Life in a war zone

The last two mornings I awoke to the sound of loud sirens. We have 3 seconds to hit the ground before the sound of incoming rockets is heard—and felt—nearby. I’m living near the flight line and it appears the Taliban have begun their spring offensive in Kandahar, aiming their rockets at the airport. Kandahar Airport is arguably the busiest airport in Europe, possibly the world. A good target. But the rockets fall far from anything but empty space. After an hour or two hunkered down in the bunker we receive the all-clear.

The radar detects incoming rockets, giving us about 3 seconds’ warning to lie flat. After a couple of minutes, I don my Kevlar vest and helmet and grab my go bags with bandages, tourniquets, IV equipment, and other medical supplies.

The vest is heavy. The usual temperature in the morning is already climbing well past the hottest day of the year in the CNMI. By mid-day, the thermometer shows 130 degrees. It’s hot and the equipment I sport is heavy. But no one sweats. It’s too dry and any sweat evaporates immediately.

I’m on call 24/7 to respond to any mass casualty situation. Fortunately, there hasn’t been a need for my services. As tired as I am from the early morning rocket attacks and feeling hot and weighed down, it’s nothing compared to the military guys guarding the wire and searching for the Taliban insurgents. They carry a lot more than I and are likely more hot and anxious than I can imagine.

Following the pleasant female recording of “All clear,” it’s time to get to work at the clinic where I’m assigned. Yesterday morning, following the rocket attack, I went to the shower trailers while there was still some hot water. Stepping out of the shower my foot nearly comes down on a tarantula-sized spider; these are the devilish desert camel spiders. I kill it and place it on the computer of one of my medics.

The regular workday is 12 hours. We work seven days a week. I look forward to seeing my lovely wife on my first day off, probably in four to five months. Twelve hours goes by very quickly here and in fact I usually end up working 16-18 hours. Seeing patients, interacting by Skype or phone with the medics out in the FOBs (forward operating bases), having meetings, spending the occasional boring hours in the bunkers, responding to emergencies, Skyping with my wife, and performing a host of other duties is all part of the regular workday.

Kandahar Air Force Base is located about 15 kilometers from the actual city. I’ve never seen the city as we can never leave the base (or go outside the wire). But the base is huge and like a city onto itself. Many different places to eat, all free. Gas is free. Housing is free. The PX is well stocked and cheap. Despite the relatively easy living here, there were several adjustment issues when I first arrived. First, all military personnel are required to carry their weapons at all times. The first time I went to chow (called DFAC for dining facility) I’m confronted with hundreds of weapons of all types lying carefully on the floor while the soldiers eat. Now, however, it seems commonplace. Another problem is the constant dust blowing in from the desert. Everything takes a shade of gray/brown. I end up cleaning gritty dust off my desk three or four times a day. Also, there is the steady noise of planes, choppers, tanks, Humvees of all types, jets, and things that are not to be named. Mostly, there is never a minute when a plane or jet or chopper is not taking off or landing.

Where I live and work is not far from the Ospreys (the vertical lift tilt-rotor planes)—when they take off in the mornings everything in our living area shakes and rattles. Occasionally we can see a Predator taking off. The A-10 Warthogs and the F-15 fighters are the most exciting, buzzing over the base. Sometimes in the evening we see the fighters taking off, trailing a long stream of blue-yellow flame.

Additionally, there is the new reality of sturdy clothing and footwear. No flip-flops. No comfortable sandals. Everyone wears boots. The ground is strewn with rocks and is very uneven. Wearing sturdy boots and changing socks several times a day is necessary. In fact, the medical staff all wear non-camo, military-like, very rugged clothes with lots of pockets. Because we are medical staff working in a war zone we could be called upon to go anywhere, be evacuated, or instantly moved to another base. Apart from the usual medical paraphernalia one would expect to wear, all persons carry passport, vaccination card, military-issue ID, credit cards, money, and certain other paperwork required in the event we need to leave immediately. In case of attack (like what happened yesterday morning) I am never far from medical equipment, boots, Kevlar vest and helmet, and other emergency items. When asleep, I have everything within easy reach. Just in case. I miss walking barefoot in the sand along Micro Beach.

The camaraderie here is awesome. People are friendly. We have military personnel from about 15 different countries. Lots of different languages are spoken at meals, from English to Tagalog to Bosnian to Indian and more. The pay is great and unlike working at THCI, actually do get paid. No cut hours, payless paydays, or politicians taking junkets. Hard work, good pay, and great food. Life in the desert isn’t so bad for us. But never far from our thoughts is the fact that the young men and women with whom we eat at the DFAC are out in the desert daily, humping 50 lbs of gear in 120 degrees over very rough terrain. And some don’t return alive.

Living in a war zone is a new experience for me. To say that it’s exciting is an understatement. I have been on the lookout for anyone from the CNMI but with thousands of military all wearing essentially the same camo clothes and no name tags, it’s hard to spot any Chamorros here.

Time to go eat breakfast. Out in the distance this morning we hear the sound of small arms fire and the thump of big guns. Fortunately, no rocket attack. Admittedly, I’m still recovering from last night’s excellent chicken parmesan, lasagna, and homemade apple pie. At least the food is good.