Three weeks ago, I shipped out with my squadron for Red Flag Nellis, an aviation war game conducted at Nellis Air Force base in Las Vegas, Nevada. It's not much of a deployment, as it's only five hours away from San Diego, and it offers some pretty nice benefits: world-class training with other aviation services (including international ones) and the opportunity to experience the pleasures of Sin City. The exercise comes at an important time for our squadron particularly, as it forms the "final exercise" an air-to-air training syllabus we've conducted these past months. And almost as important as the tactics we practice is this opportunity for the squadron to experience the vicissitudes of deployment as a team before actually heading out to Japan next March.
Much as I remembered the last WestPac, deployment is suddenly a small life, made up of a shared hotel room, shared workspaces, a rigid vehicle schedule made for the convenience of all (but really the convenience of none), and the annihilating desire of comrades to engage in debauchery in Vegas. There are significant frustrations, like the lack of privacy and amenities (laundry, gym). There is constant heat and new faces and a high tempo of briefs and planning, with little free time in between. But there is also a high and august calling about it, a chance to really learn the trade of being a Hornet aircrew. There is a chance to live the tactics in way that is impossible in the comfortable life of San Diego; there is the immense satisfaction of working as a team to solve problems--logistical and tactical; and there is the unique joy that comes with being young and hardworking, being in a new and exotic place, and feeling capable of anything.
From the blowing desert surrounding Nellis AFB rise the fantastic towers of "The Strip," rising like Oz to the south of the base. They are a surreal sight in the canopy as we taxied to take off each day, while at night their brightness hurt our eyes whether viewed through night-vision goggles or not. It's truly amazing what we have created in Las Vegas - buildings of striking beauty and innovation, lavishly adorned, dedicated ironically and only to Mammon and lust. Long after our civilization has faded, I'm sure, the towers and sculptures and fountains of Las Vegas will stand mute ruined testimony to the glory and corruption of our people. As for the runways at Nellis: they will disappear, as all artifacts of virtue and sacrifice do--stories of those themes live only in legend. "Go tell Sparta, passer-bye / that we, obedient to their laws, here lie."
But there was little time for philosophical reflections during the exercise. The first week I was on the night page, beginning my day at 5:00 PM to fly at 10:30-ish, returning to the hotel around 6:00 AM the following morning after all the debriefs. The cycle was a bit like groundhog day: lots of briefs before the flight, lots of briefs after the flight, then time to go home, hungry from lack of time to eat and drained from the heat, the adrenaline of flying, and the strain of waiting in all the briefs. The hotel wasn't much of a home, either: reeking of second-hand smoke and constantly contaminated with the noise of slot machines, it was actually a little stressful as living quarters. But in spite of the schedule we had one weekend to relax, which we occupied (characteristically) with a gigantic party in the Wynn in downtown Vegas that Saturday night filled with craps, catered food, and squadron shenanigans in our party suits -- a kind of flight suit done in our squadron colors and adorned with patches of our choice (usually cataloguing our various experiences in the Corps and sometimes funnier stuff). Given that it's such a distinctive and novel suit, however, some of us were asked whether or not we were strippers as we strutted amongst the tables in the casino. A compliment? perhaps. Only in Vegas, though.
That single Sunday was given to recovery and, for some of us, church. The Cathedral in Vegas is amazing for several reasons, and I've written of it before. For one, it is on the strip itself, stoutly lodged among rival temples to pleasure and money. For another, it has some fantastic art. Non-traditional, to be sure, but nonetheless fantastic. Dominated by a youthful, athletic, beardless Jesus, there is a triumphant air to the aggressively modern building. It's enough to make most Catholics uncomfortable, as it sort of ignores the suffering aspect of Christ's life, but its worth seeing and spiritually stimulating nonetheless. It felt like a turnpoint, too, because I moved from the awkward schedule of night flights to the more normal rhythm of daytime missions. And by that point most of our comrades were surfeited on gambling and night-time pursuits. From that point on it was a race to Friday, our last day in that city of harsh sunlight and dark nightlife. The fantastic flying and long hours helped pass the time.
In my experience, the best part of Las Vegas is getting there and leaving. It is wonderful and magnificent, but up close it reveals its seediness despite the appalling luxury and its unhappiness despite the constant entertainment. It makes me uneasy. It was good to fly in Red Flag, and fun to see the wonders of that city again. But it was better far to leave.
Especially since I went from there to a wonderful and much-anticipated vacation in Chicago, autumn town and long-time love affair of mine.
