Rest for the Weary

Upon our arrival in Germany with our wounded troops from Iraq, it was disconcerting to discover that our trip from hell continued. We seemingly could not catch a break. We were tired, past our scheduled return time (SRT) to get home, and some of the crew were openly hostile toward each other. It was time to go home.

Unfortunately, there were no missions leaving Germany for our home base in the Pacific Northwest. But there were several jets available to return to their East Coast bases just waiting for a crew. Since we were past our SRT, we were set up to take the first flight out, even if it was a mission that terminated on the East Coast.

So when we landed in sunny South Carolina the next day, we were on our own. The Air Force really didn’t care about us anymore. We didn’t even count against their record for SRT busts anymore – a list seen by a general officer every day. Without a tail number to link my crew with, it was like we didn’t exist. It would be up to us to figure out how to make it the rest of the way home.

We checked into a hotel and made commercial travel arrangements to get home. Despite all the equipment and bags we had, we wanted to get home and there were no military flights available. So after a short night’s rest, we headed to the airport with a mountain of bags. We had to accept the fact that our entire day would be spent in TSA screening lines, airport terminals, cramped commuter flights, and several transfers.

We made it out of the local airport just fine, but we hit a snag in Atlanta as we waited for our next flight. It seemed that even the national airlines have some of the same maintenance problems we have in the military; our jet was broken. So we retired to a bar in the terminal and waited while they replaced a hydraulic pump on one of the engines. We fully anticipated having our flight cancelled outright, and trying to find a decent hotel near the airport for yet another night away from home.

However, the light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter; our flight was fixed and they began boarding. The end of the trip from hell was nearly at hand. Fortunately all of our trips weren’t this painful. After a few weeks at home, I’d be ready to go out again to do my part. In the meantime, I eased the seat back and rested my weary head as the airliner took off into the darkened skies above Atlanta and headed west - toward home.

Sometimes it's nice to let somebody else do the flying for a change.