NATO - Part I

(Source)

In the waning years of the 20th Century, The Missus Herself thought it might be just dandy for Your Humble Scribe to request an assignment to Europe. Damn near anywhere in Europe would do, though she did specify Germany as the European country of choice. (I think one of her Korean friends had been there and recommended it.) I had no problem with asking for an assignment to Germany, realizing that the odds of that happening were roughly slim and quite probably none.

However, comma...

Far off in the land of good beer and excellent schnitzel there was an old E-6 who had been on active duty for 22 years. At that same time there were a bunch of personnel wienies in Texas going through the rosters to determine which of the Nation's finest had served past their high year of tenure (HYOT). Seems that for an E-6 the new HYOT was now 20 years. Not 21, and certainly not 22. Upon reaching one's HYOT (provided that number was 20, not 18, not 19, but 20 years) one could retire, as opposed to being unceremoniously dumped by the wayside as not fit to proceed on the path to Air Force success.

Meanwhile, Yours Truly had visited his local Consolidated Base Personnel Office - or CBPO as most referred to it -  yes, each letter pronounced by it's lonesome, no combining them into a word which some unfortunately did. I considered it beneath me to call it See-Bow, it seemed, somehow, not quite right. As an aside, a thing which drives me to distraction at work is people referring to the Evolved Seasparrow Missile - ESSM of course - as the Ess-um. No, no, no, stop that, it sounds too much like SM-2 (Ess Em Two). Say it with me now, EE, ESS, ESS, EM. Why yes, I can be a pedant at times, why do you ask?

Anyhoo, the good folks at CBPO, of which there were a couple, they're not all shoe clerks though the bulk certainly were, had advised me that though they would accept my request, I might as well reconcile myself to the idea that I would no doubt remain at Offutt AFB, Nebraska, for the remainder of my career. (At the time I had been at Offutt for four  years and had another four years to go to "make my twenty," as they say.

All my troops had a good laugh at the old sarge's quixotic ideas of an assignment to Germany, until it actually happened, not long after I asked for it. A moment of stunned silence followed my announcement that I was bald auf dem Weg nach Deutschland. Yes, all too soon I would be off to Germany, leaving my troops bereft of my shining example and fine leadership. (Yeah, they did just fine after I left, they might have missed me, a little.)

Remember the old E-6 I mentioned above, the one with 22 years on active duty? The one in Germany? Well, the personnel wienies had directed him to go to his local CBPO and immediately request retirement, his request would be expedited and he would be an Air Force retiree just as soon as Big Blue could ship Yours Truly and his tribe over to Europe. The old E-6 would train me, his replacement, and all would be hurried along muy rapido.

The Air Force, in their infinite [cough, hack, cough] wisdom decreed that I would proceed to the Bundesrepublik Deutschland, on or about the 1st of January, 1992. Yup, New Year's Day, and I would report No Later Than (NLT) the 4th of January, 1992.

Alrighty then. I received word of my assignment six months in advance. Why, oh why, must I depart these here United States during the holidays to get to Germany to replace a guy who, I later found out, didn't actually do anything? While it wasn't actually a "woe is me" situation, it was somewhat inconvenient to travel on New Year's Day.

But mother Air Force decreed it, therefore...

And yes, that was the Air Force Chief of Staff at the time, Merrill "Tony" McPeak, wearing a uniform of his own design, making that announcement in the video. (I'm kidding, but not by much...)

So early in December we packed up our stuff, some to storage, some to Germany. Into temporary quarters we went and about a week before Christmas we piled into the family auto, a '90 Jetta as I recall, and drove from cold, but dry, Omaha to cold, and snowy, Vermont.

We had a wondrous Christmas but a rather solemn New Year's Eve, though it was enlivened quite a bit by The Nuke, who insisted that there be no long faces on her birthday (which coincides with New Year's Eve) and that all would be merry or she would know the reason why not.

New Year's Day it was off to Bradley Field (er, Bradley International?) for to board a flight to JFK. Where we discovered that we would not all be sitting together. Seems that the shoe clerks out in Omaha had decided that the last minute was a good time to schedule our flight.

Remonstrations to the airline employees were in vain, there was naught they could do, the flight being fully booked, etc., etc.

Now the female members of the tribe were all together, but The Naviguesser and I were separated from them, and each other. I asked the chap next to me if he'd mind swapping with my son. He, at first, ignored me, then upon my becoming rather insistent for an answer, either yea, or nay, he sayeth "Nay! I shall keep my seat, come what may." (Okay, I might have dramatized that, a bit.)

So off to where my son was sitting, to be told by a flight attendant to please take my seat, I explained my predicament and she immediately decided to pitch in and help. Next to my son, in a middle seat, was a middle aged Jewish gentleman, I gathered from his attire that he was orthodox, or at least that's the way he appeared to me, a simple Gentile.

Yes, the chap looked rather like this gentleman, though with a much friendlier look. (Source)

I inquired as to his interest in gaining an aisle seat for the six hour flight to Brussels. He was more than willing to swap with me. His only reservation was that he had ordered a kosher meal for the flight and was concerned that he might lose his meal.

The flight attendant assured him that he would get his meal. I assured him that if I received his meal through some airline oversight then I would carry it over to him personally. Thus assured, he went to my old seat. My son, ever the clever chap, got up to let me into the just vacated middle seat.

"I don't think so sport, over you go."

With a sigh he slid to the middle and we settled in for the overnight flight to the capital of Belgium. Oh, I should have mentioned that our flight was scheduled to arrive in Brussels at 0700 local. So we would be in the air most of the night.

We got there, jet lagged and ready to hit the hay. We were met by our sponsors, Mike and his lovely wife Teresa, from Texas of course, and discovered that our hotel awaited us. Some two hours away in Geilenkirchen (of which we'll hear more in subsequent installments).

Groans issued from the progeny but nonetheless we piled into Mike and Teresa's van and headed east, towards Germany. On the way there Teresa kept admonishing the kids to stay awake in order to overcome the jet lag all the quicker. At one point The Nuke inquired as to whether or not sleeping was illegal in Europe. (She was a rather precocious child. She was nine years and two days old upon touchdown in Belgium.)

I should point out that The Naviguesser was rather engrossed in the countryside, The Missus Herself and I were engaged in conversation with our sponsors, all while The Nuke struggled valiantly to stay awake and decry the injustice of it all.

Meanwhile The WSO, having decided that the rules were to be damned so she herself slept most of the way to Germany, despite many admonitions and encouragements to stay awake. The WSO has ever been something of a scofflaw.

I wonder where she gets that?

We went to the base first where Mike took me inside and introduced me to the chaps, most of whom were German, one of whom I hit it off with almost immediately. That would be this rather tall and well-built German from "up north" in Schleswig-Holstein, near Kiel to be precise, whose given name was Torben, which he informed me means Thunder Bear in some ancient Nordic tongue.

"Just call me Benny!" he said after nearly crushing my hand with his firm handshake, though I gave as good as I got, the man had a grip. Good man though, we had fun, but that too will be covered in later episodes. (Hey, I've got over seven years of stories from Germany, some I've told, many I have not. Patience Grasshopper.)

Two things I noticed right away, first, they had a refrigerator stocked with beer in nearly every office, and second, I had an instant liking for the Germans.

Needless to say, I had a great time in Germany. But this tale is just begun. Back to the van, off to Mike and Teresa's where they fed us an incredible home cooked dinner, which incidentally was my first, though most assuredly not my last, encounter with beef Stroganoff. Now an OAFS favorite, at the time it was novel and somehow surreal (note that I had been awake for nearly 30 hours by that time).

After that fine meal, we went to our hotel where everyone, save Yours Truly, fell into a deep sleep. As for me? I discovered that Das Boot was on television, auf Deutsch, natürlich.

So there I was, in Germany. Soon ye shall be regaled with the tales of my first days on the job, a job I had to create for myself. You shall see that the guy I was to replace was essentially, a dunsel. With the assistance of a German civilian, Johannes, I created a useful position for myself. It's nice when you can define your own job. Makes the work much more enjoyable. For that I have Johannes to thank. Another good chap.

I may have told the story before of my trip to the Hürtgenwald, to take pictures for my great-uncle who had been wounded in action at that battle. When I told Johannes where I had been over the weekend, and why, he remarked that his father had been captured at that same battle.

Small world.

More to come...