So the other night at about 0130 (that's 1:30am) I'm flying 40 feet above the ground with the 101st Aviation Brigade in a Blackhawk across vast stretches of Iraqi desert sporadically dotted with small villages. The crew is using night vision goggles to see where we are going. I am very familiar with this kind of flying because I used to be a combat flight crew chief and I flew hundreds of these missions myself. About an hour into the flight the pilot fired off a bunch of phosphorous flares and the two door gunners lit up the 50cal door guns. We started yanking and banking, flying in an evasive way to avoid being shot. Me and the other passengers grabbed our own weapons and loaded them, ready for whatever might happen. Well after we flew out of the "danger zone" the crew got a radio call from the other Blackhawk flying with us saying they spotted our enemy. It was a dog. Crazy enemy dogs! Yeah, that'll wake you up!
Anyway what struck me most was right at the moment this was going on, when I was preparing to be engaged somewhere over the Iraqi desert in the middle of the night my friends back home were completely unaffected by my reality and fully immersed in their own. It seems so weird that I could have such an extreme moment while Matt was in the middle of his lunch hour, Bryan was testing some software, John was, well probably sleeping (lucky slug) and the most important issue of the day was where to find the cheapest gas.
In retrospect I'm glad we live insulated lives. But I'm also glad I was reminded that insulated shouldn't equate to apathy. The next time I'm asked to give a little to help someone in some far off place I might think twice.
M.
