Tsunami Debris, Part 2

Tuesday, 22 Mar 11 – Yokota Air Base, Japan

Home sweet home.

When I wake, it takes me a few moments to piece everything together, but it all comes back. I’m in Japan. I’m on the 11th floor of an old family apartment housing tower on Yokota AB. And I’ve blown my show time by a good two and a half hours for this morning. Normally, this would incite panic, but today, I’m too tired to bother. My only thought is finding food, coffee, and figuring out a way to call Alaska. Once upon a time, I was scheduled to do a phone interview with the Alaska National Guard, and it was supposed to happen today from the comfort of my office in SC. The commander knew what was going on, however, and said we’d figure it out.

I shower, throw on my uniform, and head downstairs to where I know there will be a shuttle at some point to the other side of base. The weather outside is cold and wet, made worse by my lack of outerwear. On my way out, I’m lucky enough to find a pot of coffee that has been sitting on a burner for a good 12 hours. It’s enough to glue my teeth together, but it’s hot and has caffeine in it, so it’s good enough for now.

I catch the shuttle  across base, and make it to the dining facility just in time to catch breakfast. The base seems so quiet to me, then I realize that they’ve evacuate all the families living on base due to the radiation “threat.” The facility is nearly empty, and the food is mostly gone. Luckily, they have what I like: eggs, bacon, and fruit. After breakfast, I head to the US Forces – Japan HQ, which if I recall, is a few blocks over and away from the chow hall, but I certainly have no bearings at this time. I luck my way to the windowless door, where I see another major in a flight suit crossing the street from the flight line.

“Hey, are you Matt?”

“I am.”

“I’m Macky. Welcome to Japan. Let me show you around.”

Macky walks me into the basement of the building, which is the Joint Operations Center (JOC) and Air Operations Center (AOC) are located. The place isn’t exactly what I’m used to given my experiences on the other side of the world. In fact, it’s a dump. Think of a church basement that gets used once or twice a year and that’s what I’m looking at. It’s a dumping ground for second-hand fridges, hand-written notes reminding you to clean up after yourself, and dated cubicles. Wiring everywhere, everything looking cobbled together and jury rigged.

But despite the humble surrounds, the energy is palpable and exciting. This place is simply packed with people trying to help Japan. Still on Eastern time, my mind can barely digest everything Macky is throwing at me as we walk to his desk. Macky is here from the 33rd Rescue Squadron on Okinawa, comprised of the HH-60s can crews. My brothers from the 31st, PJs and CROs, have just left.

“We’re kind of out of Search and Rescue at this point, dude. 10 days, you’re not finding survivors at this point, you know? Now we’re doing this HADR thing.” He pronounces it hay-dir, and leads me to his desk.

“Humanitarian Aid and Disaster Response.  We’re doing resupply runs and the like, but to tell you the truth, we’re not doing too much any more. I don’t think we’ll be here too much longer. We want to help, but we’ve got a deployment coming soon, so we have to keep an eye on things.”

Macky introduces me around to all the people glued to their computer monitors. Two colonels sit at the head of a U-shaped formation of computers, a large drop-down screen at the other end. I mistakenly assume it serves a function like a projected image. But I will learn it’s actually just down to hide the rat’s nest of admin supplies hiding behind it. Macky tells everyone I speak Japanese, to include the colonels, and I make every attempt to downplay my ability.

The resulting questions are always the same:

“So, how did you end up deployed to Japan as a CENTCOM guy?”

I explain about Kesennuma, and my grandmother. How I felt like I should be over here doing what I could.

“What are you going to be doing over here?

Funny, thought you might be able to tell me…but for now, I say I’m here to do whatever needs to be done to help out.  The colonels, upon learning what I do on the other side of the world, immediately ask me if I’d like to run their Joint Personnel Recovery Center.

After I get in-processed and computer accounts all set up and running, Macky offers to take me across the street to the helos. There’s a flight headed out this afternoon, and it would be a great opportunity to build some awareness of what’s happening. Actually, Macky is just happy to get out of the basement. He’s been working 12 hour days without a break, and he’s been pulling duties as a liaison for the 33rd over in the AOC instead of just flying. So we head across the street. Macky pitches his idea about me flying up with the guys to Sendai, maybe check in with the CCT guys who opened the airfield and see if there’s anything going on for Personnel Recovery up there. As he was talking, I was calculating. All my kit was on the other side of the flight line, I had no means of transportation, and the wheels up time was fast approaching.

Luckily, they had a vehicle to loan me, and I was able to get there and back in time. As I was rushing to throw on my kit and pack a ruck with warm clothes if I needed them, I briefly considered taking my sleeping bag and pad, but in the end decided against it. This will prove to be problematic in the near future.

Tsunami Debris, Part 1

I don’t want to write this series.

I’ve put it off for almost a year, but I really have no good reason. It’s not like I had an awful experience in Japan. No PTSD, no harrowing missions, nothing more exciting than a 7.0M aftershock…the work I did, in retrospect, seems almost insignificant. But for some reason, the idea refuses to die. A few days ago, I started seeing articles regarding how the debris from the 11 Mar tsunami is now reaching North American shores. Evidently it’s made landfall in the Pacific Northwest already, and set to hit Alaska in the next couple of weeks. So here I am, halfway across the world, and the tsunami is literally following me. I guess it’s time, so without any further ado, let’s begin.

—

21 Mar 11, Narita Airport, Japan

It’s been ten days since the quake and resulting tsunami. The Japanese are now calling it something: Higashi Nihon Daishinsai. The rough translation is “Great East Japan Earthquake and Disaster.” But from my little window in first class, nothing I see suggests this place was hit by one of the strongest quakes on record. Japan, so far, looks like what I remember. Busy. Rainy. Crowded.

I am exhausted. The past week has stretched me to my limits. Once we learned of my grandmother’s death, Jen and I flew my sister Lydia out from Seattle so she could spend Spring Break with us as opposed to alone. Wheels were in motion to deploy me to the US-led relief effort, so I was unable to take any time off from work. Things were frenetic, as I spent days on the phone, trying to negotiate the system, then hustling home to spend some time with Jen and Lydia. I’ve been up for nearly 36 hours at this point. Lyd flew out early from Charlotte, so we drove up there to drop her off, turned around, and went to the airport in Columbia and Jen dropped me off. I’ve spent the entire flight immersing myself in Japanese. I have watched Harry Potter twice in Japanese, once in English, and have read through my Japanese phrase books ad nauseum. Before I boarded the flight for Narita, I spoke to my Dad, and he told me how proud he was that someone from the family would be in Japan to help since a medical condition limited him. I confessed to him my fear that my language abilities had been oversold in an attempt to get me to Japan. My greatest nightmare was the linguistic equivalent of the one where you’re naked: A US General says something in English, turns to me, and awaits my translation, and I’ve got nothing.  Dad assured me it would all come back to me eventually, I just needed some time. But I was less confident.

So, I spent the flight immersing myself as much as possible. Refreshing basic intros, questions, numbers, etc. But all that can’t keep me from screwing up my customs form when I arrive. I manage a perfunctory “Doumo arigatou” (thank you) in my exit from customs and proceed into Narita proper, where I wander like a sleep-deprived gaijin and try to figure out where the shuttle to Yokota Air Base is located. There is an information desk manned by several Japanese people who look pleasant enough, so after reviewing my phrase books several times, I approach the desk, ready to ask for the location of the shuttle in Japanese.

Instead, what comes out is: “English o hanashimasuka?” What a chicken. I’ve just asked if anyone speaks English.

“Yes,” responds one of the ladies. Tan as I am, I’m sure that wave of relief that just washed over me also left my face red.Turns out I’ve wandered past the shuttle point several times already, and it is conspicuously marked by the only other white people in Narita right now. When I get there, I swear I recognize one of the other servicemen standing there as an officer in my community. But, I can’t be sure as tired as I am, so I simply find a seat and continue to study my Japanese.

The shuttle ride is uneventful. The welcome packet sent to me before I deployed warned I should be prepared for a long shuttle ride on the order of several hours. But in less than an hour and a half, we arrive at Yokota. On the ride, all I can think about is how nothing I see suggests a 9.0 hit only a week ago. Or that right now, on the northeast coast, people are still in survival mode. Keeping up with my emotions at this point is a useless endeavor. I have been through a lot in the past week, I haven’t slept in two days, but I’m here. If I haven’t mentioned that I deployed without any real clue what I’d be doing when I arrived, well, now you know. I have on hand, exactly one name and one phone number to call, and I can’t do the math in my head right now to figure out whether it’s a good idea or not. The hangar is freezing, a sobering reminder of the plight of the survivors at this point. In-processing goes fairly quickly, and evidently I’m expected to show up at the US Forces-Japan HQ tomorrow at 0530 to start in-processing with them, and find my job.

I hitch a ride to my quarters, which are in an old apartment tower on the other side of the flight line, somewhere on the 11th floor. I arrive and find I’m housed with about ten enlisted troops from the Special Operations Group at Okinawa, who are spread throughout the apartment on sleeping bags and pads. I have no idea what the SOG is doing here at this point, but then again, I can’t even tell people what I’m doing here either. I pop a sleeping pill, briefly pause to consider the early show time I have tomorrow, then swallow anyway. If I miss it because I slept through, whatever. Right now, I just need to sleep. 10 minutes into a movie on my laptop, it hits me like a train wreck in slow motion. I turn off the computer, and fall into a deep sleep.