Last night, I was talking to Sergeant Young, and he said they'd probably get me over to Phoenix for outprocessing on the 28th. I went on to play two games of volleyball with the Germans, and helped by my four-hour nap, kept a fairly upbeat attitude even through our late patrol. Even on the ride back, my lower back in knots from being hunched over the surveillance equipment (spotted: one fat woman, two men on bicyles, one dog, goats) and thrown around in the turrent, I encouraged myself by thinking, Just one more day, just one more day.
Today, after PMCSing our HMMWVs, I wandered around trying to find some way to attach the wheels back on my job box. (Since I was going back individually, I would have to take all my gear with me. This would help ensure nothing got lost, but would also be a pain in that units ship about half their gear back a couple of months before they leave country- I would be carting something on the order of 200 lbs of gear.) Someone suggested I check with the CP. In the CP, I was told that I was no longer scheduled to return individually, but that I would be going back with a group.
Oh, @#$%. I'm glad, I suppose, that I might not have to take all of the ridiculously overprepared gaggle of gear (I have almost an entire duffle bag filled with nothing but NBC gear, for instance. I know we're at enormous risk of nuclear, chemical and biological attack here in A-stan, but sheesh!)back with me, but this complicates things hugely. Even more distressing, I have more time in country. More chance to get hurt. More chance to die. More time in the hardest-working unit in the camp.
I should have realized things were going too smoothly. The Army could cock up a wet dream.