Cold War
Halfway through my four-year enlistment I’m suddenly thrust down the rabbit hole of military intelligence. By now I have a better understanding of my military environment and know better than to voice my objections. I’m assigned as an intelligence analyst, duly promoted, and on a fast track for sergeant. I take greater interest in geopolitics and develop a life-long habit of research and investigation.
As a low-level analyst, I see nothing Top Secret and reveal nothing classified in my telling. Any insight I offer is mainly from experience working among high-ranking warlords, briefing the general and doing research on specific countries.
A fly on the wall, I’m able to observe the attitudes and postures of high-ranking warlords and witness their maniacal militarism.
My day-to-day business consists of inventory and data entry. Organizing the map room is my main priority and I receive no other duties until we get a new guy, Corporal Steel, at which time I start working more with Staff Sargent Mills and Gunny Ginsberg.
Maps are on paper like they have always been, stored in cardboard boxes and tubes. Even as I count, there are computer programs downloading three dimensional images and real time satellite video. The internet is in its infancy, but the future has arrived.
The intelligence community resists computerization of classified files, the argument being internal computers are vulnerable since the need-to-know doctrine is paramount. Technical and operational files remain locked away. Jackson and Lemon are Drones, data retrieval officers, whose job is to locate files for those who possessed a need to know.
It took three months to inventory the map room by the end of which I became familiar with a few computer programs. I read the daily message board which at first seems a jumble of unrelated facts. My understanding of geopolitics is incomplete. Iran/Contra affair is disturbing. I can’t help but take an interest. William Casey, Director of Intelligence, the man who oversees the entire U.S. intelligence community, the National Security Adviser John Poindexter, and Coronel Oliver North are implicated in circumventing congress and lying to cover it up. Poindexter has resigned and Casey will die shortly thereafter. This is the community I now find myself.
Ronald Reagan is serving his last year in office and the Soviet Union is beginning their retreat from Afghanistan. Iran Iraq War has ended in a brokered cease fire. Operation Desert Storm will begin on the heels of my discharge, but Afghanistan will have the greatest of consequences for America a decade later. Mikhail Gorbachev is the eighth, and as it turns out, the last Chairman of the Soviet Communist party. Terrorism is significant as demonstrated by the two hundred forty-one Marines killed by a truck bomb Beirut Lebanon in 1983, a terrible loss of life and a major intelligence failure. It was Ronald Reagan who first proclaimed the war on terrorism. Every bad thing that happens is an intelligence failure yet, it being the Cold War, all the strategic planning was focused on preparation for a perceived war in Europe.
We looked to the Atlantic, toward the gaps between Greenland, Iceland and United Kingdom. The main Soviet military force is based on the Cola Peninsula above the Arctic Circle. Find Norway and follow the coast North around the Fin mark till you find a fat round Peninsula. The Soviet port is frozen part of the year, but lurking under the Arctic ice, submarines carry nuclear ballistic missiles.
Today, I’m enlarging and laminating maps of Denmark. We are going out into the field to do a cold war exercise. Command is set up in the wooded hills of Camp Lejeune N.C., but Denmark is where the strategic battle takes place. Slowly with tutelage from Gunny Ginsberg I learn the work of an intelligence analyst. My training developed new skills and new avenues of thought that led to new habits of seeking information and testing conclusions.
I’m relieved to be back out in the field wondering the woods and connecting with nature. I have a desire to climb a mighty oak. The branches are too high to reach so I sling my weapon, shimmy up the trunk and scramble onto the first branch. Once upon the first branch, it’s easy to climb into the upper canopy. High atop the oak I see for miles. The fall weather is pleasantly warm. I take off my field jacket wrap it around my M-16 and wedge it between two limbs for a seat. I lean against the trunk and watch below.
I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Enjoying the solitude, I begin to meditate and become attuned to the trees and sky. I open my eyes and see a Marine run past. He has two weapons and I watch him toss one into thick bushes. He did it so fast that at first, I thought I only imagined it. I scan the way he ran, but he disappears under the canopy and gone.
I do not go after the guy or the weapon. I take note of the time and location and head straight for the command tent looking for Coronel Nelson. I find him talking with the General and so I wait, slowly moving closer shifting my feet. As soon as the general is gone, I report. “Corporal Caldwell, reporting, sir.”
Nelson knows I wouldn’t breach chain of command and report to him unbidden, so he has my attention. I explain what I saw. He looks around for anyone listening.
“Come with me,” he commands. He leads me to the Intel-van and locks the door.
“Did you get a good look at him?”
No, sir I reply.
“Do you know exactly when and where he stashed the weapon?”
Yes, sir I respond.
I could find that oak tree in pitch dark. He explains to me how the thief will quickly stash the weapon and come back later after everyone has gone. The Coronel must be planning a stakeout. He sends me out for Gunny Ginsberg and together we plot the exact location on map and satellite. Being intimate with the tree and surrounding area makes it easy for me to find it on satellite image. I draw a rendering of the landscape and an overhead map to scale. The coronel greedily snatches up the map, orders me to secrecy then dismisses me back to work the mock exercise. After that I am out of the loop and never hear of it again. I assume he caught the thief and took all the credit for himself.
Back in the command tent I go over the latest intelligence and join the mock war. That evening I am given the opportunity to brief the general. I have a pretty good handle of the enemy positions, numbers and equipment but haven’t developed an overall conclusion. General Cook enters the briefing room, struts before maps and charts then takes his place at the head of the conference table. He flicks invisible dust from his shoulder. The assembled officers stand easy, silently watching me as I tug at my jacket, fidget with my pointer. Coronel Nelson is there along with my peers. I take my place smartly before the map and begin. Good evening, General, my name is….
“Carry on, Corporal Caldwell!” General Cook scowls.
His cold eye roves over the assembled officers before settling back on me.
I’m not intimidated by his exalted rank, and start right in.
“As the General can see....”
The brief goes on for a good 20 minutes. The General interrupts me several times with questions concerning enemy artillery, enemy aircraft, their rounds and maximum effective range. Many hours of studying the Janes encyclopedia of military weapons have me smoothly providing facts and specifications. My navigation skills provide detailed information on terrain, and I complete the brief with a full weather report and five-day forecast. The room is silent a moment before the General asks me for a conclusion.
I lamely provide some basic Warsaw pact missions and mumble something about strategic control the European plain and the Baltic Sea. The room seems eerily quiet when suddenly he laughs then asks about enemy moral. I wasn’t expecting the question. I think about my own moral and respond.
“I haven’t seen the intelligence General, but I assume they are afraid of nuclear war and hope to have a peaceful resolution.”
I set down my pointer and stand to. He frowns soberly, “That will be all, Corporal.”
Everyone begins talking as I make my escape out back for a smoke. Jackson and Lemon come out and congratulate me on my brief. “That was awesome!” Jackson says. “You never said sir once.” True, I called him general which is easier when briefing than saying sir. General sounds better than sir, it reminds him of his exalted rank. Two weeks later I am deployed to Norway aboard the USS Inchon.
I march into Coronel Nelson’s office, stop three paces from his desk and report. Corporal Caldwell reporting, Sir. Coronel Nelson’s gaunt face has an unhealthy grey complexion.
“At ease Corporal. You are hereby detached to 2nd Brigade, Operation Able Archer, commanded by Coronel Stone. Report to Major Collins at S-3, he will show you around your new command.”
He hands me a binder. Eager to be dismissed, I take the binder and stand to. I can see there is something else in the way he is staring at me.
“I want you to report to the career officer this afternoon and consider reenlistment.” He, says.
I have been getting calls from the career officer, but I have been blowing him off. They are offering me Sgt. and a twenty thousand enlistment bonus. Before I can tell him that I have no intention of reenlisting he says,
“Don’t say anything right now. Go on this operation and think about it.”
There is nothing to think about.
By the way, he adds, “You’re acting S-2 officer until they get more personnel.”
I knew about the upcoming operation, and was expecting the deployment, but I am completely caught off guard by the responsibility of it. The fact that an S-2 officer normally holds the rank of Captain is not lost on me. Coronel Nelson can see that I am overwhelmed.
“Gunny Sgt. Ginsberg will help you with a list of material you will need, dismissed.
The next morning, I report to Brigade headquarters precisely 0800 hours.
“The Coronel will see you now.”
The young aid opens the hatch.
“Thank you.”
I tug at my blouse and run my fingers through my hair. Once again, I find myself nervously reporting to a new Commanding Officer. I hear he is well respected by the troops but demanding and critical of his junior officers. I come to attention before Coronel Stone’s desk. I hold my salute and take a moment to notice his appearance. He reminds me of my stepfather Jerry only a little younger. His hair is all grey, but his skin is flush and smooth. He smiles at me unlike any senior officer I have ever seen. His eyes are not the soulless eyes of a warlord, like Jerry, they are bright with wonder.
“As you were.” He, says.
He gives me an appraising glance. “Welcome aboard!”
Thank you, Coronel.
He asks me about my service and as it turns out he knows Captain Sharp. They went to academy together. I talk about scuba diving, and he tells a funny story about Captain Sharp. I like him and I can tell he likes me. He apologizes about the lack of personnel and assures me we won’t sail without a full complement of intelligence staff.
I trust you have everything you need?
Yes sir.
Very well, dismissed.
I spend several days collecting supplies and packing them into wooden tactical boxes, most of its manuals and office supplies. I make stencils and neatly paint our tactical makings upon the boxes. Gunny Ginsberg is a great help mentoring and preparing me for my mission. Two weeks go by and I’m still acting S-2 officer. I enjoy the freedom and spend the extra down time studying the country and how it relates strategically. The Gulf Stream runs along the coast of Norway keeping it ice free year-round well above the Arctic Circle. Norway is the Northern flank of NATO and shares a one hundred twenty-mile border with the USSR. It is here the cold war is rehearsed. My excitement grows as I realize I’ll be crossing the Arctic Circle, seeing another face of the world.
An important part of intelligence is climate and weather and I start visiting the metrological center. I tackle the complexities of intelligence work like an academic historian. Old fears of nuclear Armageddon resurface as I think about an escalating conflict, culminating in a nuclear attack. This sort of military dress rehearsal has been held many times in the past. The Blue forces (NATO) defends the allies from the invading Red, forces (Warsaw Pact). It is a dummy run, and no nuclear weapons are deployed.
Two days before our schedule departure, my relief finally arrives. I walk into my office and find it full of people. Everyone has been wondering where I have been. Major Collins is there and introduces me to my new superiors, Warrant Officer Malcomb, Gunnery Sgt. Hogan, and Sgt. Meacham. The Warrant officer seems anxious and starts right in on me wanting to inventory all our supplies. I hand him the manifest, but he wants to physically check each item. We go through six boxes of gear before completing the inventory. After we finish, he seems more relaxed. There is a seventh box which the Gunny is trying to open.
“What’s in this one?” he asks.
Nothing, I say.
They all stare at me for a moment before I explain, “That box is empty so we can fill it with stuff we find while we’re over there.”
I smile, walk out the office, and head to the Mess Hall.
J.D Caldwell