roadside IEDs. I drove that road alone in a thin-skin Toyota Hilux a few times and never received a cross look. Then again, I always felt safer alone than in a convoy. Convoys, especially military convoys, were targets. They attracted enemy attention.
I did have a chance to venture out early on. Fire Marshall Bill asked me if I wanted to help him inventory a cargo of non-military vehicles that had just arrived. “Dave, some trucks just got jingled into the other side of the airfield. Can you come help me drive them back to the SSA?”
I didn’t know the answer. The other side of the airfield was technically “outside the wire.” I was told that we weren’t supposed to go out there. Outside the wire meant that the location was beyond the confines of base defenses, so protection from any Taliban or insurgents was limited. “Let me ask if I can do that?” I responded. I walked down to Rob’s office and said, “Chief wants me to go to the other side of the airfield to help drive back some trucks? Can we do that?”
Rob shrugged, “If it’s part of the job, you can do it. Go for it.”
I was about to go outside the wire for the first time. As we drove over there, I was nervous but excited. The area where the trucks were arriving was a huge field that had been recently de-mined. There were dozens of old, leftover Soviet aircraft from the ‘80s there. Soldiers had climbed all over them and covered them with graffiti. “Kilroy was here,” “I love Mary,” and half a dozen other slogans were spray painted on the largest of the aircraft. Supposedly, they’d not been de-mined yet. Rumor was that a soldier had been killed as he climbed over one of the aircraft and set off a mine. I wasn’t keen to get too damn close but I was looking forward to checking them out.
It took about twenty minutes to reach the convoy of jingle trucks. In Central Asia, the owners of long-haul rigs decorate their trucks with chains and paint pictures or calligraphy all over the cabs. Some of these things had so many chains and other items dangling from them that they made a jingling noise as they rolled down the road. Hence, the name “jingle truck.” I don’t know who coined the term. Everyone called them jingle trucks including the Afghans. Each truck had a flat bed with a truck loaded on to it. A forklift operator was in the process of offloading the trucks. There were ten vehicles that needed to be driven back onto the base.
The first problem that we ran into was that all of the tires were flat and every battery was dead. Someone had taken all of the valve stems out of the tires and drained the batteries of acid water. We had to call maintenance to come out and repair the vehicles. While we were waiting, Chief and I inventoried the vehicles. We annotated VIN numbers, makes, models, and other useful information. When we finished, Chief signed for the vehicles from the drivers. As soon as he signed, the Afghan convoy leader walked over to us.
“Mister, I have valve stems if you need them.”
Chief looked at him suspiciously and asked, “How much are you charging?”
The Afghan dude smiled and said, “Five dollars each.”
I started laughing. My first real experience with Afghans and they were running a scam on us.
Chief replied, “Five dollars each truck?”
The Afghan actually managed to look offended by Chief’s question and then answered, “Oh, no! Five dollars each valve stem.”
The Bagram maintenance crew showed up a few minutes later. They had everything we needed to get the vehicles back to base. Chief all but told the Afghan guy to screw off and to shove the valve stems up his ass. Within a half hour, the trucks were up and running. One wouldn’t start and had to be towed. We drove the others back to Bagram proper.
I was a bit disappointed in the vehicles we had received. They were all old green Air Force trucks that looked like they’d been buried in a graveyard for thirty years. I swear one of them was from
I did have a chance to venture out early on. Fire Marshall Bill asked me if I wanted to help him inventory a cargo of non-military vehicles that had just arrived. “Dave, some trucks just got jingled into the other side of the airfield. Can you come help me drive them back to the SSA?”
I didn’t know the answer. The other side of the airfield was technically “outside the wire.” I was told that we weren’t supposed to go out there. Outside the wire meant that the location was beyond the confines of base defenses, so protection from any Taliban or insurgents was limited. “Let me ask if I can do that?” I responded. I walked down to Rob’s office and said, “Chief wants me to go to the other side of the airfield to help drive back some trucks? Can we do that?”
Rob shrugged, “If it’s part of the job, you can do it. Go for it.”
I was about to go outside the wire for the first time. As we drove over there, I was nervous but excited. The area where the trucks were arriving was a huge field that had been recently de-mined. There were dozens of old, leftover Soviet aircraft from the ‘80s there. Soldiers had climbed all over them and covered them with graffiti. “Kilroy was here,” “I love Mary,” and half a dozen other slogans were spray painted on the largest of the aircraft. Supposedly, they’d not been de-mined yet. Rumor was that a soldier had been killed as he climbed over one of the aircraft and set off a mine. I wasn’t keen to get too damn close but I was looking forward to checking them out.
It took about twenty minutes to reach the convoy of jingle trucks. In Central Asia, the owners of long-haul rigs decorate their trucks with chains and paint pictures or calligraphy all over the cabs. Some of these things had so many chains and other items dangling from them that they made a jingling noise as they rolled down the road. Hence, the name “jingle truck.” I don’t know who coined the term. Everyone called them jingle trucks including the Afghans. Each truck had a flat bed with a truck loaded on to it. A forklift operator was in the process of offloading the trucks. There were ten vehicles that needed to be driven back onto the base.
The first problem that we ran into was that all of the tires were flat and every battery was dead. Someone had taken all of the valve stems out of the tires and drained the batteries of acid water. We had to call maintenance to come out and repair the vehicles. While we were waiting, Chief and I inventoried the vehicles. We annotated VIN numbers, makes, models, and other useful information. When we finished, Chief signed for the vehicles from the drivers. As soon as he signed, the Afghan convoy leader walked over to us.
“Mister, I have valve stems if you need them.”
Chief looked at him suspiciously and asked, “How much are you charging?”
The Afghan dude smiled and said, “Five dollars each.”
I started laughing. My first real experience with Afghans and they were running a scam on us.
Chief replied, “Five dollars each truck?”
The Afghan actually managed to look offended by Chief’s question and then answered, “Oh, no! Five dollars each valve stem.”
The Bagram maintenance crew showed up a few minutes later. They had everything we needed to get the vehicles back to base. Chief all but told the Afghan guy to screw off and to shove the valve stems up his ass. Within a half hour, the trucks were up and running. One wouldn’t start and had to be towed. We drove the others back to Bagram proper.
I was a bit disappointed in the vehicles we had received. They were all old green Air Force trucks that looked like they’d been buried in a graveyard for thirty years. I swear one of them was from
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