* Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people is unintentional and purely coincidental.
*****
The Boeing 737 touched down on the tarmac with a bounce. Staff Sergeant Thomas Baird leaned forward in his seat with the sudden deceleration and slid the cover up on his window, looking with bleary eyes at the green fields surrounding the runway. The intercom chimed and the flight attendant's voice came across, saying, "Wilcommen in Deutschland, wo die Ortszeit halb elf ist." She repeated herself in English, "Welcome to Germany, where the local time is ten-thirty in the morning." Tom stretched and yawned; it had been a long, red-eye flight. Tired as he was, he could not help smiling as the feeling of excitement tingled down his spine. He had finally made it back to Germany!
Tom's first taste of Deutschland had come during a week of R&R in between deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan. It had been a glorious time, the fresh green of Germany in May contrasting sharply with the rocks and sand of Kuwait, and Tom and his fellow Airmen had thoroughly enjoyed themselves. He had sworn he would be back one day, and after a year-long remote tour to Korea in order to get a base-of-preference assignment, his dream had finally come true.
The plane taxied up to the passenger ramp and everyone scrambled to their feet as the Fasten sign dinged off. Tom waited until the majority had cleared out, preferring to take his time rather than be caught up in the rush. Stuffing the flannel sheet he used for a blanket into his pillow's case, he stood and retrieved his black backpack from the overhead bin and used the straps to cinch his makeshift bedroll to the side. He had travelled enough to learn the importance of being comfortable and being able to catch a nap whenever he could.
Tom deplaned and was relieved to see that the airport signs were in both German and English. His previous visit had been in and out on a C-17, so it was his first time coming through the civilian airport at Frankfurt. He retrieved his duffle bag and a green, military A-bag from the baggage carrousel and cleared Customs without any difficulty. They had been seeing American GI's come and go since the 1940s, and Tim was just another clean-cut face in the crowd.
After a bit of wandering and stopping several times to ask directions, Tom found his way to the USO office in the next terminal over. Sitting at the front desk was an attractive, older lady wearing a red blouse, her gray hair pinned up smartly. "Good morning, ma'am," Tom greeted her, hoping she spoke English. After his last year, it was throwing him for a loop to be surrounded by people who looked like him but did not speak the same language; in Korea, if you saw a white, black or Hispanic face they were almost guaranteed to be American.
"Good morning," the lady, Sandra, according to her nametag, replied. No trace of a German accent. Her prim and proper appearance and bearing suggested an officer's wife, and Tom guessed her husband had retired in Germany and she volunteered at the USO in her spare time. He made this assessment as she continued, "Are you just getting in or heading out?"
"Just landed, ma'am," said Tom.
"Welcome to Germany, then!" She flashed him a smile. "May I please see your ID card while you sign in?" She indicated a log book. Tom handed over his military ID and filled out the log.
"Under 'unit,' should I put where I'm coming from or where I'm going to?" he asked.
"You gaining, unit, please," Sandra instructed. Tom filled in 52d Security Forces Squadron.
Tom asked, "Could you tell me the best way to get to Spangdahlem Airbase? I read something about a shuttle bus, but I don't know the details." Normally, when an Air Force member transferred to a new base as a Permanent Change of Station, or PCS, move, the gaining unit assigned them a sponsor. The sponsor was typically a coworker who would look after the new guy, arrange transportation, answer any questions, and generally assist with the transition. Tom did not have a sponsor, at least not to his knowledge. Maybe one had been assigned to him but he had left Korea a month before and been on leave in the states, so he had not had access to his government email. Consequently, he was on his own, which did not particularly bother him. Half the adventure was figuring things out for himself.
"You can sign up for the White Swan Shuttle right here," Sandra told him, handing him a clipboard along with his ID card. "It is scheduled to depart at noon and makes stops at Wiesbaden, Ramstein, Vogelweh, Baumholder and Spangdahlem." Tom saw that the cost was $35, which seemed like a pretty good deal. Spangdahlem was two hours from the airport by car, probably longer by a slower van. "You're welcome to hang out here or go explore if you're tired to sitting. We have a baggage storage room off to the side," she indicated a doorway to her right, "if you don't want to carry your belongings around with you. Also, help yourself to any snacks or reading materials."
"Thanks!" Tom beamed at her and lugged his gear into the side room. There were a few other military bags and a couple regular suitcases, so he piled all his bags in a corner with his backpack on top to mark his stash.
Walking to the main common area, he saw that there was a table with some muffins, streusel, granola bars and a bowl of apples in the corner. Several couches and a few chairs surrounded a large TV where three young men were playing Xbox, in the middle of a heated round of the latest Call of Duty installment. Virtual explosions and real cuss words filled the air as Tom observed them. Late teens, early twenties, hair cut high and tight, the sides shaved almost smooth with a distinct edge around the relatively longer (quarter inch) hair on top. Not fit enough to be Marines, thought Tom, so they must be Soldiers. Sailors and Airmen would both have had faded transitions to their haircuts. Tom grabbed a muffin and settled in to a chair to watch.
As the match ended, one of the soldiers proffered the extra controller in Tom's direction. "Hey man, you wanna play? We could use a fourth."
Tom shrugged. "Sure, I'll giver 'er a go." He joined in and the next match started. It was a Deathmatch, every man for himself, and it did not take long before the air turned blue again. The final scores showed that Tom had racked up more than double any one of his opponents.
"What the fuck!" the first soldier said, shaking his head. "What are you, some kind of virtual Spec Ops Delta Force motherfucker?"
Tom laughed. "No, just an Air Force cop."
"Oh, hell no," the second soldier chimed in. Turning to his companion he said, "See, Santiago, this is why they're called the Chair Force. Cus they sit around playing video games all day."
"Fair enough," Tom said with an easy laugh.
"Alright," Santiago said, "Let's go again, but this time with the three of us against you."
"Whatever you think will help," Tom shrugged cockily.
The match started and the three soldiers did their best to communicate and work as a team. It helped a bit, and the final scores were not nearly as lopsided, but in the end they went down in defeat. "Good game," Santiago stuck out his hand begrudgingly.
