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Ambassadors of Beirut: Part Three
Aranciata for the Children!
The sun slowly eased above the horizon, and I realized the glints in the corner of my eye were flightdeck crew. Helmeted fireflies in the dark — streaks of light darting between helos, dragging heavy chains.
The deck was a litany of movements: chock the wheels; loosen the binders, grab the chains, and crawl quickly out — while someone else kicks the chocks free, and the helicopter starts to roll forward. All this effort to purchase a few extra feet of deck space. With a wave, the litany begins again — this time in reverse: chock the wheels; set the chain; bind the chain; move to the next — quickly! Despite the cacophony, business on the flightdeck is conducted in verbal silence. Nods, gestures, and hand signals prevail.
The temperature outside wasn’t bad yet, and the humidity was still nice, but I could smell the fuel and feel the heat starting to rise from the flight deck. Flying back this evening would not be as nice. We had been sitting in the same spot, ready to go for over 30 minutes. The loadmaster knitted his way through our outstretched legs, checking that we had our seatbelts on, occasionally checking helmets by tugging our chinstraps. During the safety brief, he had again reminded us that if anything happened, to get out fast and move forward — ahead of the helicopter. This brief…
