Cargo
Jaf was tired. Dog ass tired. He had flown everyday for the past nine days and was again preparing for another mission in the pre-dawn hours of the already hot morning. A review of the logbook showed that the maintenance crew had repaired the radar altimeter during the night, he made a note to check it before the pilots arrived.
Just as he was about to start the auxiliary power unit, a large two and a half ton truck pulled up to the rear of the CH47 helicopter filled with several large shipping containers. Jaf and Kevin both stopped what they were doing and walked to the edge of the ramp. They hadn’t expected so much internal cargo. After listening to the explanation from the driver, they shrugged and began stowing the red nylon seats running along both sides of the cabin to make room for all the large, green containers made of a very hard plastic.
Jaf asked himself why he hadn’t joined the Air Force as he and Kevin and the driver man-handled the heavy cumbersome crates into the cabin, lining them up side by side all the way down the middle. Then stacking another row on top of the first. He was sure that flight engineers in the Air Force don’t ordinarily load cargo. As his brown t-shirt began to soak with sweat he wondered what the hell was in the heavy containers and felt stupid when his eye caught “COMMO EQUIPMENT” stenciled in white three-inch letters on each lid.
The now empty truck drove away as he and Kevin began methodically criss-crossing a series of 5,000 lb cargo straps across the stacked green cases, cinching each of them tight securing them to several tie downs bolted to the floor of the aircraft. With David Bowie singing about his China Girl on the portable radio hanging from the aircraft’s fire extinguisher, the pilot-in-command stepped in through the cabin door, ducking his head, he stood six feet and three inches tall, apologizing for the last minute change in cargo explaining that he hadn’t known until just moments ago.
Jaf again shrugged it off as part of the job. They were going on a resupply mission, bringing much needed supplies to many of the FOBs and OPs dotting the northeastern regions of the country. Apparently commo equipment was much needed.
The first sergeant pulled up in a humvee as the crew briefing concluded. Jaf told Kevin to go over and see what Top needed. He had more cargo for their mission. The crew chief helped the first sergeant to unload six large cardboard boxes, though not as large or nearly as heavy as the green plastic shipping containers, from the back of the humvee, packing them into what little room was left in the cabin of the Chinook. The boxes contained shoes for the Afghani children and they were to drop them at a particular FOB where they would be later distributed to a nearby village.
With the six powerful rotor blades turning fiercely causing a large cloud of dust to be kicked up in the rotor wash, the pilot announced over the ICS that the radar altimeter wasn’t working and that they would have to move to the back-up aircraft. Jaf cursed. There was no way he was humping all that gottdamned cargo to another aircraft. He squeezed into the cockpit with a screwdriver in hand and deftly removed the altimeter from the pilot’s instrument panel, quickly discovering the cannon plug at the rear of the instrument to be loose. He tightened and replaced it. They took off for their mission exactly on time. Sgt Hook out.
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