He Never Said a Word

887th Tactical Missile Squadron

Grünstadt, Pfalz, Germany 

1964

About a half hour before the start of our 14 hour MGM13-A RFML night shift, the crew would assemble, usually at the launch site dining-hall, located outside the site's cantonment area.  After an informal inspection we would take the walk from the dining-hall to our assigned launch control center for the upcoming shift. Our path to work would take us through the main gate and into the administration and barracks area.  Further on passing the POL pad and maintenance area and to the first of the two controlled, personnel entry gates.  After entry into the secure, live launch area we would show our proof of personal identity to the security policeman on duty, and he would issue us our personal launch center identification tags.    

After gaining entry into our assigned launch control center, that we euphemistically called the blockhouse, the day crew would brief us on any pertinent, mission-critical issues. My missile combat crew commander and combat crew chief would receive the pouches containing the sealed launch authentication seaflo cards and the launch enable keys from their dayshift crew counterparts.  I was the launch crew's guidance systems technician and the fourth launch crew member was the launch crew nuclear weapon technician. While the crew commander and crew chief were assuming their command and control responsibility in the blockhouse we two technicians would carry out the walk around inspection of the four Victor alert missiles in our flight package.

After those crew change formalities were completed and all the classified documentation had been inventoried and secured, the settling in for the night’s alert shift began for us in the blockhouse.  We would practice several dry runs of the different launch procedures and scenarios that were outlined in the Ops War plans. Several hours might be devoted to University of Maryland course material or to our Air Force OJT manuals. Some of the old hands would usually play a game or two of cribbage or pinochle.

Around 11PM the security police would deliver the midnight meal which we had earlier ordered from the site dining-hall.  I can still recall the aroma of the SOS and toast, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs and fried potatoes as we opened the sealed and insulated delivery canisters.  We appreciated the security police for not only patrolling and protecting us in the launch complex 24-7-365 but, for also putting up with the added duty of being the meals-on-wheels delivery men for the captive launch crews.

Soon after cleaning up the midnight meal clutter, three of the launch crew members would soon be dozing off in the Barcaloungers. Sleeping during the night shift was permitted per standard operating procedure if no operational issues were going on. I was the youngest, lowest ranking and only unmarried crew member on crew 3-4, so by "their" mutual agreement, I would man the communications watch while the other three crew members nodded or slept.  I was the young guy and it became my job to do most all of the night shift communications watch unless, the next day was the start of one of our extra long off-duty breaks after a four night shift rotation. Depending on the crew's and our personal schedule obligations, the extra long break occurred about once every other two, night and day shift cycles or just about once a month and the break was 4 to 5 days long. On that last night shift the married missileers would let me be one of the sleepers so I could start enjoying Germany, early the next day.

In the background the multi-band Grundig radio would be quietly tuned to the Armed Forces Network radio, playing the ubiquitous Country and Western and Jazz music or to the short wave band for the U.S. propaganda station VOA, for keeping up with the goings on back in the States. The overhead lights in the blockhouse would be dimmed while a reading lamp burned brightly at the communications station. Reading anything I could get my hands on became a habit for me then. I burned through many dozens of special services provided books, consuming everything from drivel to pulp fiction potboilers to the latest best selling novels as well as many of the classics during those long quiet nights of my four and 1/2 years that I served on the Mace launch crews at Grünstadt, Germany.  I would also study  the missile systems tech orders, emergency procedures, operation and launch procedure and emergency destruct manuals until I could recite full passages from them.

The only interruption to my reading or study came from the hourly communications and authentication checks from the 38th Tactical Missile Wing Command Center.  The command center was located underground, below the football field at Sembach Air Base, about 25 Kilometers west of our remote launch location.  I still can recall all of the Wing's 8 launch sites with their collective 20 blockhouses responding, in the cryptic military jargon we used. Each one replying with the Dryad KTC alpha authentication letter and then with our own personal phonetic initials as the command center challenged each of the blockhouses in turn.

Naturally, after the many long and sometimes intense hours of working and training together, we had become a close knit crew. When the time was suitable we all joked around and would pull pranks on each other to relieve some of tension. Being the young kid on the block I was the recipient of most of the gotchas.  However, when the time came we were military with the appropriate respect of each others rank and our job responsibilities.  We were after-all a nuclear weapon certified, professional launch crew.  

The missile combat crew commander of launch crew 3-4, was an ex-bomber pilot. The only negative thing about the captain were his terrible looking flight boots.  They were the most scuffed up boots on the site and possibly in the entire 38th Tactical Missile Wing. I don’t think that they had ever seen a smidgen of Kiwi polish since he had put them on the first time. Because of the squadron's esprit de corps most launch crew members took pride in their appearance and informally competed among themselves to see who would keep sharpest looking uniforms on the site.  So, honestly, seeing the captain’s grody boots bothered me in some deep way when he would take them off to snooze the night away.

One night a little devil was sitting on my shoulder and whispered a bit of mischievousness into my ear. I decided to shine the captain's boots just to see his reaction the next morning.  After much work the first boot was looking nice with a shine that would pass inspection.  It was then that, the little devil really started to work on me.  Following the tempter’s lead I didn’t shine his second boot.  And wanting to give a little goodnatured payback for all the goading I went through, I just placed the “ready for inspection” one right back beside its not so spiffy mate. 

As dawn approached I started to think I might have over stepped my bounds a bit but, it was too late to get the other boot into shape, I just gave it a quick brushing and a little dab of polish. The crew was already stirring as they smelled the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee I had made in the Sunbeam vacuum coffee maker.  We then got into the morning routine and prepared the blockhouse for the arrival of the day crew and the formalities that went along with crew change.  As the captain donned his boots I started to sweat bullets, the whole time waiting for the axe to fall.  But, nothing.  Several days passed and still nothing from him about my prank.  I nearly had heart failure on the occasions he would address me, unexpectedly.  I was particularly worried when we were several days later pulling our rotation of normal squadron duty.  With the crew working in the squadron operations center, and being around the squadron commander and operations officer all day, with the captain and that one good looking still presentable boot and one bad looking boot kept me on the fine edge of anxiety that whole day. 

For several weeks I tiptoed around him as I watched with growing relief as the one standout boot slowly reverted close to its original condition.  Until the last day I ever saw Captain A. as he was preparing to rotate back to the States he never said a word about that one shiny boot. I never did go beyond the pale with a joke again. More pranks, oh yes, many of them but, all were well thought out for any consequences before they were committed.  

Romeo Bravo