Food warriors fight invisible war

The food boxes roll out into space, into the early-morning blackness that is Afghanistan, in seven seconds flat.

They exit so fast they don’t make any noise, at least not one that can be heard over the roar of the C-17 Globemaster’s engines, the whoosh of air leaving the ship and the steady pop-pop of candy bar bags and ballpoint pens exploding in the depressurized cabin.

Every night, C-17’s from the United States fly out of Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, crammed tight with vegetarian meals. They fly for seven hours into enemy territory, throw open the doors and let gravity pull their cargo toward Earth. Then they fly back to Germany to start all over again.

This is the other half of the war on terrorism, the beans to go along with the bombs. International relief agencies have criticized the drops as being mostly for show, and even pilots admit that dropping food from high altitudes is an inefficient way of helping starving people.

But in 15 nights of flying, they’ve dropped more than 700,000 meals over Afghanistan. Each comes wrapped in a message: “Food gift from the people of the United States of America.” Above the words are an American flag and a drawing of a man bringing a spoon to his face.

The first few missions ended with high-fives and war whoops. Now the crews from Charleston Air Force Base in South Carolina and McChord Air Force Base in Washington go about their work with quiet professionalism.

Cargo pilot’s love

“The C-17 is just a sweet, sweet ride,” said flight commander Maj. Scott, whose job often resembles that of a long-haul trucker. Cargo pilots aren’t the glamour guys of piloting.

Before Sept. 11, the highlight of Scott’s flying career was the emergency medical transport of an American girl from a Japanese base to a Texas hospital. She survived.

“My son is 5. I think he gets this,” said Scott, who flies out of Charleston Air Force Base. “He at least gets that we’re over here helping people.”

The crewmembers’ last names are being withheld to protect their families.

Ninety minutes before the plane reaches Afghanistan, crew members begin breathing through masks, sucking in pure oxygen to help offset the loss of pressure required to make these high-altitude drops. Breathing pure oxygen helps push nitrogen out of the body, lessening chances of decompression sickness.

While they breathe in the good stuff, the loadmasters start removing straps from the 42 boxes of food they will deliver this night.

Once over Afghanistan, crewmembers slowly depressurize the cabin. They struggle to clear their ears and feel a squirming queasiness.

Out a rear window, the blackness is broken by a pinprick of orange in the distance. It looks like a fire on the ground, but they don’t know for sure.

`Bombs’ away

The drop zone is close. A loadmaster flips the switch to open the back hatch. The temperature drops suddenly, and a cold wind blows through.

The ramp comes next, slamming down as the boxes begin to press against their restraints. Then the nose of the plane rises to about a 10-degree angle, the straps blow and the boxes start falling.

For a few moments after the drop, after the plane has cleared Afghan airspace and been repressurized, all is quiet. The loadmasters break out sleeping bags.

It’s almost 1 a.m. The crew left Germany at 5:40 p.m. Monday. It will get back at 11:40 a.m. Tuesday. Most will be back in the air that night.

Heartening news

Until about a week ago, the crewmembers wondered whether they were doing any good. They had heard news reports that Taliban soldiers were burning the food packets.

They had felt the odd sensation of watching thousands of meals -- rice and beans, lentil stew, pasta in tomato sauce -- disappear with no clue whether they would reach their intended recipients.

“You wonder, `Are they getting them? Are they picking them up?”’ said Tech. Sgt. Shane, a 27-year-old Brooklyn native who just before Monday night’s drop drew “I Love N.Y.” and an outline of the pre-Sept. 11 New York skyline on one of the food boxes.

“You want to feel like you’re doing something worthwhile.”

A week ago, a commanding officer brought a copy of the military’s newspaper, Stars & Stripes, to a preflight briefing. He held up a photo of an Afghan boy, straining to carry a stack of the yellow food packets.

“That was it,” Scott said. “That was the image we needed to see.”