Stay With the Bird OR My Semi-successful Departure from Haiti

The moral of today’s story is in the title: Stay with the Bird.

This post isn’t about food, but it is about the Navy or at least one story from one Sailor in this Navy.

If, as Seneca says, Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity, then today I was ill-prepared at an inopportune time.  Allow me to explain:

Today was to be my day of glory.  I was on track to depart the USS Bataan, riding into the sunset (or at least to Guantanamo Bay) on a Navy H-53, a massive, heavy lift helicopter we try not to fly into Haiti, because its rotors are too powerful to fly near tent cities.  This helicopter was loaded with my and about twenty other people’s bags.

We were lined up on the “ramp” on the aft end of the ship, waiting to board the flight.  We marched out there in the midday sun, decked out in the requisite “horse collar” and “cranial” (a wearable, inflatable safety device & matching helmet), guided by our Combat Cargo personnel.  We stood behind the “foul line” as they loaded the last of the bags.

I was at the front of the line, taking pictures of MCSN Phillips, who was part of my public affairs team here on the Bataan.  This was his first time underway and his first time to be heading home after an underway.  He was excited and I was excited for him.

They motioned for the first five of us to board, but as I was just about to step inside, they sent us back to the ramp, shutting down the helicopter.  We were “delayed 25 minutes or so” while they inspected the problem: a hydraulic leak.  Seaman Phillips and I were scheduled to take a follow-on flight that was supposed to leave minutes after we arrived Cuba.  A lot of effort had been expended to make this last-second plan happen.

I informed the Combat Cargo team and Mr. Phillips that I was making a quick phone call to update my chain-of-command.  *Nods all around.*

I make the phone call; head directly back to the ramp; then recoil in horror as I realize that the ramp is now empty.  I quickly grab my safety gear and run out to the flight deck, escorted by a Combat Cargo Marine.

As we hurry out, I notice that the flight deck crew is “pulling the chocks” on the 53, the pilots gearing up for take-off.

They left me.  No chance they could turn around either; believe me, I asked (cried). *cough* (ok, not really cried, of course).  All of my clothes and more importantly, my toiletries were in my bags on that flight en route to “GITMO.”  Doh!  I hope they don’t lose my bags.

The only thing worse than missing a flight is telling everyone I needed to tell that I missed the flight.  First, I called back my chain-of-command to let them know about my latest debacle; there were laughs.

Next, I talked to the personnel transfer request officer: “Why are YOU still here?” He let me know that I would be able to take the same flight, tomorrow afternoon.  The best news is that because we weren’t going to make that “close call” flight back to the States (because of the initial delay) I’ll still make it back home at the same time later this week. So, not quite off the ship yet, but a semi-successful end nonetheless.

From now on, though, no matter what, I’m going to stick with the bird.