Eagle Station Part 1

Eagle Station.

By: Mark Berent.

This book is dedicated to the KIA, MIA, and POW air-crew from Air America, the US Air Force, the US Amy, the US Coast Guard, Continental Air Service, the US Marine Corps, the US Navy, the Royal Australian Air Force, and to the men of the US Army Special Forces.

While this is a highly fictionalized account of the action at Lima Site 85 in northeastern Laos, the dedication to the USAF and CIA men at the site is no less real and heartfelt.

"We stand to our gla.s.ses ready."

And to MB.

I give special thanks to combat Jolly Green pilot Dr. John Guilmartin, It. Col. USAF (Ret); M/Sgt USAF (Ret) Ed Kobernik, the man who kept the Jollies flying; and to CMSgt Don Boudreaux, Spectre Gunner and Vice President of the Spectre a.s.sociation. Any errors, of course, in their area of expertise are mine.

Prologue.

0745 Hours LOCAL, Sunday 20 JULY 1958 UNITED STATES AIR FORCE ACADEMY (PROVISIONAL).

Lowry AIR FORCE BASE, DENVER, COLORADO The young men stood at positions of exaggerated attention on the gra.s.s field in front of the cadet barracks at Lowry Air Force Base. The morning breeze ruffled their new khaki uniforms, all stiff and creased.

It was the cadets' first Sunday at the Academy, and as the officers called out religions one by one, they broke ranks to go where they were told: Lutherans here, Protestants over there, Catholics, Jews, Baptists, LDS. Re-form in columns of twos. Cover down. Prepare for mandatory chapel.

The mint-fresh Air Force cadets hustled to line up correctly and not incur the wrath of their uppercla.s.smen. There were 465 new cadets, and 461 of them fell into one of the religious formations.

When asked why they had not, three of the four remaining said they were agnostics.

Agnostics? They were told they were Other and to snap to and form up off to one side.

The fourth man, eighteen-year-old cadet Fourth Cla.s.s Kenichi Tanaka, didn't move. He stood five foot seven, weighed a stocky 150 pounds, and displayed a square jaw. His billed cadet hat pulled low over his dark Asian eyes concealed his black crew-cut hair. His skin was a consistent brown, as if he had a well-established summer tan.

Cadet Second Cla.s.s Jerome Powers detached himself from the group of uppercla.s.smen, walked over and stared disdainfully from his six-foot height down into the face of the lone cadet.

Powers's eyebrows and eyelashes were white-blond, his eyes icy blue.

"And what are you, Mistee'-he glanced at the name tag"Tanaka ... a Confucianist?" Powers, a sometimes-Baptist from Mississippi, smirked at his little joke.

"No, sir. Buddhist."

Powers tilted his chin toward the "others."

"Fall in with those three."

Tanaka stared straight ahead as he had been taught. "Sir," he said in a low voice, "those are 'others." I am not an 'other.'"

"What?" Powers yelled into Tanaka's face. "What did you say, dumbsmack?" Whereas Marine drill instructors could use inventive scatological terms for their boots in training, uppercla.s.smen at the United States Air Force Academy could not, hence the term "smack" had surfaced, and was used when an uppercla.s.sman really wanted to get after a doolie.

"Sir, I am not an 'other." I am a Buddhist," Tanaka said.

"You trying to get smart with me? We don't have any Buddhist"-Powers spat the word out-"around here. You're a Protestant or a Jew or something. We have services for all of them. Or maybe you don't believe in any G.o.d. In that case you go to the library during chapel.

But we don't have any Buddhist. So you are an 'other."' He said the words slowly and with theatrical emphasis. "You got that, Mister?"

Tanaka did not remove his eyes from the horizon. "Sir," he began, "this is chapel formation. Every cadet has mandatory church services every Sunday in the church of his faith. You called out all the religions except mine. My faith is Buddhism.

I don't want to go to the library. I don't want to go to Christian or Jewish services. I want to attend a ceremony by a Buddhist monk in a temple." Tanaka's voice remained low and without inflection. He had the faint broad "a" accent of those from the Napa Valley in California.

Jerome Powers put his hands on his hips and looked around at his cla.s.smates, who were watching him in silence. Behind them, Jerome Powers saw a commissioned Tac officer headed toward him. Powers turned back to Tanaka.

"Now you're in for it. Here comes our Tac officer and he's going to have your a.s.s, Mister." Tactical officers-captains and majors-were a.s.signed to each cadet squadron and wing to teach proper military life to the future Air Force officers.

Powers saluted as Captain Tom Dudley approached.

"What's the problem?" Dudley asked as he returned the salute.

Dudley, an Annapolis graduate from Miles City, Montana, who had chosen the Air Force, had been selected from his F-86 fighter squadron to be a Tac officer. He had dark brown hair and stood just under six feet.

"Sir, this doolie won't obey orders," Powers said.

Dudley raised an eyebrow.

"He won't fall in with the group I've a.s.signed him to," Powers continued. "I think he is trying to run a number on me."

"A number, Mister Powers?"

"Yes, sir. I think he's trying to take advantage of the system. He refuses to fall in with any of the formations set up for chapel. Says he's a Buddhist."

Dudley eyed Tanaka. "Do you doubt his word?" he asked Powers.

Powers stiffened. "Well, ah ... you see, we have no Buddhists around here, so I . . ."

"Over here," Dudley said. He walked to one side. The morning sun warmed the air. "Look," he said to Powers. "One of the duties of a Tac officer is not to interfere with the proper duties of the cadets. You uppercla.s.smen run your own wings and squadrons. We supervise, correct your mistakes, nudge you toward correct leadership solutions. We do not solve your problems for you."

"Sir, I don't have a problem," Powers said in a belligerent tone.

"Mister Tanaka does."

"Are you going to write him up?" Powers pursed his lips. "Yes, sir."

"On what charge?"

"Failure to obey a lawful order."

"If true, that could probably get him expelled."

Powers grinned. "Yes, sir."

"What exactly was your lawful order, Mister Powers?"

"Sir, I told him to fall in with that detail over there." He pointed to the three cadets who had said they were agnostics.

"What exactly is that detail for, Mister Powers?"

"Sir, it's the library detail."

Dudley didn't speak and continued looking at Powers.

"Sir, it's what we call 'others." They're, uhm, cadets who have no religion at all. They don't believe in G.o.d or anything."

"Didn't Mister Tanaka say he was a Buddhist?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't Buddhists believe in G.o.d?"

"Well, no G.o.d like we believe in," Powers snapped, then belatedly added, "sir."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Sir, I guess they believe in a G.o.d."

"Then he is a member of a recognized religion, isn't he?"

"Sir, he belongs to a religion we don't have."

Dudley drew himself up. "Powers, I'm getting mighty tired of our conversation. This is a cadet situation that I want you to solve. Solve it. Any questions?"

"Sir, no sir," Powers said, and saluted. He did an about-face and walked back to Tanaka. He was seething inside.

"All right, Tanaka," he spit out. "Suppose you tell me how you go to church, or temple, or whatever you call it."

"Sir," Tanaka said in a wary voice, "there is a Buddhist temple in Denver. I could either go there or the Academy could bring the monk out here."

"Monk, hunh?" Powers leaned down and placed his face two inches in front of Tanaka's. He spoke slowly, with great deliberation and menace. "All right, Mister Tanaka. You'll get your monk. But I'll tell you right now, I'll get you. You'll never graduate from here and I'll tell you why. My father was killed on the Arizona on a Sunday morning ... just ... like ... today. Sunday, December 7th, 1941, Mister Tanaka. Killed by the sneak j.a.p attack. Killed by one of you j.a.p Buddhists. That's why you'll never graduate. You don't belong in my Air Force."

1545 Hours LOCAL, SAt.u.r.dAY 30 AUGUST 1958 UNITED STATES AIR FORCE Academy (PROVISIONAL) LOWRY AIR FORCE BASE, DENVER, COLORADO.

It was toward the end of Basic Cadet Training (shortened to BCT and p.r.o.nounced "Beast"), the six-weeks period of time before the rigors of the academic year began. The time when the new cadets of the fourth cla.s.s, referred to as basic cadets, were indoctrinated into Air Force life in general, and Academy life in particular. The fourthcla.s.smen were on a five-mile run along a trail marked out on the Lowry bomb range. They wore fatigues, black boots, helmets, and carried the eleven-pound M- I Garand rifle. On their backs were ten-pound packs.

The afternoon sun shone hot through the thin Colorado air on the dry dust kicked up by their pounding heels. The elevation was over 5,000 feet. The uppercla.s.smen, clad only in tee-shirts, gym shorts, and tennis shoes, ran alongside and continually hara.s.sed the fatigued cadets. This was their last chance to weed out the physically unfit, the laggards, and those who lacked the will to finish under adverse conditions.

Kenichi Tanaka ran easily, breathing slowly and evenly. He had lettered all four of his high school years in cross-country track, and his last two years as an offensive end in varsity football. The members of his unit, C Flight, were scattered along the last half mile of the run.

Tanaka and a fellow fourthcla.s.sman, Joseph C. Kelly, had slowly a.s.sumed the lead of their flight as their mates had fallen back. Kelly was slightly taller and much broader than Tanaka and had a naturally ruddy face. Neither spoke as their boots slammed in unison on the hard path.

Ahead, uppercla.s.smen were ticking off finishers on clipboards as the stragglers from the flight in front staggered across the line. The flight that got all its members across the line before the others won the right to eat their meal "at ease" that night instead of at attention. The new cadets were a.s.signed to twelve flights comprising four squadrons.

Tanaka looked back over his shoulder and saw that C Flight was doing very well, except for a lone, limping straggler. Without saying anything to Kelly, Tanaka slowed to a walk and slung his rifle on his back as the squadron ran past. He waited for the straggler, who was grimacing with effort while favoring his right leg. His helmet was b.u.mping his nose, his fatigues were black with sweat, and he was trying not to trail his rifle in the dust. His name tag said his name was Dominguez. Tanaka grabbed his rifle, slung it next to his own, then put the cadet's, arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, man . . ." the cadet tried to speak. He was a slender fellow with large dark eyes.

"Come on, Dominguez," Tanaka said in a quiet voice, "move it and we'll catch up to the others. You can do it."

"It's my d.a.m.n ankle," Dominguez gritted. "Twisted the stupid thing."

Dominguez moved his legs faster as Tanaka half-carried him in a loping run. They were within fifty feet of the rear ranks, of their squadron when Jerome Powers came up alongside. He looked rested and relaxed in his white gym clothes.

"Get away from him, Tanaka," Powers snarled. He jogged along with the two men. "Give his rifle back."

Dominguez began to lag. "Maybe you better. . ." he began.

"Keep moving," Tanaka said. "We're almost there." He picked up the pace.

"Tanaka, I told you let him alone. Now BACK OFF. That's an order."

Tanaka ignored Powers' commands and stepped up the pace even more. In seconds he and Dominguez would be even with the rear rank of the cadets, which would allow the squadron to set the record for the doolie run.

Powers jogged ahead, whirled, and planted himself on the path, fists on hips. "All right, you two, stop right where you are," he roared. Tanaka and Dominguez ground to a halt facing the uppercla.s.sman. "Drop down and give me twenty loud ones right now. Call 'em out," Powers screamed in their faces. Tanaka let go of Dominguez and they both stretched out on the ground to begin twenty push-ups. Both rifles were still slung on Tanaka's back.

"One ... two ... three with each push-up.

the two cadets counted cadence "Louder, I can't hear you," Powers yelled. "Start over."

Engrossed in his work, he wasn't aware of the activity of the cadets behind him.

"ONE ... TWO ... THREE..." Tanaka and Dominguez yelled out. Tanaka was pumping up and down easily, rifles sliding back and forth on his shoulders. Nor was Dominguez having any difficulty.

"You happy now, Tanaka?" Powers yelled down at the two struggling men.

"You're responsible for the whole flight being last in the compet.i.tion.

Just wait till your buddies find out about that. You'll be in a world of trouble."

A chorus of loud cadence counts came from behind Powers.

He whirled around. Joe Kelly was flat on the ground, doing push-ups and yelling cadence as loud as he could. "ONE ...

TWO ... THREE.. ." Beyond him, other cadets from C Flight who knew what had happened were dropping down to do the same. As they did, they called up to those ahead, who pa.s.sed the word on to the front-runners.

They had all seen Kenichi Tanaka drop back, followed by Joe Kelly. Those closest had heard Powers' order to let Dominguez run by himself, then Powers' scream for push-ups.