West Palm Beach, FL.

We got up early to go to the airport. I was sort of hovering around the Marines, asking the gunnery sargeant what needed to be done. Finally, he looked at me pointedly, and said, ‘These Marines are doing a pretty good job here, sir.’Point well taken. I will go demonstrate some leadership over next to that post.

Baltimore, MD.

We parked at one end of BWI, and the military terminal was at the other. Actually, this had been one of my biggest fears. How was I going to be all officerlike while trying to haul my two honking sea bags and rucksack all the way down the airport? Fortunately, all the Marines had boatloads of gear, too. We got every luggage cart we could, and rolled down the concourse. It took for-ev-er to get checked. Mostly, the Air Force guys were being assy about stuff, mostly weight limits. A quick lunch, then off to wait the three hours for the plane. One of the Marines forgot that he had a knife on him, but security was reasonably cool about it. Once he proved he was a Marine, they let him go back to the desk to check it.

The plane was a military contract flight by OAI. It was an ancient DC-10, and, ye gods, I had to sit coach. I haven’t ridden coach to Europe in quite some time. I didn’t manage to sleep the whole way. Watched The Incredibles, ate a chicken flavored dish, watched The Bourne Conspiracy, ate a snack, watched Finding Neverland (ok, read through that one), then we got to Frankfurt.