COMBAT OUTPOST ZORMAT — I don’t think I’m coming home. About half an hour ago — making it almost midnight, local time — a frantic soldier came to grab me in the MWR tent (think a cross between gaming station, phone booth, computer lab and TV lounge) to tell me that he thought I was supposed to be on a Blackhawk currently landing at the base flightline. Oops! No one told me that. Investigating at the very last minute with a put-upon Sgt. Desse, I learned that Desse is under the impression I was supposed to be on that helicopter, which will end up back at Salerno without me on it. Meanwhile, after a fairly grueling day, I’ve got to stay awake to learn whether there’s room for me on another helicopter leaving in a few hours. Afghanistan clearly hasn’t had enough of me.

The Washington Independent will have a piece from me up in a couple of hours about a fairly stunning level of Afghan police corruption that jeopardized an important mission. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. I won’t steal my own Windy thunder — my day job, after all, paid for me to get here — but really, please: check this shit out. It’s not accurate to say it sums up how fucked up things are here, but I think it gets at one level of fucked-up-edness. Jesus am I exhausted. [Update: Here’s that piece. I sort of want to change the headline to something police-related, but, you know, meh.]

In the meantime, after a request form Cernig, I compiled a list of 1st Platoon Hooligan musical tastes. Some stuff that didn’t make the final cut: Bahr has good taste in hardcore and Macias watches Sex And The City to unwind after a long day of pissing off his buddies. Now it can be told.

Now let’s see if I can get out of here. If I can’t, maybe KBR will hire me as a DFAC line cook on one of the FOBs. It’s a good life at Bagram at least. Unlike RockRichard, no one will make make me salute anyone on Disney Drive.