Compared to the Greek epic that was getting out of the army (complete with pointless quests and tragic battles and things), getting out of the air force was more like a Jane Austen novel. There was a great deal of charming conversation, some of the verbal sparring variety, some more a gentle banter, and a few moments of genteel uncertainty backed by the comfortable knowledge that all would turn right in the end. Unfortunately neither Colin Firth nor Ciaran Hinds (yes, I like those film versions of the books; no I wasn't all that keen on Gwyneth Paltrow. Hugh Grant in his fluttering eyelashes mode makes me slightly ill and only Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman made that film nearly - nearly - worthwhile) were in evidence.
Bit ironic* that it took herculian effort to extricate ourselves from the army when we were desperate to go and they weren't really terribly interested in keeping us, while leaving the air force, which we didn't actually want to do at all, went quickly and easily.
Kirk polished up his resume (and let me tell you, a bit of intelligence work and some counter-terrorism is very interesting to translate into traditional business skills!) and registered himself with an executive head-hunting firm. We bought him a suit, three shirts and a handful of ties. For the first time in our marriage we were going to have to face the real world.
*Yes I'm aware that this is an incorrect use of the word ironic. However I wish some bright person would come up with a word that means what everyone thinks ironic means, because it's an extremely useful word. For the moment I'm simply going to misuse 'ironic' because it sounds better in the sentence than 'rather wry and interesting coincidence.' However my reckless abuse of the language will haunt me. No, honestly it will!
Showing posts with label Air Force. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Air Force. Show all posts
Friday, September 08, 2006
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Torn
The problem was that Kirk was doing good work. He was doing vital, essential work - work that was literally saving lives and changing the world. Not many people get to do that sort of thing, make that sort of difference. He loved the challenge and the pressure, loved the chance to put his theories about information operations to work.
But there were other problems. The intelligence world is a strange place, a place where sources and information are impossibly valuable and are fiercely guarded - not just from the enemy without, but from other intelligence branches. CIA, DIA - all of those 'men in black' view eachother with deep suspicion. They do not, to put it mildly, play well with others.
And then there was the entrenched mindset, the very conservative status quo above Kirk. The people at that level had come into the intel world during the cold war, and their focus had never really changed. They were used to a particular kind of enemy - one that was established, codified, predictable; a known quantity with a home to protect. They were extremely good at dealing with this enemy, they knew it cold. But the new world, the world of Bin Laden was not like that, and they were slow to change. So Kirk was endlessly fighting against people who did not want to listen, people who firmly believed they knew everything.
I don't know how much of it was like that. I just know he hit wall after wall. Worse, I think he probably got a reputation for being a bit wild - for having crazy ideas. I'm just guessing, but from his frustration I think it's likely that certain people simply stopped listening to what he had to say.
So there he was, doing excellent work but in a way that made life nearly impossible. Because he was so successful he was being read into increasingly higher clearances - need-to-know only stuff, things only a handful of people would have access to. He was being drawn deeper and deeper into the counter-terrorism world, but wasn't being allowed to do what he felt he had to do. Eventually he realized he was completely caught. If he stayed in the Air Force he would be doing counter-terrorism for the rest of his career.
And we were at the decision point. Everyone in the military reaches that moment. If you sign up for one more tour you might as well stay in and collect your retirement; if you get out now you have time to make a new career for yourself. Kirk had his time in the army as an enlisted linguist, he had half-time credit for being in the ROTC, and he had his tours in Alaska and Virginia. If he stayed now, he was going to do this for the next ten years.
He loved the Air Force. He loved everything about it. And now he felt that he had no choice. He had to leave.
But there were other problems. The intelligence world is a strange place, a place where sources and information are impossibly valuable and are fiercely guarded - not just from the enemy without, but from other intelligence branches. CIA, DIA - all of those 'men in black' view eachother with deep suspicion. They do not, to put it mildly, play well with others.
And then there was the entrenched mindset, the very conservative status quo above Kirk. The people at that level had come into the intel world during the cold war, and their focus had never really changed. They were used to a particular kind of enemy - one that was established, codified, predictable; a known quantity with a home to protect. They were extremely good at dealing with this enemy, they knew it cold. But the new world, the world of Bin Laden was not like that, and they were slow to change. So Kirk was endlessly fighting against people who did not want to listen, people who firmly believed they knew everything.
I don't know how much of it was like that. I just know he hit wall after wall. Worse, I think he probably got a reputation for being a bit wild - for having crazy ideas. I'm just guessing, but from his frustration I think it's likely that certain people simply stopped listening to what he had to say.
So there he was, doing excellent work but in a way that made life nearly impossible. Because he was so successful he was being read into increasingly higher clearances - need-to-know only stuff, things only a handful of people would have access to. He was being drawn deeper and deeper into the counter-terrorism world, but wasn't being allowed to do what he felt he had to do. Eventually he realized he was completely caught. If he stayed in the Air Force he would be doing counter-terrorism for the rest of his career.
And we were at the decision point. Everyone in the military reaches that moment. If you sign up for one more tour you might as well stay in and collect your retirement; if you get out now you have time to make a new career for yourself. Kirk had his time in the army as an enlisted linguist, he had half-time credit for being in the ROTC, and he had his tours in Alaska and Virginia. If he stayed now, he was going to do this for the next ten years.
He loved the Air Force. He loved everything about it. And now he felt that he had no choice. He had to leave.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
dual lives
Kirk was still working insane hours. We didn't even pretend he got enough sleep - he just grabbed what he could. He didn't want to miss time with the family during the week, dinner was pretty important time at our house, but it meant he sometimes got by with only four or five hours of sleep a day.
When he was with us, he gave everything. He did his best to be wholly there for us when we went biking or fishing; he tried not to let the other life, the counter-terrorism life, intrude. It became harder and harder.
I realized it gradually, realized how much this work was taking over. It didn't happen when we were in the woods - when we were catching frogs down at George Washington's Retreat in Yorktown, or biking the three trails at Harwood Mills - but when we were driving around town there would be moments when he was distracted, different.
Like the time he glanced over as we passed a local bank, stiffened and muttered something about 'so they use that one...' I think he had recognized someone going into the bank, and now part of him was concerned with working out how to use this unexpected windfall of information.
One afternoon we were driving up the highway outside of Langley. I was reading a magazine - the Smithsonian I think - and I was chatting to Kirk about an article discussing the greatest achievement of modern medicine: the successful campaign against smallpox. Wasn't it amazing, I said, the way the WHO had managed it, wasn't it wonderful that the world was safe now from a disease that had been a deadly threat for thousands of years. Very quietly, his hands stiff on the wheel, he said 'it's not gone.'
Just that. But I knew - I knew that not only did he know that more than one country had kept live samples of the virus, he knew intimately the infection rate, the symptoms, the horrific scarring that those lucky enough to survive would suffer. He knew how it could be weaponized, had thought about delivery systems, had worked through countless scenarios in which various populations were targeted and infected.
And gradually I realized that he was living like that constantly. Everywhere we went, there was part of him looking around and evaluating targets, thinking about blast zones, considering mortality rates, political value, public reaction.
In order to stop a terrorist, you have to think like one. To be successful, you have to inhabit his mind. Kirk was very good at what he did, and it was beginning to take over everything. He was staring into Nietzsche's abyss.
When he was with us, he gave everything. He did his best to be wholly there for us when we went biking or fishing; he tried not to let the other life, the counter-terrorism life, intrude. It became harder and harder.
I realized it gradually, realized how much this work was taking over. It didn't happen when we were in the woods - when we were catching frogs down at George Washington's Retreat in Yorktown, or biking the three trails at Harwood Mills - but when we were driving around town there would be moments when he was distracted, different.
Like the time he glanced over as we passed a local bank, stiffened and muttered something about 'so they use that one...' I think he had recognized someone going into the bank, and now part of him was concerned with working out how to use this unexpected windfall of information.
One afternoon we were driving up the highway outside of Langley. I was reading a magazine - the Smithsonian I think - and I was chatting to Kirk about an article discussing the greatest achievement of modern medicine: the successful campaign against smallpox. Wasn't it amazing, I said, the way the WHO had managed it, wasn't it wonderful that the world was safe now from a disease that had been a deadly threat for thousands of years. Very quietly, his hands stiff on the wheel, he said 'it's not gone.'
Just that. But I knew - I knew that not only did he know that more than one country had kept live samples of the virus, he knew intimately the infection rate, the symptoms, the horrific scarring that those lucky enough to survive would suffer. He knew how it could be weaponized, had thought about delivery systems, had worked through countless scenarios in which various populations were targeted and infected.
And gradually I realized that he was living like that constantly. Everywhere we went, there was part of him looking around and evaluating targets, thinking about blast zones, considering mortality rates, political value, public reaction.
In order to stop a terrorist, you have to think like one. To be successful, you have to inhabit his mind. Kirk was very good at what he did, and it was beginning to take over everything. He was staring into Nietzsche's abyss.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Writing Reality
Kirk was still doing work creating excercise scenarios. He was very good at it in Alaska, and he was good at it here; still coming up with creative ideas to test people in new ways.
The trouble is, sometimes people don't want to be tested in new ways. It's much nicer to be tested in old ways, so you're ready and you have all the answers set to go. Notice, this isn't something unique to the military! Don't we all want to have the questions before hand? Don't we wish we could take the test we did last time, because now we know exactly what to say.
So in the Spring or Summer of 2000 Kirk wrote up a little scenario that involved a large navy ship. The idea was that a few terrorists would load up a small zodiac - an inflatable boat with a great little engine and no draft - with explosives, then float it up right next to the ship and detonate it.
The navy was not amused. Their ships, their nice, big, powerful ships, were not vulnerable to things like this. Terrorists would never attack a heavily armed and armored vessel - it just didn't make sense. The scenario was disgarded, never seriously looked at.
The USS Cole was bombed on October 12th, 2000. 17 sailors were killed.
Kirk was deeply troubled. He knew it had just been an idea, just one of several concepts he had come up with. But there was such a large 'if only' there. If only they had run the excercise. If only someone had noticed that this was a possibility. If only...
There had been so many people saved at Y2K, such an amazing day of success. Was this the inevitable flip side? And how do you cope with something that was, however improbably, preventable.
I know he thought about it. I don't think he ever found any real answers.
The trouble is, sometimes people don't want to be tested in new ways. It's much nicer to be tested in old ways, so you're ready and you have all the answers set to go. Notice, this isn't something unique to the military! Don't we all want to have the questions before hand? Don't we wish we could take the test we did last time, because now we know exactly what to say.
So in the Spring or Summer of 2000 Kirk wrote up a little scenario that involved a large navy ship. The idea was that a few terrorists would load up a small zodiac - an inflatable boat with a great little engine and no draft - with explosives, then float it up right next to the ship and detonate it.
The navy was not amused. Their ships, their nice, big, powerful ships, were not vulnerable to things like this. Terrorists would never attack a heavily armed and armored vessel - it just didn't make sense. The scenario was disgarded, never seriously looked at.
The USS Cole was bombed on October 12th, 2000. 17 sailors were killed.
Kirk was deeply troubled. He knew it had just been an idea, just one of several concepts he had come up with. But there was such a large 'if only' there. If only they had run the excercise. If only someone had noticed that this was a possibility. If only...
There had been so many people saved at Y2K, such an amazing day of success. Was this the inevitable flip side? And how do you cope with something that was, however improbably, preventable.
I know he thought about it. I don't think he ever found any real answers.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
A Little (off-white, clunky) Security
'They're going to put a secure line in the house,' Kirk announced one day. It was well after Y2K, and no naturally I don't know why. I also didn't ask.
Hmmm... a secure line. Like in 'get the president on the line' - the secure line.
It would go in our bedroom. My. A top-secret secure line in our bedroom!
This would probably mean a bit of redecorating. I mean, we didn't have really swish black furniture or anything, and our mossy green duvet cover would definitely not go with subdued blue lighting and lots of plexiglass panels for Kirk to scribble meaningful things all over. The banks of flashing LED displays could probably go up against the East wall next to the attic door. There was just enough room there for a couple of low-ranking flunkies to look intense while wearing headphones. Also my wardrobe would need to be updated to include a lot of very streamlined suits with exceptionally short skirts. Wow. A secure telephone line.
I don't remember seeing it installed. I would like to say there was a small army of coveralled burly people with suspicious bulges around their persons and paranoid twitches. But so far as I know it simply appeared one day. And actually, it turned out to be an enormous, clunky off-white thing that sat glumly by Kirk's side of the bed and got in the way of the alarm clock.
And when he was away I was always just a little worried... what if ...
... but it never rang.
Hmmm... a secure line. Like in 'get the president on the line' - the secure line.
It would go in our bedroom. My. A top-secret secure line in our bedroom!
This would probably mean a bit of redecorating. I mean, we didn't have really swish black furniture or anything, and our mossy green duvet cover would definitely not go with subdued blue lighting and lots of plexiglass panels for Kirk to scribble meaningful things all over. The banks of flashing LED displays could probably go up against the East wall next to the attic door. There was just enough room there for a couple of low-ranking flunkies to look intense while wearing headphones. Also my wardrobe would need to be updated to include a lot of very streamlined suits with exceptionally short skirts. Wow. A secure telephone line.
I don't remember seeing it installed. I would like to say there was a small army of coveralled burly people with suspicious bulges around their persons and paranoid twitches. But so far as I know it simply appeared one day. And actually, it turned out to be an enormous, clunky off-white thing that sat glumly by Kirk's side of the bed and got in the way of the alarm clock.
And when he was away I was always just a little worried... what if ...
... but it never rang.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
A New Approach to The Pamper Problem
So we were in Virginia... yes, sorry I couldn't come up with a neater, tidier segue than that.
Kirk was quickly absorbed into the counter-terrorist world. I was used to secrecy, used to not knowing details about what he did, but this was a step beyond that. There was more pressure, and far greater stakes. Before Kirk had protected 'assets' with secrecy, now it was clear those assets were lives.
He was also having to learn an enormous amount in an incredibly short time. There was no easing into this world - things were happening right now, and mistakes were simply not acceptable. Being Kirk he just stayed quiet for a few days and listened hard. He said he overheard one man being asked for an opinion on the new air force guy. 'Nice enough, but not the sharpest tool in the shed' was the verdict. That man ended up being Kirk's best friend in the unit - and he did revise his opinion. Kirk started making a few suggestions, throwing out a carefully casual comment. He was the outsider after all, and intelligence people can be clannish. It didn't take very long, he was allowed inside.
They had a pretty major coup within weeks of Kirk's arrival. As always I don't know details. I think it might be the incident that got a little publicity - the one that was to come through Canada. I do remember Kirk saying there were some Mounties somewhere that he really wanted to buy a drink. And I remember the quote from the unit commander when they gave the briefing after it was all over.
The terrorist was trying to smuggle something over the border apparently, and it must have been something pretty large, and fairly strange. But he was prepared, he was ready for questions this guy. This thing? This contraption I'm bringing into the country? Why... it's a diaper cleaning machine.
Right, the commander said. It'll blow the sh*t out of them.
Kirk was quickly absorbed into the counter-terrorist world. I was used to secrecy, used to not knowing details about what he did, but this was a step beyond that. There was more pressure, and far greater stakes. Before Kirk had protected 'assets' with secrecy, now it was clear those assets were lives.
He was also having to learn an enormous amount in an incredibly short time. There was no easing into this world - things were happening right now, and mistakes were simply not acceptable. Being Kirk he just stayed quiet for a few days and listened hard. He said he overheard one man being asked for an opinion on the new air force guy. 'Nice enough, but not the sharpest tool in the shed' was the verdict. That man ended up being Kirk's best friend in the unit - and he did revise his opinion. Kirk started making a few suggestions, throwing out a carefully casual comment. He was the outsider after all, and intelligence people can be clannish. It didn't take very long, he was allowed inside.
They had a pretty major coup within weeks of Kirk's arrival. As always I don't know details. I think it might be the incident that got a little publicity - the one that was to come through Canada. I do remember Kirk saying there were some Mounties somewhere that he really wanted to buy a drink. And I remember the quote from the unit commander when they gave the briefing after it was all over.
The terrorist was trying to smuggle something over the border apparently, and it must have been something pretty large, and fairly strange. But he was prepared, he was ready for questions this guy. This thing? This contraption I'm bringing into the country? Why... it's a diaper cleaning machine.
Right, the commander said. It'll blow the sh*t out of them.
Monday, August 07, 2006
How to Defeat Y2K Without Really Trying
Call me cynical, but I think it's just possible the navy wasn't taking the whole Y2K computer security threat very seriously. Waiting until November, and then assigning the brand new guy, the guy from a different branch of the service, the guy who is supposed to come in and set up something that will likely make you change the way you're doing things - well, it just seems a bit superficial as efforts go.
I can image one of two things happened:
1. Senior officer type calls up Navy guy. 'I hear there's a new millenium coming our way. And some guy buying thirty cases of toilet paper informs me that we should be concerned about our computer situation. Have we got this handled?' Navy guy answers: 'Sir, I assure you we're putting our top man on this. Nothing to worry about.'
2. Navy guy ups and realizes that in two weeks there's going to be a huge briefing involving all sorts of senior types who will likely ask slightly uneducated and ridiculous questions about a situation they have read of in the popular media, but do not understand. Navy guy senses at once that this is not a good career situation. Either nothing will happen, and some poor other Navy guy will be needlessly sacrificed on the great altar of Briefings That Cause Pain and Agony, or something will happen and some poor other Navy guy will be thoroughly barbequed on the even greater altar of Save the Higher-Ups! That's What Lower Grade Officers Are For!
Anyway, Kirk became the Y2K goat. There was already a counter-terrorism unit so he was sort of cobbled onto that, and had to suddenly come up to speed on the counter-terrorism world in a matter of weeks. His initial focus was supposed to be on the rollover situation. He did his research, looked into the whole thing thoroughly, and when the briefing came around, he was ready.
Room filled with officers so highly ranked their noses bled. Much discussion of various security issues. Finally, senior official leans forward and asks about Y2K, computers, security, and the rollover.
'So, should we be worried?'
Kirk leans forward to his mike: 'No.'
Pause.
'Son, could you expand on that a bit?'
Kirk leans forward again: 'Hell no.'
Well, they remembered his name after that.
I can image one of two things happened:
1. Senior officer type calls up Navy guy. 'I hear there's a new millenium coming our way. And some guy buying thirty cases of toilet paper informs me that we should be concerned about our computer situation. Have we got this handled?' Navy guy answers: 'Sir, I assure you we're putting our top man on this. Nothing to worry about.'
2. Navy guy ups and realizes that in two weeks there's going to be a huge briefing involving all sorts of senior types who will likely ask slightly uneducated and ridiculous questions about a situation they have read of in the popular media, but do not understand. Navy guy senses at once that this is not a good career situation. Either nothing will happen, and some poor other Navy guy will be needlessly sacrificed on the great altar of Briefings That Cause Pain and Agony, or something will happen and some poor other Navy guy will be thoroughly barbequed on the even greater altar of Save the Higher-Ups! That's What Lower Grade Officers Are For!
Anyway, Kirk became the Y2K goat. There was already a counter-terrorism unit so he was sort of cobbled onto that, and had to suddenly come up to speed on the counter-terrorism world in a matter of weeks. His initial focus was supposed to be on the rollover situation. He did his research, looked into the whole thing thoroughly, and when the briefing came around, he was ready.
Room filled with officers so highly ranked their noses bled. Much discussion of various security issues. Finally, senior official leans forward and asks about Y2K, computers, security, and the rollover.
'So, should we be worried?'
Kirk leans forward to his mike: 'No.'
Pause.
'Son, could you expand on that a bit?'
Kirk leans forward again: 'Hell no.'
Well, they remembered his name after that.
Friday, August 04, 2006
November, 1999. Welcome to Virginia.
I would use the term culture shock to describe the transition if it weren’t that Virginia was too much of a lady to do such a thing to a stranger. It was more the opposite of culture shock. It was like swimming through a clear, crisp mountain lake to pull up on the shore of a giant squashy marshmallow. Terrible analogy, but true nonetheless. Virginia was civilized and soft and safe (although that didn’t break Kirk of the habit of calling out ‘come on, victims’ to bring straggling kids running to his heels when we went hiking). It was, at least at first, a bit boring.
There were gentle rolling green hills and great tall green trees. There were enormous, unbelievable herds of deer – a sight that completely baffled the kids who couldn’t imagine what those dog-sized edible creatures could possibly be, standing around simply waiting to be devoured. Stupid animals. And there were people, many, many people.
We did all the usual settling in things – going to the housing office to get the list of possible places to rent, scouting out the local base, the schools, the recreation areas. As usual as well we only looked at two houses before we settled down; always anxious to lose the uncertainty of TLF. We rejected the ranch house in Norfolk (even though the commute would be fairly easy) after a neighbor confidentially told us about the major fire the house had suffered the year before. They had fixed it up beautiful, she insisted, and it only smelled a little bit when it rained.
Home would be a large colonial. It was the biggest house we ever lived in. There were only three bedrooms, but (mirabile dictu) a real, genuine playroom for the kids where the mess of toys could be confined to one area. There was a huge family room, a breakfast room, a formal dining room, and even a livingroom that frankly was too much for us as with no budget and three growing children we didn’t have anything upholstered that could be remotely considered formal – comfortable would be true, and kind, shabby would be closer.
Within a week Kirk reported to the Naval base for work. He went through the rigmarole of getting a pass and signing in, and walked onto the floor. Ah, they said, the Air Force guy. Right. Well, actually we’ve decided we don’t really want an info ops unit. Instead, you’re going to join the counter terrorism group. We’re putting you in charge of Y2K.
There were gentle rolling green hills and great tall green trees. There were enormous, unbelievable herds of deer – a sight that completely baffled the kids who couldn’t imagine what those dog-sized edible creatures could possibly be, standing around simply waiting to be devoured. Stupid animals. And there were people, many, many people.
We did all the usual settling in things – going to the housing office to get the list of possible places to rent, scouting out the local base, the schools, the recreation areas. As usual as well we only looked at two houses before we settled down; always anxious to lose the uncertainty of TLF. We rejected the ranch house in Norfolk (even though the commute would be fairly easy) after a neighbor confidentially told us about the major fire the house had suffered the year before. They had fixed it up beautiful, she insisted, and it only smelled a little bit when it rained.
Home would be a large colonial. It was the biggest house we ever lived in. There were only three bedrooms, but (mirabile dictu) a real, genuine playroom for the kids where the mess of toys could be confined to one area. There was a huge family room, a breakfast room, a formal dining room, and even a livingroom that frankly was too much for us as with no budget and three growing children we didn’t have anything upholstered that could be remotely considered formal – comfortable would be true, and kind, shabby would be closer.
Within a week Kirk reported to the Naval base for work. He went through the rigmarole of getting a pass and signing in, and walked onto the floor. Ah, they said, the Air Force guy. Right. Well, actually we’ve decided we don’t really want an info ops unit. Instead, you’re going to join the counter terrorism group. We’re putting you in charge of Y2K.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Coming Home
Kirk used to joke that the Kosovo war ruined his Italian vacation. It also played hell with our holidays. He missed Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, Easter, and three out of the five family birthdays. As soon as the war actually started he was told he would be indefinitely extended, and for a while we weren't sure if that meant weeks or months.
When he did get the call back home it happened quickly - I had only a day's warning. But that was enough. He was coming home.
I picked up the kids from school without telling them what we were going to do. They griped about doing errands almost all the way to the airport when they realized what must be going on. The fact that I was wearing the dress Kirk sent from Italy should possibly have made them wonder a bit as well.
When you're waiting for the most important person in the world, doesn't it always seem that they're the last one off the plane?
He had a couple of awards, a handful of souvenirs, and a set of stories that he would only slowly begin to tell. Things had changed, but being Kirk, the changes were good.
When he did get the call back home it happened quickly - I had only a day's warning. But that was enough. He was coming home.
I picked up the kids from school without telling them what we were going to do. They griped about doing errands almost all the way to the airport when they realized what must be going on. The fact that I was wearing the dress Kirk sent from Italy should possibly have made them wonder a bit as well.
When you're waiting for the most important person in the world, doesn't it always seem that they're the last one off the plane?
He had a couple of awards, a handful of souvenirs, and a set of stories that he would only slowly begin to tell. Things had changed, but being Kirk, the changes were good.
Friday, July 21, 2006
No One Left Behind
It was interesting Googling for this next bit. I was suprised how much there still is out there about it, articles from major news sources are still live, still linked and readable. Internet time travel.
http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/europe/9903/27/nato.attack.07/index.html
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/europe/jan-june99/f117a_3-27.html
http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/europe/9903/28/nato.strike.02/index.html
It's this last one I find most interesting:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/special_report/1998/kosovo2/307218.stm
"The Pentagon did not provide details of the rescue, but it is believed to have been a well-rehearsed operation involving a significant array of firepower and specially trained personnel."
Kirk was on the ops floor when the pilot made contact.
"Mayday call
The pilot is reported to have made a mayday call with his radio beacon.
It would have been sent using an emergency code to other Allied aircraft in the area.
Once the signal had been picked up voice contact would be established.
The pilot would then pass on his position - usually in relation to a pre-arranged fixed grid reference so that anyone else listening would not know where he was - and a rendezvous arranged."
He only had one shot at giving his location. His signal could be tracked, so he needed to tell them as quickly as possible, then get quiet. They knew there were enemy forces in the area, and there wasn't really anywhere to hide. The rescue mission had to go immediately, and it had to be absolutely accurate. Once they went out there the pilot's location would be blown, and the rescuers themselves in serious danger.
Kirk watched and listened as they planned the mission. They had readings from various instruments, and they had the pilot's statement. They pulled up the map and pinpointed where they thought he was. The problem was they were wrong.
Kirk said it was pretty tense. He was one of the lowest ranking people on the floor. He also was an intel guy - not a pilot or navigator, not a Para Jumper or a special forces guy with practical experience. But he stuck it out. They were wrong, he told them, off by over a mile. If they went to the spot on the map they would miss the pilot completely and blow their only chance to bring him home. Here, he said, was the right spot.
There was a bit of shouting, but Kirk stuck to his point and finally the commander jabbed at him with a finger.
'Son, we got maybe five minutes to get this thing off the ground. We miss this kid and that's it. How sure are you?'
'Sir, I went hunting in the arctic circle, I based my life on a GPS reading. I was right then sir, and I'm right now. He's here.'
They sent the rescue mission out, and picked up the pilot within yards of where Kirk had located him.
Kirk never found out the guy's name; it's certain the guy never knew about Kirk. That wasn't the point. Like the people who put their lives on the line to go pick the man up, the pilots, the jumpers, the support crews, Kirk knew the way things are supposed to work in the military.
You don't leave anyone behind.
http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/europe/9903/27/nato.attack.07/index.html
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/europe/jan-june99/f117a_3-27.html
http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/europe/9903/28/nato.strike.02/index.html
It's this last one I find most interesting:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/special_report/1998/kosovo2/307218.stm
"The Pentagon did not provide details of the rescue, but it is believed to have been a well-rehearsed operation involving a significant array of firepower and specially trained personnel."
Kirk was on the ops floor when the pilot made contact.
"Mayday call
The pilot is reported to have made a mayday call with his radio beacon.
It would have been sent using an emergency code to other Allied aircraft in the area.
Once the signal had been picked up voice contact would be established.
The pilot would then pass on his position - usually in relation to a pre-arranged fixed grid reference so that anyone else listening would not know where he was - and a rendezvous arranged."
He only had one shot at giving his location. His signal could be tracked, so he needed to tell them as quickly as possible, then get quiet. They knew there were enemy forces in the area, and there wasn't really anywhere to hide. The rescue mission had to go immediately, and it had to be absolutely accurate. Once they went out there the pilot's location would be blown, and the rescuers themselves in serious danger.
Kirk watched and listened as they planned the mission. They had readings from various instruments, and they had the pilot's statement. They pulled up the map and pinpointed where they thought he was. The problem was they were wrong.
Kirk said it was pretty tense. He was one of the lowest ranking people on the floor. He also was an intel guy - not a pilot or navigator, not a Para Jumper or a special forces guy with practical experience. But he stuck it out. They were wrong, he told them, off by over a mile. If they went to the spot on the map they would miss the pilot completely and blow their only chance to bring him home. Here, he said, was the right spot.
There was a bit of shouting, but Kirk stuck to his point and finally the commander jabbed at him with a finger.
'Son, we got maybe five minutes to get this thing off the ground. We miss this kid and that's it. How sure are you?'
'Sir, I went hunting in the arctic circle, I based my life on a GPS reading. I was right then sir, and I'm right now. He's here.'
They sent the rescue mission out, and picked up the pilot within yards of where Kirk had located him.
Kirk never found out the guy's name; it's certain the guy never knew about Kirk. That wasn't the point. Like the people who put their lives on the line to go pick the man up, the pilots, the jumpers, the support crews, Kirk knew the way things are supposed to work in the military.
You don't leave anyone behind.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Two Worlds
I was in Alaska, Kirk in Vicenza. I feel obliged to Google really fast to see just how far apart that is, but I have this strange lassitude about the whole thing. I don't want to know how far apart we were - I know how far it felt.
Once the bombing war started Kirk couldn't talk as long, although he still called whenever he could. His hours were strange as well, so he was calling when he had a few minutes and that could be almost any time of night. I didn't mind; I liked him calling late and pulling me out of sleep because it felt so much more intimate and immediate. Coming out of a half-sleep to hear his voice made it easier to ignore the distance.
We were having the coldest winter we experienced those three years. For a month the temperature didn't seem to get above 5 farenheit; for a couple of weeks it didn't get over 0. That meant the kids had indoor recess for a full month - no outside time at all; it was simply too cold. I would dress them up in the full school regalia (snow pants, coat, face warmer, gloves, boots), drop them off in the car (too cold to walk the short distance), they would scurry in and strip all the gear off only to don it again for the brief run to the car in the afternoon. When I went to pick them up I had to leave the car running - something I hated to do because just sitting there for a few minutes I would start to freeze. It was too cold to ski, too cold to snowmobile, too cold to do anything.
Kirk commiserated. He knew I had finally taken my courage in both hands and gone up to the base ski slope (two runs, a bunny slope and a sledding hill) and learned to ski all by myself. He had encouraged me, cheered for me, practically run the darn thing with me in the retelling, and now recognized how frustrating it was to not be able to get out and ski again and again and again.
And he told me what stories he could.
He was sent to shut down an anti-aircraft unit. Like always I only know half the story so I don't know why; I don't even know whose.
It must have been emergency, last minute; one of those 'get the Russian speaking American officer' emergencies. They gave him a side arm and threw him on a plane with two Gurka soldiers. He laughed and said the plane ride was the scariest part with the Spanish pilots chain smoking under the warning sign that said 'no open flame, no smoking' in seven languages. They came down hard somewhere in Kosovo, and I remember thinking I should ask him about flying on a damn plane to get to a place where you're shutting down an anti-aircraft unit.
He had to walk up to the soldiers and ask to see their commander. He said he just talked, just walked up to them and kept talking and talking while they pointed their weapons at his chest. He talked about who he was, and he talked about how stupid it was to send some crazy American in with just a side arm (that I'm not touching you see) and a couple of Gurka soldiers who haven't done anything to anyone to shut down this unit. He talked about his family, and did they have any family, and did the commanding officer have a family? And they relaxed, and they took him in to see the officer.
The guy was a General or something I think, and Kirk had to basically give him orders, inform him that his unit was going to stop operations. But he talked again; talked and talked. It turned out the General did have a family - he had two kids and several grandkids. He thought the whole war was a bit crazy, and he worried about his mother who was getting old and lived in the city. He had seen some stuff he thought he'd never see, and his wife's best friend was married to a guy fighting on the other side, but they still thought they'd be friends when the whole thing was over.
And you, you crazy American, you got some balls coming in here to shut me down. We could have killed you boy, and by the time NATO came to figure it out who would care really in this war? But I like you. So for you, we'll shut it down.
And Kirk flew back.
It took him three years to tell me he thought he was going to die that night. He saw those soldiers fingering their triggers and thinking how easy it would be to just kill this American stranger and his two silent friends.
Once the bombing war started Kirk couldn't talk as long, although he still called whenever he could. His hours were strange as well, so he was calling when he had a few minutes and that could be almost any time of night. I didn't mind; I liked him calling late and pulling me out of sleep because it felt so much more intimate and immediate. Coming out of a half-sleep to hear his voice made it easier to ignore the distance.
We were having the coldest winter we experienced those three years. For a month the temperature didn't seem to get above 5 farenheit; for a couple of weeks it didn't get over 0. That meant the kids had indoor recess for a full month - no outside time at all; it was simply too cold. I would dress them up in the full school regalia (snow pants, coat, face warmer, gloves, boots), drop them off in the car (too cold to walk the short distance), they would scurry in and strip all the gear off only to don it again for the brief run to the car in the afternoon. When I went to pick them up I had to leave the car running - something I hated to do because just sitting there for a few minutes I would start to freeze. It was too cold to ski, too cold to snowmobile, too cold to do anything.
Kirk commiserated. He knew I had finally taken my courage in both hands and gone up to the base ski slope (two runs, a bunny slope and a sledding hill) and learned to ski all by myself. He had encouraged me, cheered for me, practically run the darn thing with me in the retelling, and now recognized how frustrating it was to not be able to get out and ski again and again and again.
And he told me what stories he could.
He was sent to shut down an anti-aircraft unit. Like always I only know half the story so I don't know why; I don't even know whose.
It must have been emergency, last minute; one of those 'get the Russian speaking American officer' emergencies. They gave him a side arm and threw him on a plane with two Gurka soldiers. He laughed and said the plane ride was the scariest part with the Spanish pilots chain smoking under the warning sign that said 'no open flame, no smoking' in seven languages. They came down hard somewhere in Kosovo, and I remember thinking I should ask him about flying on a damn plane to get to a place where you're shutting down an anti-aircraft unit.
He had to walk up to the soldiers and ask to see their commander. He said he just talked, just walked up to them and kept talking and talking while they pointed their weapons at his chest. He talked about who he was, and he talked about how stupid it was to send some crazy American in with just a side arm (that I'm not touching you see) and a couple of Gurka soldiers who haven't done anything to anyone to shut down this unit. He talked about his family, and did they have any family, and did the commanding officer have a family? And they relaxed, and they took him in to see the officer.
The guy was a General or something I think, and Kirk had to basically give him orders, inform him that his unit was going to stop operations. But he talked again; talked and talked. It turned out the General did have a family - he had two kids and several grandkids. He thought the whole war was a bit crazy, and he worried about his mother who was getting old and lived in the city. He had seen some stuff he thought he'd never see, and his wife's best friend was married to a guy fighting on the other side, but they still thought they'd be friends when the whole thing was over.
And you, you crazy American, you got some balls coming in here to shut me down. We could have killed you boy, and by the time NATO came to figure it out who would care really in this war? But I like you. So for you, we'll shut it down.
And Kirk flew back.
It took him three years to tell me he thought he was going to die that night. He saw those soldiers fingering their triggers and thinking how easy it would be to just kill this American stranger and his two silent friends.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Bridge
Kirk and the other NATO guys had their hands full. Kosovo was an air campaign - the sort that Americans seem to love. It's all so high-tech and removed, so quick and easy, so very painless. Did that sound bitter? Sorry.
They pored over intel as it came in, sorting out what was happening, what needed to be done, whether it was done, what to do next. They had to anticipate the moves of people whose goals were undecipherable by normal means. They had to figure out what people do when all they want to do is hurt someone else.
They made lists of targets - things that were top priority to remove the 'means for waging war.' They sent waves of bombers out with fighter escorts, charged with destroying weapons and infrastructure.
At one point one of the NATO partners started kicking up a fuss. It wasn't fair, they shouted, the Americans and the Brits were hogging all the glory. They were doing all the raids, not letting anyone else have a look-in. Country X had good planes and pilots, didn't they? Didn't they have top equipment? Didn't they train hard? Weren't they trusted, vital members of the NATO force?
Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but it happened.
So country X was given a bridge to blow up. It was a vital assignment, not some 'oh, well if you're going to stamp your little feet we'll send you off to vent your anger on some single-lane cart track used only by goat herders in the lambing season' thing but something that had to go down, had to be taken out at once.
Country X sent its bombers out. Several hours later they were back. The bridge? Still up. The bomb had missed. But Country X wouldn't hear of sending someone else to do the mission - this was their bridge. Second wave was sent in, again they came back with the bridge intact. More hours passed. A third flight went out and... jubilation! Country X representatives proudly displayed their video - and see! The bomb, the bridge, the large explosion! Victory, glory, all that is good. The intel guys coughed a bit. The bridge, they pointed out, was still standing actually. In fact, it was still clearly usable. Ah well, said Country X, details.
A set of planes was quietly sent out - British? Italian? American? I don't know - who levelled the bridge in a single pass.
I think the official position was that the bridge collapsed because of the original bomb damage. There was much solemn agreement on the ops floor.
It's not the enemy that gives you the most grief, they all said over cigars that night, it's your damn allies.
They pored over intel as it came in, sorting out what was happening, what needed to be done, whether it was done, what to do next. They had to anticipate the moves of people whose goals were undecipherable by normal means. They had to figure out what people do when all they want to do is hurt someone else.
They made lists of targets - things that were top priority to remove the 'means for waging war.' They sent waves of bombers out with fighter escorts, charged with destroying weapons and infrastructure.
At one point one of the NATO partners started kicking up a fuss. It wasn't fair, they shouted, the Americans and the Brits were hogging all the glory. They were doing all the raids, not letting anyone else have a look-in. Country X had good planes and pilots, didn't they? Didn't they have top equipment? Didn't they train hard? Weren't they trusted, vital members of the NATO force?
Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but it happened.
So country X was given a bridge to blow up. It was a vital assignment, not some 'oh, well if you're going to stamp your little feet we'll send you off to vent your anger on some single-lane cart track used only by goat herders in the lambing season' thing but something that had to go down, had to be taken out at once.
Country X sent its bombers out. Several hours later they were back. The bridge? Still up. The bomb had missed. But Country X wouldn't hear of sending someone else to do the mission - this was their bridge. Second wave was sent in, again they came back with the bridge intact. More hours passed. A third flight went out and... jubilation! Country X representatives proudly displayed their video - and see! The bomb, the bridge, the large explosion! Victory, glory, all that is good. The intel guys coughed a bit. The bridge, they pointed out, was still standing actually. In fact, it was still clearly usable. Ah well, said Country X, details.
A set of planes was quietly sent out - British? Italian? American? I don't know - who levelled the bridge in a single pass.
I think the official position was that the bridge collapsed because of the original bomb damage. There was much solemn agreement on the ops floor.
It's not the enemy that gives you the most grief, they all said over cigars that night, it's your damn allies.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Vicenza and Kosovo
It's strange how many Americans really don't know about what happened in Kosovo. Even people who are politically active and aware don't know more than the general idea that somewhere in central Europe some sort of clash went on. They seem to know the important words - Serbia, Albania, Milošević - but the details are lost. Kosovo isn't part of our national mindset somehow.
Kirk went to Vicenza in November of 1998. The massacre in Racak was discovered in January, 1999.
Before that he used to call me every night. I usually didn't sleep in our bed when he was gone - just camped out on the couch with the phone beside me. He didn't always get to call at the same time, but we always got a chance to talk at least a little. The kids were usually long since asleep in bed, the dark and the snow hushed everything down, focused it all on his voice over the telephone. He would describe what he had done - the latest on Klaus the Evil Danish Dude, the new French guy who was rapidly becoming Kirk's best friend, the small details of his day.
Christmas he got to talk to everyone. The kids could thank him for the things he had sent from Italy and describe the toys we had discussed but he had never seen. He told us about spending Christmas and New Years with a group of guys from the UK and the commonwealth. It took him three days to recover, he said.
He didn't talk about any increase in concern or tension, but he wouldn't have. That sort of thing was unspoken. We just talked about small things, connecting every night.
And then the massacre was discovered. The conference at Rambouillet took place, Yugoslavia refused to sign the agreement.
Then the world changed.
Kirk went to Vicenza in November of 1998. The massacre in Racak was discovered in January, 1999.
Before that he used to call me every night. I usually didn't sleep in our bed when he was gone - just camped out on the couch with the phone beside me. He didn't always get to call at the same time, but we always got a chance to talk at least a little. The kids were usually long since asleep in bed, the dark and the snow hushed everything down, focused it all on his voice over the telephone. He would describe what he had done - the latest on Klaus the Evil Danish Dude, the new French guy who was rapidly becoming Kirk's best friend, the small details of his day.
Christmas he got to talk to everyone. The kids could thank him for the things he had sent from Italy and describe the toys we had discussed but he had never seen. He told us about spending Christmas and New Years with a group of guys from the UK and the commonwealth. It took him three days to recover, he said.
He didn't talk about any increase in concern or tension, but he wouldn't have. That sort of thing was unspoken. We just talked about small things, connecting every night.
And then the massacre was discovered. The conference at Rambouillet took place, Yugoslavia refused to sign the agreement.
Then the world changed.
Friday, July 14, 2006
International Diplomacy
Vicenza was a true NATO post. There were several people from the UK, a handful of Italians, a Spaniard or two, a rotating Frenchman (no, no, he didn't spin like a top or anything, the position rotated through so the French guy they started with was replaced a few weeks later) and Klaus The Evil Danish Dude.
That's how Kirk always described him. All stories featured not just Klaus, but Klaus the Evil Danish Dude.
The Danish military has a union, and by union rules they aren't allowed to work more than, oh I don't know, seven or eight hours a week. I guess they are all delicate little flowers who must not be taxed with over-work and stress. Klaus was a 6'4" delicate flower who spent his afternoons at the gym so he could pile more chiselled northern muscle on his massive frame. But before he left every day at three he would make a point of poking his head around every corner, tracking down every last person he worked with and loudly saying a cheery 'well! Time to go! Bye!' with a happy wave.
He took a particular shine to the Frenchman. This guy was only about 5'5", and had earned nearly universal dislike by having disgusting personal habits, excessively low moral standards, and being almost completely incompetent. He was also very, very intimidated by the large amounts of Klaus, although he couldn't show it or admit it. Klaus enjoyed this extremely.
The Frenchman had managed to jam the fax machine (again) and was struggling with it, trying to wrench the wadded up paper out of the roller.
'Hey Frenchy'
Ignore, tug tug tug
'Hey, did you break that?'
Ignore, blink blink, tug TUG rip mumble tug
Klaus saunters up and stands mere inches from the poor guy. He begins to poke him, one finger poke in the upper arm.
Poke... poke.... poke....
Ignore, sweat, blink blink, ignore
Poke... poke... poke....
'Does this bother you?' poke poke poke
'Yis!' through gritted teeth, still not making eye contact though 'Yis, eet ees vair' irritating! It does bozzer me!'
Klaus leans in even closer and smiles into the sweaty face. 'Don't let it.'
'Klaus!' Kirk calls from across the room, 'lay off him.'
'Okay!' Klaus smiles angelically at the Frenchman.
'You're one Evil Danish Dude, Klaus.'
'That's right yankee! Well, time to go!'
A modern viking, was Klaus.
That's how Kirk always described him. All stories featured not just Klaus, but Klaus the Evil Danish Dude.
The Danish military has a union, and by union rules they aren't allowed to work more than, oh I don't know, seven or eight hours a week. I guess they are all delicate little flowers who must not be taxed with over-work and stress. Klaus was a 6'4" delicate flower who spent his afternoons at the gym so he could pile more chiselled northern muscle on his massive frame. But before he left every day at three he would make a point of poking his head around every corner, tracking down every last person he worked with and loudly saying a cheery 'well! Time to go! Bye!' with a happy wave.
He took a particular shine to the Frenchman. This guy was only about 5'5", and had earned nearly universal dislike by having disgusting personal habits, excessively low moral standards, and being almost completely incompetent. He was also very, very intimidated by the large amounts of Klaus, although he couldn't show it or admit it. Klaus enjoyed this extremely.
The Frenchman had managed to jam the fax machine (again) and was struggling with it, trying to wrench the wadded up paper out of the roller.
'Hey Frenchy'
Ignore, tug tug tug
'Hey, did you break that?'
Ignore, blink blink, tug TUG rip mumble tug
Klaus saunters up and stands mere inches from the poor guy. He begins to poke him, one finger poke in the upper arm.
Poke... poke.... poke....
Ignore, sweat, blink blink, ignore
Poke... poke... poke....
'Does this bother you?' poke poke poke
'Yis!' through gritted teeth, still not making eye contact though 'Yis, eet ees vair' irritating! It does bozzer me!'
Klaus leans in even closer and smiles into the sweaty face. 'Don't let it.'
'Klaus!' Kirk calls from across the room, 'lay off him.'
'Okay!' Klaus smiles angelically at the Frenchman.
'You're one Evil Danish Dude, Klaus.'
'That's right yankee! Well, time to go!'
A modern viking, was Klaus.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
What a Difference A Few Years Makes
There was another story, another excercise. And it's interesting really. Because Kirk told this story several times (he was a master story-teller. He could get a laugh... he was good) and I heard him do it. But... well, different times. I'll tell it anyway.
There was a base-wide security excercise. I think there were outside evaluators brought in who did various things to test readiness. I don't know how Kirk fit into the whole thing, I only know the center of the story so bear with me.
He had the fun assignment - he got to be the Infiltrator. He watched outside of the Alcom building for several hours and caught a guard taking a smoke outside. He took the chance and slipped in the building, nipping in the door without going through the rigorous badge... bleep... badge.... bleep stuff.
Then he walked into the room they were using, and as everyone looked up and immediately realised he shouldn't be there, he put a package on the desk. And he said: 'Boom.'
I didn't know how to tell this story. Kirk used to get a good laugh off it prior to 9/11. He didn't use it after that. I wish now that I had asked him about it, but I never did. It was all still too raw. When he left to go to Iraq, even though it was two years after 9/11 we weren't yet to the point where he was talking about these long past memories.
But it's part of the story.
There was a base-wide security excercise. I think there were outside evaluators brought in who did various things to test readiness. I don't know how Kirk fit into the whole thing, I only know the center of the story so bear with me.
He had the fun assignment - he got to be the Infiltrator. He watched outside of the Alcom building for several hours and caught a guard taking a smoke outside. He took the chance and slipped in the building, nipping in the door without going through the rigorous badge... bleep... badge.... bleep stuff.
Then he walked into the room they were using, and as everyone looked up and immediately realised he shouldn't be there, he put a package on the desk. And he said: 'Boom.'
I didn't know how to tell this story. Kirk used to get a good laugh off it prior to 9/11. He didn't use it after that. I wish now that I had asked him about it, but I never did. It was all still too raw. When he left to go to Iraq, even though it was two years after 9/11 we weren't yet to the point where he was talking about these long past memories.
But it's part of the story.
How To Deliver Bad News To a Senior Officer
Kirk spent a year or so on the insane schedule (or as it came to be, the 8-days-on FOUR DAYS FISHING!! 8-days-on FOUR DAYS FISHING!! routine). Then he shifted to day work which meant the rest of the family got to see him now and then, but happened too late to save terminal sleep disruption. Oh, and I think he mourned the loss of FOUR DAYS FISHING!! But at some point, for some reason I don't know because it was probably classified, he was sent down to do information operations (info-ops) work at the Alcom building.
The Alcom building is where the Alaska Command lives on Elmendorf. I think it's a NORAD kind of thing. Sorry to sound vague, but remember, wife of security clearance person, so I never asked questions.
I believe that much of the time they were doing important, very secret, real world things. I believe this because Kirk never told me a thing about them. If I were a seriously curious person our marriage would have been a shambles. Because I'm almost violently willing to allow other people to have their own business without my needing to meddle in it, we were very good.
But he could talk about the exercise part of the job. There were several he was involved with. For one, for instance, he got to write up the intel scenario, and he did such a good job they had to call a 'time out' (time out?? probably there's a much more serious and impressive term for this but I don't know it) and get him to tell them what was 'really' going on because otherwise the whole thing would go pear shaped.
There was one that was big enough to involve a general, probably two to make a matched set. Kirk was the person who got to meet this man at the door of the incident room (or whatever they called it) and say 'Sir, I have some bad news.' Now, this is not something that comes up all the time really, it's a fairly rare opportunity Kirk had. He had to say: 'Sir, I'm afraid you're dead.'
You see, he explained, your team called you on your cell phone while you were driving in. They had phoned you at home in the middle of the night to get you moving in, which was fine, and then they called on the road to fill in some vital details. And that, sir? That use of the cell phone? Well, the enemy tracked your GPS location and dropped a missile on your car.
The general blinked at Kirk for a moment (a long, slightly fraught moment) and then an evil grin split his face.
'Okay son, I understand. That's fine. Me, folks? I'm a ghost. I'm just floating here in the ectoplasm' and watching every move you make, you newly headless chicken who has to flop helplessly around coping with this darned excercise. No pressure though.
Kirk said there was a roomful of non-general people who were quite cheerfully wanting to kill him.
The Alcom building is where the Alaska Command lives on Elmendorf. I think it's a NORAD kind of thing. Sorry to sound vague, but remember, wife of security clearance person, so I never asked questions.
I believe that much of the time they were doing important, very secret, real world things. I believe this because Kirk never told me a thing about them. If I were a seriously curious person our marriage would have been a shambles. Because I'm almost violently willing to allow other people to have their own business without my needing to meddle in it, we were very good.
But he could talk about the exercise part of the job. There were several he was involved with. For one, for instance, he got to write up the intel scenario, and he did such a good job they had to call a 'time out' (time out?? probably there's a much more serious and impressive term for this but I don't know it) and get him to tell them what was 'really' going on because otherwise the whole thing would go pear shaped.
There was one that was big enough to involve a general, probably two to make a matched set. Kirk was the person who got to meet this man at the door of the incident room (or whatever they called it) and say 'Sir, I have some bad news.' Now, this is not something that comes up all the time really, it's a fairly rare opportunity Kirk had. He had to say: 'Sir, I'm afraid you're dead.'
You see, he explained, your team called you on your cell phone while you were driving in. They had phoned you at home in the middle of the night to get you moving in, which was fine, and then they called on the road to fill in some vital details. And that, sir? That use of the cell phone? Well, the enemy tracked your GPS location and dropped a missile on your car.
The general blinked at Kirk for a moment (a long, slightly fraught moment) and then an evil grin split his face.
'Okay son, I understand. That's fine. Me, folks? I'm a ghost. I'm just floating here in the ectoplasm' and watching every move you make, you newly headless chicken who has to flop helplessly around coping with this darned excercise. No pressure though.
Kirk said there was a roomful of non-general people who were quite cheerfully wanting to kill him.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Dining Out and About
We went to three dining outs - dinings out? - in Alaska. It was a nice chance to wear a pretty dress (for me naturally) and not have to leave my high-heels at the door and walk around all evening in my slowly deteriorating panty-hose (no really, that's what you do in Alaskan houses, you slip your shoes off. Everyone does it so you don't track in mud and grit from the road-sanding. It's just when people are wearing formal dresses that it looks a little odd). We didn't even have to get a sitter - the unit got a rotating group of single people who volunteered to ride herd on the whole under-12 crowd.
One year we had it in the nicest hotel in downtown Anchorage. You knew it was nice, because when we walked in the door Dee Dee Jonrowe was doing some sort of press-conference/photo shoot thing there, and she's practically Alaskan royalty. We nearly didn't make it upstairs because the dozen or so puppies she had brought were so utterly entrancing.
The unit had rented a large suite for the kids, and we parents just opened the door and callously slung our offspring in. By the time we got there, there were already about 18 young of varying size, and two slightly dazed looking airmen. The noise level was impressive, but not yet deafening.
'Don't worry,' another parent said to us as we shut the door. 'I asked, and the babysitters get rotated every hour. I don't think anyone will be permanently damaged.'
Maybe sworn off breeding for life, but not permanently damaged, no.
It was a nice evening - the inevitable choice of halibut or vegetarian for dinner and a great after-dinner speech (the best moment of which was when the speaker, fed up with the overly-zealous unit photographer, finally gritted 'son, you flash that damn thing in my face one more time and i'm gonna stick it...'). Every half hour or so one parent or another would wander out to make sure at least the majority of the children were still breathing.
Kirk got tagged for one of those trips, and came back laughing.
'You'll never guess who they have watching them right now.'
'?'
'Lt (naming one of the other officer peons - the single one).'
Hmmmm.... nice guy - interesting but nice. He was the sort of person who could focus on only one thing at a time, but had enormous interest and energy, so whatever it was he did with every fiber of his being. He was also slightly deranged when it came to outdoor sports.
'And?'
Turns out he had the entire crew, twenty some children ranging from 11 down to 2 solemnly lined up and down the hall, legs stiffly in front, vigorously running imaginary rapids in their kayaks.
'Left! LEFT!' He was shouting when Kirk came around the corner, 'remember, there's that huge rock I told you about right there and it'll tear your boat out... now RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT, dig deep dudes, dig deep!'
Faces grim with concentration, they all swapped their invisible paddles to the other side, leaning with the force of the turn.
He took them down the run three times that hour, but he didn't lose a single one.
One year we had it in the nicest hotel in downtown Anchorage. You knew it was nice, because when we walked in the door Dee Dee Jonrowe was doing some sort of press-conference/photo shoot thing there, and she's practically Alaskan royalty. We nearly didn't make it upstairs because the dozen or so puppies she had brought were so utterly entrancing.
The unit had rented a large suite for the kids, and we parents just opened the door and callously slung our offspring in. By the time we got there, there were already about 18 young of varying size, and two slightly dazed looking airmen. The noise level was impressive, but not yet deafening.
'Don't worry,' another parent said to us as we shut the door. 'I asked, and the babysitters get rotated every hour. I don't think anyone will be permanently damaged.'
Maybe sworn off breeding for life, but not permanently damaged, no.
It was a nice evening - the inevitable choice of halibut or vegetarian for dinner and a great after-dinner speech (the best moment of which was when the speaker, fed up with the overly-zealous unit photographer, finally gritted 'son, you flash that damn thing in my face one more time and i'm gonna stick it...'). Every half hour or so one parent or another would wander out to make sure at least the majority of the children were still breathing.
Kirk got tagged for one of those trips, and came back laughing.
'You'll never guess who they have watching them right now.'
'?'
'Lt (naming one of the other officer peons - the single one).'
Hmmmm.... nice guy - interesting but nice. He was the sort of person who could focus on only one thing at a time, but had enormous interest and energy, so whatever it was he did with every fiber of his being. He was also slightly deranged when it came to outdoor sports.
'And?'
Turns out he had the entire crew, twenty some children ranging from 11 down to 2 solemnly lined up and down the hall, legs stiffly in front, vigorously running imaginary rapids in their kayaks.
'Left! LEFT!' He was shouting when Kirk came around the corner, 'remember, there's that huge rock I told you about right there and it'll tear your boat out... now RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT, dig deep dudes, dig deep!'
Faces grim with concentration, they all swapped their invisible paddles to the other side, leaning with the force of the turn.
He took them down the run three times that hour, but he didn't lose a single one.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Breaching the Elephant Cage
Kirk spent most of his Air Force career in buildings with no windows. In Alaska in the wintertime that meant that once he was moved over to the day shift the sun would set for him on Sunday afternoon and not rise again until mid-morning on Saturday. Intel people are mole people, cockroach people, pale troglodytes.
We did get to see a little of where he worked. They always put on a great Halloween party, with trick-or-treating at several doors (I assume someone had to sanitize the rooms behind first), a fishing 'pond' where the kids could pull up glow-in-the-dark aliens or fake blood-stained plastic talons, and a place to take a picture with a stuffed scarecrow. They had an amazing haunted house as well, although the magic was usually lost on our kids because their dad would stop to chat with the zombies and the crazed chainsaw murderers as he went through.
Those parties let the kids show off their costumes, which is a big deal in Alaska. They went trick-or-treating in the neighborhood as well of course, but like all the other kids they had to wear winter coats over their outfit. You'd open the door to an identical set of be-hatted small-fry and say 'oh! Look at the....' (quick flash) 'two cowboys and a princess!' It was particularly hard on the princesses. It's tough to really feel the part princess-wise with a pair of gore-tex mittens and a woolly facewarmer extinguishing your pink taffeta. At the party they could be admired in full glory which was pretty heady stuff.
We did get to go into the building once on an ordinary work day. Kirk was getting an award, along with a couple of other people, but it wasn't a big enough deal to shut down an entire floor as they did for the parties. Instead when we were signed in at the front gate the guard pressed some sort of warning button. On every floor red and blue idiot lights went off - whirling around to remind everyone that un-cleared civilians were around. Kirk had to escort us everywhere, and if he needed to head to the bathroom or something someone else had to be recruited as minders to keep an eye on us. It probably meant that for the hour we were there no one could walk away from a computer, or leave out a scrap of paper or anything. I think that explains why the ceremony was conducted with such admirable brevity.
It was a strange sort of world - none of the hyper-cool set dressing you see in movies, no improbably coiffed agents wearing unprofessionally short skirts and wrinkling their brows intensely at 10 foot displays of computer generated data. Just about 300 of the most intelligent, committed young people I've ever met in my life. Even if they blinked in the light.
We did get to see a little of where he worked. They always put on a great Halloween party, with trick-or-treating at several doors (I assume someone had to sanitize the rooms behind first), a fishing 'pond' where the kids could pull up glow-in-the-dark aliens or fake blood-stained plastic talons, and a place to take a picture with a stuffed scarecrow. They had an amazing haunted house as well, although the magic was usually lost on our kids because their dad would stop to chat with the zombies and the crazed chainsaw murderers as he went through.
Those parties let the kids show off their costumes, which is a big deal in Alaska. They went trick-or-treating in the neighborhood as well of course, but like all the other kids they had to wear winter coats over their outfit. You'd open the door to an identical set of be-hatted small-fry and say 'oh! Look at the....' (quick flash) 'two cowboys and a princess!' It was particularly hard on the princesses. It's tough to really feel the part princess-wise with a pair of gore-tex mittens and a woolly facewarmer extinguishing your pink taffeta. At the party they could be admired in full glory which was pretty heady stuff.
We did get to go into the building once on an ordinary work day. Kirk was getting an award, along with a couple of other people, but it wasn't a big enough deal to shut down an entire floor as they did for the parties. Instead when we were signed in at the front gate the guard pressed some sort of warning button. On every floor red and blue idiot lights went off - whirling around to remind everyone that un-cleared civilians were around. Kirk had to escort us everywhere, and if he needed to head to the bathroom or something someone else had to be recruited as minders to keep an eye on us. It probably meant that for the hour we were there no one could walk away from a computer, or leave out a scrap of paper or anything. I think that explains why the ceremony was conducted with such admirable brevity.
It was a strange sort of world - none of the hyper-cool set dressing you see in movies, no improbably coiffed agents wearing unprofessionally short skirts and wrinkling their brows intensely at 10 foot displays of computer generated data. Just about 300 of the most intelligent, committed young people I've ever met in my life. Even if they blinked in the light.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Diplomacy - Liquid and Otherwise
There were lots of superb linguists in Kirk's unit, but all enlisted. So far as I know, Kirk was the only officer on base who spoke Russian fluently. So, even though you couldn't go lower on the officer food chain than where he was, he got tagged for anything that needed solid language skills and at least nominal rank. Mostly he just translated for the colonels and such who were meant to be doing the real talking, but he also got to go on all of the base and city tours, and help out for the most important bit at the end - when the Russian guys went to the BX to shop for their wives. He made one life-long friend by recommending Chanel no. 5 as a can't miss selection.
There was one misstep though. They took the Russians on a quick tour of Anchorage - out for dinner at the Crow's Nest, and then since they were right downtown, on to the 5th Avenue Mall. It's a pretty impressive looking mall really, particularly for a city the size of Anchorage, four stories tall and full of modern glass and mallesque nylon banners. Of course, when we first came they didn't have a Gap yet (when it arrived people were shaking with excitement. One woman came up to me on The Day and said 'I just bought a pair of socks! I don't even need socks, but I had to buy something from the Gap the day it opened.' Yeah, well, that's what happens to Alaskans during break up - gets a bit crazy), and the bottom floor was empty unless there was a ski sale, a Christmas mall, or a fishing event. The Russians got very quiet and grim there though. Took Kirk the best part of an hour to get them to tell him what was wrong. They were offended that the Americans thought they would be impressed by what was so clearly a government front building set up to wow foreigners. They wouldn't believe Kirk when he said it was, honestly and truly, just a mall. Things didn't thaw out until they all went to the Glacier Brew House and took the Russians three goes around the micro-brewery sampler selection.
Kirk was later asked to go translate when a Russian ship had to be rescued by the Coast Guard and was towed into harbor somewhere down south. He walked on board ship with two Coast Guard officers - the highest rank they could rustle up at short notice - and was met by the ship's captain and his two assistants.
'Welcome! We have tradition on Russian boat,' he said, and Kirk and the other two Americans were handed shot glasses, full to the absolute rim. Three more appeared for the Russians. 'When come on boat, we all must drink together.'
The six men drained the shot glasses together.
'Brave men! We have another tradition.' The captain pulled an enormous bottle of vodka out. 'Once bottle is open, we must finish.'
A few hours later the Russian captain and his men strolled happily down to the dock. Kirk and the other Americans wobbled slowly and carefully after.
I still have the shot glass - covered with a strange, pebbly pink transfer, and rimmed with gold. It seems a frivolous, feminine sort of thing for a Russian ship's captain to choose. But it took three large American officers down without a fight.
There was one misstep though. They took the Russians on a quick tour of Anchorage - out for dinner at the Crow's Nest, and then since they were right downtown, on to the 5th Avenue Mall. It's a pretty impressive looking mall really, particularly for a city the size of Anchorage, four stories tall and full of modern glass and mallesque nylon banners. Of course, when we first came they didn't have a Gap yet (when it arrived people were shaking with excitement. One woman came up to me on The Day and said 'I just bought a pair of socks! I don't even need socks, but I had to buy something from the Gap the day it opened.' Yeah, well, that's what happens to Alaskans during break up - gets a bit crazy), and the bottom floor was empty unless there was a ski sale, a Christmas mall, or a fishing event. The Russians got very quiet and grim there though. Took Kirk the best part of an hour to get them to tell him what was wrong. They were offended that the Americans thought they would be impressed by what was so clearly a government front building set up to wow foreigners. They wouldn't believe Kirk when he said it was, honestly and truly, just a mall. Things didn't thaw out until they all went to the Glacier Brew House and took the Russians three goes around the micro-brewery sampler selection.
Kirk was later asked to go translate when a Russian ship had to be rescued by the Coast Guard and was towed into harbor somewhere down south. He walked on board ship with two Coast Guard officers - the highest rank they could rustle up at short notice - and was met by the ship's captain and his two assistants.
'Welcome! We have tradition on Russian boat,' he said, and Kirk and the other two Americans were handed shot glasses, full to the absolute rim. Three more appeared for the Russians. 'When come on boat, we all must drink together.'
The six men drained the shot glasses together.
'Brave men! We have another tradition.' The captain pulled an enormous bottle of vodka out. 'Once bottle is open, we must finish.'
A few hours later the Russian captain and his men strolled happily down to the dock. Kirk and the other Americans wobbled slowly and carefully after.
I still have the shot glass - covered with a strange, pebbly pink transfer, and rimmed with gold. It seems a frivolous, feminine sort of thing for a Russian ship's captain to choose. But it took three large American officers down without a fight.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Elephant Cages and Jet Lag
Kirk was assigned to the 381st MI squadron at Elmendorf. It's a huge unit - somewhere around 300 people I think when we were there. They worked at the elephant cage - well, the elephant cage surrounded where they worked - up a hill, behind the flight-line. That worked well for Kirk. You drove in the front gate and past all the boring stuff, circled the flight-line where, quite often, the f-16's would be taking off, or a c-5 would be making an utterly improbable looking landing (and where there was a resident fox who sometimes could be seen bouncing above the fireweed looking for food), then headed up the hill, watching for moose on either side and hoping that the eagle pair who nested nearby would be putting on an aerial show.
He had to take a test when he first got there - no idea what it was about. He loped through it in a couple of weeks, and only afterwards learned he had broken some sort of local record by getting through so quickly. Once that was over he was, butter-bars and all, suddenly a commander. I think that's one of the things that made this such a highly prized position - the chance at command right out of school.
Slightly less enticing was the schedule. There were three flights that rotated the off hours of a 24 hour duty - a 12 day cycle. Four days were swings - 4 p.m. to midnight, four days were mids - midnight to 8 a.m., four days were off. It meant for over a year he would be in perpetual jet lag.
Worse, for four days he didn't see the oldest kids at all - during swings he missed them on both sides of school. Because he was always chasing his last sleep cycle we learned quickly that Daddy sleep was sacred. If he did manage to drop off, we all tiptoed around the house, or left completely in the hopes he could catch an hour or two. I don't think he ever slept normally again.
There was one benefit however. Child 3 had, as probably happens in families like ours, been the funny, charming, but quiet tagalong kid. It wasn't that it was forgotten or ignored, just that the older two set up such a constant chatter Child 3 didn't really get a look-in. When Kirk had his four days off though, and the older two were in school, we just took Child 3 with us to do errands and get to know Anchorage. I remember sitting in a restaurant one day, and looking across at Kirk while Child 3 contentedly informed us of important life facts in an endless stream of noise. 'You know what?' Kirk said, 'this kid talks.' It made us a bit ashamed to realize that this wonderful, intelligent, hilarious personality had been there all along and we hadn't known because of the surface babble. I think that was the thing we both found most fantastic about the crazy schedule - getting to know Child 3 as its very own person.
Of course, once it realized that it could talk and have an audience it hasn't actually stopped for breath since. But I'll take it.
He had to take a test when he first got there - no idea what it was about. He loped through it in a couple of weeks, and only afterwards learned he had broken some sort of local record by getting through so quickly. Once that was over he was, butter-bars and all, suddenly a commander. I think that's one of the things that made this such a highly prized position - the chance at command right out of school.
Slightly less enticing was the schedule. There were three flights that rotated the off hours of a 24 hour duty - a 12 day cycle. Four days were swings - 4 p.m. to midnight, four days were mids - midnight to 8 a.m., four days were off. It meant for over a year he would be in perpetual jet lag.
Worse, for four days he didn't see the oldest kids at all - during swings he missed them on both sides of school. Because he was always chasing his last sleep cycle we learned quickly that Daddy sleep was sacred. If he did manage to drop off, we all tiptoed around the house, or left completely in the hopes he could catch an hour or two. I don't think he ever slept normally again.
There was one benefit however. Child 3 had, as probably happens in families like ours, been the funny, charming, but quiet tagalong kid. It wasn't that it was forgotten or ignored, just that the older two set up such a constant chatter Child 3 didn't really get a look-in. When Kirk had his four days off though, and the older two were in school, we just took Child 3 with us to do errands and get to know Anchorage. I remember sitting in a restaurant one day, and looking across at Kirk while Child 3 contentedly informed us of important life facts in an endless stream of noise. 'You know what?' Kirk said, 'this kid talks.' It made us a bit ashamed to realize that this wonderful, intelligent, hilarious personality had been there all along and we hadn't known because of the surface babble. I think that was the thing we both found most fantastic about the crazy schedule - getting to know Child 3 as its very own person.
Of course, once it realized that it could talk and have an audience it hasn't actually stopped for breath since. But I'll take it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
