Balkan Memories

Balkan Memories

First Morning In Naples, Italy

I had just finished being processed from Reserve Status back onto Active Duty in Pensacola, Florida. Itwas a strange, but very pleasant few days.

This was my first trans-Atlantic flight, and I was a little anxious. I also wanted to read …. and drink. So, while studying the information that I found and printed last minute before getting on the plane, and reading one of the books recommended me by an old spook, I kept the flight attendants busy bringing me wine and coffee till the wee hours of the night. At some point, either from exhaustion or wine, I passed out.

Thankfully, there were several coffees on my snack tray. That there was not a puddle of drool made me happier. The stiffness in my neck was horrid. There was also the knowledge that I was an independently mobile stink that was about to get worse.

Once we landed and were stuffed like cattle into strange little bus to get from the runway to the terminal. The mix of body odors, perfumes, foul breath, and who knows what else in that vehicle assaulted whatever sense that my hangover/jet-lag wasn't. Once someone lit up a cigarette, everyone else did, including me.

There is no memory of the customs line or counter, just a vague image in my mind of Colleen. Colleen is the petty officer from Capudoccino who picked me up, brought me to the camp, and showed me to my hotel room. She must have done all that, I have no idea how it could have happened otherwise.

The morning came gently. Sitting on the edge of the bed I considered the floor several minutes until it was clear to me where I was and how. “Don't know that international travel in the thing for me,” I said then flopped backwards across the bed.

The phone ringing was the impetus it took to get me moving again, “Good morning, I think,” I grumbled into the phone.

“Good morning, Petty Officer Thompson. This is Petty Officer First Class Colleen Dempsey. I brought you in from the airport yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah, hi.”

“You clearly don't remember me. This is your wake up call. I'll be by in 30 minutes to get you for breakfast. Uniform of the day is dungarees.”

“Cool. Thank you.”

The hot shower was definitely welcome. I got dressed quickly and opened the curtains of my room. It was still early in the morning. The sun had just come up and was dancing like diamonds on the waves of the Mediterranean. The sky was a pale yellow near the horizon, which contrasted with the green of the hillsides. Looking up into the sky from the yellow, the colors quickly become a lovely light blue.

From the window I could see miles of houses zig zagging down hillside all the way to the seaport which I had several nights of fun years ago. Several nights that I might not care to remember. I noticed, also, in the morning sun, a light fog higher up the hills from where I was and that the houses below me were draped in what appeared to be white mists. It was truly a lovely picture. Something befitting a master's hand to paint.

Leaving the door unlocked and open, I stepped outside onto the walkway and took a deep breath of fresh air and immediately fell over gagging. The thick heavy stench filling my lungs was like lead. Had it not been for the hand railing to hold onto I would have fallen flat onto the walkway in fits of choking and gagging.

How long she had been standing there I had no clue, “Yeah, the locals burn the garbage here every Thursday morning.”

Trying to regain some form of self respect or decorum or anything better than what I was just doing, I finally caught my breath again and got to my feet. “Yes, *cough cough * I get that.” There I was, just having coughed out a lung at the foot of a woman whom, whether or not there was any chance of anything more than a handshake (which, was out for me) …. let's just say, it is really rough to recover from something like that and have any credibility.

Thankfully, the rest of my time at Camp Capudoccino, or Camp Capo for short, was not that bad. It was rather mundane. Gear issue, weapons qualifications, weapons issue, orders for my next round of travel, and transport arranged for on a plane owned by an international arms trader.