No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone (9 page)

In spite of my exhaustion, I didn't sleep well that night. I was too excited to close my eyes; the anticipation of the next day's adventure kept me rooted at my window, where I spent much of the night gazing at my limited view of Kuwait.

After a breakfast of cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, feta cheese, and flat bread, I returned to my claustrophobic room with seven hours to kill. I was tempted to go back to the airport and get a visa so I could see more of Kuwait but decided to play it safe. I didn't want to risk missing my flight if something were to go wrong.

Meanwhile I was bored. Nothing held my attention. I turned on the TV only to find the movie My Best Friend's Wedding playing in Arabic. I tried writing but couldn't concentrate. What really drove me crazy was not being able to communicate with Eddie and the security team. Without Internet or a way to phone them, I had no clue if Charlie had even been picked up.

Only six hours togo...

Five hours and twenty-two minutes ...

Four hours, ten minutes....

Finally it was time to return to the terminal! Once again the shuttle and signs were my allies, guiding me to the Gryphon passenger check-in counter. When I spotted "Baghdad" on the departure board, the realization hit me full throttle. I was about to fly into a country at war.

As I greeted the agent and gave him my passport, my hand was trembling from excitement.

"I need your DOD CAC, please."

"My what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You need a Department of Defense Common Access Card in order to enter Iraq."

"I won't be staying in Iraq," I said, trying not to panic. "I'm only flying to the airport to pick up a dog, and then I'm coming right back. I won't even be getting off the plane."

"Oh, you're the Dog Lady!" His reassuring smile washed over me. "I heard you'd be flying with us tonight. Glad to have you aboard."

Promoted from a regular passenger to an expected VIP with the title "Dog Lady," I took my briefcase and my new status, proceeded to the gate, and settled on the plane.

The flight attendant had just finished demonstrating the usual safety procedures with seat belt, oxygen, and flotation device. This routine was one I could deliver myself, having seen it at least a hundred times on journeys to and from major disasters.

"When we begin our descent over Baghdad ..

I gazed out the window.

"... in order to avoid detection from unfriendly forces on the ground ..."

Now the flight attendant had my undivided attention.

"... we will turn off all interior and exterior lights."

The next announcement was one I had never heard on any flight I'd ever taken.

"As we enter Baghdad airspace, we will remain at eighteen thousand feet, beyond the range of weapons. Once we are immediately above the airport, the aircraft will begin a corkscrew landing, which involves flying a tight circle while making a steep descent. During the landing approach, which should take approximately ten minutes, all passengers must remain in their seats with belts securely fastened."

As I visualized our plane descending the equivalent of a spiral staircase, I double-checked the tightness of my seatbelt and threw in a short prayer as an added precaution against surface-to-air missiles. "Please, God, if they shoot, let them miss."

As I leaned back against the seat, the thrust of engines lifted us into the sky. It suddenly hit me-I was less than an hour away from meeting Charlie. I imagined that Eddie must be sweating bullets by now. If only he could sense that in the darkness of the star-filled sky above the desert, our souls were meeting somehow and wrapping a protective shield around his beloved dog.

About fifty minutes into the flight, all the lights went out. Even the illuminated "No Smoking" and "Fasten Seatbelts" signs vanished in the dark. The sensation of flying in a pitch-black cabin reminded me of an amusement park ride. I nearly started to giggle, but when the corkscrew descent began, I knew this was no laughing matter.

Only a few hundred feet down I could see what looked like a long stretch of tarmac. Seemingly out of nowhere, a white truck with mounted red lights appeared from the right. It was racing at an angle toward our runway and pointed in the same direction we were going.

Was it planning to attack the plane? Surely this wasn't a suicide bomber. If not, what was the vehicle doing? The truck passed my window and disappeared from view as we came ever closer to the ground. My heart began pounding in anticipation of the impact.

Suddenly the plane's spinning wheels hit the runway . . . ka thump, thump! As the reversed engines roared, my body was thrust forward, and the seatbelt strained against me. Tension easing, we slowed until we reached the end of the landing strip, then turned and taxied back past the infamous terminal originally named for Saddam Hussein. In the almost complete darkness, Baghdad International Airport appeared like a ghost of its former self. What a creepy sight.

The plane seemed to take forever as it taxied first in one direction and then another. When we made a sharp right turn, I caught a glimpse of the white truck that we now seemed to be following.

Oh, so he's notgoing to blow us up.

Finally we came to a row of hangars, where the aircraft slowed to a stop. The idling engines of a C-17 transport aircraft created a deafening roar outside my window. In the semidarkness, military vehicles circled the monster aircraft as they went about the business of moving pallets, equipment, and other paraphernalia of war.

A wide ramp at the back of the monstrous plane was the stage for a striking scene. Two lines of uniformed soldiers walked single file, up and down the ramp; as one line entered the plane, the other marched out. Side by side, soldiers passed each other in the dark. The strange exchange left one group marching into war and possible death or injury while the other, having survived, was going home. Heavy rucksacks covered their backs; camouflaged helmets and flak jackets protected their heads and bodies, and their arms bore M16 rifles that were held ready to shoot if trouble began. For the first time in my life, war was as close as my window.

A huge, imposing man, wearing a beige SLG security uniform, boarded our plane and spoke to the passengers over the PA system. "In order to get all passengers processed, please stay in your seats and have your DOD CACs ready for checking. We will then clear passengers to deplane."

"I don't have an access card," I said when he reached my seat. "I'm just here to pick up a dog and return to Kuwait."

"Oh, you're here for Charlie," he said with a friendly grin. "He's all ready, so you may as well go and meet him." The man stepped out of the aisle and motioned for me to pass.

When I got to the front of the cabin, I stopped in the open doorway, remembering the instructions given at Kuwait that I must not exit the plane.

Its so dark. Where are they?

As if watching a movie with special effects where objects fade in and out, the figures I was seeking magically appeared into the dimly lit area below the plane. Four well-built men walked toward me, each one grasping a corner of the large crate that was cradled between them.

Its Charlie. There he is. Oh, my God, it's him .. .

I poked my head farther out the door and quickly scanned each side of the stairs to make sure no guns were pointed in my direction. Breaking the rule, I descended the stairs and stood on Iraqi soil, something I never imagined I'd be doing.

Shaking hands amidst hurried introductions and roaring engines, I was unable to catch the names of the SLG guys, but I'll never forget their kind faces. Formalities aside, I squatted down to look at the guy I had flown almost seven thousand miles to save.

"Hey, Charlie." My fingers reached through the metal grate. "It's so good to meet you at long last." He moved closer to me and proceeded to lick as much skin as his tongue could reach. This was one greeting that would be hard to surpass.

"I can't thank you men enough," I said as one of them handed me a large manila envelope containing Charlie's paperwork. "What you've done tonight has made an American soldier extremely happy, and you've saved this dog's life."

"We're glad to see one animal, at least, getting out of this hellhole. Heaven knows, this is no place to be a dog."

Soon the flight attendant signaled for us to get Charlie on board. Two of the men carried his crate into the plane as I followed close behind. After hugs all round and another "Thank you so much," they each said goodbye to Charlie and retreated down the stairs. I found it touching to see how attached these tough security guys had become to Charlie in such a short time.

As I returned to my seat, all I could think was Holy cow, we did it. If only Eddie could have been here.

When we completed the corkscrew ascent, and the lights flickered on, the flight attendant came down the aisle.

"If you want to see how Charlie is doing, the pilot said it would be okay."

That was one invitation I wasn't going to turn down! I headed straight up the aisle to the cargo area and sat myself down beside Charlie. His tail thumped on the crate wall when I joined him, and he kept his eyes on me for the duration of the flight. I told him that this strange journey would eventually bring him back to Eddie, but in a country where he'd be safe. Who knows how much any animal can understand from voice and body language? All I knew was that Charlie was glad for my presence. We kept each other company until just before the plane began its descent.

Before I had left Kuwait, I had done a practice run, so I knew exactly where I needed to go after my flight from Baghdad landed. As long as nothing went wrong, I was fairly confident we'd be on time to catch our next flight on United. But there had been a delay just before we took off from Baghdad, so now we'd be cutting it close. If anything caused Charlie and me to miss our connecting flight, we would be in trouble. Dogs from Iraq aren't allowed to enter Kuwait, and the next flight to Washington, D.C., wasn't until the following night. Charlie would be stuck in his crate in the cargo terminal with no one to walk him or give him food and fresh water.

Before landing in Kuwait, I spoke to the flight engineer, who had taken a liking to Charlie. "Now you're sure the ground crew will get Charlie to the United flight okay and not leave him sitting somewhere?"

"Don't worry. I'll personally make sure Charlie doesn't get left behind."

As the passenger shuttle left for the terminal, I watched the airport ground crew load Charlie's crate onto a luggage trolley. This was the last time I would see him until we were reunited in Washington, D.C. I had to fight the urge to jump off that shuttle, much like a new parent who leaves her child in the care of a babysitter for the first time.

When we entered the Kuwait terminal, the transit desk was a hub of activity. Forty of us had arrived on the Gryphon flight, and due to the delay, most were nervous about making their connection. As we stood in line, a United Airlines representative collected our passports and gave them to a man seated at a desk in a small office behind the counter. Working at a snail's pace, the seated man inspected each passport, printed a boarding pass, and then handed both items back to the United representative, who returned them, one by one, to each passenger.

At this pace we'll be here all night, I thought.

The passing minutes on the wall clock seemed to speed up as the time of our departure got closer and closer.

"Terri Crisp!" the United representative called out.

"I'm traveling with a dog," I said as he handed me my passport and boarding pass. "I need to pay the shipping cost."

"All animals are supposed to be here two hours before departure." His voice hinted at impatience, and his eyes betrayed no feelings of sympathy or understanding.

"I know, but our flight was delayed."

He turned to speak in Arabic to the man seated at the desk. I had no idea what they were saying, and their facial expressions were not providing any clues. Being unfamiliar with Middle Eastern mannerisms and body language, I found it impossible to tell whether the agent was a helpful friend or a play-by-the-book foe.

All the other United passengers who approached the desk were told to proceed to the departure gate, while I stood like a penitent sinner at the end of the counter, feeling more helpless than I cared to think about.

The airport PA system announced, "All passengers for United Airlines flight number 981, please proceed to Gate 21 for an on-time departure."

The man with whom I had been dealing returned to the counter. "First we need to locate the dog. Then we'll weigh the crate to determine how much the freight charge is. In the meantime, please fill out these documents."

I was still stuck at "We need to locate the dog." I wanted to scream, "You're telling me you don't know where Charlie is?"

But this was not the time to speak my mind. I filled out the forms while the man went in search of Charlie. I crossed my fingers, hoping he'd be on our side. After completing the paperwork, I paced in front of the counter. The minutes continued to tick by. Once again the voice over the PA system reminded all United Airlines passengers that they should now be boarding the flight for Washington, D.C.

Trying to curb my rising anxiety, I asked myself, "Has anybody died?" The answer was "no" at that point, so everything was still fixable. When I'm faced with challenges, this question has turned more anxiety-filled situations around than I care to count. All I am dealing with is another solvable problem. At the next flight-boarding announcement, I tuned out the annoying voice.

The tap-tapping of the United representative's leather-soled shoes preceded his breathless announcement, "We found him! I've got the weight." He waved a slip of paper in the air as if approaching the finish line of a marathon. He slipped behind the counter, wiping sweat off his brow. For a man whose culture didn't like dogs, he certainly was making an effort to ensure that Charlie and I caught the flight. He had proved himself to be a helpful friend.

After some quick calculations, the agent told me what I owed. I wasted no time giving him my debit card and prayed the woman at the credit union had been correct when she said the card would be accepted in Kuwait. I stared at the small machine, willing the slip of paper to scroll out, confirming that payment had been accepted. Suddenly the machine hummed and began to print, and I expelled one more of the many sighs of relief that had passed my lips that night.