I was finally boarding the big Canadian midnight-blue C-130 for a short trip back to Kabul, after a long wait in the warm Kandahar sun inside the fence at the passenger terminal. My role was to help solve ops coordination challenges for Air Force units all across Afghanistan and I had been visiting a nearby Forward Operating Base in the southern part of the country.
As I stood in my tan flight suit on the noisy flight line, last in the queue of space-available passengers, the Aircraft Commander smiled down at me out the left cockpit window and waved. She said something to her flight engineer who was standing just behind her.
I stepped quickly up into the plane, eyeing the circled Maple Leaf on the dark fuselage, and the loadmaster on headset tapped my shoulder to ask if I wanted to join the crew upstairs.
"Absolutely!" I was grateful to have a chance to look out the front window again. No fighter pilot enjoys riding in the back end of any airplane, and I was happy to see how the Canadians did business.
Nearing the east side of the airfield, We heard the tower radio chatter as an unmanned Predator drone entered the taxi flow in front of us. I could hear the Predator launch crew receiving clearance for it to taxi forward, and simultaneously, I noted a two-ship of grey British Tornado fighters moving towards us from their parking revetments across the runway on the north east side of of the airfield.
"Wow," she said, "it's not every day you hold number three behind a plane with no pilot and a couple of Tornados."
"Wow," she said, "it's not every day you hold number three behind a plane with no pilot and a couple of Tornados."
I took this picture just prior to the helo's arrival
As we pointed at the approach end of Runway 23 and taxied forward, our progress was formally and surprisingly halted by the tower as movement froze on all Kandahar taxiways. The Predator in front of us, Tornados across the way- now all still, were holding position.
| Runway 23 looking southwest. This story happened at bottom left corner. |
I looked northeast, noticing a dark Blackhawk helicopter, approaching the airfield as it maneuvered south towards the ramp on our right, then moved in slowly towards us from the east. Leaning way forward in the straps to look hard right out the side window, I caught sight of a tight formation of 7 USAF Airmen in utility camo uniforms, 6 men in a close group with a 7th standing to their side on the tarmac off our wing line.
Holding in reverent formation, they waited for the Blackhawk to land.
One by one, each crewmember in our cockpit saw the grave picture, observing the same scene collectively, putting it all together and falling silent while looking right as the inevitable event unfolded.
One by one, each crewmember in our cockpit saw the grave picture, observing the same scene collectively, putting it all together and falling silent while looking right as the inevitable event unfolded.
The Blackhawk grew larger, sweeping in slowly.
Then, pointed our way, it settled down on the wide-open tarmac to the right of us, giving us really the only good view on the entire airfield of the impending, solemn ceremony. Wheels touched, struts compressing under the weight of its cargo. The formation began to march slowly in step towards the helo, gestured emphatically there by the gloved gunner who had hopped out onto the concrete from the left side door.
Reverence filled the cockpit.
All eyes were fixed on the Blackhawk.
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| Kandahar Carry Team was similar to this one- but without hats and without the box. |
Airmen began carefully pulling a long rectangular plywood board, with a loosely-moving material over it, concealing the fallen US serviceman.
An American Flag, tacked to the board, was whipping - violently - in the downwash of the rotor blades. The formation stepped back together from the door with great care, holding the American hero and firmly holding the Flag, re-adjusting their grip.
They then marched deliberately, in step, away from the aircraft as the helo gunner quickly jumped up from the tarmac and slammed the left side door shut. The thrashing American Flag, rippling under the rotor wash, contrasted sharply with their lock-step precision and firmness of the plywood board the men carried.
The tight formation of focused Airmen then marched their way, slowly, onward to the edge of the ramp. The Flag covering the Soldier became limp, revealing his still form underneath as they disappeared from view. The Blackhawk pilot increased power, lifted off and moved nose-down, up, over, and in front of us as the helo flew west then north, disappearing back to its next mission.
Respectful cockpit silence sustained.
Reverence held until the craft was gone.
Assertively snapping her crew forward, the Canadian Aircraft Commander sharply announced, "Takeoff Checks Complete!"
Tower promptly cleared the pilotless plane ahead of us onto the runway for takeoff, and we followed afterwards with a dramatically low, high-speed departure off the end of the runway southwest of Kandahar to avoid small arms fire - then she zoomed the giant C-130 up and right towards a safe altitude.
We inched closer to Kabul over the mountains up high, following the slower tiny remotely-piloted-aircraft diverging north just left of our nose. It was a quiet flight, and my thoughts turned with great heaviness to that soldier's wife, still sleeping, far away and back home, who would soon hear a dreaded knock on her door.
We pondered together the immense gravity of the scene, the soldier, and his family.
No one on the flight deck spoke of it again
(May 2010)
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