerial routing from the mainland to Hawaii, where we had a scheduled 28-hour ground time. Several of the crew was worried that we’d be billeted at Hickam AFB in 1970s-era quarters notorious for mold and air conditioners that barely work. A bigger concern, however, was the fact that staying on base meant that we wouldn’t be staying at one of the posh resorts in Waikiki, a mere volleyball’s throw from the beach. I felt confident that if we called ahead of time, the base would ensure there would be room for us there instead of downtown. If we didn’t tell them we were coming, perhaps there would be no room at the inn for us, at least on base.

Fortunately, my gamble paid off. Within an hour of landing, we were heading downtown to the Outrigger Reef. We made the usual rounds: the oceanfront bar at the Hale Koa for Mai Tais, dinner and beer at the Yardhouse, and listening to live music at an Irish pub before getting a good night’s rest in a cool room free of mold. We even had time the next day for lunch at a noodle shop before being alerted for our flight to the South Pacific.

We are normally scheduled for a fuel stop in American Samoa on the way to Australia, unless we are flying a C-17 with extended-range fuel tanks. But there is usually mail or passengers for Pago Pago, so we were required to make a stop at the American territory. But the airport snack bar makes great fish and chips, so we usually don’t mind too much.

It was early afternoon the next day by the time we made it to Australia, where we saw a great view of downtown Sydney under cloudy winter skies. But winter isn’t too cold Down Under, and after we landed at a nearby RAAF base, it was a chilly 60 degrees. We had to wait in the jet with the doors closed for Australian Customs to clear us; after displaying the bug spray cans from the pilot’s side window, they gave us a thumbs-up to open the door. Swine flu was in the news and everyone from America was suspect; the Aussies were hoping to keep it from reaching their shores. They asked questions about our health, checked our documents, and finally cleared us to depart the aircraft.

We had about 20-hours off before an out-and-back mission the next day, so we were lodged at an older, but well-maintained, hotel in a nearby town. A couple of the crew had never been to Sydney, so they caught a train for the two hour ride into the city, while the rest of us opted to enjoy the evening at a pub in town. As it turned out, they only had a couple of hours before they’d have to return before the trains stopped running for the evening.

The next day, we departed for our short out-and-back to a remote airfield in the Outback. We made good time and made it back early enough for a second evening on the town, this time with the entire crew. We enjoyed another 18 or so hours off before our return flight to Pago Pago and Hawaii, where we enjoyed yet another 24-hours off before flying back home. We were even fortunate enough to score rooms at the Reef again.

It is trips like the Down Under that revitalize crews beaten down by the monotony of flying the Stage in Europe and the Middle East. While I enjoy the flying we do in support of our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, I do not miss the inadequate billeting, transportation, and dining options that is so common in the theater of operations. Staying at four star hotels, sipping a Mai Tai on the beach, and drinking a Toohey’s Ale at a pub Down Under helps us forget about the sacrifices we make for our country, such as inadequate sleep and missed meals. Waikiki is a long way from the dusty tents and bad chow halls we frequent on a regular basis. I can almost forget that there’s a war still going on, at least for a little while.