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Third Time Lucky in Afghanistan
By James Blunt (Formerly Capt J H Blount LG)
I am, as I write, nervously seated in an RAF Tristar circling over Dubai. The plane came into service in 1972 - over 40 years ago. It has gone out of service now, with me aboard it, at 33,000 feet.
Our journey had started 13 hours earlier, at 2am from RAF Brize Norton. Unusually for the hour, the Movements Officer was still on duty to oversee our departure, I was informed. We had arrived at the Oxfordshire base by taxi, were escorted across the foggy, orange-lit runway passed the ageing aircraft in which I find myself now, and led into a small waiting room with some coffee, sandwiches and a silent Brigadier reading his Kindle in the corner.
The more important cargo was in the large hall next door - a hundred or so soldiers, who we were accompanying as they deployed to Afghanistan. Looking at them, a memory from a past life flooded over me. I have been here, some 13 years earlier, en route to Kosovo.
Tonight, we flew via Hanover to pick up more soldiers, via Cyprus to refuel and on to our final destination - Camp Bastion in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. As we took off on the final leg from RAF Akrotiri, my keyboard player sitting beside me said cheerfully, "Well it looks like you will get there this time! Third time lucky, huh?"
Third time. I have travelled with soldiers en route to Afghanistan three times. I have spent seven full days in the hands of those whose job it is to get men and equipment into battle. I have done so of course unpaid and at the request of the Armed Forces. And every single time, myself and the soldiers I have been travelling with have failed to get there.
The first time, we'd flown from London to Dubai, and sat on a runway for three days while they tried unsuccessfully to fix our broken aircraft or find another. The soldiers I was with said they were very used to it. In a way, they didn't mind - it was three less days being shot at, but for the soldiers who were at the other end being picked up to come home with wives and girlfriends anxiously waiting for them, and until recently, those lost days cut from their official R&R (Rest & Relaxation) allowance, it must have been wildly irritating. And for those soldiers going into battle that day without their buddies who are delayed in Dubai, it must be life-threatening, to the extent that the Special Forces soldiers I was with went online to buy civilian flights into Kandahar with their own money.
My second attempt was at Christmas over a year ago. Snow was putting added pressure on the task of transporting manpower. Check-in had moved, along with the soldiers, from Brize Norton to East Midlands airport, but boarding was initially delayed due to difficulties with loading the packed meals (I struggled to fully understand this, and can't believe it was true. Surely just give the guys their packed meals as they climb the steps? But that was the reason given for the initial delay). When we were eventually bussed across the apron, I saw an old charter plane in the distance and laughed internally at whichever poor buggers were going to end up on it. We did. For seven hours. Of course it didn't work, so a replacement part was sent for and flown in, and we stayed on board because there weren't enough buses to take us to the terminal, so the crew had to stay on board with us, so that when the part had arrived and been fitted and the plane was fixed - the crew had done too many hours and the flight was cancelled. I was told it took the soldiers three days to get into theatre that time. They were paid during this time, by you and I, the taxpayer, and I'm sure they're grateful. But I'm also sure it's not how you and I wanted our tax money spent.
2012年05月13日 23点05分
1
By James Blunt (Formerly Capt J H Blount LG)
I am, as I write, nervously seated in an RAF Tristar circling over Dubai. The plane came into service in 1972 - over 40 years ago. It has gone out of service now, with me aboard it, at 33,000 feet.
Our journey had started 13 hours earlier, at 2am from RAF Brize Norton. Unusually for the hour, the Movements Officer was still on duty to oversee our departure, I was informed. We had arrived at the Oxfordshire base by taxi, were escorted across the foggy, orange-lit runway passed the ageing aircraft in which I find myself now, and led into a small waiting room with some coffee, sandwiches and a silent Brigadier reading his Kindle in the corner.
The more important cargo was in the large hall next door - a hundred or so soldiers, who we were accompanying as they deployed to Afghanistan. Looking at them, a memory from a past life flooded over me. I have been here, some 13 years earlier, en route to Kosovo.
Tonight, we flew via Hanover to pick up more soldiers, via Cyprus to refuel and on to our final destination - Camp Bastion in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. As we took off on the final leg from RAF Akrotiri, my keyboard player sitting beside me said cheerfully, "Well it looks like you will get there this time! Third time lucky, huh?"
Third time. I have travelled with soldiers en route to Afghanistan three times. I have spent seven full days in the hands of those whose job it is to get men and equipment into battle. I have done so of course unpaid and at the request of the Armed Forces. And every single time, myself and the soldiers I have been travelling with have failed to get there.
The first time, we'd flown from London to Dubai, and sat on a runway for three days while they tried unsuccessfully to fix our broken aircraft or find another. The soldiers I was with said they were very used to it. In a way, they didn't mind - it was three less days being shot at, but for the soldiers who were at the other end being picked up to come home with wives and girlfriends anxiously waiting for them, and until recently, those lost days cut from their official R&R (Rest & Relaxation) allowance, it must have been wildly irritating. And for those soldiers going into battle that day without their buddies who are delayed in Dubai, it must be life-threatening, to the extent that the Special Forces soldiers I was with went online to buy civilian flights into Kandahar with their own money.
My second attempt was at Christmas over a year ago. Snow was putting added pressure on the task of transporting manpower. Check-in had moved, along with the soldiers, from Brize Norton to East Midlands airport, but boarding was initially delayed due to difficulties with loading the packed meals (I struggled to fully understand this, and can't believe it was true. Surely just give the guys their packed meals as they climb the steps? But that was the reason given for the initial delay). When we were eventually bussed across the apron, I saw an old charter plane in the distance and laughed internally at whichever poor buggers were going to end up on it. We did. For seven hours. Of course it didn't work, so a replacement part was sent for and flown in, and we stayed on board because there weren't enough buses to take us to the terminal, so the crew had to stay on board with us, so that when the part had arrived and been fitted and the plane was fixed - the crew had done too many hours and the flight was cancelled. I was told it took the soldiers three days to get into theatre that time. They were paid during this time, by you and I, the taxpayer, and I'm sure they're grateful. But I'm also sure it's not how you and I wanted our tax money spent.
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