Camp Virginia, Kuwait

25 by 100 foot hut. The stench was overpowering by midday. The smell of old crusty uniforms in desperate need of a change out and stacked bodies in need of a scrub. So I sat outside and read James Herriot until the heat got to me, then re-entered when forced with few other choices.
We were at the Taquaddum A/DACG (arrival/departure air control group) terminal, and it was 20 hours and counting. No sure thing when flying out on your way home, we were on terminal standby.
The hut is the staging area and occasional place of permanent residence when one has nowhere else to go. The hut is too small. The hut smells like a hundred years of stink. The hut is all we have. The surgical team, a smattering of Fallujah corpsman, and a company of Marines are all staking a small piece of real estate. With scattered cots and chairs, the hut filled quickly in the morning, and by 9 AM, all seats were taken as we watched another group of Marines come and go. When the seats and cots were all doubled up, bodies started filling the floor, and required deft footwork to extract yourself in/out. Foosball table? Just became a zipcode for two Marines sleeping under it.
We all survived. Three MRE's and a few sneaks out to the chowhall/DFAC and we finally had our flight to Kuwait on a C-130. After a six hour transit that included loading the bags, unloading the bags, re-loading the bags, head count, repeat X2, we made it to Camp Virginia, Kuwait 36 hours ago. Tomorrow, customs in the afternoon and a flight home very early Saturday morning. Counting on a layover in Shannon, Ireland for a pint.