Mascot

April 19, 2002

Bagram Air Field

Bagram, Afghanistan

We’re sitting at the end of the flight line under a hot and muggy sun. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since January. He looks good. He looks different. He had always been slim, but he had also been soft. Now he’s hard. His scruffy blond hair is gone, shaved close to his skull.

BILLY: I got a tattoo.

It’s the first time I’ve heard words from him since his letter in February. I laugh, these being the first words he speaks to me.

BILLY: Guess what and where.

ME: Ah . . . Well, since I don’t see a 666 on your forehead . . .

Billy laughs.

ME: I’m going to have to go with the Superman symbol on your chest.

Billy groans.

BILLY: No, man! I got a rampant lion on my right shoulder.

He says this like I should know better.

ME: Really?

BILLY: Yeah, it’s awesome!

He rolls up his sleeve and twists in his chair so I can see it. It’s on the back of his right shoulder. It’s not filled in, as I was imagining it. It’s an outline with interior detail.

ME: When’d you get it?

BILLY: Just, like, a couple of days ago.

ME: And he told you it was a rampant lion?

BILLY: What?

Billy twists the other direction in chair. It’s like watching a dog chase its tail. There’s no way he’s going to be able to see it. He twists the other direction and I start laughing.

BILLY: Jerk.

ME: You might change your tune when I tell you what I brought ya’.

BILLY: You brought me something?

ME: I brought you some one.

BILLY: You brought me – who?

ME: You answer me a couple questions first.

BILLY: Who’d you bring?

ME: How’s it going out here?

BILLY: Aw man, it’s great. I am serving with some of the greatest men and women Uncle Sam ever spawned.

As if to punctuate this statement, a serviceman peddles by on a low-riding red tricycle, trying not to giggle as he does so. Billy laughs at him.

BILLY: That’s Doug Drifmeyer. We call him “Doug Funnie” because he hates it – but look at him!

Billy laughs.

BILLY: He’s from Charlotte. If you could somehow give a shout-out to his parents and to Conrad Melancon – that’s Mel-in-sin. It’s spelled like Mel-an-con, but it’s Mel-in-sin. If you could let their parents know that they raised two fine and upstanding young men, that would be fantastic.

ME: When we actually start the interview, you can.

BILLY: Oh, cool. That'll work. I'll just sing everybody's praises then. Who’d you bring me?

ME: How are the locals treating you?

BILLY: Aw, they’re great, man. They are so supportive and so excited and so thankful that we’re here.

ME: Really?

BILLY: Totally.

ME: That’s not you just towing the company line?

BILLY: No man, not at all. No. Dude, nobody likes the Taliban. At this point, I’m not even sure the Taliban likes the Taliban. They haven’t told me how much I can say – someone’s supposed to come by and let me know – but I’ll say this much: We’re kicking their asses out and nobody’s sad to see them go. So who’d you bring me?

ME: One more question before we actually start rolling. How are you?

BILLY: Good. Great. We’re kickin’ ass.

ME: No. How are you?

Billy leans back in his chair, glances over his shoulder, and then leans in close.

BILLY: Frustrated and bored. They won’t let me do anything. I don’t go on patrol, the only time I leave the base is to go to another base! I feel like a friggin’ mascot. They have this whole dog and pony show they have me do. Fly up, do a flip, strike a pose, pick someone up, crack a joke, do this speech. I have guard duty but it’s like . . . this isn’t what I signed up for! Use me, ya’ know? Use me! Send me out! I could do recon in half the time it takes them – if not a quarter! Two days after I got here, they went down to south of Gardez, and they're fighting al-Qaeda in the mountains and I'm here, twittling my thumbs! It’s just grrr, you know? And the frustrating - no - the weird thing is, Major Curtis is hear. And he's been, like, my guy since the beginning. Me and him came up with all sorts of tactics and strategies that I could use in combat. He doesn't say anything. Even if he had something to say, he couldn't. I think someone's tied his hands. And it sucks. It sucks big time.

ME: Why would they do that?

BILLY: "Need to know," ya' know?

ME: Well maybe this’ll cheer you up.

BILLY: Who’d you bring me? It’s not my mom, is it? I mean, “yay, it’s my mom!” Is she listening? Can she hear me? Yaaay Mommy!

ME: It’s not your mom. Do you remember Leigh?

BILLY: Leigh? Leigh, Leigh? My Leigh? Leigh Oliver?

ME: Have you ever noticed how your girlfriend has a boy’s name?

BILLY: What are you talking about? She’s totally got a girl’s name. She’s here?

ME: But it sounds like a guy’s name.

BILLY: Why do I care what her name sounds like? L-E-I-G-H. Totally a girl’s name. Where is she?

ME: I guess if you read it first, it’s okay. But if you heard it first . . . totally sounds like you’re dating a dude.

BILLY: Where is she?

ME: CNN’s not in the business of fulfilling soldiers’ needs for Middle Eastern booty calls. I had to hire her as my personal assistant.

BILLY: You did that for me?

ME: And I’ve been needing a new P.A., so it all works out.

BILLY: Dude, you rock! Where is she?!

ME: I gave her a camera. She’s off taking pictures.

As if to punctuate this sentence, Leigh suddenly comes squealing over. She hurls the SLR camera at me. I juggle it before hugging into my chest. She tackles Billy, knocking him and his chair over. They’re laughing, rolling around on the ground, and kissing each other.

This, of course, became the image that defined Billy for so many people. For it was while they were rolling around on the tarmac that I got my cue from Brian. We were live and being broadcast all around the world. I smiled into the camera and another little piece of history was made.

4/19/02 – the first “Afghan Interview” of Billy Hughes

TC

* All pictures taken by Leigh Oliver and are the copyrighted property of CNN.