As I watched the moon rise just before sunset (my sunset – you guys will see it in saw it [grabsnabbing dust] six or seven or eight hours later), I thought it was just about perfect – almost full and at least 92% ambient illumination. With that much light, flying with NVGs is almost like cheating.

So, we didn't fly with goggles.

And we didn't fly with bare nekkid eyeballs.

*sigh*

We didn't fly at all.

The monsoon clouds off to the east were moving south and the sky had been clearing all afternoon, so when the weather-guessers said that conditions were perfect for a dust storm from the west right after sunset and issued a Severe Weather Warning, I figured they were just being conservative (these folks lost an aircraft – with crew and pax – in a dust storm a while back and it made a lasting impression).

Note to self: the weather-guessers've been here a lot longer than you have, dummy.

Sooooo, about 2015, the other Cobra IP and I were leaning against the side of the hangar, twiddling our thumbs and watching the moonlight go to waste. I felt a sting on my cheek. Then a couple more. The moon disappeared five seconds later, the red "Please Don't Fly Into Me" lights on the cell towers three klicks west started fading *fast*, our Security Shadows popped out doorway defilade, gave us the Get Outta Dodge sign and joined us as we scooted toward the ramp where our transportation was parked.

When the driver hit his headlights, the whole world lit up in a bright amber glow. Problem was, the whole world consisted of a fifty foot bubble, with us in the center.

By the time we hooked up with our escort vehicle, viz was maybe thirty feet.

I didn't check the speedometer on the trip back – I was too busy marveling about how fast the exterior world was disappearing and how skillfully our driver managed to dodge the oncoming vehicles coming at us out of the murk -- and passing us on both sides.

I still think he found his way back by Braille.

And, for a short time, I had sandy brown hair again. And face, and hands, and shirt…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Notes and Asides:

1. Most of the Scholarly Country Information in the Forty-Page Scholarly Dissertation I was given back in Fayetteville has proven to be about 30 years out-of-date. I showed it to one of the Shadows because he was curious about it – he started laughing when he started reading and was still in tears after he'd finished (he reads English a lot better than I read Urdu or Pashtun).

2. Folks here don't have the Middle/Near East taboo against showing someone the sole of your shoe. They'll sit cross-legged as readily as Americans will.

3. Cricket: For munchies during the next 'Ritamatic bash, drizzle some hot pepper sauce over a chapati, sprinkle with boiled, shredded chicken that's spent the week marinating in hot pepper sauce, add juliennes of hot peppers, cover with a couple of pounds of mozzarella cheese mixed with minced hot peppers, bake at 350 for 20 minutes, then dust with Parmesan and spritz with hot pepper sauce. Presto – Tandoori Pizza. Keep a bottle of hot pepper sauce on the side for those foolish souls who'll drench it without first tasting it. Make sure there's a charged battery in the camcorder.

4. A dust storm will bollix your internet connectivity in a heartbeat – see first paragraph. It'll also knock out your cable TV reception, or so the guy next door tells me. I haven't watched the tube in a week, so I can't verify that particular attribute, but I *can* verify that, if you've been out in one, your spit'll be brown for a good ten minutes. And I won't even mention what your handkerchief will look like after you've – never mind.

5. The guy in the striped shirt and cargo pants sitting next to you is just as likely to be a businessman as a post-grad student. Or a Shadow. Nothing against them, BTW (Hiya, guys! My treat for coffee and cookies later, same time, same place!), because they're 90% interested in keeping us alive and well and only 10% interested in reporting on our comings-and-goings. Which, in our case, are extremely limited and extremely coordinated.

6. Over here, olive drab is now a decorator color. We gained a massive amount of regional good will for that humanitarian assist after the 2005 'quake, and if Foggy Bottom plays that card the right way, al-Q will be in a world of hurt in the neighborhood regardless of how the various local power plays eventually shake out. If we do a unilateral strike on a target on their turf, we lose the PR war instantly.

6a. The Taliban's another matter entirely, even though most folks here disagree with their interpretation of Sharia. Hint: Pashtunwali. Google it. Interestingly, the various councils governing the South Asian madrassas are using peer pressure to convince the radical schools to join the mainstream – and some of them have, warily.

See everybody later. Thanks, Barb!