Night Shift
The duty roster was posted, and I read the discouraging news. I had drawn the midnight shift on Christmas Eve. This year should have been different. I should be home with my wife and new son, born only two months before. Alas, there is no Christmas vacation in the United States Air Force; above all we must complete our mission.
My mission that bitterly cold Oklahoma night was to wait. Wait for fire; wait for an airplane crash, or other such emergency. I worked in the office of operations for my unit. Sort of the 9-11 center for the squadron.
Usually the work was uneventful. Air traffic was thin, and most of the troops had gone home on leave. The airbase at midnight had all the marks of a ghost town. During such times, the hours march slowly on the duty clock.
I worked the shift alone, as is often the case with mid shift in Job Control, basically Command and Control for all of the communications and air traffic control for our base. The routine was broken only by an occasional visit by a similarly vexed air cop, the midnight shift was at best boring...especially for one such as me, counting the days until my enlistment was up. Ah well, nothing to do but settle in with a good book. With any luck the phones would remain silent, and I wouldn’t have to call and wake the commander. Making such a call was never welcome, and never more so than on this silent night.
The Old Man was a cranky sort…a Lieutenant Colonel bucking for a promotion. Just down from Washington long enough to get eagles on his collar, then onward and upward with his career. Smallish and balding, he was not the imposing officer we had expected when we heard of his pending arrival. But in short order he managed to get the word through the ranks that he was there to shape the squadron up in a hurry. Open rank inspections, not endured since boot camp, now became a Friday ritual. Sort of like winning the lottery in reverse. Haircut and uniform violations, once tolerated under the previous command were now handled with a heavy hand. If you remember the old MASH TV series and the command transition from Henry Blake to Colonel Potter, you will understand precisely what we went through.
I carried out my duties behind security doors with access only allowed from within. The locks had no keys, so to gain access one had to press a door buzzer indicating a need to enter to the airman on duty.
Safe in my inner sanctum, boots removed for comfort, I slouched into my battleship gray military issue chair, immersed in a plot line courtesy of Louis L’Amour.
Suddenly, the door buzzer rang. Great, what time is it? 0300 hours…the sky cop must be off his feed, he usually comes round at 0100 hours for some conversation and a Coke. I shuffled to the door stocking footed, and peeking through the peephole, spied the commander in all his glory. What in the name of all that is holy was the old man creeping around at this hour for? I couldn’t make sense of it, but ran back to throw my boots on before opening the door.
“Good evening sir, can I help you?”
“Sergeant, how goes the watch?”
“All quiet sir…uh, is there something you wanted?”
“Yes, there is son,” he said, pressing a small wrapped present into my hands. “Merry Christmas, from the missus and me. Good night!”
He turned before I could mumble a stunned response…”uh, M- Merry Christmas to you sir!”
I retired to my desk and peeled back the paper, liberating the contents...an assortment of freshly baked breads…cranberry, cinnamon, blueberry. I was in shock. I marveled at the generosity of this man…not in the value of the gift, but the choice he made to bring it to me in the middle of my shift. Visiting at the beginning or end of the shift would have been more efficient, as he would have been able to distribute the gifts to both the outgoing and incoming shifts.
Well, what do you know…the old man has a human side after all.
Come to think of it, isn’t that what Christmas is about? Someone giving up privilege for service, comfort for sacrifice, and glory for ridicule?
Though the event occurred years ago, not a Christmas passes that I don’t think of the Colonel and wonder where he is and what he is up to. And how many other young men he taught the meaning of Christmas to on the night watch.
Merry Christmas Colonel.
My mission that bitterly cold Oklahoma night was to wait. Wait for fire; wait for an airplane crash, or other such emergency. I worked in the office of operations for my unit. Sort of the 9-11 center for the squadron.
Usually the work was uneventful. Air traffic was thin, and most of the troops had gone home on leave. The airbase at midnight had all the marks of a ghost town. During such times, the hours march slowly on the duty clock.
I worked the shift alone, as is often the case with mid shift in Job Control, basically Command and Control for all of the communications and air traffic control for our base. The routine was broken only by an occasional visit by a similarly vexed air cop, the midnight shift was at best boring...especially for one such as me, counting the days until my enlistment was up. Ah well, nothing to do but settle in with a good book. With any luck the phones would remain silent, and I wouldn’t have to call and wake the commander. Making such a call was never welcome, and never more so than on this silent night.
The Old Man was a cranky sort…a Lieutenant Colonel bucking for a promotion. Just down from Washington long enough to get eagles on his collar, then onward and upward with his career. Smallish and balding, he was not the imposing officer we had expected when we heard of his pending arrival. But in short order he managed to get the word through the ranks that he was there to shape the squadron up in a hurry. Open rank inspections, not endured since boot camp, now became a Friday ritual. Sort of like winning the lottery in reverse. Haircut and uniform violations, once tolerated under the previous command were now handled with a heavy hand. If you remember the old MASH TV series and the command transition from Henry Blake to Colonel Potter, you will understand precisely what we went through.
I carried out my duties behind security doors with access only allowed from within. The locks had no keys, so to gain access one had to press a door buzzer indicating a need to enter to the airman on duty.
Safe in my inner sanctum, boots removed for comfort, I slouched into my battleship gray military issue chair, immersed in a plot line courtesy of Louis L’Amour.
Suddenly, the door buzzer rang. Great, what time is it? 0300 hours…the sky cop must be off his feed, he usually comes round at 0100 hours for some conversation and a Coke. I shuffled to the door stocking footed, and peeking through the peephole, spied the commander in all his glory. What in the name of all that is holy was the old man creeping around at this hour for? I couldn’t make sense of it, but ran back to throw my boots on before opening the door.
“Good evening sir, can I help you?”
“Sergeant, how goes the watch?”
“All quiet sir…uh, is there something you wanted?”
“Yes, there is son,” he said, pressing a small wrapped present into my hands. “Merry Christmas, from the missus and me. Good night!”
He turned before I could mumble a stunned response…”uh, M- Merry Christmas to you sir!”
I retired to my desk and peeled back the paper, liberating the contents...an assortment of freshly baked breads…cranberry, cinnamon, blueberry. I was in shock. I marveled at the generosity of this man…not in the value of the gift, but the choice he made to bring it to me in the middle of my shift. Visiting at the beginning or end of the shift would have been more efficient, as he would have been able to distribute the gifts to both the outgoing and incoming shifts.
Well, what do you know…the old man has a human side after all.
Come to think of it, isn’t that what Christmas is about? Someone giving up privilege for service, comfort for sacrifice, and glory for ridicule?
Though the event occurred years ago, not a Christmas passes that I don’t think of the Colonel and wonder where he is and what he is up to. And how many other young men he taught the meaning of Christmas to on the night watch.
Merry Christmas Colonel.
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