(13 Feb. 87) There is an unwritten rule in the military that is generally reliable; never volunteer for nothing. But the weather was sunny and I had nothing special to do. Also, Illeginni is my favorite island and this would be an easy way to earn some overtime.
It was around 1100 hours at the police station when a call came in from the commander’s office (Colonel Chapman) ordering two officers posted on Illeginni Island ASAP. When the desk sergeant asked me, I said, Sure. Why not?
An hour later, with my gear and food packed, Angel and I climbed into the warmed-up Huey and signaled thumbs up to the pilot. The UH-1 rose in the air, dipped its nose and began a run into a slight easterly breeze. We cleared Kwajalein Island, then headed across to the western reef.
As we passed island after island at our normal altitude of four hundred and fifty feet I began to wonder what the big rush was all about. There had been a mission earlier in the morning but no one would tell us anything else. Warheads had been targeted for Illeginni but that shouldn’t have presented any problems. The reason two American officers were sent is because access to nuclear warheads required a secret clearance and the Marshallese were not cleared.
As we approached the southern tip of Illeginni everything seemed to be in order. A couple of landing craft were docked in the harbor and some heavy equipment was being unloaded. The two domes and security trailer were still there. So was the microwave tower next to the hill that once housed antiballistic missiles during the 1970s.
When the helicopter turned into the easterly breeze and flared for a landing, I could see activity throughout the northern half of the island. After landing, I learned that the MX Peacekeeper, fired from Vandenberg, had released three warheads. Recovery crews were busy digging through the craters as they searched for remains of the six-foot bullets.
One warhead landed in the lagoon a few yards east of Illeginni. The crater from a second, about eight feet deep and twenty feet across, was only ten yards south of the paved helipad.
The most action appeared to be taking place at the workers’ camp in the center of the island. Out of use since the ABM tests concluded, these buildings now bear the scars from numerous hits by incoming warheads. It was here that the third warhead had made its mark. Although targeted for the center of a water storage structure, this errant bullet landed about seventy yards too long. That’s really not bad shooting. Close does count in horseshoes and hydrogen bombs. At that moment the island was without power. The unarmed warhead went through the metal generator building, stripping off all exterior panels, buckling the rear girder and leaving a crater just outside the rear wall.
Restoring power to the island was a priority. Heavy construction equipment headed from the harbor to the impact site where workers tried to sort out electrical cables that ran beneath the island’s only street. There are no lights on the stretch of street from the helipad south through the camp and jungle area – only a single porch light on our security trailer.
At night, like on Eniwetak, Illeginni can be a spooky place. Coconut rats scurry across the road and sometimes a coconut will crash down, shattering the stillness and your nerves as well. On this island the Marshallese say you can sometimes see the ghost of a dead Japanese general walking through the trees. And here the constables also sleep with the lights on, blinds closed and a sheet pulled over their heads for protection against the spirits. When we reached our security trailer we found that the Range Command Officer, a U.S. Army Captain, had established his field office there. The doors and windows were open but, without a breeze, the air inside was stifling.
Angel decided to take the first six- hour shift while I appropriated an army cot and made for the shade of some trees. The shade offered little relief, though, since the trade winds had died altogether for the first time since my arrival on Kwaj. There were also some foul ups taking place here that, fortunately, didn’t involve me.
Everyone but the recovery crew and a four-man electrical crew had left for Kwajalein by 1730. The recovery crew asked if I could put the remains of the warheads, classified secret, in the trailer. They left a couple of five gallon paint cans, overfilled with gray metal pieces from two nuclear warheads, next to my bed. The recovery crew took off, leaving behind Angel, me and the four electrical crew members. They put up a small generator to run the light on the inside of our trailer.
I went on duty and my first decision was to climb the circular drive to the top of the launch hill and check for breezes. There were none. I settled down on the hatch cover of a missile silo and gazed at the islands perched atop the coral reef which meandered south toward Kwaj. Fairy terns rose into the warm rays of the sun overhead and dived at the green jungle around the hill. I took off my gunbelt and placed it at my feet, then unzipped my jumpsuit to get a little more comfortable. This is more what I had in mind, a deserted (almost) tropical island and not a care in the world. Then I smiled when I realized it was Friday the 13th. And there would be a full moon tonight.
I had just begun to relax when I heard the wop wop wop of another chopper. I looked down the reef at Legan about eight miles away and picked out a black speck to the left of the microwave tower there.
Now what, I thought. I had planned to take it easy the rest of the day. The last thing I expected was someone flying up this late in the day. It probably wasn’t much. I really had no complaints, though. This had been a good week and I was picking up a lot of overtime. Maybe it was time I started earning some of it.
I quickly put on my gear and went over to the north side of the hill. Angel sat on the pier below, intent on his fishing.
“Angel.” I yelled twice.
The old man looked up and cupped his hand to his ear. I pointed south and shouted, “De plane. De plane.”
He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and returned to his fishing while I started for the helipad. The chopper, however, landed and took off again before I had made it halfway.
Lieutenant Jack K. and officer Bill M. met me on the road. Jack, about 6′ 6″ in cowboy boots, towered over Bill. With a thick, downward turning mustache, the lanky, former homicide detective made an imposing figure.
Bill, a retired 58 year-old retired Army Airborne soldier, still had the same trim build as the day he signed up to serve in Korea. Both suffered from the effects of years of hard living. Both had done tours in Vietnam. But that was a long time ago.
I asked Jack the reason for his visit but all he would say was there would be a briefing in the trailer as soon as I could round up Angel. I felt uneasy but couldn’t come up with a reason why.
Minutes later we were sitting at a table in the center room with both doors and all the windows still open but the air refused to circulate. Jack leaned back against the wall.
“We were sent here on orders from Washington.”
He paused a moment to let this register. Washington meant top of the military or civilian ranks.
Angel gave me a puzzled look. He was 64 years old, retired, with ten children and a lot of grandchildren back in Los Angeles. The most excitement he wanted these days was found at the end of a fishing line.”
“Now, according to an intelligence report received earlier today, the Soviets plan to send a security team ashore tonight. They’ll be armed with automatic weapons. We are to observe only. I have this night vision camera to catch them on film. We are to avoid any confrontation. Don’t initiate any fire fights. Washington doesn’t want an international incident. Any questions?”
“This security team,” I asked. “They’re Spetsnaz, right?”
“You got it.”
“Well then, where are the M-16s?”
“I tried but the Army turned me down.”
This bit of news was more than a little disconcerting and I reminded him that all we had were our side arms, .38 Smith & Wessons. Also they just might have a slight advantage over us.
“I know,” he replied.
“This is voluntary on your part since you weren’t consulted before you were sent up here. If you don’t want in, just stay on this part of the island.”
“No. I’m in. Just bringing up a few facts.”
No one in authority seemed concerned about our health and the possibilities that loomed ahead for us. Those rifles are a necessity in a situation like this. We’re qualified. We know how to use them. And we do have authority to fire in self defense. We just have to articulate that we did fire in self defense. In this case, however, getting cover and concealment was the best plan while observing the target quietly.
Angel, who had been listening to the exchange, spoke up.
“I am too old to fight. I fought the Japanese in the Second World War. I will stay here tonight.”
That was fine with Jack, and me. He didn’t expect anyone to show up and Angel was more than a little past his prime. No one gave it a second thought.
I know that a U.S. Naval intelligence gathering ship often shadows the Soviet ship, listening to and recording its radio transmissions, then sending the intercepted material to the National Security Agency. Back in the early 70s I worked as a Vietnamese interpreter for the USAFSS (Security Service), another branch of the NSA. We intercepted messages from North Vietnamese active on the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
Whenever information of this nature was collected, a message would be sent (within ten minutes) to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade, Maryland. The White House would then be notified immediately after the accuracy of the intelligence was verified. Next, in this scenario, the president had to make a decision and issue orders to the appropriate agency.
This meant that Ronald Reagan was making the call on this one. The reason the Soviets weren’t being notified was because if their communication system has been compromised, they would quickly develop alternatives and the U.S. would lose a lot of signal intelligence worldwide. That part is my educated guess, for what it’s worth.
While two men continued to work on the generator problem down in a manhole directly in front of the destroyed building, the lieutenant and Bill set up the camera on top of a concrete structure across and a few yards north of the generator building. A low block wall on three sides of the roof provided cover and concealment with a clear view of the northern half of Illeginni. I tried the camera out earlier and it worked great using Bill as the subject.
I established an observation post on the launch hill at the southern end of the island. Communication was by radio. Jack was Oscar 51 and I was Oscar 52. I sat down on a missile launch cover and scanned the southern approach. And I decided now was the time to make my plans. I had chosen to position myself on the edge of the jungle next to a large tree surrounded by dense vegetation where I had a clear view of the crater behind the generator building, only 20 yards away.
I went over several possibilities. For example, I’m next to the tree watching the crater and the security force decides to land in the jungle area and move north toward my location. Also I took care of anything loose that might make a noise when I move. And the best I could do if anything happened would be to fire at moving shadows. Finally, remember to cut off my radio once they land. But they probably won’t show. As for my plans, they didn’t impress me at all.
Anyway, I made my choice.
I thought the moon would provide significant light when it appeared later on but a mid-level cloud cover moved in by 1900. I sat on the hatch cover and watched the islands disappear into the night. A light mist began to fall and I started to shiver.
The red light from the microwave tower on Legan provided the only reference point for me as I scanned the ocean. As I stared at the tower light I noticed a white light, about the same height, separate from the tower.
I checked my watch. 2024 hours.
“51 — 52.”
“51 –Go ahead.”
“Bingo. Brand X passing Legan, making a wide sweep this way.”
“Roger that.”
I watched the light as it moved up the reef, then go out. I started walking down the circular drive, trying to decide on a decent hiding place. Then I realized that every member of the security force has night vision. I bet no one considered that.
I land-lined HQ from the trailer and let them know Brand X was in town, as requested. I began my walk north in the dark when something caught my eye. It was a couple of lights from the helipad. Not many but enough to let all concerned know that we were back in business.
“52 –51. That takes care of that. You can stay up with us. -if you want some O.T.”
“Roger that.”
I couldn’t sleep anyway. The adrenalin flowed, my body was feverish and I had become dehydrated. I guess you could compare it to the feeling a player gets before taking part in the Super Bowl, only multiplied a few times. A loss out here and you don’t return next year.
Filed under: Almost Paradise Volume 2
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