Trust

     Droning on the helicopter pilot spewed out a torrent of vector, wind, altitude, and other assorted bits of aeronautical administrivia.  Other pilots and crew-chiefs sat rapt, furiously jotting down key bits as they passed. For us, the significant information arrived long ago. We knew where we would fly, confirming that the pilots had the same objectives we’d mapped out in planning days prior. He’d covered actions on the objective, letting us know that our vision of the operation synchronized with his vision; a key bit of information in multi-unit maneuvers. Over against the wall bulky bulgy bags of leaflets waited, hulking amid piles of our kit.  Soon we would each lug one out to the waiting Blackhawks and disappear into the dark Iraqi night. Eventually the pilot's supply of aviation-speak spun out, the briefing ended, and we gathered round our pile of kit and leaflets.

Taken during my first tour, not the mission I described in this post.

     Amid small talk we kitted up, checking out magazines, flares, first-aid kits, and other oddments needed for a trip outside the wire. Pre-combat Checks and Inspections (PCI) complete we gathered in sticks outside the command post to wait for our aircraft, waiting in the darkness. Normally my work did not include Leaflet mission for the Psychological Operations (PSYOP) Company; however, due to our operational tempo the PSYOP Company need help in the form of volunteer aircrew. As we waited quietly in the darkness the platoon sergeant sidled up to me. Staring off into the darkness, we exchanged greetings, as we contemplated the shining lights of Baghdad in the distance.

     “Sir,” he said, “Do you remember the pilot's plan in case one of the birds was shot down?”

     “Yes, I do.”

     “What did you think of it?” he asked gazing into the distance.

     “Well, not much; especially if we go down in Sadar City.” Sadar City, a huge slum-like collection of concrete warrens perched on the northeast corner of Baghdad, housed thousands of people and some of the worst terrorists and plain criminals in Iraq. No Americans went into Sadar City without strapping on their full kit. A festering cauldron of anti-American hate, Sadar City periodically boiled over with violence, and not all of it directed at Americans. Inside Sadar City sectarian hatred frequently dished out assassinations and occasional mass killings. The pilot's plan, in case an aircraft was brought down by ground fire, was to remain with the downed helicopter and wait for rescue. Images of Mogadishu and more recently of the corpses of American soldiers dragged through the streets and hung up on a bridge remained fresh in our minds. After a few moments of silence I added, “If able, I’d rather make my way to the nearest road and head out. A downed aircraft will be a magnet for all the Jihadis. We wouldn’t last a minute in that crowd.”

     After a few more seconds of silence the NCO replied, “That’s what I think. I just want you to know that if we go down. I and my men well take orders from you, not the pilot.” And with that he turned and walked over to one of his subordinates, saying, “Hey, McAlistar, tighten up your gear. You don’t want it flying ‘round the inside of the aircraft.”

     I did not have much time to contemplate his words as the thrumming of approaching aircraft announced our impending departure. We faced away from the landing zone, letting gravel bounce off our armored backs. Then swinging around we lumbered to the waiting birds, heaving our bags of leaflets into the cabins and clambered into the dimly lit red interiors. After sorting out all the bits and pieces, I took the headset the crew-chief proffered and settled in for the flight, turning the NCO’s words over in my head.

     I had never met the sergeant. He did not know me, or I him. He sensed me out and extended his trust, placing his life and the lives of his subordinates in my hands. Later that night as a few tracers crawled up toward us and our aircraft launched the obligatory anti-missile flares I reconsidered his words. One of the many brightly lit Mosques that dotted the landscape of Baghdad wheeled beneath us, like a giant bejeweled crown, offering tracer prayers that went unanswered as my silent ones were. After a few hours spent littering the environs of Baghdad and the surrounding ‘burbs, we returned to snatch a few precious moments of sleep before the next day’s activities.

     I never saw the sergeant again, at least not that I know of. I often think of his gift of faith and trust. Rarely does the civilian world offer such a moment. Our neat and ordered lives normally do not require such decisions. Perhaps that is why I like my second career of teaching so much. Trust, normally implied and rarely spoken fills my world. Daily, my students and their parents simply assume that I will do the right thing. I stand and deliver what they trust is truth. Like the NCO in the dark, they make a decision and place their trust and I am honored to try my best. I’ve always been thankful that I never had to lead a group of soldiers out of Sadar City in terrible darkness.