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.
