I swear, the helicopter pilots around here must love their jobs. They hurtle through the air all day and night, roaring over our trailers and our motor pool, as if to flaunt their aerial freedom to us lowly humvee drivers.
The Black Hawks are most numerous – pairs of them are always in the air, taking off and landing for patrols and other missions. They don’t fly sedately like they do in the US; rather, they fly low and as fast as possible, thundering over the trailers on a regular basis, shaking the floor and rendering conversation impossible.
A pair of Apache attack helicopters were patrolling one day, and when they reached their turnaround point, one of them pulled up in a near-vertical climb and swung the tail around in an approximation of a hammerhead turn and came back down – just for the hell of it.
A pair of Kiowas (little scout helicopters) usually land near our motor pool too; they’re not nearly as noisy but they’re more nimble. This morning two came in to land, and instead of just turning and dropping onto the pad, one of them turned wide and came in low right over my site, blasting me with his rotor wash. Cocky bastards!