NO REGRETS ~ An American Adventure in Afghanistan Read Free

score pure opium and Afghan hashish when they got in-country.
    During the first few days in Houston, we sat through classes on improvised explosive devices (IEDs), unexploded ordnance (UXO), mines and mine field recognition, as well as an Afghanistan country class where we were briefed on the culture and language, plus indigenous animal threats, and other possible health hazards.
    The last piece of the process was inoculations. Luckily for me, I had my military vaccinations card. Civilians who had never been in the military were given upwards of twenty shots. After that, we were issued a chemical protection suit, chemical mask, body armor, and helmet. With that KBR cleared us for deployment. Then we waited for our respective flights to Afghanistan, Iraq, or Eastern Europe. Despite having been told that I was needed urgently for my position, I sat in my hotel room for another week waiting for a flight.
    1 KBR—Kellogg, Brown & Root—is one of the U.S. Army’s largest defense contractors.
    2 SPBS—Standard Property Book System—is a database software system used by the U.S. Army.
    3 CPOL—Civilian Personnel Online—is the Monster.com for government jobs with the U.S. Army.

Into the ‘Stan!
    October–November 2003
    KBR flew its employees in and out of Afghanistan via Uzbekistan back in 2003. You might spend a couple of hours or several days in the Uzbek capital of Tashkent. When I arrived at the airport, it was like a jump back in time. Tashkent felt like a scene out of a sixties-era James Bond movie. Military clerks behind the customs and immigration cubicles went through their mind-numbing, bureaucratic motions like drab, gray automatons—no smiles, no greetings. “Hand over your papers.” STAMP! STAMP! STAMP! “Here are your papers.” I don’t think they ever looked at me to verify that I was the guy in the passport photo. I tried to engage the dude who was processing me into the country. No dice. He ignored me. I was just a number in a long line of the faceless masses who had started passing through to fight the “War on Terror,” which had suddenly made Tashkent a popular destination for businessmen, contractors, and government bureaucrats.
    The airport itself was even more drab, cold, and gray than its customs officials. Men in green and gray uniforms with guns stood about with no real purpose. The building was at least fifty years old, pre-dating perestroika and glasnost . Cheap, imitation marble lined the floors. It was an ugly structure and it was run down. Metal chairs with “pleather,” or fake leather, and padded seating were scattered about in a way that spoke to the traveler: “Keep moving. We don’t want you here.” The baggage carousels were battered and dented, and, on my arrival, had completely broken down. Instead of queuing at the carousel to await our baggage, carts were wheeled in and gnarled Uzbek men in frayed uniforms dropped all of our bags onto the dirty floor.
    Once each of us had grabbed our bags, we were led outside where we were instantly surrounded by a teeming mass of poverty-stricken humanity. Men and boys in tattered, filthy clothes pleaded to be allowed to cart our bags to our vehicles. “Sir. Sir, carry your bag. One dollar each bag, sir.” They were insistent. Even if we said we would carry our own bags, three or four of them would follow along with us, oblivious to our repeated “No, thank yous.” As we climbed aboard the bus waiting to take us to our hotel, they pleaded even louder. “Baqsheesh.” “Tip, sir! Baqsheesh, sir!” One dollar, sir!” “One bottle water, sir.”
    Only one airline flew into and around Uzbekistan at that time—Uzbek Airlines. The airplanes were rickety, ancient machines. I thought the damn things were going to fall out of the sky. I’m pretty sure parts of the wing fell off an airplane on one landing. The planes that flew us from Tashkent to Karshi-Khanabad (K2) Airbase were worse. I flew into K2 on a plane that had folding seats