by Dave Hazel
“Man, they’re gonna be here in a couple of minutes,” he grumbled looking at his watch. He quickly wrapped his web belt around his waist. He put his navy blue beret on his head and felt to make sure the Strategic Air Command crest was properly positioned over his left eye, and molded the flap of blue wool down the right side of his head. “Minot Security Police! Gotta love it,” he laughed at himself while examining himself in the mirror a final time to make sure he was ready for the morning inspection. He looked at the three stripes on his arm and imagined a fourth stripe. “Staff Sergeant Graves sounds much better than Sergeant Graves.”
His smile stopped when he looked at his medium frame and wished he was taller than 5’9”. His blonde hair almost touched his ear. It made him smile at the thought of Pam telling him he should move to California to be a surfer or beach bum.
An annoying horn sounded in his drive way which announced his ride arrived. The horn sounded several times. He wanted to yell because it wouldn’t do him any favors by waking up the neighbors at 0600 hours in the military housing.
He flew up the stairs to give Pam a kiss goodbye. In the past five years they have never missed a kiss goodbye. He didn’t want to wake her so he gently kissed her on the cheek.
The horn sounded again. Mykal wanted to strangle his ‘idiot’ friend. He stepped into the other bedroom for a moment before leaving. He had to see his sons. Little Mykal age three and Frank almost two years old were sleeping soundly. He kissed them gently and backed out of the room. He smiled with pride. “My boys,” he whispered.
Mykal ran quietly down the stairs to the front door. He opened it and saw Robert ‘Boris’ Traginsky with raised fist ready to knock. Mykal looked at Boris’s overweight form and couldn’t believe his eyes. The uniform looked as if Boris had slept in it. Boris was twenty-three years old and wore large frame glasses that gave Boris the appearance of having beady eyes. Mykal knew Boris wanted out of the military, but he had two more years to fulfill his commitment.
Boris packed on his excess weight during the past winter by spending most of his time drinking Jack Daniels and sitting in the dorm. Drinking, reading and no physical exercise was Boris’s lifestyle. Boris stood shorter than Mykal but looked much wider. He reads only gun/weapons magazines, Vietnam War books and girlie magazines. Boris was labeled a pervert on the Crew because of his taste in women. He will not look at a woman unless she is over 250 lbs.
His short dark hair seemed to be greased to his head and parted down the middle. Rarely was Boris ever seen without a cigarette in his lips. “Didn’t you hear us beeping?” The cigarette bounced between his lips while he spoke.
“Yeah I heard ya. I’m ready to kick his ass. People are sleeping around here.”
“Well Kurt says to hurry up or he’s leaving without ya cuz he’s not supposed to be in the housing area with the military vehicle. He’s afraid of ending up on Edwards’s shit list.”
“Like you?” Mykal chuckled referring to Boris’s trouble with Lieutenant Edwards.
Boris had been told by Lt Edwards that he could no longer wear his civilian glasses on duty. He had to wear his “birth control specs”, the square black framed, military issue glasses. When Boris showed up for work the next week wearing his civilian glasses, Edwards questioned him about his military glasses. Boris pulled them from his pocket in about six pieces. Boris explained he had an accident while out shooting one of his pistols. Edwards was new to the Crew at the time and said there would be an investigation, but nothing more had been said about it.
“Yeah, like me,” Boris said.
“Well, tell that idiot to keep honking the horn like a moron and see if waking everyone up this early doesn’t get his ass in a sling.”
“Could you get a move on Sarge?” Kurt Jones called from the driver’s seat of the Chevy Suburban. “I just became an A1C (Airman First Class), and I’d kinda like to hold onto this new stripe,” he said with his arm out the window to show off the two stripes on his sleeve.
“Boris, gimme a hand with my stuff. And you,” he turned to Kurt, “shut the hell up. I’ll take the heat if you get in trouble, but not if you keep honking the horn like an idiot.”
Kurt’s large 6’4” frame lumbered from the vehicle to help Mykal get loaded into the nine passenger carryall. Within the past month Minot Air Force Base passed a policy that prohibited military vehicles from the housing area except during ‘official’ military business. Kurt’s large head is well proportioned to his body. With every step his size 14 boots plopped against the pavement and all his weight seemed to shift from side to side. Due to his size he always appeared to be moving in slow motion. When the Crew had to perform the annual mile and a half run, Kurt was the Crew’s comic relief.
“You musta been one ugly ass kid,” Mykal laughed when Kurt squished up his face to help push his glasses back on his nose.
“And he’s still pretty friggin ugly now,” Boris chuckled and dragged on his cigarette. “Age hasn’t helped him at all.”
“Hey, I’ll kick your fat ass, you little roly-poly bastard,” Kurt threatened. Kurt and Boris was each other’s best friend. They share all the same interests except Kurt doesn’t drink as much as Boris. They both love weapons and “the big gals,” as Kurt called them.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Mykal stopped the two from starting on each other as they routinely did. They attack each other like little children, though all in good fun. “Come now girls, let’s stop all this childish bickering before it starts, and let’s get our little bodies over to Building 631 before we get into trouble for being late.” Boris and Kurt were Mykal’s two best friends and co-workers.
“I’ll still kick your ass,” Kurt threatened when the three of them got into the vehicle.
“You couldn’t kick my gran’mother’s ass and she’s been dead for three years now.”
6.
Mykal was second in command of their seven man squad. Their squad has earned the label of “bad boys” and “misfits”. They took every opportunity to challenge authority and disobey rules. They left their Alert-bags locked inside the vehicle, though they were required to bring them inside. They didn’t want to be caught by Lt Edwards if he conducted a surprise inspection to uncover contraband being taken to the missile field. They would gladly take the “ass chewing” for not having their A-bags at their side, because that would give them time to discard the unlawful items they possessed.
“Hey, did you guys bring any guns out this tour?” Mykal asked as they walked across the parking lot to Building 631.
“What, are you kidding me Sarge,” Kurt chuckled. “You know we did. Me and Boris can’t handle life if we can’t go ‘ker-plunkin’.” ‘Ker-plunkin’ was their code word for shooting. Privately owned weapons are never allowed to be taken out to the missile field.
Boris tossed his cigarette butt to the ground. “Yeah, when don’t we bring guns out?”
“You don’t have them in your A-bags, do you?” Mykal pressed.
“Yeah, where else would we have them?”
“When I was talking to Denny last night, he said something about the LT pulling another surprise A-bag check after we have our guard mount inspection. He might want to follow you guys out to the vehicle, cuz he knows we never bring our bags in.”
Kurt shook his head. “Man, that Edwards is a first class pain in the ass. He’s really starting to get on my nerves.”
“I hate that friggin guy,” Boris added. “What the hell does he want from us?”
“If he does a bag check, I’ll try to delay him to give you guys time to get those weapons hid. I’ll try to find out beforehand if he’s going to or not.”
“Well, I got something for his dumb ass,” Kurt laughed and pulled a folded brown lunch bad from one of his empty ammo pouches.
“What is it?”
“You know how he tries to be ‘Joe Military’ and gets nose to nose during guard mount? Well just before the inspection I’m gonna chew this stuff up and breathe it into his face,” he l
aughed and pulled out half of an onion and a couple cloves of peeled garlic from the bag. “He’ll think twice about getting nose to nose again,” he said and they all laughed.
Boris smirked. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face?”
“Me too,” Mykal agreed. “So what are you guys bringing out?”
“I’m bringing my .44 magnum, my .45 and the .22 I just bought,” Boris answered first. “I got 50 rounds for both the .44 and .45 and I brought 200 rounds for the .22 caliber. It’s really starting to get expensive to go ker-plunkin out in the field.”
“Well if you’d quit spending all your damn money on booze every week you wouldn’t be saying that,” Kurt replied. “All I’m bringing is my .357 magnum and my baby, my 9 mil. I only have 50 rounds for each too. It’s not really much between us this time.”
“Yeah right,” Mykal laughed at Kurt’s understatement. “But if you guys get caught, remember, I don’t know a damn thing. You guys are crazy for bringing all that stuff. You know Denny’s gonna have a heart attack when he finds out,” he chuckled and shook his head. “I’m glad Denny is our supervisor and not me.”
Building 631 was a multi-purpose structure. One area houses the US Air Force armory for the security police wing on Minot AFB, North Dakota. All the base firearms were stored there as well as privately owned weapons of personnel living in the barracks of the Air Force base. Boris and Kurt, however, never registered their weapons. They kept them hid in Kurt’s vehicle or they store them at houses of close friends.
Building 631 was also the training center for the security forces of Minot AFB. It was the central location for briefing and debriefing of crews going to and from the missile field. Crews travel to the missile field 365 days a year. It’s also the location of the “back office pukes”, the administrative arm of the 91st and 92nd MSS (Missile Security Squadrons) of the 91st SW (Strategic Wing) at Minot AFB. Wing Security Control was a secured area of Building 631 which controls command and operations of all security related activity in the missile field.
Each day a Crew of at least 33 security police travel to the remote flight areas to relieve the personnel on duty. To man the 5 flight areas in question, a minimum of 6 SPs (Security Police) are needed at each of the 5 LCFs (Launch Control Facilities) with a minimum of 3 supervisors to roam between the 5 flight areas. Once on site, the 6 man team would be in charge of the site for a three day tour, responding to any alarms for the 10 Minuteman III missiles in their flight area. The three 12 hour shifts were usually quiet and non-eventful since each missile is housed in hardened underground silos.
Mykal’s crew was one of the nine missile security Crews that provide the 24 hour security for the missile wing. All nine Crews are over manned or called “fat” as they have forty plus security policemen assigned. Over the next couple of months the “fat” status would change drastically after reassignments occur, retirements take place and younger airmen voluntarily separate from the service. The cycle repeats itself every year about the same time.
Within the next four months Mykal’s Crew, Crew 4 was scheduled to lose eight of their personnel. One was retiring after more than twenty-four years of service, four have orders for other assignments around the world and three younger airmen decided not to re-enlist after completing their four year commitment. In addition to those projected losses, usually unforeseen separations occur due medical reasons, criminal offenses or drug and alcohol related situations.
Mykal was optimistic the senior Flight Security Supervisor would attempt to boost morale by allowing selected personnel to take the tour off since there is an abundance of extra bodies. He felt hopeful to be one of the selected few to get time off to give more time to study. However, the last tour of duty Lt Edwards usurped the FSS’s authority and wouldn’t allow anyone to have any time off which sunk morale. A growing dislike had been building for the new lieutenant. Lt Edwards’s style of leadership was to micro-manage everything which exasperates all personnel under his leadership.
Mykal, Kurt and Boris entered Building 631 still laughing over Kurt’s plan with the garlic and onion. They joined the rest of the security personnel lining the hallway waiting for a supervisor to give the approval to draw weapons from the armory.
Some were smoking, some eating stuff from the vending machine, drinking coffee or soda. The three of them stayed toward one end of the hallway. They wanted to avoid most of the people on the Crew due to personality clashes. Most on the Crew mutually want to avoid Mykal’s squad because of their earned reputation of being the black sheep squad. They were the rebellious troublemakers who were most likely to end up dishonorably discharged or to spend time in Leavenworth, Kansas as a military prisoner.
Sam Washington, a tall lanky individual, who looked no older than sixteen joined the three of them. Sam had put his third stripe on just two months ago but now feared he was going to lose his rank of SrA (Senior Airman). Sam didn’t care so much about being “busted” back down to A1C but he didn’t want to lose the increased pay. Sam wouldn’t feel the embarrassment most others would feel if demoted. He had been disrespectful to an officer, Lt Edwards, and had no remorse over his actions.
Sam’s boyish features were marred by small acne scars. Although he looked young and innocent his mouth was the source of all his problems. He regularly spoke what’s on his mind and didn’t give the impression to have a filter from his brain to his lips. If anyone was offended, ‘that’s their problem’. That attitude got him into trouble with his superiors on more than one occasion. That attitude also made him one of the most disliked people on Crew 4.
“Scared of who?” Sam asked when he caught part of what Kurt said to Boris.
“I just said these jerks are afraid of the LT and his fat assed side-kick, Mansfield.”
Sam smiled. “Well we won’t ever have to deal with Mansfield again. He retires in about ten days or so, and with this being his last tour, he’ll get the tour off as a going away present. I’ll be glad not to ever have to see his fat ass again.”
“A little touchy this morning, Sam?” Mykal chuckled.
“Let’s be honest Myk, he’s nothing but a fat ass lazy pig who don’t do nothing for the Crew. There are other people who deserve a tour off before he does.”
“You guys know we got his replacement already, right?” Mykal asked.
“What? You mean Jake’s not gonna get the Crew?” Boris’s face clearly demonstrated his disappointment. “Man, we all thought Jake would go from Assistant to Senior Supervisor.”
“No he’s not,” Mykal said. “I was talking to Jake last night and Jake told me that Finn from Crew 8 is going to take the top spot. I guess he outranks Jake by about six months or so. Jake said Finn is supposed to be a pretty cool guy, but we’ll have to wait and see.”
“Even if we didn’t get Finn, it wouldn’t be Jake’s Crew anyway,” Kurt complained. “This is Edwards’s Crew. He has to control everything. He’s the puppet-master.”
“That’s cuz Mansfield lets the LT push him around,” Sam replied. “If Mansfield would have put Edwards in his place on day one, we’d never have most of the problems we have now. He never stands up to Edwards, even when Edwards is wrong and out in left field.”
“So Sam, have you heard anything over that beef with Edwards?” Mykal asked in reference to Sam’s comment, ‘shove your stupid rule book up your ass and go to hell you stupid butter bar.’
Sam’s anger surfaced immediately. “You know what that jerk did? He went straight to the commander and told the commander that I needed to be kicked out of the Air Force. Can you believe it? But from what Jake told me, the commander just kinda laughed at him. There’s nothing in my records that shows I’m a bad boy. The LT doesn’t have anything on me to support getting me discharged.” Sam chuckled triumphantly. “He’s a friggin little weasel.”
“That’s cool,” Boris agreed and took out a cigarette.
Sam smirked. “What really helped me, when I got in the LT’s face, Jake was the only witnes
s. When the three of us went before the commander to testify, Jake told the commander that he didn’t hear anything. He didn’t know there was a problem. The commander has known Jake for about nine years now, so he’s taking Jake’s word for it. Jake thinks I might not get anything outta of this. Not even an L O C (Letter of Counseling). Jake said the LT is really pissed off at him for lying to the commander for me. He told Jake in a roundabout way that he better watch his step. See what being Jake’s drinking buddy does for you?” Sam laughed and winked.
“Well you know Edwards is gonna be gunnin’ for you too,” Mykal warned him. “So you better cool out for a while. I know you lose your cool at times, but I’d watch it if I were you.”
“Hi y’all,” Richard McDowell greeted them with a big toothy grin. His deep southern accent leaves the impression he’s a dumb hillbilly. Rich came from a small town in Oklahoma and he eagerly plays up being a dumb hillbilly when it’s to his advantage. His large friendly smile can be most deceiving. Rich joined the Air Force at an older age. At 26 years old he was the oldest two-striper on the base. He wished he joined the Marines or Army to satisfy his desire to go to war. Rich was always in a good mood unless he is in the company of their superiors Lt Edwards and TSgt Mansfield. ‘They regularly ruin everyone’s day,’ he complained of them on a regular basis.
Mykal laughed then nodded to get their attention down the hallway. “Look, there’s Denny. He’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off again.”
“He takes this stuff way too seriously.” Boris joked.
“He’s gonna have a heart attack real soon.” Kurt kidded.
“Like I said earlier, I’m glad he’s our supervisor and not me,” Mykal said. “You guys are gonna cause his heart attack. He’s always answering to the LT or the commander cuz of you.”
