We are now 12hrs off from our previous circadian rhythm.  Go figure.  We descend the length of Afghanistan and this time Pakistan lets us fly through their airspace with no complaint as we continue on our long way to Europe, with a little stop in along the way.  Let’s just say it's a country I’ve never visited, so I’m looking forward to checking it out.  ​

The flight was an easy one.  We drank lots of caffeinated soda, since the infamous energy drink “RipIt” is no longer offered on the deployed bases.  It was a highly potent dose of caffeine that I guess too many people were abusing.  During the flight, a long discussion regarding religions began.  The range of conversations that take place while airborne range from crude toilet humor to some pretty serious scientific (nerd) and spiritual topics.  

For a good hour and a half the young 1st lieutenant who was temporarily flying with us, my loadmaster Ray, and I talked about love, sin, hell, God and judgement.  Yea, I know, that’s some serious stuff.  But unlike the crap you see on TV these days, there was no yelling, no finger pointing, no damning each other and certainly no judgment passed.  Imagine that!!  

While our views/beliefs were often very different, each person considered the other’s point/belief and then considered how it might play into their personal experiences.  I could write a book about the stuff we went into, but let’s just say that in the end the three of us came away with a better respect for each other’s positions and experiences, and I’d say each was more compassionate and tolerant from it.  ​

The powerful concept that the judgement of others should be reserved solely for whoever your God/Spiritual being is, leaving each of us free to not carry that impossible burden, was mutually agreed upon.  I’d call that a most satisfying conclusion.

Soon we were on the ground in Germany, swarmed by ground crews eager to whisk our passengers away, pump us full of tens of thousands of pounds of gas, suck out the doo-doo the 150 passengers left on the plane, and get us to a hotel for our quick overnight.  I’ve never visited this part of Germany before and it didn’t take long to see the jewel of this city: Cologne Cathedral (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cologne_Cathedral).  Its dark, gothic tower stood far above it’s surrounding skyline like a magnet attracting all eyes.  

After checking into our hotel, a failed attempt to eat at a popular restaurant (we got the distinct impression we weren’t welcome and after 1.5hrs of patiently waiting for a table we bounced), and a subpar meal at an alternate restaurant, I was reminded to quit paying attention to all these little inconveniences and pause to appreciate the beauty around me.  (That’s always around us.)  I snapped this photo that dark and rainy night… and as always moments of beauty always do, it made such adventures worthwhile.

Jetlag woke me after five hours of sleep, so I decided to venture into the dark, rainy city center in search of a fresh baked good and a quality European espresso/latte.  Putting on my civilian clothes and walking through the nice lobby was a stark change from the ubiquitous tan flight suits, camouflage uniforms, and shoddy buildings of the bases.  I soaked in the lavish setting and put my hood up as the revolving door brought me into the wet, cold predawn morning.  

I walked, peered into dark cafe windows, watched bakers working their industrial ovens and stacking fresh croissants and loafs, smelled the butter and flour cooking, but couldn’t find an open bakery or cafe.  What is going on?  It’s a modern country and a big city, but everything is closed!  Ohh… it’s Sunday.  These folks think a little down-time from commerce and some real relaxation is a good idea?  Nah… what’s this world coming to?! :) ​

As much as I was sad to not find a hot cup of coffee and a snack, I appreciated this concept of rest that is often lost in America.  Thankfully the hotel restaurant gave me a free cup of joe and I spent the morning reading and waiting for the sun to rise.  At 9am the first cafe opened and you can bet I was their first customer.  Berliners (like a donut), a chocolate croissant, and a big latte satisfied my sweet tooth so I could return to the Middle East (where none of those exist, at least on base).

The flight back was a good one, though I’m not sure our passengers would agree.  We had over 100 coalition army troops who would be riding with us back downrange.  Little did we know that they had been waiting at the German airport for two days waiting for us.  The ‘system’ did not communicate with them that we had been delayed in Afghanistan, so they showed up on time and waited in a hangar.  One of their local officers told us they then slept two nights in the hangar, waiting in limbo for us.  We passed on our sincere apologies and gave their leadership the phone number to command and control, as such gross miscommunications were out of our purview/control.​

The rest of this adventure was tame.  Each of us looked forward to returning to our 10’x10’ trailer room, the moldy bathrooms, and the blowing dust.  Much like mountaineers returning to basecamp after days at high camps, we so easily overlook the poor conditions of the place we temporarily call “home”.  Familiar items await: a place to sleep, fresh clothes, food, and a chance to breath out and relax.  On any adventure you’ve got to be content with what you are given to work with, otherwise the opportunity to grow and make the most from the experience is lost.

Picking up from where we left off:  I'm stretched out in the coffin sized rest area behind the cockpit, ready to nap after being up for over 20hrs.  We are headed for a much anticipated overnight in Germany, having just entered Pakistani airspace on our way to the Persian Gulf.

Like our trip into Pakistan just six hours earlier, Pakistani air defense comes on the radio in a state of intense emotion.  By threat of intercept/force, they kick us out of their airspace and force us to return to Afghanistan.  Wha?!  We are one of thousands and thousands of coalition planes that cross this same airspace, but tonight we must have the “Kick Me” sign on our back.  

We try to calm them down and explain we’re on a scheduled flight, but they’ll have none of it.  The threat of launching fighters to intercept us is the final straw and we turn around back towards Afghanistan.  (We later found out the Air Force mobility coordination center failed to add our flight to the document allowing Pakistan overflight.  Oversights do happen, more often than we'd like, but that's the downside of a ginormous, complex entity like the mobility arm of the military.)

Naturally at this time we’d hop on a satellite frequency or phone and get some help in fixing the situation.  But this plane just happened to have a broken satellite antenna.  Doh!  We are now stuck in Afghanistan, because we don’t have overfly authorized on the route to the north or to the south.  We decide to land at the nearest base: Kandahar.  (Hah!!)  So much for overflying that pit.  We pull in to what is a ghost town compared to earlier in the war.  As I walk out of the plane the first thing I notice is the smell: dusty, but with the slight smell of smoke or something burning.  Anything is better than smelling the poo-pit, so I’m cool with it.

(Here is a video of the Kandahar area when I was flying the CV-22 there in 2010:

We find out that they cannot accommodate our crew and the 50+ passengers in the back of the plane.  Command and control is no help over the land-line phone we are driven to, as they are thousands of miles away and unable to fully comprehend the bind we are in.  Their answer to Matt: "spend the night in Kandahar… we don’t believe there isn’t room to sleep there."  Thanks for the vote of confidence. 

The 50 passengers are quite frustrated, as they were supposed to return to Europe where their families were waiting, but now they are in Kandahar with no where to stay.  That’s when they suggest: let’s go to Mazar-i-Sharif.  They are familiar with the base and can assure us a place to sleep and a hot meal.  "Why didn't you say so earlier? Deal!"  So we launch into the dawn sky and head north.  And this is where the first reward of the adventure comes: I get to fly right up the middle of Afghanistan and its mountains in the daylight without fear of being shot, something I hadn’t really been able to do in my past AFSOC life.  ​

Mazar-i-Sharif is a beautiful location.  It’s on a plateau mostly surrounding by rugged mountains reaching up to 9,000ft.  Maz is the third largest city in Afghanistan (~690,000) and has a storied history, from the estimated birth place of one of my favorite poets: Rumi, to Genghis Kahn destroying their most important mosque, to the Russians using it as a base of operations to fight the mujahideen.  I wished for the opportunity to learn more about it in person, but my main focus was on finding a place to sleep, as it had been 30hrs since I last woke up (deployed sleeping isn’t very good unless you use Ambien, which I’m avoiding).  

Our passengers hooked us up with temporary sleeping arrangements, although it was right at freezing temperature inside them.  But it was better than a cargo plane floor or tent cot.  We dropped our bags and walked to the chow hall... which is where we received another treat: the view of the snow, mountains and clouds outside the fence.  After a quick meal, we returned to the rooms, hoping the small heaters we turned on would take the bite from the air, though not really caring either way. 

The friendly German quartermaster offered us some sheets, a cotton blanket and a pillow each.  With the weight of the hectic 30hr day pulling me to sleep like an intense gravity, I crawled into what seemed to be a cotton sleeping bag of sorts.  I loved the idea: one sheet like a tube, so no need for a fitted sheet.  Under the weight of the blanket and breathing in the cold, crisp mountain air, I fell into a deep sleep.  Only later did I find out the three-sided sheet I liked so much wasn't supposed to be slept in: it was a mattress cover that you slide over the entire mattress.  Hah!  Well, it certainly got the job done!

After six hours of solid sleep and a little bit of dozing, it was time to get back to work.  Too bad, as this quiet little base suited me well.  The view of the mountains from the compound was inspiring!  It reminded me of a grand adventure had by several Italian nationals in Africa.  They are Italian professional who are held in a WWII British POW camp.  Several days after they arrive at the camp, the clouds clear enough that they see a huge mountain summit hovering above the clouds.  They realize it must be Mt. Kenya, famous at that time for it was considered nearly unclimbable.  Well, they happen to be mountaineers and decide they’re going to escape the camp and climb the famous peak.  It’s a story about the love of mountains and adventures… about risking life to live life.  Check it out:  “No Picnic on Mt. Kenya”. ​

Part 3 Coming Soon.  The Adventure Never Ends...

[This blog hosted by USAF 50 Summits Challenge as a way to chronicle the deployment of a military mountaineer and build insight for the outdoors-minded person of what a deployment is like]

This adventure was the type not worth repeating.  However, like many adventures, it lead me to unexpected beauty and broadened my life.  Isn’t that why we adventurers ignore the unpleasant aspects of a journey and throw our hat in the ring time and time again?

It was supposed to be a long, yet simple mission: pick up troops in Afghanistan take em back to Europe and along the way make a brief stop in the former Soviet Union.  Come back much the same way.  

But it didn’t turn out that way.​

Global politics can be such a pain in the ass when you’re trying to get from point A to point B in the most efficient manner.  We needed to fly up Pakistan to Afghanistan, because clearly Iran isn’t interested in letting coalition aircraft fly in their airspace.  On the way into Pakistan, a very agitated air defense controller started calling for us over the emergency frequency, demanding we speak to him immediately.  So much for being in touch with his country’s air traffic control and for the US coordinating our overflight.  Hearing the stress and anxiety in his voice, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had his finger on the launch button to some strategic missile defense system.  It would be a silly oversight and highly unlikely, but hey, if it could happen in the Ukraine, why not here?  That’s something about military/combat situations: you never know who’s finger is on the trigger and what state of mind he/she is in that day.

I have a heightened respect for the men and women flying military mobility missions around the world.  After the last 72hrs, I've seen how hard they are worked and how little thanks they get from 'the system'.  I thought life in the SOCOM community had to be the hardest, but now I see each military community has difficult challenges uniquely their own.  

For the mobility aircrews, it's working for a system that seems to have little concern for the quality of their rest and morale.  It is commonplace for the crews to work for 20+hrs straight, try to sleep completely off their regular circadian rhythm, and then do several more 20+hr work days.  What does the system do?  Ask them to do it again and again.  Fatigue and frustration hovers above them, waiting for its chance to settle in. 

I didn't fully realize this until I joined the community as a Reservist a little over a year ago.  I always thought this line of work in the military would be like an early retirement: lower risk than my previous life (as in it's rare to get engaged by the enemy and the mission threats are low), relaxing hours of cruising at high altitude on auto-pilot, having a flushing toilet on board and traveling to new and interesting places.

Well, that can be the case, but often it is not.  Dependency on Ambien or sleeping drugs becomes the norm in this time-zone hopping, circadian rhythm crushing world.  Those challenges are shared by other aircrew throughout the military (Lord knows I was popping Ambien like no tomorrow in my previous job), but I find the constant cycle of 20+hr days and little thanks or consideration by the Command & Control system to be acutely destructive.

In the AFSOC world, it seemed to me that our circadian rhythm and sleep quality was always respected.  Were there 24hr days?  Hell yes, but that was not the norm.  Was adequate time allowed for recuperation?  Whenever possible.  Did the command structure regularly give thanks and praise for work?  Absolutely.

From what I've seen, when mobility crews call to check in with their remote command and control, they almost cringe as they dial the airborne sat phone.  Why?  Because month after month, year after year, they've grown accustomed to someone thousands of miles away telling them their work-day just got extended, their rest just got shortened to the bare-minimum allowed, and their request to change any of it is denied.  To be fair, it's possible to get lucky and convince 'the system' to give a few extra hours off in-between flights, but that's the exception, not the norm.

So I raise a toast to the Mobility Air Force crews who are flying around the world, napping 2hrs here and there on the floor or bunk of the plane, chugging coffee and Red Bulls to fight off their bodies' need for sleep and then using sleep drugs to force a few hrs rest as they hop through time zones day in and day out.  Hollywood and the media doesn't glorify your mission.  It's often taken for granted.  There is no lull; your fight never ends... it is 24/7.  I give my respect and appreciate the hard work!  Blue Skies.  --RMM

Finally got myself some decent sleep.  Due to jet lag and the unusually cold floor of our transport plane, I got no more than 3hrs of straight sleep since leaving Washington on Friday the 5th.

So to call my 8hrs of sleep last night glorious is no understatement.

I’m about to head into the desert sun for a run and workout, but thought a quick post was in store while my workout tunes load onto my phone.

We arrived in country after several hours of flying.  The moment the plane reaches cruise altitude, we unbuckle and spread out like refugees across the floor: everyone throwing down sleeping pads and blankets in hopes of finding a little rest.  But this plane had a weak floor-heater and few were able to sleep due to the cold radiating through insulated pads and thin sleeping bags.

Arriving in country brings back old memories.  Some of them are good, some not so much.  One of my favorite sensations is the smell of a foreign land.  In Africa, the smell of earth and wood smoke always put a smile on my face.  Here in the Middle East, it’s more of a warm, dusty scent.  No way to describe it other than that. 

The cargo ramp lowers and the smell of the desert rushes in.  Hot sunshine floods in through windows and the doorway; a nice respite from the frigid floor temps.  And there is that tan, sand colored horizon.  A few military bunkers in the distance, but mostly nothing on first glance.

We offload our myriad of bags: flight gear, chemical warfare suits, a shopping bag of mostly eaten food from Germany, books/computer/comfort items, and a wide selection of workout, civilian, and military clothing.  This part of a deployment is called the “bag drag” as you drag and tote your stuff off the plane, down a taxiway, to a car, to a processing building, back to a truck, to another building, back to the same truck, then to yet another building, and finally across rocks that are just big enough to imped the crappy little wheels on your Pelican case so that you begin cussing at the design of the wheels and at whoever laid down such stupid G’damn rocks between the last piece of hard-packed earth and the dilapidated trailer park that is your “new” home 150yds away.

No complaints though: this is an easy deployment.  I’ve got a roof over my head, electricity, an air conditioner unit, and by God, I’ve got intermittent wi-fi.  Is this the sort of trailer that Steven Avery (of ‘Making a Murderer’ fame) lived in?  Yup.  But maybe a bit more beat up inside. 
​
I’ll go in to further detail later.  For now it’s time for the first workout of the deployment, a late breakfast, and then off to the skies.  -RMM

We have choices in life.  It’s often so easy to overlook them that it took me most of today to realize what choices I faced over the last 14hrs and what significant choices lie ahead during this deployment and beyond.
 
I just finished watching Interstellar.  The first time I watched it was in little Lawton, OK and I thought it was awesome.  A bit much to wrap my brain around, but a very cool sci-fi.  My wife isn’t much of a science geek, but she wanted to talk about black holes and relativity for the next two hours!

However this time, it was a different experience.  Yes, I already knew what was going to happen in the film.  But I found out I had been missing the entire heart of the movie.  It’s not about gravity, relativity, and a mission to find a new planet.  That’s just the plot you block heads!

The real point of the movie is so powerful it gives me goose bumps… moves me to tears.  It’s a movie about the power of love.

“Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends the dimensions of time and space.  Maybe we should trust that even if we can’t understand it yet.” 

Anne Hathaway’s character says that line, as she is trying to convince her fellow scientists to make a decision based on love, not on data.  Because she knows in her heart of hearts it’s the right one.  (And it was…)

But it didn’t fully hit me until Matthew McConaughey’s character is trying to send life-saving data to Earth from another dimension.   He tries to send it on every frequency and data channel known to man; all to no avail. 

That’s when McConaughey realizes it’s his love for his daughter that will get the message across time and space.  He ended up on this wild sci-fi mission not because he was a great pilot, but because he had such love for his child that he could harness it to reach her.  (And he succeeds.)

Ok.  So perhaps you haven’t seen Interstellar and this makes no sense.  That’s what happens when I try to explain the beautiful kernel of truth in an utterly complex movie that is nearly 3hrs long.  But take my word for it- underneath all the sci-fi coolness is a message people from all walks of life know.  Whether it be Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, your pastor, Gary Zukav, your child, Oprah, a parent, or you… people throughout time have known the power of love.

Whether or not you’ve seen the movie and understand what I’m saying, stick with me here, ok?  Because this feels important.

Earlier today, as we were delayed in Germany due to an engine flaming out, I went to see a movie at the base theater.  It didn’t really matter which one we watched, as we were just looking to relax.  So Matt and I went with Quentin Tarantino’s latest film, “The Hateful 8”.  I didn’t know what it was about, just that it would probably be like many other Tarantino films: a western with strange twists, some memorable dialogue and likely a level of violence.

Well, it was very much a Tarantino film, but by far the most violent and foul of his creations.  It brought racism, violence, and an utter lack of compassion for life to a new cinematic level.  Three long hours of it.  Was the acting good?  Yes.  Was the plot unique?  Yes.  Did it make me feel ugly for watching it?  Yes.

But throughout the movie, I kept thinking, “What’s the point of this movie?”  Is it to glorify wanton violence and death?  It must be.  ‘Cause, that was the entire focus of the film.

I hear that Samuel Jackson and Quentin Tarantino both speak out against gun violence.  But yet they blow people’s heads apart in graphic detail on-screen?   It’s the choice they made to create a movie peddling death, extreme violence and racism.  It’s a choice that Christopher Nolan made to take a huge risk on creating Interstellar, a movie about exploration, family and love.

It was my choice to buy a ticket to see Hateful 8, just as it was my choice to watch Interstellar again.   I’m glad it worked out that way.  Because it offered me a stark reminder:  I can choose to laugh and relish in graphic violence.  I can choose to cheer and laugh in uplifting love.  The choice is always ours. 

Hollywood elite denounce violence, yet peddle it like porn.  Are they riding the great metal chariots to combat zones?  No. 

When the seeds of hate spread by self-important politicians, media, or clerics take root and grow into conflict, do those same people participate in the fighting they fueled?  No.  It's left to young men and women, many who aren't even sure who they are fighting.

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I can’t stop ISIS, Boko Haram or Al-Shabaab from wanting to destroy half the planet.  As much as I’d like to, I can’t sit down, have a cup of tea with them, and talk about how much we actually have in common.  If I could just take them on a climb of Rainier before they first pick up that AK-47 or IED vest…  I wish in my heart it was that easy.  It isn’t.

But I’m gonna do my damn best to progress with love.  Lord knows it’s a tough thing when you’re in uniform fighting a war.  But it’s a fight worth fighting.  It’s a choice I make.  And let me be clear, it’s not just the fight to protect the innocent that’s worth fighting.  The good battle, the crucial battle, is the one in which we use nothing, find nothing, but love.
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(Want to learn more about Interstellar the movie and it’s underlying plot of love?  Here are two articles that might help: 
http://www.tor.com/2014/11/13/love-in-sci-fi-interstellar-speech/
http://www.businessinsider.com/interstellar-review-2014-11
Watch the film and let me know what you think.

Five years after I last thought I'd be 'downrange', I'm packing to do it again.  It's the first time no one has told me I have to get in the fight.  This time I volunteered to deploy.  To leave my family and put my Pacific Northwest life on hold.  The newscasts of ISIL attacking Paris, burning pilots alive, and murdering people along the beach moved me to raise my hand and say, "I want to get back in the fight."  Will it be the direct action missions of the past?  Not this time.  I'm older, my SOF days are done.  But this dog still has a few skills that are valuable.

Returning brings back memories.  My final flight out of Kandahar is one I cannot forget.  A C-17 was leaving westbound... west toward America, toward home.  So I grabbed my bags and jumped a ride.  Little did I know that my knees would be 16" from a row of flag draped caskets for the next three hours.  "Sobering" doesn't come close to describing it.  Deeply moving, profound, desolate, angry, honored.  Those are a bit more accurate.  The loadmaster and I were the only two souls in the back, no doubt each thinking about life, the pains of war, our mortality, families, and this fight.

I told myself, "I'm not coming back to this shit."  It made sense at the time.  But five years later, I get the feeling it's a different fight.  Is it?  Back then it was the Taliban, Pakistan-backed insurgents, the Haqqani network.  Those a-holes are still there.  But now it's the cancer on the world that is spreading beyond national borders.  Peddling something worse than drugs: a violent, intolerant, radical caliphate that would rule the world if they had their way.  

So I join my American sisters and brothers; do my little part in the big puzzle.  Let's roll.

Packing begins.  I actually like packing.  It reminds me of getting ready to leave on a big mountaineering trip or international adventure.  (This is an adventure, right?!)  I'm pretty lucky to have a wife that is making breakfast burritos for me right now, so I can be well fed for the 24hrs of travel that begins tomorrow.  

My goal is to pack light.  Not have a lot of crap to weigh me down or distract me.  Work out gear, books, and a computer.  Plus lots of uniforms/military stuff.  I've got some new flippy flopies that should keep my feet free of shower scum (thanks Combat Flip Flops!), but more importantly looking chillaxed when cruising the gravel paths of the Middle East.  I meant to get a light-weight travel hammock... damn, forgot it.  But otherwise I think I'm GTG.

There isn't much time in the day, as we've got big plans for my last night here.  We're off to the Northwest Avalanche Center Snow Ball- a charity event to raise money for a super important resource for snow-loving mountain people.  It'll be a great way to say adios to the PNW.  So I'll cut it here and get back to packing.  --RMM

(Maj. Marshall's blog is hosted by USAF50Summits.com as part of our mission to tell the story of military members who are also avid outdoorists.  Stay tuned in for more adventures.)