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I may have blogged this before. Certainly a remark here and there. If so I'm sure there is some new stuff in this entry.

The timing for this slice of history on my fairly mundane military career is early 1974 at Grand Forks AFB, North Dakota.

There was a joke that if North and South Dakota ever separated from the rest of the country they would be the third world nuclear power. These two frigid states were home to 300 missiles set to go at the turn of two keys in unison by men of conviction and performance of duty.

The missiles were housed in huge silos scattered hither and yon over the countryside protected by a roving patrol of military Security Police (with whom I was going to be very familiar with in a day or two) and a fence--easily climbed. There were alarm systems that cousins of Bugs Bunny were always setting off that kept our merry band of protectors of the nation on their toes and rather grumpy. Thank goodness they weren't trigger happy.

The drama queen is foreshadowing for new readers. Old faithful readers scan down about twenty-one paragraphs to see the payoff. (I checked--the Countess smiles--she knew he would.)

Now the location of all this abundance of firepower was easily determined by anyone with a road map and time on their hands. No great efforts were made to hide these little slices of territory and portents of doom. The response teams could get to a site in about ten minutes from anywhere and the silos so deep and entrenched that sabotage would be a time consuming and futile exercise as the cover of the silos was a metal cap that would give the Incredible Hulk pause for consideration.

The real enemy was the snow melting in springtime where the flood waters presented a real danger to leaking unto the missile and damaging this over $1,000,000 per tube investment in saber rattling.

So just before winter was finally going to release its icy grip and raise the temperature to living conditions crews of enlisted personnel would be sent to the various missile locations to dig trenches away from the silo foundation for the spring thaw to flow AWAY from the narrow opening--about a three inch gap between the seal of the metal cover and the concrete. If a missile were to be detonated the cover would be electronically exploded horizontally across a railroad track while Dr.Strangelove's paramour reached the blue skies above.

It was cold and laborious work depending on the depth of the snow. I was a fairly new Staff Sergeant at the time not yet in charge of the 321st Civil Engineering Orderly Room. Diggers were pulled from all (or most) of the squadrons assigned under the 321st Stategic Missile Wing and my boss sent me as his donation to the cause. A tour of duty at the sites was three days. If lucky.

I made two trips.

Hated the exercise but I was in a little bit better shape back then. But it was grunt work with no apparent rewards and gratifications involved. No medals, no added comments to your annual evaluation. No time off.

And no respect.

Now there is one thing about the military career I had that I was well pleased with. I knew how to make the paperwork look good and most of the time--correct. Invaluable in that capacity.

But on the other hand I was fairly mediocre in leadership/espit de corps activities. We confess this as simply the way it was. Yes we were made to go to the NCO Leadership School and NCO Academy both of which the flight I belonged to won Honor Flight. I have certificates to prove it. Honor Flight is a team effort. You get one or two personal glory hounds on the roster and you can kiss that award goodby. And yes the glory hounds did indeed get their coveted and fought for prize due them but at the expense of their fellows. I believe in personal advancement but I prefer rising with the team. I have the herd mentality observing over the years it's the tall ones whose heads are cut first.

I work best behind the scenes getting the cogs lined up right and things in their proper place for others to direct and utilize. When placed in personal command my success and failures were generally based on how well the rest of the team liked/loved or disliked me. Fortunately over 21 years the dislike happened only once or twice. It's a personal failing of mine that I linger over the two or three failures (one a highly significant one that actually led to my being reassigned though if you read my official records there is nary a whisper of it) and that assignment ended my career on a nice note doing what I do best. Plus I was tired by then of it all. Retirement though unwelcome was a blessing in disguise as I came to realize upon reflection years afterward.

So some snow adventures. I had three young men assigned me. One of them was having a birthday during this time so he was (one) my driver, and (two) my most constant complainer. I'm sure he's tormeted his kids with "Why when I was 21 I didn't go out and get drunk I served my country---" or some such line as that. Truth is always relative to the teller.

He also got us stuck in snow with the truck. That did not bode well for my team success.

The missiles are divided up over the countryside and monitored by a launch control facility (LCF) which controlled 15 missiles each so there were 10 across the state and South Dakota had a simliar operation. Two officers were buried well over 500 feet or so below ground and locked in a small room by a huge metal door similar to the one guarding Fort Knox in the James Bond movie Goldfinger. There was a line on the floor marked off where the door radius hit and when the door would open you would hear a voice saying stand clear. Access was by a very old outdated open sided elevator where you could actually see the stone and earthworks. There was also an emergency ladder which seemed never to have had a foor placed on it. Looked sturdy for all that I could see. Paperwork was presented to the officers and they delighted in seeing new faces and showing their little capsule off. Yes they were called the capsule crew. I just saw buttons and lights flashing. The chairs were set apart to reenforce the condition that it takes two to make a fire. And we hope never again.

The paperwork involved little sheets of letter codes to be read off when deployed to a missile site. When you entered properly thru the gate an alarm went off. You had five to ten minutes roughly to find the phone jack, plug in, call in and rattle off your identifier number and code page. Then you fought the wind trying to set the darn page on fire and burn it completely.

Then you started digging the trench. Sometimes my squadorn (Civil Engineering remember) would be there first with snow plows and have most of the job done.

One time I arrived to find a site so well dug out that I was convinced a mistake had been made.

Uncle Sam has been around just a wee bit longer then I so--nope. See all that 15 foot high snowbank off to the left??

Aww you guessed. Keep the trench going. I kept wondering if someone in Pavements and Grounds knew I was up here and was playng a joke.

A storm started up. Not a bad one really but my little band of rebels took off and sat in the truck. I stubbornly stayed and dug awhile more until the storm got enough where my pride could phone in and request evacuation. I cursed out my little deserters who at least had the very good sense to keep their mouths shut and it went no further but no respect and love was gained or lost. Frankly I was embarassed that I couldn't push my rank to MAKE them stay. Like I said grunt work. I wasn't their normal supervisor and we all hated the job.

In fact I freely confess actually shoving hard to move ice DOWN said silo wondering just how much would it take. A lot more then that having been though a flood that destroyed parts of Grand Forks in the 80s.

One site I was on that led to my becoming acquainted with the busness end of a security police firearm. I had arrived at a site that would require a bit of work on the sewer pipe up by the access road. Rather then phone in every hour I requested the officer in charge to phone when I was done. Permission granted.

Too bad he didn't pass his benediction on to the relief team.

About an hour and a half later the long arm of the military law drives up and my hands are in the air. An identification card handed over and a lecture and a sterner one from the lieutenant upon return to the facility. At least they missed me.

My supervisor back at Civil Engineering simply thanked me for having taken the hit for him--twice. A week later HE got sent out and no I didn't whine to the first sergeant to have it happen. They just needed more bodies and he went one day ahead of my return from the second outing.

A year later some bright bulb scored a major victory by hiring a contractor who used some sort of foam seal to the silo covers that ended the digging for the graves of the ice gods once and for all. I was relieved to no longer be a part of that history of atomic warfare and the nuts and bolts of it.

Read somewhere that the missiles have been removed but never cared enough to make sure. Every three years or so Stragtegic Air Command would pull one out and inspect it for water damage with a general's head on the block if results weren't Bounty wipe clean. No blood was ever dropped during those anxious vigils.

I went on to become the Chief Clerk, Orderly Room and to some small fame on the base and the long suffering one was a few years away. Actually still in high school if my math is right.