Let People Think What They Think They Want to Think About Thinks They Want to Think About

Sometimes it's cool to just let folks assume things. In the spring of 2003, I was assigned to a PATRIOT missile battery in Germany. We were scheduled to deploy to Turkey at the end of March. The rumor was that we would convoy through Turkey and enter northern Iraq to provide air defense for the northern region. The rest of my unit left for Turkey around a week before I did. My commander had made the decision to leave me back temporarily due to the scheduled C-section birth of my son on April 1st. This was a tough decision for him, because I was the only person qualified to do my job. If something was to happen to prevent my arrival, he would surely had to answer a lot of questions. Missiles wouldn't fly without me running the radios that told them where to go.

My mother-in-law made the journey to Germany to be with my family after I left, so they were in good hands. Just a day after Mrs. Denotsko was released from the hospital, I was on a military chartered flight to Turkey. While I was in limbo waiting for my travel orders, a shipment of classified documents and electronics components had arrived. I was asked by my commander to transport them to him when I came. I carried the items in a locked, metal case like you see drug dealers use on Miami Vice. I looked cool.

I was traveling with two officers from one of our sister batteries who took themselves way too seriously. Myself being one of little rank, I was at the mercy of their paranoia. While I was the only one qualified and authorized to act as a courier of such materials, they felt it was their duty to tell me how to do it. I was made to use plastic zip ties to attach my case to my wrist, so if we were captured by one of the other 250 Americans we were traveling with, they would have to cut the zip ties to see my chaffed arm. They acted like I had the key to world domination in that case, and if it was to be lost, all hope would go with it.

Once we arrived at the airbase in Turkey, they forgot all about me and my doomsday device and split. Guess I wasn't interesting to them any more. I was informed that the plane's final destination was to be Saudi Arabia or someplace, and my luggage was checked all the way. I could come back in a day or two to pick it up, or get back on the plane and ride to the end. Then they would bring me and my luggage back. My commander was definitely not happy about this turn of events. Not at all. He had been informed that we could possibly be sent to Iraq in as little as 24 hours. He needed me, and I would be needing all my gear.

He went through about 5 levels of Air Force chain of command raising hell about the situation. The next thing I knew, we were sitting on a little conveyer belt truck that was traveling at a very uncomfortable speed across the flightline toward the plane I had just recently exited. The plane had been on it's way to the take off runway and was halted. After we had caught up with the plane, the side door to the cargo bay was opened and the conveyor was raised to it. I cut the zip ties and handed my case to the commander. I then walked up the ramp with three airman into the cargohold to find my bags.

Once in the plane, I got some very nervous glances. I was not in uniform, and had spent about 36 hours at the airport before the flight, so I was looking pretty scruffy. The airmen seemed to jump at anything I said. I suggested that we start the search on the left side of the plane, and work our way to the right. They jumped into the task like they had a rifle at their backs and would be shot if they moved too slowly. I tried to make conversation, but they just gave brief 1 or 2 word responses. I could hear the pilot revving the engines as if to tell us to hurry up.

The search was long and hot. After about a half hour of me talking out loud to myself, they started to loosen up a bit. The first guy asked me what I had in my bag that was so damn important. I said 'nothing special' and kept digging. Now that the subject had been hit, they all had questions. What are you? Why is that captain down there holding your case? What's in the case? Are you special Ops? Are you with the CIA? Are you with Delta Force? Why are they holding this plane just for you? What's in the bags?
I never answered any of the questions. I just kept looking and let them draw their own conclusions. We eventually found my shit and left the plane.

We were never given clearance to enter Iraq, so we stayed on the airbase in Turkey for the duration of our deployment. Over the next month, I'm pretty sure I saw the airmen from the plane again. I was a the chow hall waiting for my food and noticed some young guys in the corner eyeing me with an odd look of awe in their eyes. When I looked in their direction, they shifted their gaze away nervously.

Not once did I say anything to lead these guys in any direction. It's funny how people will tell themselves what they want to hear. Now, a few years later, I like to think these guys are back home telling the story. I hope in their version, I'm 6 foot 9 and bristling with weapons. Looking for a bag of grenades and ammo. AHHHH the delusion of recollection.