I’ve had a very interesting couple of days, but they’ve also been very tiring.  It’s been easier than I thought to get up at 5 am or earlier. The trouble is staying energetic the rest of the day.  That wasn’t a problem on Saturday.  The squadron has aircraft on-call in case a casualty needs to be picked up. When the bell rings the pilots, corpsmen (Navy medics attached to Marine units) and crew chiefs who man that chopper run like hell to get up and out. When they return they’re back at the bottom of the rotation.

The squadron arranged for me to go up with whichever bird was at the top of the list, so I’d get a few opportunities to see them work.  That turned out to be more than I bargained for.  Saturday I left the cans around 5.  I went up for a check of the chopper and its weapons.  Even amid the roar of the helicopter’s engines and rotors, and even though I was wearing a cranial designed to muffle the din, the sound of a .50 caliber machine gun firing a few feet away is a little startling.  After we got back I didn’t do much until 9 am. 

Then the bell rang.  I was typing on my laptop and, for a second, just reflected that everyone would be running around.  Then I realized I had to run around, too.

It turned out to be a busy day.  The first call was an Excedrin overdose in Ramadi (everyone suspected it was a suicide try, but the nature of their job is that they’ll never know if it was actually just a guy with a terrible headache).  Next was a guy with cuts on his forehead and a shoulder injury from a roadside bomb attack (an IED in military parlance, for “improvised explosive device).  Next was a guy with an eye injury from an IED attack in Fallujah.  The bell rings for CASEVAC guys when the casualty is at risk of losing life, limb or sight.  Twice we ran out to the birds and then had the flight canceled.

I’m too worn-out to write in-depth about all this now, and another day to let it sink in will probably help, too.  It was a strange and interesting experience. One thing I learned quickly is that it’s tough to get through basic daily tasks when you’re on-call for 12 hours straight. One of the calls came through while I was in one of the Port-O-Johns (fun fact:  according to the paperwork in the Port-O-Johns the record of when KBR’s Port-O-Johns are inspected, and by whom, is protected by some kind of national security exception to the Freedom of Information Act).  Another time the bell rang just after I’d finished serving myself lunch out of the big plastic containers they haul out to the CASEVAC guys.  I put lunch down on the nearest flat surface, tossed an unopened Gatorade onto some sandbags as I ran past, and was waiting with the corpsmen to board the chopper when the flight was canceled.

Usually when a casualty’s status changes from “urgent” to “routine” it’s because he passed away after the initial call came in.  It’s difficult for the CASEVAC guy’s to know, though, since they’re involved with their patients for such a brief time.  In this case on of the pilots seemed pretty sure the flight was canceled because someone’s chances now seemed better.

There’s something appealing about the rhythm these guys are in; they all have jobs to do on the ground, but they also know (at least when they’re on call) that they have to instantly drop everything and push as hard as they can to save someone’s life or leg or eyesight.  It’s an interesting combination of the mundane and the heroic.

I hope I’ll be able to write more about it tomorrow, but right now I’m beat.  Today was a lot slower than yesterday (only one urgent flight), but between the hours I’m keeping and all the sprinting I did yesterday I’m still recovering.