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Chapter 1 - The Journey Begins
My name is Jono Banks this is my story of discovery on my journey home. First I should tell you a bit about myself. I try to live life by a short list of rules that yes, I frequently violate, often to my detriment:
- There is a God. 2. I am not God. 3. Answer all questions in brevity. Don't babble, or offer extra information. 4. Do not volunteer for anything. It will more often than not bite you in the ass. 5. Treat people like you want to be treated. Don't be an ass.
At 4' 11" and 94-98 pounds (occasionally with the assistance of another person's foot on the scale), I am one of the two smallest people in the squadron. The other is my best friend and supervisor E-4 Sergeant Vanessa Gilmore. Nessa has been looking out for me since I signed into the unit, back when she was a Senior Airman. We were thick as thieves since the minute I signed into the unit. I was from Florida's panhandle; she was from Opp, Alabama, sixty-six miles from my home town. She is the one person in the squadron who knows my story. Back home, I was something of a local tragic celebrity.
Nessa also knew everything that was going on in the squadron about a half a day before it happened. Anytime there was a "no notice" weigh-in she would take me to the chow hall and load up my tray. There have been many occasions when I would weigh in green in the face, only to turn around and head to the bathroom and let it all loose again. I didn't have an eating disorder; I just couldn't keep weight on. It didn't matter how much I ate. That caused a few people in the squadron to really resent me.
I am a melting pot kid. My Father was Arabian. His family gave me the two features that endear me to many women, and as I would discover later more than a few men. My rounded face, and my long, thick full eyelashes that frame my pale blue eyes came from his gene pool. The eyes were Mom's contribution, in addition to my Danish and French porcelain skin, which was topped with a crown of "uber Nordic" corn silk colored blonde hair. I wear my hair as close to the maximum length that regulations allow, to hide a few "imperfections."
Even though I spoke many languages due to the family business, my native tongue was "LA" English. For those not familiar with living in the Florida Panhandle "LA" means Lower Alabama. I have a knack when it comes to picking up languages. I was bilingual before I even started preschool. Mama said the gift was a result of me being a musician. My conductors often called me a double threat, because I played concert piano and cello.
That, which has led me to this point in my life, was a series of tragic events. I have leaned life's most difficult lesson, life happens. Stuff both good and the bad happen to us all, some choose to let it control us, I don't. Military service was my brother's dream, not mine. In my case it is just an end to a means a way to make things happen. It's also a way that I can recover, and get on with my life. I have completed my first year in this northern German hell hole known as Basdahl. I love the people, the architecture, and the culture. The mission on the other hand sucks.
Our Squadron had the worst equipment in all of Northern Europe and the highest deployment rate. Our system was constantly on the verge of falling apart. Simply put, the mobile TACS systems sucked. They were obsolete when they were designed during Vietnam, now it had two decades of rust on it. We have pilots who refuse to take ground control instructions from us because they know how antiquated our equipment was.
For the past year I've been the youngest and lowest ranking person in our unit. Because I jumped three grades in school, being the youngest and smallest was always my condition growing up. Just after the grunts ran by the barracks in formation singing their famous Jody, "Wake up Air Force, wake up!" we began boarding the buses for the long ride from Bremerhaven to Basdahl.
In 1986, I had survived my first year of a two year assignment to Basdahl. What I had discovered was, while I loved the German people, I hated Germany in the winter. I had just gotten off the bus and was starting to walk towards the operations building when Vanessa pulled me aside. "Jono, the Major is going to ask for volunteers for a short notice Temporary Duty Assignment. You need to volunteer, it's a good one."
In typical smartass fashion I replied, "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my Momma Bear. You know the person who told me every day for the last year, never volunteer for shit."
After about twenty minutes we grabbed our cups of coffee and reported for morning crew stand up. We popped to attention as the Director of Operations (DO) Major Doug Cawfield came in. He shouted his traditional, "Good morning my little mud puppies!" He went through the mission briefings for the day and ended with, "I only have two pieces of business left. First, I need three volunteers for a short notice TDY with no questions asked."
Two hands went up. Yup, I broke the cardinal military rule, and my fourth personal rule, never volunteer for anything. In hindsight, it is amazing how often I broke that one. Still, I figured if Sergeant Gilmore told me to volunteer, it couldn't be all that bad. Vanessa was connected; she knew everything that happened in the squadron often before the command staff. I had been seriously crushing on my supervisor but I was not comfortable acting on it. Vanessa and I were good friends, and made a great team in air surveillance. I wasn't gonna screw either of those up.
She was the Air Surveillance Technician (AST); I was a lowly Search Scope Operator (SSO). If something went wrong with the computer (and it often did) she would jump back to my console and say, "go." She taught me the procedures to activate the ball tab so the air weapons cell could continue to control aircraft, and reload the box of wires that we laughingly called a computer.
It should be noted that the 407L system was called a semi-automated computer. The program was so small and primitive it could be loaded via magnetic tape, paper tape, punch cards, or the average person could manually type the entire program in 20-30 minutes. We were the Dynamic Duo of the air surveillance cell. Several assholes in the squadron called us the Wonder Twins.
The DO said, "Okay we have our first two volunteers I need one more."
Technical Sergeant Sasquamo reluctantly put up his hand, "I'll go! Sir, clearly 'The Wonder Twins' will need ADULT supervision." The room erupted in laughter. Nessa and I both flipped him off.
Even the DO smiled, "Alright then that's better. Gilmore, Banks, and Sasquamo, be in my office in 5 minutes for departure and mission briefings." With that he turned and walked towards the door. He paused and turned back to the room, "Oh, and one more thing. Those of you, who did not volunteer, start deployment prep. The word just came in we are deploying to Stade for three glorious weeks. Start with corrosion control on your vehicles. Make sure your two man shelter halves are waterproofed. We are looking at a lot of cold temps, wind, rain, and mud."
A mass groan was heard as he left the room. Sergeant Gilmore came over to me and said, "Jono, you are going to looooove this. We're going to Saudi! Everything; food, lodging, and laundry are paid for by the King. You will be able to bank your entire salary for 6 months." My mouth gaped open; it was more than this Florida boy could hope for. Heat for almost 6 months, and a way out of a not so little financial problem.
We then looked at our supervisor, TSgt Terrell Sasquamo aka Sasquatch. He was originally from Maine and the poor guy broke a sweat waking up in the morning. I felt immediately sorry for him. Vanessa and I were swamp kids; we were used to the heat. Sas hated anything above 70 degrees.
We all met in the DO's office and he began, "First off let me say I'm grateful we're sending our A-Team. Jono, I almost had to flush your volunteer status. Just noticed the posting is for E-3s and above. Congratulations on your promotion. I was a little surprised that your hand went up. Glad to see you're finally showing some initiative again." Ouch that stung.
I had to admit he was right. I had been coasting lately. My career started off well enough. I was Honor Grad out of Lackland. Distinguished graduate, at technical school. As a candidate for AWACS school, I was sent to SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape) training which I passed with high marks. Because of my diminutive stature, just about all of my instructors expected me to wash out. Sadly during SERE school the Air Force pulled AWACS from my career field, and sent me on to my first duty station.
I am a mighty 27650"c." For the record it should be known the "C" shred-out (aka crap shred-out) of my career field it sucks swamp water, and this Florida boy knows a thing or two about swamp water. Our career field had it all: ancient equipment, crappy assignments, and almost no recognition. If that wasn't bad enough we were deploying every month and a half. My goal had been to complete my last year in this German hell hole, then next year I would rotate back to the States for my last year and a half. After that I hadn't thought much about my future, I just wanted the hell out of the Air Force.
When the major finished his briefing he asked Sasquatch and Nessa to leave the room and close the door behind them. "Jono, I almost said no to your going. Your attitude as of late has sucked. The fact that you volunteered told me something. Little guy, at times, I wish I had a squadron of Airmen like you. You got screwed by the system. There are times Jono when that happens, it sucks, but it happens. I'm grateful that you're stepping up to the plate again. I am going to ask that you leave the attitude behind in your dorm room. With that we have to have a new conversation."
"You're part of the base Intel staff and I have to give you an additional briefing. Bring your teammates up to speed at Rhein-Main. Tensions between Saudi Arabia and Yemen are escalating again. The Soviets are giving Yemen additional weapons systems, rumor has it they will be selling them the MI-25 helicopter. NATO and the United States are now doing the same for Saudi Arabia. I'll be sending a mission brief to the team leader letting them know about your linguistic intrepidity and your strong ties to the region. I hope they can put your skills to good use, the last thing we need is another brush fire."
I asked the major what type of systems the US was sending. "Jono, we're selling the Saudis fighters, radar systems, and AWACS aircraft." My head dropped. The major put his hand on my shoulder and continued, "I know little buddy, hang in there. Who knows maybe they'll cross certify you while you're in country. Don't count on that, it is not likely to occur." I nodded as he continued, "What we are selling them is a lot of TPS-43E radar mobile TAC systems. There's a very good likelihood that we will also be selling them a Message Processing Center (MPC.)
You're my chameleon, if the Saudi's buy one, how fast do you think you could get certified on the MPC with factory rep assistance?" I told him likely less than five days because of the shared common systems. "I kind of figured that would be the case. Jono, you're going to love this posting. Hell son, I wish I could go with you guys. Look out after your teammates especially Nessa. HQ USAFE has sent a mission brief on the Intel available for this deployment. Read the contents of this file and be ready to brief all those deploying. You can use my office to prepare, remember not everyone has your security clearance be ready to brief only to the secret level. I'll try to find out who has higher clearances and leave that information for you at base operations. Now, I have to go motivate the rest of the troops for their deployment. You lucky bastard the weather looks like shit for the Stade deployment. When you're done secure the file in my safe."
We got our orders cut by 1700 (five p.m.) and we were on the road to Rhein-Main Air Base fifteen minute later. Whoever needed us in Saudi Arabia sure was in a hurry. When we arrived at base operations and I was presented with my security documents on the troops who were going with us. Only four on the team could receive the full brief. Crap, I had to give two briefings. Who the fuck needs sleep anyway. Nessa, and Sas offered to stay up with me I told them to just grab some rack time. They couldn't help me with the briefing anyway because I was the only one with the active TS clearance. It made no sense having them stay awake for moral support I'll sleep on the plane.
Due to our departure time, I scheduled the first for 04:30 in the morning and the second for 05:30. After I verified his security clearance level (and need to know), the base commander used his executive privilege to sit in on the top secret level briefing. Damn he was an arrogant prick; he insisted that the top-secret briefing happen at 5:30 because he didn't want to have to wake up at 0330. The final briefing let out at 6:30. The General thanked me for my time, and my brevity limiting the briefing to just the essentials. When he gave me his commander's coin he said he hoped I would consider a follow-on overseas assignment to Rhein-Main, he could use a good Intel NCO on his staff. I was polite but I knew I could never work for him.
At 0700 we were in the passenger module of a C-5 Galaxy and airborne. Vanessa sat next to me for the long flight to Riyadh. We chatted about stupid things, unit gossip, and such. Then she became very serious and said she hoped we get assigned to the unit at Riyadh or Dhahran. I didn't bother to ask why, she knew everything. Several members of the flight crew noticed my jump wings, during the flight they stopped by and chatted about where I went to school and stuff. Jump wings were rare as gold on ground pounder mobile TACS grunts. As usual I was the novelty. I was invited up to the flight deck to watch the in flight refueling operation. It was kind of unusual seeing an intercept from this direction. I thanked the pilot, co-pilot, and engineer for the opportunity.
With my tour of the aircraft completed, I return to my seat Poor Sasquatch was filling his third, nope fourth, air sickness bag. How could someone in the Air Force be that airsick? Then again they had to stop the van twice on the autobahn for me the night before. Even the most unstable fixed or rotary winged aircraft or boats no problem, put me in a fast moving car, it became a one way trip to vomit central.
What a picture the three of us made. Sasquatch the mountain of hair and muscle, dripping sweat all the way through his service jacket. Vanessa the short brunette, with a body that would not stop. Then there is me, the sign post with the runners butt, dressed in blue. Yep, not only short I was lean (what others called skinny.) I don't know why Vanessa always hung out with me. But she became something like an occasionally over-protective older sister/mamma stand in. She said I was one of the only "safe" guys in our squadron. Ouch, friend-zoned again. The story of my life, the hot girls always go for the jocks, not the nerds.
After almost 36 hours of consciousness, I finally nodded off thinking of how I got here... When I was 10 my folks were taking my brother Mikaeel and I on vacation to the family campgrounds in Tishomingo, Mississippi. Mike was eighteen and about to ship out to Paris Island. This was to be our final family trip. We managed to make it fifteen minutes down the road to Niceville when a drunken college jackass crossed the center line taking out our station wagon.
The drunk and I were the only ones to survive. I was thrown from the vehicle as it rolled and caught fire, he climbed out of his with only a bump on his head and passed out. I had a lot of people using the term miracle to describe my survival. Laying in the mud unable to move due to the cord shock, watching and hearing my family burn. It didn't feel like a miracle.
I died twice that day; first for a minute and a half in the ER. I died again for almost five minutes on the operating table. The trauma surgeon, Doctor Edmond Fitzgerald (Doc Fitz) wouldn't give up on me; even after the neurosurgeon told him to call it. I think he was afraid to face my Uncle. He said our family had too much loss for one day. The neurosurgeon told Doc Fitz he was being a fool. "You just condemned his family to care for a vegetable for the rest of their lives."
Thankfully, I beat the odds again, the neurosurgeon was wrong. Something remarkable happened that day. Instead of losing my memory, I now remembered every moment of my life with absolute clarity from the crash forward. The painful memories that I really wanted gone, would walk with me the rest of my life. In fact, the neurologist who was assigned to the medical review board voiced concern about the possibility of future PTSD based on my "gift." Then he added if I could survive and function well after what had already happened to me it should not be an issue.
The paramedics and firefighters who worked on me at the scene became regular features at my bedside they even helped the nurses with my range of motion exercises. As the cord shock faded, they went through physical therapy with me. It was Chief Duma who touched me the most. It was he who returned my Daddy's wedding ring to me. It was all I had left of my family. I hugged the stuffing out of him.
I finally got out of the hospital 8 months later, I had completed both the 5th and 6th grades from my bed (what can I say; being in the hospital was very boring). The nursing staff, and doctors, lined the halls and applauded as Doc Fitz wheeled me to the front door. My firefighters, and the officers who were first on the scene, completed the cordon of honor. Chief Duma helped me out of the chair to my walker and walked behind me as I hobbled to Uncle Jack's old Dodge.
We went home; my Uncle Jack cared for me as if I were the son he and his wife couldn't have. When I was a baby his wife died in child birth. He was so heartbroken he never remarried. He counted on Mike and I to take over the family's ranch. Eventually he adopted me and gave me the Banks name. I knew it was wrong under Islamic law for him to take my father's name from me. He told me I was now Baptist and the laws of tribal goat herders did not apply.
As happy as we were, even that was not to be. We were only together for just over 2 years when Jack was diagnosed with stage four cancer of the lung and pancreas. A couple months later he too was gone. The local news ran my story. "My" hero firefighters came and loaded his casket onto their ladder truck for the ride to be buried, between his wife and daughter, and my parents and brother.
After just two years and six months of hospital and outpatient therapy, I was able to walk without assistance, just in time to bury him. Chief Duma and Doc Fitz were standing beside me when he was lowered into the ground. I was alone in the world at the ripe old age of thirteen. The Chief and the Doc tried to tell me how fortunate I was just to be alive, and something good had to come from this pain. I had been the recipient of many miracles since the crash. I couldn't see any miracle. I was standing in the middle of the graves belonging to the people I loved the most. All I knew was I had to live for them.
The Department of Children and Families put me in a group home run by friends of the family. I only had to move five acres away from my home. I was lucky; they too ran a horse ranch, although Uncle Jack used to make fun of Arabians, I always, loved them.
I voluntarily took summer school twice to skip another grade in high school, guaranteeing I would be the youngest and smallest kid in my class on graduation day. I was carrying a college course load as well. I earned my associates degree just one week after I graduated high school. The goal was to start college early and get my bachelor's degree. Sadly the funds were not there. My foster family was concerned, but signed off on my early entry forms into the Air Force at seventeen. I was pleased when the Medical Review Board approved my entry, with only one dissenting vote. Who listens to urologists anyway? Here I am a year later flying into my third overseas deployment. I loved seeing new things and experiencing life.
When I awoke I was crying and Vanessa was wiping my forehead. No words needed to be said, she knew.
When we arrived in Saudi Arabia the door was open then we climbed down the loading ramp. While Vanessa and I were relishing the blast of blissfully dry 110 degree heat, I do believe I heard Sasquatch actually whimper behind us. Our duffle bags were taken off the aircraft and dropped on the flight line for K-9 review. Fifty volunteers came from all across Europe to serve in Saudi Arabia. Out of all of those duffle bags lined in a row, the damned dog chose mine to piss on. I remember Vanessa laughing as I looked to the heavens saying, "Really?"
The Air Force staff liaison officer to Riyadh came over and told us, "There will be a meet and greet tonight in the hotel banquet room to introduce you to our Saudi hosts. Class A uniforms are required, service jackets are optional. Your duty assignments are in your briefing packets in your rooms. Orientation begins tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred. If you'll follow me we'll get you on the bus and take you to the hotel grab your bags boys and girls."
Nessa waived at him and he smiled back. She told me she worked for him when she first arrived at our unit. Then he was transferred to NATO HQ. "Jono, He is how I knew to volunteer. Isn't he gorgeous?!?" She cooed.
"Nessa, guys do not call other guys are gorgeous." However, I could see her point. He looked a bit like a young Sam Elliot without the cheesy mustache. He had strong hairy arms, chestnut hair, steel gray eyes, squared broad shoulders, and a strong jaw, oh Gawd; he even had a cleft in his squared chin. Clearly this guy played football at some point in his life. Just like one of the guys I used to tutor in high school.
We arrived at the hotel, oh my LAWD! I've never seen anything so beautiful. Everything was gold and shiny. The woodwork was highly polished and finely fitted. There was a grand piano in the lobby by the elevators. We signed for our keys and headed upstairs. I remember the porter had a funny look on his face as he sniffed the air when he picked up my duffle bag. He opened the door and put my duffle bag on the baggage holder and made that odd sniffing face again.
I smiled and told him what happened at the airport. He apologized and said "Just put what you need cleaned in this bag and put it in the hallway. Then call the front desk, we will pick it up immediately." I asked if I could include my duffle bag he smiled and replied absolutely sir.
I spent the next 10 minutes trying to find a uniform that wasn't damp with urine. When the phone rang it was Vanessa, "Hey Jono, you open your info package yet?" "Nope, still looking for something dry to wear tonight. Fucking dog!"
"Sweetie, don't sweat the small shit. Be thankful, I'm the one who has to wear the long dress and long sleeves. Lastly honey, remember its only 60 degrees back in Bremerhaven. Give me a call when you open your packet. I got Riyadh; I hope we're working together."
Eureka! I got to the center of the bag and found one rolled short sleeve blue shirt and a clean t-shirt. I figured if I wore a tie it would be good enough. I began transferring my nameplate, and ribbon rack from my long sleeve shirt that I wore flying in, to my short sleeve, but dry and piss free shirt. Oh how I longed to wear my green fatigues. But Captain Nelson said "Class A" uniform shirt, tie, and ribbons.
I went to the table and broke the seal, CRAP! Al Kharj. I called Vanessa and gave her the bad news. Well at least we'll have a good meal together tonight. When will this day end? I looked at the clock and realized it was time to start heading downstairs I dumped my crap into the cleaning bag and called the front desk for pick up. Vanessa and I met at the elevator and went down to the lobby.
When we got to there, Captain Nelson swept in like a pissed off water moccasin, "Airman Banks! What the hell is your issue? The instruction sheet said Class A's." Double crap! I am in country less than six hours and the boss already knows my name. I reminded the captain according to 35-10 to be a class A the uniform only had to have a tie and ribbons. I asked if he would prefer I ran up and got my service jacket, I added it was a bit wrinkled from the flight.
I also reminded him he was there when the dog pissed on my bag. With that he smiled and said "Let me guess it's the only thing that didn't get soaked?" I nodded "Well, I guess you will be joining Sergeant Gilmore and I. Vanessa it is good to see you again, congratulations on your NCO appointment. Stay close to me, you two are going to get noticed." He looked at me, "Airman you look terrified..."
Vanessa responded, "Sir, that's his normal look in large groups. Jono, hovers somewhere between fight and 'oh my goodness I'm running as fast as I can.' If it wasn't for me I don't think the boy would ever have left the dormitory. When you were assigned to Basdahl, did you ever get to Duhnen Beach in Cuxhaven?"
He replied with a sly smile, "Which side?"
"Fabric optional side of course... it took me six weeks and a full parking lot to get him interested in crossing over to the nude side. That just wasn't normal for a 17 year old boy. When we laid out our blankets, I noticed he was red from head to his toes. Initially I thought he was having an allergic reaction to something. Then I realized just about his whole body blushes. Kind of like he's doing now."
I just wanted to curl up and die. The Captain ignored the fact that my supervisor saw me in the buff and asked, "Seventeen! How old are you?"
"I just turned eighteen three weeks ago sir. I earned my second stripe two days ago. I am an introvert, Sergeant Gilmore has been trying to drag me out of my shell. I'm going to miss working with her on this TDY."
He looked at me and asked, "Where are you going again? I can't remember where all 50 of you are posted."
I replied, "Al Kharj sir."
Vanessa chimed in, "Jono is real good in manual operations, but we are a killer team on the semi-automated system. I have been asking to put him into AST training early, he knows all the data, and has the skills. The leadership is concerned about his age, and command presence, not his knowledge. You should have seen his command presence as he briefed the base commander at Rhein-Main. How many E3s do you know that would have the stones to demand ID and need to know from a Major General?" The captain looked skeptical so I showed him the general's challenge coin.
Nessa continued, "Our squadron expert in manual operations is here too. TSgt Sasquamo rocks in the FACP ops configuration. Come to think of it, he worked FACP operations in Vietnam back in the day." A thought flipped through my head. Bus may I introduce you to Sasquatch, Sasquatch here's your bus. I couldn't believe she just threw him under it.
"Jono, you really carded General Ambrose? Then questioned his need to know? Damn, you DO have balls! I have to share that one with my boss. He hates the bastard."
"You may want to add the fact that the General was so impressed, he thanked me and offered me a job on his staff."
With that our stroll across the lobby had been completed. We reach the door of the banquet hall. There was a doorman posted in a bright green uniform with buttons down each side of his chest. As we approached he came to attention and fluidly opened the door. My eyes got big as saucers as I saw the size of the banquet hall, and how many people were within. Our whole squadron could fit inside that banquet hall twice over. Sergeant Gilmore took my hand smiling she looked at me and said "Deep breath, chill little dude. We got this." She let my hand drop as we entered.
When I was a little kid, I was once stalked by a panther in the Myakka River State Park. I was having that same feeling as we entered the banquet room.
Nelson, smiled and said "Tallyho" (I see the target) as a Saudi officer approached. He was at least 6' 4"; he looked like he was in his mid-20's, and HUGE muscles bulging everywhere. There was something else though I couldn't shake the feeling, I knew this man. There was something so familiar. It was frustrating. The one thing I did know Nessa and I were gonna get stiff necks talking to this crowd.
"Benjamin, welcome..." as he put out his had to shake our captain's "I was starting to think you were not going to come."
Nelson replied back, "Tamam, sorry for the delay. Airman Banks had a uniform malfunction courtesy of one of your security dogs on the airfield. Sergeant Gilmore was assisting her partner. Nessa, Jono, this is our host Captain Tamam Aza Asad Hassan."
Captain Hassan nodded in Nessa's direction then responded to me, "I heard of the unpleasantness, the dog handler has been directed to use more care, I am sorry for any inconvenience. I hope the hotel is taking care of the cleaning. I am sorry your introduction to our Kingdom has been so difficult." He was standing so uncomfortably close. His cologne was strong and exotic. It was far more overpowering than my Halston.
"Thank you Captain but, I can't blame the dog; he was just doing what dogs do. Let's face it from their perspective a duffel bag looks a heck of a lot like a bush. As to the welcome, the staff at the hotel has been outstanding. The inconvenience at the airfield, is just that an inconvenience. One thing for sure it can only get better." Everyone laughed.
The Captain Hassan told us that he was one of the project managers for the Saudi end of the project. Then he rested his hand on my bare arm and said, "Surely you are not old enough to be military. What skills do you bring?"
I looked up into the bottom of his chin (damn, he is tall!) and replied with great heat. "Sir, I may only be 18, but my skills have been put to the test. I have a near eidetic memory. I am fluent in several German dialects. This is without ever being exposed to the language prior to being assigned to Germany. My Danish, Italian, and French are rated very high as well. I am also fluent in Balochi, Mehri, Soqotri, Razihi, Armenian, Persian, Kurdish, Quashqai, Turkmen, Talysh, Hebrew, Feyli, Aramaic, Assyrian, and Arabic. In addition, I am conversationally fluent in Russian and several Eastern European languages. The list goes on, but I would not want to bore you.
As far as my technical prowess, I was certified (with a highly qualified rating) in search scope operations within 30 days of my arrival. I had not fully in processed my base and unit when I was certified. We are required to earn our five level within one year of reporting for duty, I earned mine in 2 months with a near perfect score. As to systems skills, to my knowledge, I am the only person who has manually loaded the 407L's computer in 5 minutes 12 seconds, ever. Most require 20 to 30 minutes. Add to all of that I am a graduate of both survival and jump school."
Hindsight being 20/20, I realized he was trying to push my buttons and BOY HOWDY, did he succeed. I knew immediately that I did not just step over the line, I carpet bombed the fucker it as I flew past it. What I said was not the issue how I said it was. With that realization, I dropped my gaze straight to my shoes.
"Jono!" Vanessa chided. "We are going to have to talk about this. In his defense Captain Hassan, he really is that good. As to his skills in communication, let's just say he's a cunning linguist, occasionally lacking tact." Her joke fell like a lead balloon but all politely smiled. "Seriously though our squadron, and wing, have used his translation skills in German and Danish to secure better deployment sites, and on occasion to defuse tense situations. He's really good at translating humor."
With my head still down; I uttered the first two Arabic words my papa taught me, "Ana asef... (I am sorry)" I lifted my head and continued in Arabic, "Sir, I think I shall be saying that a lot. Please I beg your forgiveness."
He smiled and asked in English, "Jono, who taught you our language?"
"I picked it up as a child sir. Please sir, can we leave it there?" I was spinning my father's wedding band on my index finger.
He patted my shoulder. "We are being called to table, please join me at mine."
Captain Hassan strode forward to the head table and the crowd parted in front of him. My captain put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Good recovery airman, just be a little more tactful in the future. I do not think I have ever seen anyone humble that man."
I whispered back, "I know the message was not wrong, but the delivery was. For that I am very sorry sir."
The dinner consisted of foods from across the kingdom. So that the teams would understand the local cuisine they would be experiencing.
I was both overjoyed and terrified when I saw the Kabsa on the table. I was overjoyed because it was one of my favorites, terrified because Vanessa was reaching for it. "Sarge, NO! It has pine nuts!" She backed off as if she was staring at a spitting cobra, and all color drained from her face. For all Vanessa's skill, intelligence, and bravado I knew her Achilles heel. She was deathly allergic to cashews and pine nuts.
"Thanks for the save little buddy. That's two I owe you, Taz." I pointed out the dishes that I knew should be safe for her. "About six months back I had an exposure and dropped so fast that I couldn't deploy my epi-pen. Jono, found me on the floor unable to move or breathe. He was the one who got to jab me. Then he drove me to the base clinic. He saved my life." Tamam then ordered a steak for her from the kitchen.
The Saudis ate slowly and talked a lot. Vanessa was far better than I at feigning interest. But at least I was getting all of their names committed to memory. Captain Hassan kept looking at me. I had to admit I was returning his gaze, perhaps a bit too often in fact. I had the feeling I knew him from somewhere, the way he talked, his eyes and mouth were all so familiar but for the life of me I could not place how I knew him. For a person with an eidetic memory that is frustrating as hell.
Somewhere along the line we began the customary round-robins of 'who you are' and 'where do you come from.' I knew being the lowest ranking person at the table I would be skipped over. My place at these kinds of events was normally nothing more than stage dressing. Sit down, shut up, and color while the adults talk. Then there's my rule 3 "If you are asked questions smile and keep your answers short and polite."
I felt free to let my eyes dart around the room. I was trying to take it all in when I locked onto a familiar form, that of TSgt Sasquamo. Poor bastard dripped harissa sauce all the way down the front of his shirt. I kept thinking that's one stain that will never come out. Captain Nelson noticed what I saw and shook his head.
I was shaken when the Captain Hassan asked, "So young Jono, where do you come from? How do you know our foods, and how to say I'm sorry like a small boy?"
Damn I thought. We went all the way around the table and now it was my turn. I was really hoping I'd be skipped. "I come from a small unincorporated town up in the Florida panhandle that no one has ever heard of..."
The Captain interrupted me and said "That is a region not a place."
I mumbled my city name; he cocked an eyebrow as if he didn't hear it correctly. I then slowly enunciated as my "LA" drawl thickened, "I comes from Fluffy Landing, Florida. Just down the beach from Niceville" The table erupted in laughter. "Oh, it gets worse; I grew up just off Jolly Bay." The laughter returned and intensified, I turned beet red and put my head down to my chest.
The Captain lifted his hand an inch off the table, and the Saudi side of the table immediately became silent, the American side followed in kind, "And the rest of my question?"
I replied, "Papa was a skilled jeweler originally from Al-Hareeq. I can tell you, there are a lot of Baptist women in Fluffy Landing who have Arabic script in their wedding bands. I used to love sitting in his lap listening to the stories of his childhood home in Saudi Arabia. Mom learned how to cook for him the dishes he enjoyed and missed. They loved each other greatly. I thought the sun would rise and set at his whim. It was Papa who taught me chess, backgammon, and how to appreciate science, art, history, and literature."
An odd smile crept across Captain Hassan's face. "Bank is not an Arab name, do you have another?"
"My mother's brother gave me the Banks name. In the eyes of the Saudi government, I am Jono bin Aban Al-Amin. The name was change without my consent. Please do not judge my uncle too harshly, he did it in love." Captain Nelson's eyes shot wide open. "Captain Nelson, I take it you have not received the briefing letter from my director of operations? I am sorry, you should have been informed that I do have dual citizenship."
It was then Lt Fakhoury (one of the Saudi officers) stated, "Your Papa must be proud of your posting here."
I saw the panicked look out of Vanessa from the corner of my eye. My throat tightened and my eyes began to sting as I responded, "I would like to think so. I hope he looks down and smiles on me. Papa was murdered by a drunk driver when I was ten." The little voice in my head was screaming, "Rule three" over and over again.
The poor bastard looked snake bit and tried to recover by adding "Still you bring honor to your family, they must be proud."
That was all I could take. I could feel waves of grief and sorrow crashing down on me. I stood quickly and addressed Captain Hassan. The look on his face was not one of surprise like everyone else at the table it was more like that of Vanessa. "Please forgive me sir. I'm suddenly not feeling so well. It has been a long day. I think I should call it a night. Good evening sirs, Sarge."
As I turned to go I saw the look on Vanessa's face, she was going into full on momma bear mode. I have no doubt by the time I hit the door she explained what had happened to my family. I could not handle the pity at that point. Tears were flowing down my cheeks by the time I reached the door to the elevator. I felt a big hand on my shoulder. Crap! I cannot deal with anyone right now... I turned and it was Sasquatch. "Jono, you okay little buddy?"
As the doors opened I turned and entered the car. As the doors closed, I dismissively muttered, "Yeah Sas, I'm OKAY."
He spun me around to look me in the face, "Don't lie to me buddy. I know you're in full crisis mode. You are fighting the tears so hard you are shaking. Add to that, you are spinning your ring so fast it may cut your finger off. Remember, I was your rater long before Vanessa was. I know your tells." Then he pulled me in for a near bone crushing hug. "You are not alone."
I replied, "I'll be okay Papa Bear. You know this month is hard for me. It's the anniversary of the crash. Everything's really close to the surface right now. I should never have taken this TDY. After what I just did, I will probably have orders back to Germany in the morning. Sas, did you volunteer for this TDY because of me?"
He nodded in the affirmative, "Jono, why did you take this assignment?"
"It's the only way I can make enough money to save the last piece of the old homestead."
"I'll always be here for you buddy. If you need to talk you know where my door is."
"Thank you." I pointed at the now dried and set stain on his shirt and smiled. "Sarge, you need to go change, soak that, and get your butt back to the banquet before you are missed. Thanks again for being here. Really, I will be okay. I just need a little 'alone' time. By the way Sarge which site did you get?"
"Riyadh," he said with disgust, "I hate being this close to the brass, and I hate wearing my blues, almost as much as I hate the fucking heat."
"Sas, if I had your fruit salad (ribbons and medals) I would wear my blues every day. As to the posting, ask Captain Nelson, maybe he'll give you my posting to Al Kharj." He smiled and walked down to his room as I entered mine. I was almost overjoyed to see that the dry cleaning was already in the room. Who knew they had a "one hour dry cleaners" in the hotel. Sadly the washables were not ready, but there was a note promising they would be there in the morning.
I flipped through the TV channels mindlessly. After about an hour or so, I figured I may as well go to bed to rest for tomorrow's dramas. Damn, my pajamas are at the cleaners, "fucking dog." Well there is at least a fluffy bathrobe in the bathroom. I was just about to strip off my uniform and jump in the shower when I was disturbed by a knock at the door.
I opened the door to see Captain Hassan standing there. I blushed in shame and dropped my gaze. I started to apologize for my behavior. His hand came up and cupped my cheek, "Your sergeant explained all. Sergeant Gilmore has also informed me you appreciate having time in nature when you are troubled. This hotel has a wonderful cafe in the arboretum. Would you care to join me for some tea before bed?"
Just about everyone is bigger than I but, damn. This man was so tall and muscular; he practically filled the whole door frame. The look of compassion on his face took me off guard. He reminded me so much of my papa, right down to the narrow well-trimmed beard. I told him, "Thank you Sir, I would love to have some tea."
We took the elevator down to the lobby and walked out to the cafe in the covered garden. Tables were separated by banks of what looked and smelled like jasmine vine. The smell was overwhelming. Throw in a bit of magnolia, with a touch of jacaranda, and it could have been home. Eyes were turning as we strolled through the garden to our seats. As we approached he heard my stomach growl. With my outburst I didn't get much dinner.
The waiter approached and the Captain placed an order for both of us. I again apologized for disrupting the dinner. He looked at me and said, "There is a limit to how much pain any man can endure. You have borne your share and then some. You stayed longer than most would have in your place. When you realized you could not handle any more, you removed yourself with skill, tact, and grace. You did not make a scene." He put his hand in the center of my chest. "I believe your heart to be strong, and ruled by a wise head."
The waiter approached with our tea and a small plate of kleeja. I smiled, "Momma and me used to make these for Papa. He would always pull me onto his lap and feed me the first one. Thank you; it is such a happy memory." The Captain smiled picking one up and touched it to my lips. I let it slip through, until his finger touched my lower lip. At that point he released the cardamom cookie into my mouth. When I had swallowed, I closed my eyes and I pulled my lower lip into my mouth to get the last bit of oil film that remained on it. Again I said thank you. We sat and drank our tea and talked for hours.
He told me of how he lost his mother last year. He could not imagine how it would be to lose his entire family as I had. I told him how my Uncle Jack adopted me after the death of my parents. I told him how happy he took me as his boy, but that I was annoyed with the Banks name. "Uncle Jack didn't trust Papa much and kept him at arm's length. Sad to say Jack was a bit of a bigot, I once overheard him talking to one of the other ranchers. It turned my stomach when he said he didn't mind selling 'them' horses, but they had no right taking his baby sister. It was as if he didn't accept half of me. When he took Papa's name from me it was as if he was calling me a bastard. Don't get me wrong I love my uncle, I just didn't care for how he treated people." The look on the captain's face was perfect. It was not one of surprise, or pity, it was full of compassion and care.
"Did I hear you correctly at dinner when you said you spoke Persian and so many other languages?"
I smiled telling him, "My family was well known for our line of horses. In addition to Papa's jewelry business, he was also an importer of fine furnishings, and very active in the charities sponsored by his mosque. He would often take me on buying and charity mission trips with him. It was as if each time we went somewhere new, I came home with a new language or dialect. As far as the Persian, that was a gift from Merhadad and Afsoon Ghorbani. They ran the group home I moved to after Jack passed. They escaped Iran after Shah Pahlavi fled. In Iran he was a professor of archaeology and she was a Veterinarian. Now he was forced to be an elementary school teacher."
I had to explain what a group home was, "It's where DCF puts the 'difficult' to place children. Our home was filled with special needs kids. Either physically or emotionally damaged children. I was very lucky, our families had not only been neighbors, and we were very close. They asked DCF for me. The Ghorbani's treated all of us like we were their own children. I was also glad they were horse people too, their family bred Arabian horses, and their line is well known like ours was. Uncle Jack was a thoroughbred breeder. He thought it was silly, I liked the Arabians better. Still, he and dad got together and bought my first horse Fajera from Merhadad for my seventh birthday."
"Because I skipped three grades during primary school, I graduated high school at 14. My family's estate was divided between the taxes, and the hospitals for both my care and then Jack's care. All I have been able to save is the old homestead. Most people tell me to just sell it and use the proceeds to go to college. I just can't, its home, it's all I have left. Sadly, I am still in jeopardy of losing it. After the bills from the estate were settled, we didn't have enough money for me to go to college. I was too young to get a job so, I would help Afsoon cook and care for the other children who looked at me as their big brother."
He laughed; no doubt at the thought of me being big anything. "I would also help out around the ranch, just like I helped out on my father's. In exchange for my work around the ranch, the Ghorbani's kept the taxes current on the homestead. When I enlisted I couldn't keep asking them for help." We continued talking about our careers; he started poking at my ribbon rack asking what each of my three ribbons meant. I laughed, "The one on the end is the worthless one, it is the BMTS ribbon every enlisted graduate of basic military training gets one. Logic dictates that if you're wearing the uniform, you graduated boot camp."
He poked the green one "I told him that is my small arms marksmanship ribbon; the star in the middle says that I am an expert both in long rifles and handguns. The last one is my Honor Graduate ribbon. That is the one I'm proud of because it says I graduated in the top of my class and academics and deportment." The Captain asked me why Vanessa calls me Taz on occasion. "That is my call-sign sir. When I get on a task that must be done, I can become target fixated. I move quickly until it gets done. I have been told I occasionally bump into things in this mode." I was yawning as I saw we were alone in the cafe.
"I am sorry young one, I have kept you up till late in the night and you will have a long day tomorrow. We should get you to bed."
"Oh yes, I had almost forgotten, my bathrobe is calling." He looked at me confused, "My pajamas had not come back from the laundry yet and I don't like sleeping in the buff. I'll probably be sleeping in the bathrobe. If I can sleep at all." He laughed as I continued, "Thank you sir, for salvaging what could have been a horrible night." He pulled me close until my face was buried in his chest and hugged me. I could feel his strong slow heartbeat; it was regular as my metronome. Part of it felt odd, but I felt safe and very cared for. He walked me to the elevator and wished me good night saying, "Welcome home to 'OUR' Kingdom little one."
As the elevator door closed I saw him pick up the front desk courtesy phone and dial.
When I entered the room I saw the light on my phone letting me know there was a message waiting. It was Vanessa demanding I call her as soon as I get back to my room. I dialed, "Hey Nessa."
"Where the hell have you been Jono?!? First night in country and you bust bed check? Do you know how worried I've been? We have standing orders not to go out alone. Damn straight not out at night either. The captain is pissed. You had better have a fucking good explanation!"
"Nessa, I did not leave the hotel. Captain Hassan came to apologize for upsetting me and ensure I was okay. He took me out for mint tea and cookies. I told him it was my issue, not his. And how neither he, nor his people did anything wrong. We talked for a while about my family, and how he lost his mother. We just talked and I was never alone." She continued pressing me for more information for about 30 minutes.
"Oooooh, what a slut puppy you are! You are quick. In-country less than a day and you've already had a date. I may just have to reassess that whole shy thing you got going on. Clearly, I am gonna have to keep a better eye on you!"
"Nessa enough, it wasn't a date. He just felt bad that I left the banquet and wanted to make sure I was okay. Plus I think he could do better than hitting on an under developed virgin who looks more like a Q-tip."
There was a knock at the door. The bellhop announced, "Package for Mr. Banks." I took the fancy blue shirt box with a gold embossed logo on it and thanked him.
Vanessa asked, "Who the hell is sending you a package at one in the morning."
I opened the box. There was a card sitting on top of a pair of jade green silk pajamas and a royal blue pair under those. The card read, "The dog sends his apologies. Goodnight Jono."
"Jono's got a boyfriend... Goodnight pal. Don't worry about Benny and Sas. I'll smooth things out with them. The Captain wants me to call him when you get in. Don't forget to set an alarm for 6, so we can get some breakfast before we head in for orientation, Slut Puppy." With that final teasing jab we hung up.
-- Continued