There was no point in even making the attempt to get to Gimpo Airport. There would really be only one place an American would run to in panic when being chased by the police, and that was the city’s only public airport. I was in real trouble and whatever the effect it might have on my future travel or my barely started career, I had to get out of the country I was in without getting incarcerated and then questioned under quite possibly the harshest circumstance about who I really was and what I was in Korea for. That I could also end up dead, depending upon the likely combination of Korean mafia mix with the local police, was also very much on my mind.
I tapped Ho on the shoulder and motioned for him to pull the tuk-tuk to the side of the road, noting the small hole in the back of his seat as I did so.
With the tuk-tuk pulled over I explained to him that the airport was out. Ho didn’t evidence any change of expression at all as he sat and turned in his seat as the little three-wheeled machine that was his entire living, rattled away.
I had no paperwork, contacts, or anything that would have allowed me to avoid security, and, on top of that, I was a wanted man by the local police, which was also speculative…as the only cops I’d so far dealt with had also likely been mafia. Whether they were hitmen or not I didn’t want to think about although that vague suspicion had caused me to take the chancy risk of running.
“The embassy,” I said to Ho, not telling him that I had no intention of going into the embassy, only to possibly be detained there pending some sort of investigation.
I’d already blown my welcome because of Nguyen and then the confrontation with Hill at the hotel. The embassy staff might simply turn me over to the authorities and promise to help with the legal representation.
Veering away from the airport and making it to the embassy took only moments, as I thought about my situation. Nguyen had gone out military air, and I’d come to realize that was my only way out, at least the only one I could think of. The port of Inchon was close to Seoul but finding a freighter heading to the U.S. and getting aboard that for a lengthy uncomfortable ride didn’t seem either logical or even likely.
Once outside the embassy, I climbed off the back bench and turned to face Ho, pulling out a twenty to pay him, but putting the money back in my pocket when he gently waved his left hand and slightly shook his head. I realized we weren’t running on money anymore but on trust. Reaching into my back pocket I took out my wallet and removed one of my old Mass Mutual Insurance cards. Using a government pen I’d pocketed during my last embassy visit I scribbled my name and new phone number in Albuquerque.
“Call me when you get back from vacation and are safe,” I said, “or even if you don’t come back. You’ve been very good to me, and I needed that.”
Ho nodded, accepting the card without saying a word and then taking off on his tuk-tuk.
I walked to the front gate of the embassy. There was no line there of anyone waiting. The embassy was closed to outsiders, although an American embassy abroad is never truly closed, or so I thought.
I waited until I saw one of the Marine guards.
“Lance Corporal,” I whispered as loudly as I felt safe to do.
The young Marine turned and then walked quickly to the other side of the barred gate, or what seemed to be an entrance for vehicles.
“Sir?” he asked, his tone one of surprise.
“I need Bulldog and I need him right now, Corporal,” I said, holding my voice as low as possible.
“Do you want entry?” the Marine asked.
“No, I’ll wait here,” I replied, hoping against hope that Bulldog was somewhere inside the facility.
I walked over to the side of the building to wait for the corporal’s return. He didn’t come back but Bulldog came out through a side door not far from where I stood.
“Trouble,” Bulldog said. “I know that expression.”
I filled him in on what had transpired so far and my flight from the cops, or whatever they were.
“You need military air, which is unfortunate,” he said. The airstrip is closed and won’t reopen for three more days, plus there’s not a single aircraft on tarmac inventory right now so you can’t even steal one.”
I wasn’t ready for his brand of humor but had to go along.
“Herbert, my control officer,” I said, “I have to reach him on a secure line but can’t come into the embassy proper.”
“
That, I’ll agree on, as you certainly haven’t made much of a Dale Carnegie-winning friends routine.”
“Except for you,” I offered, “and so what can I do?”
I waited out the time inside the office, which was neither cozy nor offered any services outside of a water dispenser near the only door. For an aviation office, of any kind, much less one found on a military establishment, it was all decidedly bare bones, as if the base or at least the strip was soon to be closed.
Stepping outside relieved some of the boredom, as I waited out the two hours Herbert said the plane would need to get from Hong Kong to where I was waiting. I knew Hong Kong was just over twelve hundred miles away so whatever was coming for me was likely faster than a normal supply or other military transport plane. I couldn’t stay outside without risking having someone see me and then want to know what I was doing there, particularly when I had no explanation for being inside an office that was closed, and I had no key for it.
My Marine Corps I.D. card would get me so far but not that far.
Bulldog had spent no time with me once he got me inside the office, but Herbert let me know that landing an airplane where the strip was closed, even one located inside an American military base, could lead to problems, although not likely immediate.
I heard the plane before I stepped outside to see it, and I was immediately amazed. I knew the plane, as it canted its nose up and its wings spread out to point straight out from its body. It was an F-14. Mike Garrigan had driven me from San Clemente to Miramar to see the fighters when they’d first been issued to the Marine Corps. As soon as I’d viewed the F-14 for the first time I immediately understood why it was called the Tomcat. The feeling of standing in front of it, even with no one in the cockpit and the engines off, was intimidating. It gave the impression that it was a 66-thousand-pound predator of the highest order.
The plane dropped down on the tarmac, turned easily, and rolled toward the building I was in front of, which surprised me. The distance out to the takeoff and landing parts of the composite airport were significant but whoever was piloting the plane ignored what would have been normal flight rules and orders. I walked toward the plane as it stopped before me, the engines still running.
The double canopy went up and the pilot stepped out after somehow extending down a tiny ladder that came out from just under the center of the upraised canopy. I couldn’t believe such a modern fighter aircraft had its own ladder.
The man stopped in front of me, easing his helmet off.
“You’re him, I presume, and you’ve never had the class nor done this before,” he said, not extending his gloved hand. The leather tag on the left breast of his flight suit indicated that his name was Captain D’Estaing, which seemed odd.
“Climb up into the back seat,” he said not waiting for me to confirm that I was the totally inexperienced person he was there to pick up. “There’s a helmet on the seat. Put it on and strap in, just two snaps for that. The back seat has no controls so if we have a problem, I’ll eject both of us, but that’s not likely, besides, that’s all automatic, even the life raft. No G or pressure suit but we’re running stripped of all muscle and tanks, so we’ll be able to supercruise plenty fast enough. Afterburner at liftoff up to fifty thousand and then on into Okinawa where we’ll refuel. Damn things eat up two thousand pounds a minute though, so we won’t be using them for the rest of the flight. If you pass out from the time to altitude don’t worry as you’ll come to once the ‘g’ forces are reduced. We’re fully pressurized so you won’t need to plug in the mask, but you can if you want to for better breathing.”
At that, he turned and walked back to the left side of the aircraft. The sound of the idling turbines was overpowering, even at such slow speeds.
I had a hundred questions, starting with what a ‘g’ suit might be, why we might have to eject, and what the need for a life raft might be.
Captain D’Estaing stood next to the ladder, his helmet back on his head, not looking like he was ready to take any questions at all. He pointed at the ridiculous small ladder that hung down in levered sections, but not all the way to the concrete.
I pulled myself up on the first step as he steadied me from behind.
“Keep your hands off of everything, including making sure they stay inside the cockpit when the canopy comes down. There’s a little plug for the radio which you’ll notice next to your right hand. Plug that in and we can talk to one another, although that’s not required. The stick that comes out of the deck isn’t a control stick so leave it alone. It’s strictly avionic-limited and there’s no time to go through all that. Climb up there and put your helmet on as we have to get out of Dodge like right now.”
I got into the seat as quickly as I could, realizing for the first time just how cramped the inside of a modern fighter was. There’d be no six-foot-five or taller pilots flying an F-14. I got the helmet on, which fit too tight but there was nothing to be done for it. I found the hose to hook into the mask attached to the right side of my helmet and the radio plug slipped in perfectly.
D’Estaing got into the front seat, somehow getting the ladder to retract into the side of the plane. The canopy closed with a whoosh and seemed to snap shut. My overly large seat harness contraption was snapped closed on each side of my chest. I tried to breathe deeply in and out of my mask, trying to do it in such a way that the glass over my face didn’t fog up.
The plane moved under me, rotating around. I wasn’t afraid but I was definitely a bit worried. “Blackout taking off,” ran through my mind. How can you black out taking off, I wondered, but had no time to think about it. There was no taxi, suddenly both huge turbines spooled up to full power, which took almost no time at all, not like those of a regular passenger liner. Then their sound disappeared as an overwhelming roaring scream came forward from the rear of the craft and I was punched back into my seat. It was like there was no takeoff at all. Suddenly the huge plane was in the air going straight forward and slightly above the tarmac. The nose went up at a fantastic angle and then the real punch of weight pushed into my chest, pressing my head into the hard cushion at the top of my seat. I realized that the F-14 was going straight up. I couldn’t turn my head at all however to see out the side of the canopy. My hands were pressed down on my thighs. I breathed so shallow I thought I’d pass out, but I didn’t. The pilot was right about the mask, it made breathing a lot easier, but I wondered if I could talk while wearing it. In movies, I’d seen many members of flight crews remove their masks to talk.
“You conscious yet, back there,” the pilot said, his voice coming through much clearer in the helmet than I would ever have thought.
“Yes, sir,” I said, feeling better. Maybe there’d be no ejection after all.
“We’re coming up on fifty thousand and we’ll be out of South Korean air space in a couple of minutes. I am shutting down the afterburners and it’ll feel like we’re coming to a stop, but we’ll still be supersonic, as this thing super cruises even though they say it can’t.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeated, having no idea what the word super cruise meant. “Where did you come from?” I asked him, then recalling he was out of Hong Kong but there were no U.S. bases in or around Hong Kong, that much I knew.
“USS Enterprise moored off the coast there,” D’Estaing answered. They don’t let up bring nuclear ships into port there, neither does New Zealand or a few others. You’ll be offloading on Okinawa and catching more conventional equipment for wherever you’re going. I’ve got to get fuel as this thing burns a lot, even running as clean as it is.”
“How fast are we going?’ I asked, finally managing to get hold of myself enough to look out the side of the canopy, surprised I could see out so well. For the first time in my life, I stared stupefied at the slight curvature of the earth, and even some of the blackness of space was visible at the distant horizon.
“764 knots,” D’Estaing said, confirming the fact that we were moving fast although it didn’t feel that way after the ride up to altitude. “With the tailwind, we’re moving at about a thousand miles an hour. Okinawa in forty minutes, or so for you civilian types.”
“I’m not a civilian,” I said, a bit irritated by his condescending and superior tone.
“Got me there,” D’Estaing replied, with a laugh. “I wanted this flight because nobody in the squadron, in fact, nobody in any squadron anyone ever heard of, has flown a passenger in the back seat of a U.S. Marine F-14 unless on some diddly show-off flight at Miramar. Whoever you are, you are somebody, and somebody else in the Navy loves you.”
I tried to see any ships that might be below our flight path but could see nothing. My relief at getting out of Seoul made me want to go to sleep it was so great. I wondered if all missions were going to be so intensely complex and worrisome.
I was entranced as I took in planet Earth through the clear canopy material, understanding why my helmet blocked so much of the sun’s rays, as the light was intense, seeming to come from everywhere.
“Here’s some music. I’ve got to talk to flight control at Naha Airport, but I’ve plugged my Walkman into this channel. Unless there’s trouble we’ll talk when we hit the deck. This piece is called Cannon in D, by Pachelbel.”
I had no chance to say anything as the beginning strains of a classical music piece began to play. The Tomcat dipped its left wing, and the entire island of Okinawa came into full view. It was a magnificent site. The beginning strains of the song began to play in my ears. I was surprised that I’d never heard it before in my life, as I’d been raised in a family where the television stereo played almost entirely classical when it was in use. The song played on, the same melody repeating in double and then triple tonal sets. The Tomcat continued its turn while the nose dropped, and the plane pointed itself down toward the island. This, I realized in disbelief, had become the airplane ride of my life, something that could never be purchased or ever likely be repeated again.
I also understood that the landing was going to be nothing like that of a commercial passenger plane. The F-14 didn’t drop so much as it aimed itself at some point I couldn’t make out from the back seat. There was no ability to see straight forward at all from that seat. The back seat co-pilot, or whatever he was called, would only see the screens that were in front of him, and now me. Those screens were all dark as I had no knowledge of how to light them up and also wasn’t about to make any attempt to disobey D’Estaing’s orders.
The plane, as it dived suddenly flared out and the wings that had been mostly invisible to me during the flight extended themselves until they were pointing straight out. I felt and heard a big click when they stopped moving. The flight had been much more silent than I’d thought it would be. When supersonic the roar of the engine’s exhaust had gone entirely away but the turbine whine was always there, although subdued. The roar was back as the Tomcat slowed and dropped. I saw the edge of the tarmac only a few seconds before the big fighter landed and rolled, that landing so smooth I was barely able to feel it. D’Estaing was a class act as a pilot, and I thought I understood why he might have been selected to fly the mission. A person of non-military positioning, like myself, would be considered a civilian, as D’Estaing had mistakenly described me. After an accident, if there was one, heads would roll in and out of the military. I was a moving violation in the air.
The plane rolled for a bit until everything went dark. I could barely see that the Tomcat had entered some building. The engines spooled down as they died, and the canopy went up. The Cannon ended, replaced with D’Estaing’s voice once more.
“Helmet off and unplugged, just like the mask hose. The landing crew will do the rest.”
I looked down at the harness release devices and only then realized that I had no idea how to operate them. What if there’d been an accident? A shiver went through me. The class the pilot had mentioned only in passing, the one I hadn’t had any opportunity to attend, would have taught stuff like that, I was sure. Ejecting didn’t mean the pilot had to survive the traumatic event. What then?
There would be no attempting to get myself up and somehow use the small internally operated ladder. There were men on both sides of me, one taking my helmet off and the other operating the latch mechanisms. I got up unsteadily and the helmet guy helped me to the platform that served as the top of a large complex-looking stand obviously built for the purpose it was now being used. In a conspiratorial whisper, the helmet guy spoke into my right ear.
“You’ve got company, so try to adjust to being back on the ground alive as quickly as you can.”
I stood, a bit hunched over, the flight taking a lot more out of me than I expected it to. When I focused my eyes down to take in the area around the bottom of the aluminum stairs I took in a long hard intake of air into my lungs. It was good to be on the ground again except for the greeting party. It wasn’t one man. There were four men, all large, all attired in khaki uniforms with MP designations on their helmets and black armbands. The expressions on their faces while they waited for me to come down were not good.
“This way,” the biggest man said, the badge on the right side of his chest letting me know he was a Marine, which I considered the only plus in my situation. I wasn’t wearing cuffs, and they hadn’t said I was under arrest although I would be riding to wherever we were going in the back of a six-by truck. I got into the truck with some difficulty because my legs were still unaccountably weak from the flight. The four men loaded into the back with me, all sitting on the bench facing my own, not on each side of me. It was a small thing, but it gave me hope.
The truck took off. I was sorry that I’d not had a chance to have a final conversation with the pilot or talk to anyone. I wasn’t sure of anything. I wasn’t even certain I was on Okinawa as the island’s shape was foreign to me as well as everything I’d so far seen.
“Half-hour trip to Camp Hansen,” the big Marine said, his eyes hard and watchful but his vocal tone not that way at all. If I could have put a description to it the word would have been respect, which surprised me.
The ride seemed to take more than half an hour. The plane trip had been a whole lot more fascinating than traveling in the back of a truck headed to a camp I’d never heard of. Nobody had bothered to ask if I needed to use a restroom, have a drink of water, or anything else. I held myself together and asked for nothing, mostly because I knew there was nothing I could be provided until we got to where we were going.
Finally, the truck stopped, and the back canvas was pulled back. The sun beat in, as well as fresh air. The temperature was high, but nothing like what I’d come to endure during the monsoon month in Vietnam.
The Marine MPs got up as one and began to climb down from the back of the vehicle. I tapped the shoulder of the buck sergeant who’d been the only person to speak to me since I’d landed.
“Where are we going?” I asked, not expecting an answer.
“The Brig, of course,” He said, although there was the faintest of smiles on his lips as he said the words.
My shoulders drooped a bit, as I prepared to turn around and climb down from the bed of the truck. I was finally going to jail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved.
<<<<<< The Beginning |
Jim,
What a chapter!
Anxiously awaiting this week’s installment. The (former) teacher in me is very curious about how your “bosses” will grade you on your first assignment. The (former) state legislator in me wants to know what they will say about the expense ledger for your mission and look at the cost/benefit data. Happy the high ride did not bring up chuck. Please write faster.
THE WALTER DUKE. You know Walt, I could write faster if I had less of a life. I publish a weekly local newspaper that’s become too successful (the Geneva Shore Report, available by subscription or online Facebook). I speak at veteran’s functions and have to travel to do that, although I want to do less because my audiences really, many times, don’t want to hear what I have to say about combat, being wounded and PTSD. Still, I’m out there. I have a nice big home but it takes a lot of work unless I hire all that out and I don’t get that kind of money to do that. There, my excuses for not writing faster, although I know you write that less as a compliant than as a compliment. The next chapter should satisfy you in some small ways but never forget that the writing of a rendition as true as I can make it means that I can’t use fictional writing to resolve mysteries here and there not without straying from the reality of how it was and what really happened. I much appreciate your comments, of course, and your friendship.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
I KNOW full well about how busy you are in all your endeavors. I often urge you to write faster because I want more information faster than I can get it , and patience is not my virtue. I truly marvel as to how you get everything done that you do, and have to do, and have so many balls in the air at once. You are a far better man at production than I am. I could not keep up to your schedule of juggling so many responsibilities. And I believe you do it very aptly. I have geared down a couple a gears, mostly on purpose, as I am still in pretty good health. My young female doctor from India runs all sorts of tests to be on the safe side for a 76 year old and she gets the (good) results and tells me, “You are my 26 year old 76 year old.” May you keep on being the prolific writer you have proven yourself to be, Mr. Wizard. Take time to enjoy and marvel at the sunsets, my friend.
THE WALTER DUKE. Thanks so very much Walt for the atta boy reply. Sometimes I think it’s only these
comments that keep me going at such a pace. I didn’t mean to complain. This level of activity and mind-related
work keeps my sharp, I think, and I love being that.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
Ref your comment about “deer hunting twice”, same for me.
Both times were during Buck season. Very smart those guys. They’d send out the herd of Does, who knew we couldn’t shoot them – They would stop around the ‘tree stand’, look up And, I swear, they’d snicker – The female dogs. Somehow they’d alert the Bucks who went around us. Didn’t see a Buck either season (Western Pennsylvania).
On the last day, both seasons, I spied a Chipmunk. And being the Great White Hunter that I was, I got off a round. The first season, I’m sure I made him deaf. The second season, the little child of unmarried parents wasn’t so lucky. I was going to tie him and drag him out. Only found little fluffs of fur. (I was much more vicious back then.)
Both seasons found me in ‘tree stands’, freezing my butt off with a container of luke warm coffee and a 2″ round of salami for sustenance, which would soon be frozen. My days as the GWH ended.
Sincere regards, as always, my friend.
Doug
I shot my deer during the last attempt I ever made to hunt again. It was in New Mexico off in some distant wilderness far from Albuquerque. It was winter, of course, with a foot of snow and cold as hell with a wind. I suffered, laying not he ground, the only interesting part, as my partner was a mile distant doing the same thing, was a big rabbit that came to sit not ten feet from my position, looking out across the same wide arroyo. HE stayed for what seemed like hours, undisturbed by my presence.
A buck finally appeared about three hundred meters distant across the canyon. I carefully adjusted my Unertl scope to set the crosshairs perfectly, checked the wind, relaxed my breathing and then aimed and squeezed off the .243 from y expensive Mannlicher Schoenauer rifle, firing the only shot it would ever fire until I later sold it for two grand. The shot hit home and the buck went down. I pulled up out of my position, the rabbit never bothering to seem to notice me or my movements. I hiked down he side of the arroyo and over to where the buck’s body lay. It wasn’t dead, however as I soon discovered. At my appearance, it gathered all its remaining energy to raise its head up. Two big brown eyes, unblinking, met my own. The dying deer stared and I stood in front of it frozen, staring back. The deers eyes closed and its head sank down to the snow. I continued to stand there, having interpreted what I thought the stare had transmitted, “why have you done this?” I hiked out, leaving the body behind but never able to forget the message in those dying eyes. My partner finally found and joined me as I climbed a fence to get back to the truck. He refused to understand why I would not go back or let him know where the body was so he could haul it back and take it in to be dressed out, or whatever. He told me, as I remained silent during the long ride back to Albuquerque, that he would never go hunting with me again, and that the stories he’d heard about my performance in Vietnam were probably all lies. I agreed with him…all lies. He dumped me at home and sped off in a huff. I never saw him again. His attitude let me know that he hadn’t been in combat in the Nam even though he was a active duty major. I washed the truck go and thought about Chief Joseph’s famous quote: “I will fight no more forever.” I knew then, as I know now, that I would never willingly hunt deer or any other harmless or unarmed animal again.
Jim,
So you’re back to 120+ mph. The fact that you could have disappeared, after the Korean mafia had finished with your body, surfaced very early in this chapter. That this was “very much on your mind” was the first time it came across to me. Leading me to questions about the Embassy.
From earlier chapters, it seems to me that ‘some’ folks were aware of Agency folks coming in to the country to perform some ‘mission’ and they were to ‘help’ them in any way possible. But these folks were ‘lower level’ folks, like NCOs. Their ‘superiors’ (For lack of a better word.), including the Ambassadors, didn’t seem to have a clue.
Was this the way it was in all Embassies? What’s the phrase – something – something deniability? I would have thought that the ‘higher ups’ would be aware, at the very least, to aid you as much as possible. Then again, it does seem the ‘NCOs’ were aware and did the job.
Additionally, getting a F-14 ride within 2 hours showed that ‘somebody’ in the Navy was up to speed that ‘missions’ were happening and they were ready to assist at the drop of a hat. Meaning that someone ‘high’ up in the Navy could tell an aircraft carrier Captain to get a jet to a ‘closed down’ airfield, do a pickup and get out without making any contact with that nation’s leadership. And make it happen – like – yesterday.
Shows me that there was some critical relationships between the Agency, the military, and most likely others to be able to make ‘things’ like this happen. Would be interesting to get a ‘read’ on these relationships – Know that won’t/can’t happen. Regardless, glad these things happened.
I hope Ho and his family made out ok. Seems to me he was very helpful. And it makes me think that in your future will be other ‘Hos’ that will help you during your missions and may not end as well.
“The young Marine turned and then walked quickly to the other side of the barred gate, or what seemed to be an entrance for vehicles.”
Another example of a ‘low level’ soldier helping you out, while having little/no information about you, your mission, etc. But he knew ‘enough’ to contact Bulldog without informing any ‘superiors’.
So where did I miss the part where you talked with Herbert on the “secure line”? I realize I meditate a bit and my brilliance has no bounds, nor can it be found when I really need just a little bit of common sense – Regardless, I have not yet mastered the skill of reading while meditating, therefore – The “secure line” location? Did Bulldog get you inside to the basement and that little room? Not surprising if he did. Oh, I enjoyed his humor. Take it where you can get it.
The ‘plane ride’ sounds it was one heck of an experience. And upon landing – Off to jail. Well, at least you’d be safe there, with much less chance of exportation … expiration … ex —- You know what I mean. At least I hope so . And going to jail probably kept you off other nosy folks’ radar. A ‘two-fer’.
Regards my friend,
Doug
As usual, my friend Danko, your comment is both penetrating and totally valid, except for maybe the ‘regards’ at the end. That word is US Army. A Marine would end the comment with “Asshole, my friend,” instead os something so gentle and well-mannered.
Thanks for both of those comments. I, of course, after hunting my last deer, would go on with my CIA career and people would die as a result…althogh not because I hunted them in the forest or on the plains. We are only partially in control of our unravelling fate, although we are held responsible for it all. My ‘jail’ was’t a jail, really, but then neither has my life been anything like a regular real life either.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
What a ride! pun intended fascinating story and that sounds like a great experience in the 14 wow OK now when do we get the submarine ride when do we get the I did a ride dog sled ride do any of your experiences involve nudity and perhaps interpretive dance every bit of it is fascinating now I have been in the brig at camp sun there seem to be a misunderstanding and I was accused of behavior not consistent with that of an officer but we got it cleared up pretty quickly but it was a mistake as you know would never do anything that would be considered disrespectful great respect for authority as we all do
this is just so fascinating and I’m just waiting for the next step in this adventure I have never been in Korea and I’ve never had any desire to go
my question is how do you get yourself in trouble it doesn’t sound like you did anything significantly negative
Richard, thanks so much for the great comment in depth, as usual.
You did mention earlier that you thought the F-14 came into Marine inventory at El Toro. It was Miramar in 1972 VF-124. I actually laid my hands on the fuselage of the very first bird they got.
The submarine ride is yet to come but there has never been a dog sled rice…although I did come to know some sled dogs in Siberia
and although they were tough as nails, they were huge, scarred and respectfully kind in their battered way.
I must admit that I have and still do get into trouble, and I agree with you that I don’t do a significantly negative thing to deserve that.
My story and I’m sticking to it.
Thanks my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Looks like the Cheshire Cat is saving you from the rabbit hole, but oh no, looks like you tripped back in it! As an air traffic controller I got to backseat ride in a of a F101 Voodoo out of Bangor Me National Guard, out over the ocean we went super sonic, and just like you it got a lot quieter. Awesome chapter, Keep them coming LT. Oh and I did take the class before the flight and did have a G suit….. mine was planned yours was NOT!! Semper fi
Bob, thanks for the great sharing in this comment. When I took my second flight in an F-14 I also discovered what pilots of the aircraft are most afraid of when carrying neophytes in the back seat.
I asked the pilot if he was going to do any demonstrations of how the plane handled since I was wearing a G-suit.
He replied: “Are you kidding? There’s no way. I have to clean the cockpit if you puke in it.”
Something that had never occurred to me, but oh so real and germane.
Semper fi,
And please consider purchasing the three-book set on sale of The Cowardly Lion on the site.
I’m very familiar with the old military hurry up and wait scenario but never the hurry up and fly straight to the brig one !! 😉 Might just be a good thing to be in the brig and let things blow over while you stay out of sight !!
Keep ’em coming James.
Semper Fi
Thanks so much Sgt Bob, and I am hard at it in getting the next chapter out.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
I have been an avid reader since “30 Days Has September.” Love the tension and the compression of time in each chapter. Still looking for suggested edits? Here are two…
As written: “They don’t let up bring nuclear ships into port there, neither does New Zealand or a few others.”
Suggested edit: “They don’t let us…”
As written: “…the entire island of Okinawa came into full view. It was a magnificent site.”
Suggested edit: “It was a magnificent sight.”
Thanks most sincerely for the help here Steve. It’s so damned difficult to catch stuff like that and neither Wordspell nor A.I. seem to
help at all. But I have you guys and gals to help me out. Thanks for following so loyally over the course of the development of the series, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
Please consider buy the three volume special under ‘books for sale’ and I will be most appreciative for the help too.
Setting in Vienna waiting UA ORD!
Comment on out outcome of 50K Ejection seat rides; very likely you would have landed in parts
Colonel Homan, as you know, I wasn’t a pilot back then and when I did become a pilot it ws rotary, which does not deal with ejection seats that I know or ever heard of. I have no idea about mortality or mobility of surviving an airborne ejection, particularly one where the speed would probably be up there in an F-14. Thanks for the comment and I will look the stuff up.
Semper fi, my great friend, and welcome back from your European excursion.
Jim
Holy Cow what a exit and someone loved you cant imagine the strings that were pulled to get you out
I agree Robert, and have no real answer to this day of how it was all done or even permitted to be done.
The pilot had a good point when he said that he’d never in his career, or those of any other aboard the Enterprise, heard of such a thing.A different, quicker and much more expensive form of Uber.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jealous I am about the Tomcat ride.
The manager of the first two Club Meds I worked at was later on managing their office in Phoenix, and was able to finagle a ride, it may have been with The Blue Angels. Hard to remember a conversation that happened over 30 years ago in Australia.
I did eventually get a ride in a B-17 and a B-25 though.
Cool chapter, keep ’em coming Jim. Thank you again.
Tim
Tim, the Blue Angels never flew F-14 aircraft, which you probably already know. The early A model 14, apparently, had problems with the engines of the time, which did not perform dependably at low speed hi turn maneuvering, as displayed somewhat in the movie Top Gun. At least that was the explanation later offered by Lehman, Secretary of the Navy, as to why such an impressive and dramatic aircraft wasn’t used.
Thanks for the great informative comment and your compliment, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
I think after the maintenance and fuel cost of the F-4 Phantom the Navy learned a lesson about top of the line aircraft.
That being said, a ride in an F/A-18 would still be a thrill.
A friend from high school, that I flew model aircraft with, joined the RCAF and flew F-104s for a while.
Take care and enjoy.
Tim
Thanks Tim, and even riding in the F-18, or any other operational military combat aircraft has to be something special.
I am reminded by a friend of mine that having been a combat fighter pilot it’s also damned difficult when you leave
that rather short-lived career to never ride in those planes again.
Semper fi, and thanks for the thoughtful comment with your own life experience and thoughts written inside.
Jim
Anxious to read morel Keep them coming,please sir
Kemp
Thanks a lot for the short but meaningful comment and your continued (and unabashed) support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get more intense 😳 Incredible life experiences 🙌
Thanks ever so much Tim, and such compliments don’t just blow by me.
I write on with your kind of support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another outstanding chapter Lt. You sure have a knack for getting out of tight situations. You have a quick mind, and someone looking out for you when your in a tight spot. I’m looking forward to the next chapter.
Thanks a lot for the complimentary comment and for supporting me in the way that you do on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
BTW: Go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form. These books have been edited
by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear. Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
Great story, can’t hardly wait for the next chapte
Thanks for the great support, Jim, not just on here but through the mail, as well.
I am highly appreciative of the uncommon compliments that most authors never see or get.
Semper fi,
Jim
If they needed to hide you the best place was probably the brig away from nosy people and prying eyes.
Great thinking Tony, not that I was thinking that while riding in the back of the six-by.
Thans for the thought and your writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Also, Tony, go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form. These books have been edited
by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear. Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
Go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form.
These books have been edited by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear.
Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
The way I see it is, you came in dark inside a hanger, you got in the truck dark, and left the hanger with four MPs. You got to the camp where you got out of the truck with four MPs at the brig. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Cover intact.
Correct Bob, except for the simple obvious fact that I could never return to Korea
with my own identity again without fear of the identity and past catching up with me.
However, the Agency back then had most excellent people working to create other identities.
I just wish they had been as good at getting rid of such identities as time has gone by.
Identity problems in the current era lead to messes with TSA.
Semper fi, and thanks for the most excellent observations.
Jim
JIM,
As I Marine (Naval) Aviator I really enjoyed the Tomcat ride. I especially liked your vivid description of the sights and sounds you saw and felt during the flight and felt like I was in the cockpit with you.
I never flew the F14 (Marines were not assigned to regular F14 ops),
I did fly the F8 Crusader which only had one seat and supersonic performance called the “last of the gunfighters”. The Marines and Navy flew F8’s early on in Nam, it was replaced by the F4 Phantom in the late 60’s. Keep’em coming, can’t wait for the next adventure.
Semper Fi
F-8 was one helluva plane itself. Underrated and over-performing. The F-14 was way better looking and, of course, had the Hughes weapons systems which changed everything. Thanks for the neat comment by a ‘fast mover’ operator himself. It was stunning to have that ride, and when I got my next one I could appreciate it a whole lot more (with a g suit on to boot).
Thanks for the great informed comment and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Cooler !! Thirty days !!! Will you be cooling your heels in the brig until Tony or someone representing him comes to debrief you on your first mission ?
Charles, you know I can’t comment on what’s coming, other than what you will read when next week’s chapter
opens up on Tuesday. Wondering what the hell was going to happen next was one of the difficult parts of
being a field agent. Was anybody coming? Was I going to live or die? Whom could be trusted? When getting home
how to stay motivated to go back out there again. Thanks for the interesting and provocative comment, my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Now that’s the way to get out of Dodge!
Thanks, Bruce, and the egress was indeed dramatic. Those are rare in the business, or the game. Egress by nuclear submarine has the same kind of drama but also totally different, but that’s down the road.
Semper fi, and thanks so much.
Jim
Excellent chapter for me as an old Navy Airdale working on fighters from the 50s…spent some time in the areas described and am enjoying the memories this chapter has really brought back to life .. Well done !! This has been desert in the middle of the meal for me 😉
Thank you Chrly for chiming in on the discussion, especially since your were involved with flight.
Hell of a time and so many of those times I was just running on instinct. Glad you are enjoying the odyssey
and adventure.
Semper fi,
Jim
Also if you are so inclined go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form.
These books have been edited by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear.
Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
Really amazing!
Thanks Harry, short but it counts!
Semper fi,
Jim
The second and third volumes along with edition Two of Volume One are out and I cannot encourage you enough to purchase them using this site.
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
Talk about getting the f… out of Dodge in a hurry! Makes me wonder who Bulldog had for connections. This chapter was absolutely riveting. Love the part about the curvature of the earth and the darkness of space. What an experience that had to be. Here I was all excited that today is the first day of bear hunting here in Wisconsin but this chapter put it right into second place.
Thanks so much Chuck and I much appreciate the pretty damend neatly written compliment. It’s the bear or me, like
when I was on the Bering Sea mission and ran into a 12 foot Grizzly that decided I wasn’t likely to be tasty enough.
I got well armed after that.
Semepr fi, my friend, and remember the volumes II and III are now out in print, as well as the second edition of I.
Jim
Filled my bear tag yesterday with the crossbow.
Well, Chuck, at least you are going out there with a bow.
No bear has ever killed a human being in Wisconsin’s entire recorded history, so you maybe won’t have to worry about that part.
I hunted deer twice but was unable to continue that with the troubling PTSD issues. Don’t mind you doing it though.
Hey, did you get an email that I answered your last comment and this one too?
New provision on the site sends a message that your comment, anybody’s comment, when answered gets a notification.
Semper fi, my friend
Jim
Excellent chapter as always . Never miss reading a single one , Thanks for the chance to read .
Thank you so much Dan, as these kinds of supportive compliments definitely help me keep on going.
Semper fi,
Jim
Take a moment and go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form.
These books have been edited by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear.
Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
Busy deploying back to the “world” so short comment! Great read; I could see the ride in my mind! Don’t know year but it might have been MCAS ElToro then not Miramar…jealous
The Marine Corps first received the F-14A at Miramar. I was taken there to see them
and stood by several that hadn’t been flown yet except to ferry them there.
I’m not sure they ever flew out of El Toro as I never saw any when I made my frequent
trips to that airport when I worked for the Western White House.
Hope you get here in one piece…
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Congrats on the Tomcat ride – very rare. And knowing you, wouldn’t worry about the Brig.
But a helluva way to get outta town for sure.Jim, truly enjoy your writing. I am currently re-reading The Second Ten Days, and while you still have the same attention to detail now, “Thirty Days…” there’s a smoother flow in your writing today.
Had the ability in early ’67 to ride the ejection simulator, be very happy you didn’t have to do that before leaving Korea. I was 21 then, and was sore for 3 days afterward.
Thanks Craig, and I hope you are doing fine. I am alway nervous that one day you won’t be here anymore so I am uplifted to
read your comments. Thanks for the attaboy about the ride. Yes, I was sore too following the ride and I thank a lot of it
was just nervous tension, not to mention that I had not learned to not resist g-forces. Thanks so much.
Semepr fi, my friend,
Jim
The thought of “not being here” makes me a bit nervous also! For the arrangements, anyway. Lots of arrangements to be made.
A big thing is what will happen to my cats and dogs? And as I only get one visitor per week – my cleaning person – how much of me will my “babies” eat? Not concerned for me, but for them?
Gets complicated when you wake up dead…
Had to order another copy of “The Last Ten Days” – cannot find my copy anywhere. And I am procrastinating on finishing these last two muzzleloaders, just don’t have the energy. If I can get those two rifles done, I want to start on a 20-ga smoothbore.
You keep writing, I’ll keep reading. Bet I’m faster!
Old saying just trickled through: “Work fascinates me; I can watch all day long!”
Craig, send my your address and I will get out the 3rd immediately before you croak!!!
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Amazing, again your ability to think quick on your feet unscathed got you out of Korea. You used up your 9 lives before you left the valley but many chapters later here we are. The non threatening actions of the 4 marines while in the back of the truck & the buck Sargents smile mentioning the brig must have provided some comfort to you. Keep them coming!
Phil, interesting how you, and other very sensitive and perceptive readers, can pick up on things that don’t necissarily occur to me as I write or even reconsider. Transcribing recovered memory isn’t the same as writing fiction, although sometimes fiction can bridge gaps that are to big so ‘probably’ can enter the picture. I did go online, and finally found a photo of the little ladder built into the fuselage of the fighter and was amazed at how intricate and clever its construction was. I don’t remember that, just that it was very strangely effective o get into and out of the cockpit. Not changing the chapter though.
Thanks for the thought provoking comment and the compliments.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for Go on this site under books for sale and get the series of Cowardly Lion in print form.
These books have been edited by a professional editor to make the writing more grammatically accurate and clear.
Besides, it helps me immensely!!!
Autographed and Personalized Three Volumes of the Cowardly Lion
What a rush eh Jim? My God you have lived a charmed life. I so look forward to each installment and will be adding this to my complete collection!
Thanks for the great compliment Chrisopher and consider buying the three-volume special of The Cowardly Lionn in books for sale on the front page of this site.
Thanks so much,
Semper fi,
Jim