Helmand? fuck.
Poolside, pop music on the stereo, tiki torches.
"Helmand? fuck. I crashed an MI-27 in Helmand."
27?
"A helicopter. The pilot glided it right down into – into – what's the main city there?"
Um, Lashkargah...
"YEE-ah, down in Lash. Five of us. Here here and here. Let me tell you, in a 27 you don't want to be anywhere near the gear mex."
So, you can glide a helicopter? (me trying to sound knowledgable about manly subjects like the mechanics of 27s)
"You can, you can. It lands harder though. And I'm loosening up my seatbelt
"hey Jack, tell him about Cambodia."
'I'm loosening up my seatbelt and three of us we jump, see?
"Jack-
'you got to jump'
"this wasn't his first crash."
"Two of the guys, they got spinal injuries. Me, the other guys, we just got banged around, busted here and here and here." He punches his own face like a shadowboxer high on adrenalin. "You come down but you come down hard. You loosen your seatbelt, you hit ground you jump, yeah?'
Later I hear the story of Cambodia. It was worse. End over end down a cliff. The guy next to him died. I promise him – several times - that if I'm in a downed helicopter I'll remember to loosen my seatbelt and jump. He doesn't seem to believe me. He mimes loosening a seatbelt, hips sashaying in a manic disco rhythm, his arms flailing like a three-year old having a temper tantrum. A gin and tonic – definitely not his first – splashes on his well-tanned hand.
In the audience: a Lebanese contractor with dumbo ears smoking a Romeo y Julieta, a numbingly intelligent young woman from Pittsburgh researching her phD in informal governance structures, and me.
"Helmand? fuck. I crashed an MI-27 in Helmand."
27?
"A helicopter. The pilot glided it right down into – into – what's the main city there?"
Um, Lashkargah...
"YEE-ah, down in Lash. Five of us. Here here and here. Let me tell you, in a 27 you don't want to be anywhere near the gear mex."
So, you can glide a helicopter? (me trying to sound knowledgable about manly subjects like the mechanics of 27s)
"You can, you can. It lands harder though. And I'm loosening up my seatbelt
"hey Jack, tell him about Cambodia."
'I'm loosening up my seatbelt and three of us we jump, see?
"Jack-
'you got to jump'
"this wasn't his first crash."
"Two of the guys, they got spinal injuries. Me, the other guys, we just got banged around, busted here and here and here." He punches his own face like a shadowboxer high on adrenalin. "You come down but you come down hard. You loosen your seatbelt, you hit ground you jump, yeah?'
Later I hear the story of Cambodia. It was worse. End over end down a cliff. The guy next to him died. I promise him – several times - that if I'm in a downed helicopter I'll remember to loosen my seatbelt and jump. He doesn't seem to believe me. He mimes loosening a seatbelt, hips sashaying in a manic disco rhythm, his arms flailing like a three-year old having a temper tantrum. A gin and tonic – definitely not his first – splashes on his well-tanned hand.
In the audience: a Lebanese contractor with dumbo ears smoking a Romeo y Julieta, a numbingly intelligent young woman from Pittsburgh researching her phD in informal governance structures, and me.
