Finally he would take out his cordless drill and attach a foot-long coring bit. He would drill into the runway. After penetrating the maximum length of the bit, he would withdraw it and use another device to remove the coring sample and place it in a plastic tube sized perfectly for the core. He then noted the GPS coordinates, temperature, humidity and time of day on the plastic tube.
It took about fifteen minutes at each stop to complete the process and another few minutes to pack up and move to the next stop. At the stops that were near the end of the runways, Hajjar took photographs from several different perspectives. His camera recorded the time, GPS coordinates and compass direction on each photo taken.
The two other Humvees took up covering positions. All of the men were bored, correctly guessing that the chance of enemy action was about equivalent to the chance that Meghan Fox would suddenly land in an airplane for their entertainment.
After the last stop, Hajjar climbed into the back of his Humvee. “Thank you,” he said to Rican.
“Just doing my job. This is about as interesting as most of what I do in country.”
The convoy moved quickly to cover the 21 mile driving distance to the next airfield, known as H3 Southwest. It had a single runway running and taxiway. A small apron was located near the southeastern terminus of the airfield. This time the Humvee carrying Hajjar drove to the runway/taxiway junction and stopped, the driver not needing to ask the Kuwaiti where to go. The engineer exited and retrieved his gear. The process began at the right junction, moved up the runway and came back down the taxi. Only a single core was drilled on the apron. The time on the base was a little over two hours, each man except for Hajjar able to enjoy an MRE for lunch.
The three Humvees headed out to the final airfield of the day, the second of the two dispersal fields established to support the main H3 airfield, this one known H3 Northwest. The drive took about fifty minutes, the Kuwaiti engineer able to eat some lunch on the way. The established process began again. Hajjar was tired as he worked. He was still in his 30s, but was clearly not in the same physical condition as his American military hosts. But despite this, the small base with a single taxiway and small tarmac took less than three hours to complete.
The convoy was back at Camp Korean Village as nightfall began to make Rican nervous about being outside the camp’s protection. The process of the prior night repeated, with the Kuwaiti talking endlessly with every willing Iraqi, this time adding a couple of enlisted men in his discussions.
At 0630 hours the next day, the convoy set out again, this time not expecting to return. The lieutenant went out of his way to find the commanding officer of the base and shake his hand, thanking him for the hospitality. One hour later, the convoy pulled on to the southern tip of runway 34 at H2 airfield. This field had two long runways, two long taxiways and two tarmac areas. Every 700 feet or so, a large rectangular pile of sandbags blocked the runways and the taxiways. But Hajjar followed the same procedure he had the prior day, except for one change in the routine. On this day Rican asked to operate the cordless drill after the first stop, taking over the drilling function at each remaining stop and speeding up the process. It gave Rican something to do and made the lieutenant happy since they had a long drive to reach the last of the five airfields they would visit on this trip.
The convoy loaded up and moved out from H2 around noon. To the north, dark clouds heavily laden with moisture were headed their way. Distant thunder rolled along the sandy earth, heightening the desire of everyone to outrun the storm. That goal was successfully achieved. The convoy drove back east 84 miles to the intersection with Highway 21 and turned south for another 55 miles before turning right onto an unmarked road for the last 11 miles of their journey.
The road they were on terminated at an isolated air base known as Mudaysis Airfield. Mudaysis had a single 9,800 foot runway with an equally long parallel taxiway and a single rectangular tarmac that was adjacent to the taxiway and measured 1,325 feet by 380 feet. As the convoy pulled onto the tarmac at 1532 hours, lightning struck the southern end of the runway only a quarter mile from the Humvees. As if under the direction of the lightning bolt, rain suddenly hit the convoy hard. All three Humvees buttoning up as tight as they could. The convoy simply sat in position, hoping the rain would soon pass.
After almost an hour of heavy rain, a small amount of fading sunlight broke through the clouds as the raindrops slowed to a trickle. The lieutenant walked up to Hajjar’s Humvee and opened his door. “What would you like to do?” asked the young officer.
Hajjar got out onto the tarmac, stepping into a pool of water about three inches deep. He looked around the barren airfield. Other than some earth-covered aircraft bunkers and a handful of roofless buildings that looked like they had been deserted and decaying for decades, there was nothing to see but desert flatness that was now covered in most spots by a layer of water. “Too wet,” said the Kuwaiti. “Radar not good now.”
“That’s what I figured,” responded the lieutenant. “We will spend the night right here and start at first light.”
Hajjar got back into the Humvee, and the officer informed the soldiers in the vehicle of the situation. The lieutenant then closed Hajjar’s door and walked to the other Humvee to inform them before walking back to his vehicle. Inside the lieutenant’s Humvee, a communication specialist radioed the home base outside of Baghdad. The radio call was relayed by an unmanned aerial vehicle orbiting at 62,000 feet over central Iraq to facilitate U.S. military transmissions. It took less than a minute to report their location and status. They were warned that aerial support was not close if they got into trouble.
The vehicles started up and drove over to the one aircraft bunker that appeared to be in the best condition. The lieutenant got out and investigated before ordering the two Humvees without a mounted gun to back in while the Humvee with the .50 caliber machine gun backed in last, its nose just inside the roof of the bunker. The steel doors which used to close up the opening to protect the airplane once housed here were long gone. But now, anyone who approached the opening to the bunker would be met by half inch diameter machine gun rounds, more than enough to deter any but the suicidal.
Rican hopped out. The ground was wet. He looked up at the sky through a three foot wide circular opening in the roof with rusting rebar pointing downward into the hanger area. The hole was the only remaining evidence of the weapon that had destroyed whatever airplane had been unlucky enough to be parked here when the U.S. Air Force came calling. He walked around and found an area where they could set up a couple of tents that had been brought along for this contingency. The sergeant yelled at several privates to get them going on their new task, exercising the prerogative that dictated life in every military throughout time. He returned to his Humvee and climbed into the rear seat. “Fun night tonight,” he said. “Already feels like forty degrees out.”
Ibrahim Hajjar was excited, feeling like he was kid at a scouting event. He looked at Rican. “This is very far from people,” he said, his English having improved slightly as a result of three days of constant usage. “Anyone here ever?” he asked.
“No, sir. I asked the Iraqis that question this morning at Camp KV. They said they come out here once or twice a month. The guy I talked to has been at KV for nine months and has never seen a soul here. He couldn’t remember any stories of people here neither. If you ask me, this is the last place the Iraqis want to build. This place is fit only for Bedouin. Even the Iraqis want nothing to do with it. There ain’t even no villages within miles. Plus, it’s a hell hole in the summer time.”