Read Online No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone by Terri Crisp; C. J. Hurn - Free Book Online
Authors: Terri Crisp; C. J. Hurn
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laughing matter.
Only a few hundred feet down I could see what looked like a long stretch of tarmac. Seemingly out of nowhere, a white truck with mounted red lights appeared from the right. It was racing at an angle toward our runway and pointed in the same direction we were going.
Was it planning to attack the plane? Surely this wasn't a suicide bomber. If not, what was the vehicle doing? The truck passed my window and disappeared from view as we came ever closer to the ground. My heart began pounding in anticipation of the impact.
Suddenly the plane's spinning wheels hit the runway . . . ka thump, thump! As the reversed engines roared, my body was thrust forward, and the seatbelt strained against me. Tension easing, we slowed until we reached the end of the landing strip, then turned and taxied back past the infamous terminal originally named for Saddam Hussein. In the almost complete darkness, Baghdad International Airport appeared like a ghost of its former self. What a creepy sight.
The plane seemed to take forever as it taxied first in one direction and then another. When we made a sharp right turn, I caught a glimpse of the white truck that we now seemed to be following.
Oh, so he's notgoing to blow us up.
Finally we came to a row of hangars, where the aircraft slowed to a stop. The idling engines of a C-17 transport aircraft created a deafening roar outside my window. In the semidarkness, military vehicles circled the monster aircraft as they went about the business of moving pallets, equipment, and other paraphernalia of war.
A wide ramp at the back of the monstrous plane was the stage for a striking scene. Two lines of uniformed soldiers walked single file, up and down the ramp; as one line entered the plane, the other marched out. Side by side, soldiers passed each other in the dark. The strange exchange left one group marching into war and possible death or injury while the other, having survived, was going home. Heavy rucksacks covered their backs; camouflaged helmets and flak jackets protected their heads and bodies, and their arms bore M16 rifles that were held ready to shoot if trouble began. For the first time in my life, war was as close as my window.
A huge, imposing man, wearing a beige SLG security uniform, boarded our plane and spoke to the passengers over the PA system. "In order to get all passengers processed, please stay in your seats and have your DOD CACs ready for checking. We will then clear passengers to deplane."
"I don't have an access card," I said when he reached my seat. "I'm just here to pick up a dog and return to Kuwait."
"Oh, you're here for Charlie," he said with a friendly grin. "He's all ready, so you may as well go and meet him." The man stepped out of the aisle and motioned for me to pass.
When I got to the front of the cabin, I stopped in the open doorway, remembering the instructions given at Kuwait that I must not exit the plane.
Its so dark. Where are they?
As if watching a movie with special effects where objects fade in and out, the figures I was seeking magically appeared into the dimly lit area below the plane. Four well-built men walked toward me, each one grasping a corner of the large crate that was cradled between them.
Its Charlie. There he is. Oh, my God, it's him .. .
I poked my head farther out the door and quickly scanned each side of the stairs to make sure no guns were pointed in my direction. Breaking the rule, I descended the stairs and stood on Iraqi soil, something I never imagined I'd be doing.
Shaking hands amidst hurried introductions and roaring engines, I was unable to catch the names of the SLG guys, but I'll never forget their kind faces. Formalities aside, I squatted down to look at the guy I had flown almost seven thousand miles to save.
"Hey, Charlie." My fingers reached through the metal grate. "It's so good to meet you at long last." He moved closer to me and proceeded to lick as much skin as his tongue could reach. This was one
Only a few hundred feet down I could see what looked like a long stretch of tarmac. Seemingly out of nowhere, a white truck with mounted red lights appeared from the right. It was racing at an angle toward our runway and pointed in the same direction we were going.
Was it planning to attack the plane? Surely this wasn't a suicide bomber. If not, what was the vehicle doing? The truck passed my window and disappeared from view as we came ever closer to the ground. My heart began pounding in anticipation of the impact.
Suddenly the plane's spinning wheels hit the runway . . . ka thump, thump! As the reversed engines roared, my body was thrust forward, and the seatbelt strained against me. Tension easing, we slowed until we reached the end of the landing strip, then turned and taxied back past the infamous terminal originally named for Saddam Hussein. In the almost complete darkness, Baghdad International Airport appeared like a ghost of its former self. What a creepy sight.
The plane seemed to take forever as it taxied first in one direction and then another. When we made a sharp right turn, I caught a glimpse of the white truck that we now seemed to be following.
Oh, so he's notgoing to blow us up.
Finally we came to a row of hangars, where the aircraft slowed to a stop. The idling engines of a C-17 transport aircraft created a deafening roar outside my window. In the semidarkness, military vehicles circled the monster aircraft as they went about the business of moving pallets, equipment, and other paraphernalia of war.
A wide ramp at the back of the monstrous plane was the stage for a striking scene. Two lines of uniformed soldiers walked single file, up and down the ramp; as one line entered the plane, the other marched out. Side by side, soldiers passed each other in the dark. The strange exchange left one group marching into war and possible death or injury while the other, having survived, was going home. Heavy rucksacks covered their backs; camouflaged helmets and flak jackets protected their heads and bodies, and their arms bore M16 rifles that were held ready to shoot if trouble began. For the first time in my life, war was as close as my window.
A huge, imposing man, wearing a beige SLG security uniform, boarded our plane and spoke to the passengers over the PA system. "In order to get all passengers processed, please stay in your seats and have your DOD CACs ready for checking. We will then clear passengers to deplane."
"I don't have an access card," I said when he reached my seat. "I'm just here to pick up a dog and return to Kuwait."
"Oh, you're here for Charlie," he said with a friendly grin. "He's all ready, so you may as well go and meet him." The man stepped out of the aisle and motioned for me to pass.
When I got to the front of the cabin, I stopped in the open doorway, remembering the instructions given at Kuwait that I must not exit the plane.
Its so dark. Where are they?
As if watching a movie with special effects where objects fade in and out, the figures I was seeking magically appeared into the dimly lit area below the plane. Four well-built men walked toward me, each one grasping a corner of the large crate that was cradled between them.
Its Charlie. There he is. Oh, my God, it's him .. .
I poked my head farther out the door and quickly scanned each side of the stairs to make sure no guns were pointed in my direction. Breaking the rule, I descended the stairs and stood on Iraqi soil, something I never imagined I'd be doing.
Shaking hands amidst hurried introductions and roaring engines, I was unable to catch the names of the SLG guys, but I'll never forget their kind faces. Formalities aside, I squatted down to look at the guy I had flown almost seven thousand miles to save.
"Hey, Charlie." My fingers reached through the metal grate. "It's so good to meet you at long last." He moved closer to me and proceeded to lick as much skin as his tongue could reach. This was one
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