The “base” I did time at in South Korea was actually kind of two bases.  One we lived in – a small MASH type place where we lived and played in Quonset huts – the other was the missile site.  That’s where the guys in the missile business, meaning those of us who weren’t cooks or clerical puds, spent our working time.  The missile site was a couple of miles up the mountain from our home site and was a high security area, with roaming patrols, fences, guard dogs, and loaded guns.  It also had living spaces, although they were pretty sparce.  Our unit rotated with other units around South Korea the duty of maintaining a “Hot” status.  This was supposed to mean that if the whistle blew, the balloon went up, or the shit hit the fan we (in Hot Status) would be able to start shooting down fighters in just a matter of minutes.  What it meant to us Privates was that during Hot Status we had to spend the night up there to be near our missiles.  It didn’t seem to bother our superiors that the North Koreans knew we were there, too.  Word on the street was that we had a six minute life expectancy should war break out.  It was believable enough that I worked out my own plan that involved getting the hell off of that missile site after arming the nine missiles under our control and before artillery started falling and blowing off the top of our mountain.   I have never considered this cowardly or traitorous.  I had a few tasks that a sleeping monkey could’ve performed that allowed the officers in the control center to fire the missiles.  Theoretically, we were to reload the launchers once the missiles were fired.  I didn’t consider that a very plausible scenario given that we could be reached from North Korean airspace in about 30 seconds flight time in a supersonic fighter/bomber.

At any rate, my point is that there were sleeping accommodations on the site.  Meaning bunks gathered around a diesel space heater that held just enough fuel that someone had to walk a ½ mile in the snow at about 3:00 AM to refill it and keep it running and warm.

We were mostly 18 years old, away from home for the first time, and in a foreign land.  To say that we got into a little trouble would be understating the issue.  Given where we were and who we were, our officers were quite a bit more lenient than what was usual in the armed forces.   And given that there were only 100 or so of us, they couldn’t very well throw us all in jail.  What they did when we misbehaved, was send us to the missile site to spend a few nights in a kind of detention as punishment.  As I mentioned, we were young and pretty stupid.  Most weekends we would board a bus and make the seriously long, adventurous journey to Seoul where the real action was.  During one of these trips I was having such a good time (I think, I don’t actually remember) that I let Monday morning come and go before realizing that I was supposed to be at work.

That afternoon I found myself standing in front of our Lieutenant who appeared to be in a relatively good mood this time.  He says “Pack your stuff and head for the site for 4 days.  When you come down, I want a full, written report on what you did while away on vacation.”  At this stage of my military career I was pretty accustomed to being sent to the missile site and I enjoy writing, so all things being equal, this wasn’t too bad.

On the site was an office building, well there were about 3 offices in it and it was about as the size of a garage.  There was an office there for keeping track of when the snow got dusted off the missiles, or whatever paperwork would be necessary in a closed, military environment.  It was perfect for my assignment.  I sat down at the typewriter and wrote the only thing that leapt from my mind:   pornography.

I wrote four pages of the most detailed, descriptive, blow-by-blow (pardon the pun) sexual activity that you can imagine, including bodily fluids and deviant behavior.  That none of it was true really didn’t matter much to the author.  I had a blast writing it.  And when I had finished, I looked upon my masterpiece and set about putting the finishing touches on it.  That consisted of putting it into a manila folder.  Looking around the desk, I found a little rack that held a variety of rubber stamps.  After examining all of them, I settled on the one that simply said:  “TOP SECRET”.  I don’t believe that there was any top secret material on our site, but it seemed perfect for my work at the time.  Finding a red ink pad, I thoroughly stamped TOP SECRET on the top and bottom of each page, as well as a few times on the folder for good measure.

The presentation of my report to the Lieutenant went pretty well.  He offered no criticism of my work (or vacation) and after what seemed to me to be a rather cursory examination of the report he simply asked that I get the hell out of his office.  I was beaming with pride and it was Friday which, of course, meant it was time to head for Seoul. 

I took two things with me to Seoul that afternoon:  my guitar and my report.  There was a son of an Air Force Colonel, who was a fighter jock, that I had befriended there and I frequently stayed at their home.  I am still impressed that they were so hospitable to me, being a lowly enlisted guy and all.  Anyway, we played guitars together and I wanted to show him my “report”.

My first stop after getting off the bus in Seoul was a nice “cafeteria” on the main base.  I sat at a table with my guitar case on the floor and my report in front of me and had a couple of beers in blissful solitude.  I was at peace with the world.  After finishing my beers I opened my guitar case, laid the folder on the instrument, and closed it up, thinking that this would make for easier travel to my friends house.  I got up with my guitar and left the building crossing the ornate parade grounds in front of some large official building where the U.N. kept it’s honor guards.   That is to say that I tried to cross it.  About 50 feet from the cafeteria I was confronted by a short, serious man in a business suit.  As he introduced himself he held out a wallet/badge sort of like the FBI does when identifying themselves.  I’m pretty sure that I could not recall his name, even under hypnosis, due to the fact that this was pretty unnerving – even by my standards. 

I do, however, remember the conversation.  It went something like this:

“I’m Special Agent SoandSo from Blah blah.  Who are you?”

I sheepishly identified myself.

“What’s in the case?”

Now, I may not be the brightest bulb in the yard, but it kind of slammed home what this was all about at this moment.  So, in my best straight face, I said:

“A guitar.  And a story I wrote.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“No sir, you go right ahead.”

He opened the guitar case and there was an audible trumpet chorus that went “TA DA” as he gazed upon the TOP SECRET folder.

“What’s this?”, he asked.

“A story I wrote.”

“Uh huh”, he said as he eyeballed it suspiciously.

He picked up the folder obviously pleased with himself for busting up some huge spy ring and opened it, and turned his serious stare to my neatly typed pages.  After about five seconds his eyes widened.  Then he re-adopted the frown and continued, no doubt thinking that what he was reading was some sort of code.  Then his eyes widened again   (I think he might have been at the part with the midget in scuba gear!) and he flipped the page fast.  I detected a slight grin beginning to appear on his face as he tore through the text.  Then his demeanor lightened up a little as he looked through the last couple of pages and he looked at me with incredulous eyes and asked:  “Are you crazy?”

            I didn’t really think he wanted an answer so I just let him continue.  “You can go to jail for this kind of shit!”  He then whipped a big Marks-A-Lot out of his jacket pocket and made me color over all of the “Top Secret” stamps.  I could only assume that he does this all the time, which would explain why he had a marker in his pocket.  Once I finished he told me to get the hell out of there, which I did.

I don’t know what became of that text, but it brought me the closest I’ve ever been to the world of international espionage.  I wasn’t that impressed.

I could’ve kicked that little guy’s ass.

CHEERS! Jekyl