IRAQ: Trying to fly the not-so-friendly skies

This article was originally on a blog post platform and may be missing photos, graphics or links. See About archive blog posts.

Complaints about holiday travel headaches in the United States ring hollow in Iraq where not even Kid Rock, Robin Williams, Miss America and comedian Lewis Black can make the helicopters fly if the wind, sand, and security don’t cooperate.

The four were part of a United Service Organizations’ Iraq tour and were due to perform Dec. 19 at a military base on the edge of Baghdad. The day got off to an auspicious start. The skies were clear, albeit colder than normal — perhaps in the low 50s, with a brisk breeze. Hours before the show, troops lined up outside gymnasium. The show was first-come, first-served, and there was room for only a few hundred. Chief Warrant Officer Eli Martinez was one of the first in line. ‘It’s a piece of back home,’ Martinez explained when asked what possessed him to stand outside for hours in the cold.

He settled into his folding chair in the front row, about 15 feet from the stage, after the doors opened at about 6 p.m.

But tension was brewing in the men’s locker room, which doubled as a prepping room for the stars and a place for a handful of media to conduct pre-show interviews. The helicopter carrying the entertainment was stranded by wind and sand in northern Iraq and would be delayed, an Amy public affairs officer quietly told the assembled media, which included a CNN crew and a Los Angeles Times reporter.

If their helicopter was delayed, what did that mean for our helicopter, which was due to carry us back to central Baghdad at 9 p.m.? If weather does not cooperate with Miss America, Rachel Smith, it would not bend for us.

Finally, someone took the stage, but it wasn’t Miss America or any of the other promised stars. It was Adm. Michael Mullen, the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, who was visiting Iraq. He had been given the task of announcing that the show was canceled because the helicopter with the stars could not fly. The crowd clapped politely as Mullen thanked them for their service, but their disappointment was obvious.

Over at the Camp Victory helicopter pad, things were looking dismal. The temperatures had plummeted and the wind was blasting bugs, sand, and other unidentified particles through the air.

‘It’s snowing!’ one soldier said in all seriousness as he looked at the swirling particles, which appeared white in the night sky.

About 200 soldiers and civilians hoping for flights were crammed into a tent, watching a gory film on a small TV. We joined them, after first being told to wait outside for our helicopter but then being told it was too cold to stand outside for a flight that might never arrive.

Two hours later, a heavily bundled-up woman came into the tent and announced that all helicopter travel was canceled for the night. It was about 8 p.m.

There still was time to book a seat on the dreaded Rhino, an armored bus that travels between the International Zone in Baghdad and the base. The Rhino always leaves at odd and inconvenient hours for security reasons. This time was more inconvenient that usual. We waited until 3:30 a.m., only to be told the Rhino had been canceled for security reasons. No details were given, which is typical, but someone later disclosed that the incoming Rhino had suffered four flattened tires after apparently driving over something placed in the road to disable it.

At 5:30 a.m., the news changed again. The Rhino was on its way and would leave in 30 minutes.

By then, the wind had died down. Helicopters could be heard thundering overhead again. The Rhino departed and made it safely to the International Zone, accompanied by soldiers in armored Humvees who scanned the notorious route for roadside bombs as they rumbled along at the head of the convoy in the pre-dawn darkness.

We pulled into the International Zone at about 7 a.m., into a vast parking lot that serves as the Rhino loading area. There had been no show, no meal served, no entertainment on the bus, and nobody to load and unload our bags.

On the other hand, there hadn’t been any bombs on the road, so nobody complained as we waited for the bomb-sniffing dogs to check our luggage before we picked it up — no luggage carts here — and began searching for a way to our final destination.

— Tina Susman in Baghdad