This is life...
Wake up early, but not early enough to keep from rushing through the morning routine: shower, shave, clothes, boots, throw the overnight gear in the truck, take a swig of something to start the day (usually milk), turn down the thermostat, lock the door, drive, pass the ID at the gate, park.
I pick up the GOV first thing. Whenever I see vehicles with a dark blue paint job, I shudder slightly. I run it through it's checks. Engine, oil, tires, lights. Good to go, I sign the papers, and it's off to brief.
While milling around before briefing, I am careful not to say anything unusual, or out of line. Should I be perceived as unfit, I could get called down, and the backup gets burned. And if I burn the backup, I will have ruined someone's day. As tired as I may feel, as unfocused as my mind may be, I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and put on a serious face for briefing.
The first brief is called Mission Planning. There are only 13 people in the room. 5 crews, a commander, a DO, and someone on flight staff. By 0755 we're done, and it's downstairs to PreDeparture. This time, 15 crews, 4 commanders, numerous support and logistics personnel. More people talk, with a more serious tone than at Mission Planning. Then it's over to issue, to pick up whatever's going out, back down to the GOV, and in we go, off to work.
It takes at least an hour and a half. At least to where my sites are. Give the password, the gate comes up, drive through, park. Throw the overnight gear inside, pass our IDs again, get another brief, and then the elevator.
The elevator. Is there any sicker feeling than climbing into the cramped, dank, metallic elevator? Push the buttons, the door moans and creaks shut. Feel the shutter as pulleys turn, cables flex, weights shift, and magnets align. Down we go, into the rabbit hole. The door creaks open again, and suddenly, it's time for work.
Another brief, followed by lists, lists, more lists. Finally, we're in control. The checklists guide the way should there be a problem, but really we exist merely to monitor. To wait. To hold our breath for one day, 24 hours, and observe what happens. To wait for a message to arrive. For a phone call. For something to fall apart. Or to help fix something. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
And while I wait, I think. I think about home, and family, and friends. I think of love, and loss, and sex. I wonder if those I love are wondering about me. If those I've lost sometimes long to have me in their arms again. How long it's been since I've felt a woman's touch. I ponder how friends and family are, and if home is how I remember it. It's only been a year and a half. What can change in so short a time?
And after thinking and pondering for a day, the elevator groans to life again, and the door creaks open, to reveal another pair, ready to work. This time the elevator doesn't seem so sad and melancholy. This time when the doors open, I can see sunlight. And feel the wind. And smell fresh air. I am part of the world again, after being part of something else for a day. Just one day.
~Zach
Wake up early, but not early enough to keep from rushing through the morning routine: shower, shave, clothes, boots, throw the overnight gear in the truck, take a swig of something to start the day (usually milk), turn down the thermostat, lock the door, drive, pass the ID at the gate, park.
I pick up the GOV first thing. Whenever I see vehicles with a dark blue paint job, I shudder slightly. I run it through it's checks. Engine, oil, tires, lights. Good to go, I sign the papers, and it's off to brief.
While milling around before briefing, I am careful not to say anything unusual, or out of line. Should I be perceived as unfit, I could get called down, and the backup gets burned. And if I burn the backup, I will have ruined someone's day. As tired as I may feel, as unfocused as my mind may be, I pull myself together, take a deep breath, and put on a serious face for briefing.
The first brief is called Mission Planning. There are only 13 people in the room. 5 crews, a commander, a DO, and someone on flight staff. By 0755 we're done, and it's downstairs to PreDeparture. This time, 15 crews, 4 commanders, numerous support and logistics personnel. More people talk, with a more serious tone than at Mission Planning. Then it's over to issue, to pick up whatever's going out, back down to the GOV, and in we go, off to work.
It takes at least an hour and a half. At least to where my sites are. Give the password, the gate comes up, drive through, park. Throw the overnight gear inside, pass our IDs again, get another brief, and then the elevator.
The elevator. Is there any sicker feeling than climbing into the cramped, dank, metallic elevator? Push the buttons, the door moans and creaks shut. Feel the shutter as pulleys turn, cables flex, weights shift, and magnets align. Down we go, into the rabbit hole. The door creaks open again, and suddenly, it's time for work.
Another brief, followed by lists, lists, more lists. Finally, we're in control. The checklists guide the way should there be a problem, but really we exist merely to monitor. To wait. To hold our breath for one day, 24 hours, and observe what happens. To wait for a message to arrive. For a phone call. For something to fall apart. Or to help fix something. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
And while I wait, I think. I think about home, and family, and friends. I think of love, and loss, and sex. I wonder if those I love are wondering about me. If those I've lost sometimes long to have me in their arms again. How long it's been since I've felt a woman's touch. I ponder how friends and family are, and if home is how I remember it. It's only been a year and a half. What can change in so short a time?
And after thinking and pondering for a day, the elevator groans to life again, and the door creaks open, to reveal another pair, ready to work. This time the elevator doesn't seem so sad and melancholy. This time when the doors open, I can see sunlight. And feel the wind. And smell fresh air. I am part of the world again, after being part of something else for a day. Just one day.
~Zach
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
I like the way you write. It's very captivating. Even if you are talking about the mundane routine.