How western civlization almost ended

(This is the first part in at least a two part – maybe more – historical review)


20 years ago today (Feb 22) President Bush The Elder gives Iraq 24 hours before ground troops roll in and, unbeknownst at the time, proceed to kick the collective ass of the world’s (for the next 24 hours) 4th largest army.

In the interest of history, posterity and, let’s face it, writing something so the 13 of you here might come back occasionally, I’ll tell you the true story of just how close western civilization came to utter ruin.

It has been my contention since joining the service in 1986 – indeed since signing up before graduating high school – that if the time ever came where I personally was handed a loaded weapon, we as a civilization were, in no uncertain terms, fucked. I try not to be profane in this blog, but the seriousness with which I felt this way leaves no recourse than strong, even foul, language.

It must be remembered, after all, during the Cold War you didn’t enlist in the Air Force to go shoot commies – you joined the Air Force to send officers to go shoot commies. Thus was the Cold War disparity between the services. In all other services, the lowest paid were sent off with a rifle to do their duty for God and Country. In the Air Force, we sent the highest paid in their expensive planes while we stayed back and made sure the liquor store was well stocked. At least that was how we trained.

The Cold War, as you may have picked up on from reading this for any length of time, was institutionally speaking, a good War to be in. It had everything you really wanted in a confrontation minus the hinderance of any actual violence.

The Cold War had antagonists and protagonists who knew each other very well; defined terms of what one could expect in the event of escalation of hostilities; well thought out and reasoned approaches of advance, retreat and rules of conduct. Plus the added benefit of the ever-present threat of global thermo-nuclear war which meant that nothing ever really happened.

Ah, good times indeed.

A little Cold-War sabre rattling could, with luck, mean several weeks in a passably English-speaking, largely American-accepting, foreign nation with an exceptional dollar to whatever-the-hell-they’re-using-for-currency-today exchange rate, drawing some much needed per diem and putting a young enlisted man on the fast track to completing the ‘beers of the world’ tour ahead of his college contemporaries.

I don’t care what anyone says. If they joined the service prior to 1990, that’s why they did it – for that and the pizza (but that’s another story).

So, it’s getting near crunch time in the desert (short foot note – before the first Gulf War most people I know had to look up which was desert and which was dessert. Now no one does – just sayin.) Anyway, me and my new bride are getting settled into the apartment and I get “a phone call”. I’m to report to the security police squadron as an augmentee.

You see, they sent a lot of Air Force cops to the desert to guard Air Force bases which meant that given heightened security at home stations, someone had to step up and fill that security gap.

Enter ... your highly trained … military journalist.

“Sgt Bushey, step forward and get your weapon.”

A Weapon? Really? With bullets? Cool.

“No, not cool. Have you ever fired one of these?”

At Basic.

Under his breath but purposefully audible, “oh, good Lord, we’re all going to die.”

For the record, this was the third time in my life someone had said that to me. The first was in high school when my buddy Eric would show up at my house with his puke-yellow Toyota Corolla and a 12 pack of beer, hand me the keys and tell me to drive him around while he drank. He didn’t wear a seatbelt because he figured what happened would happen and besides, I was there to drive while he drank, so it would be my fault. The second time was because of the POS BMW mentioned a few posts back when Will, also sans seatbelt, and oddly, also while drinking in the passenger seat, said he knew he was going to die in that car with me. And now this. It would be enough to make most people rethink their career options. Thankfully, I’m not that guy.

I am, however, this guy...

When you are handed an M-16 and 210 rounds of live ammunition, it is not, repeat NOT, the time to turn around to the 40 men and women you will be in close proximity to, tilt your hat, give a little sniff and say, with your best Barney Fife impersonation … anything.

Just don’t do it.

Ever.

Air Force cops, as a rule, are the best group of folks ever to have on your side if you’re in a jam and if they think you have two ounces of common sense. Also as a rule, they do not like to be ridiculed. Also, if they think you’re a dork, you’ll be … sitting on a fire tower watching a fence line where nothing has happened since invading Vikings realized they were in a place where nothing was happening and moved on. And you’ll do this for about 10 hours before going back to the SP shack where there will be an audible exhaling when you clear your rifle without incident.

After a few days of this, a certain inevitability took hold. The same kind of inevitability that Eric and Will had - where as a group, these SPs I was now spending 12+ hours a day with were becoming desensitized to the fact that my arrival and the Air Force's continued insistence on providing me with the means to eventually hit something important, only made their dreams of growing old less and less likely.

It was in this spirit of "oh, why the hell not" the SPs took me under their wing and showed me what they really did on a day-to-day basis. I was teamed with a guy I'll call 'Dave' because it's been 20 years and I have no bloody clue as to what his name really was. I was to be Dave's partner in Humvee patrols around the base perimeter.

I know, I know. That sounds really boring. Well, let me tell you something. It really, really is.

Or it really was until...another Humvee came along. The other cop pulled up driver to driver and he and Dave started talking. Dave gave a quick look toward me as if sizing me up to see if I'd squeal and whether my weapon was nearby. Then he nodded to his buddy and the other guy took off - fast.

"Ok, this is what we're going to do..."

All right, thought I. "We going to shoot rabbits?"

"Uh, no. We're going to have a contest with those guys in that other Humvee."

As God is my witness I'm not making this up. For the next three hours we drove through every mud hole and patch of dirt we could find and as fast as we could because the contest was to see who could get their Humvee the dirtiest. Losing team had to wash them both. We never lost.

The Shadow was curious as to why the next day I was so excited to go to work. All I could manage was: "Mud, cars, firearms...what's not to like?"

Still, there was a real shooting war set to start any day now, and after only two weeks I got another call which would take me away from the Shadow for the first time of our very new life together and would ultimately spell the end of the green POS BMW.

Next Post: The war that wasn’t … thankfully.