“Alarm red, alarm red, alarm red. All aircraft and vehicles will hold their position until further notice. The airfield is currently under attack.” The radio crackled to life with the startling announcement. The gravity of the situation was made more chilling simply because of the matter-of-fact tone of voice in which it was said; the woman speaking into the radio may as well have been taking an order through a drive-thru window as declaring the imminent possibility of death for servicemen on the ground in Iraq.
Our plane rumbled to a stop as commanded by the monotone voice on the other end of the radio, and an expectant silence filled the cockpit. Glancing outside, we saw men and women scurrying across the parking ramps towards the concrete bunkers. The follow-me truck in front of our aircraft screeched to a stop and the driver threw himself onto the pavement and covered his head. After a few moments, our cockpit was filled with nervous laughter as we watched the driver get up from his position on the taxiway, jump into his truck and accelerate towards the bunkers, come to a stop, and run inside. The obvious distress of the driver contrasted sharply with the placid command to hold position just received over the radio. We laughed at the driver’s behavior, not so much because his behavior was amusing as because it provide a release to our own anxiety as we sat patiently in our own giant, winged, target.
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