(Editor’s note: Jason wrote this story in May 2010 for Lori Witt to help her gain some publicity within the military community and provide something as a jumping off point for marketing efforts. )

She sits typing on a laptop at a pressboard computer desk in a room not much bigger than a master closet. Sometimes minutes. Sometimes hours. Weather, mood and social schedules can wait. They will wait. They are secondary to the words, and the motivation to prove someone wrong who bet against her.

In every letter, word, paragraph and page, Lori Witt finds her living. “I sometimes joke that I have to write so the voices in my head will shut up,” Lori said, “but I’m only half-joking.  When I get a character in my head, I need to tell his story.  I have literally lost sleep over stories, because I just need to write them.”

It’s paid off for the Woodinville, Wash., native and Navy spouse currently living in Okinawa, Japan. Six adult romance books sold so far. Her books are in top 10 lists on Amazon.com and other book sites across the Web. The first book, Between Brothers, sold in May 2009. Her reaction?

“It’s an awesome feeling, knowing you’ve written something that resonated with someone else, enough that they see it as being marketable.  The feeling never gets old. I usually describe it on my blog as, ‘Excuse me while I go run screaming around the neighborhood a few times.’  This isn’t too far from the truth.”

Neither is the notion that Lori’s success as a writer now is haunted by her past as a self-described eccentric. Growing up, everyone in the house quickly knew the meaning of a closed bedroom door and the muffled sounds of rapid typing. Mom and Dad also put up with her need to try everything: from fencing to showing horses.

As soon as she could write legibly, she penned short stories.  Short stories turned into longer stories, those stories turned into novels. “I finished the first draft of my fantasy novel when I was 19.  I rewrote it two more times (2004 and 2007), then abandoned it when I switched to romance in 2008.”

At about the same time, because someone bet she couldn’t, she wanted out of high school. In her junior year, she entered a program that would allow her to take college classes at night while attending high school in the day, taking full course loads at both schools. She was hell-bent on graduating high school with an associate’s degree, but added the experience was far more valuable than the degree.

“Since I was taking night classes, most of my classmates were working adults, ranging anywhere from their late teens to their mid-50s, from all different economic classes and backgrounds,” Lori said. “I can’t decide if I learned more from the students or the teachers, but you’d better believe it shaped me and, in turn, my writing.”

Lori finished both programs, got married and began the Navy life with her husband, Petty Officer 2nd Class Eddie Witt. However, it wasn’t until November 2008 that she decided to go pro. She entered a popular Internet-based writing contest called “National Novel Writing Month.” That did it.

“Something just clicked,” she said. “After I finished that book, I started the next. Then the next,” she said. “That was 14 novels ago, and I’ve never looked back.”

Aside from Eddie, she’s had help. Some 6,000 miles and nine time zones west, Witt’s self-proclaimed motivator and mentor who writes under the pen name Scarlett Parrish proofs pages, offers advice and stokes the fires from her laptop and chair in Dundee, Scotland. Lori met Parrish at Absolute Write, a 23,000-member strong Web site offering writing advice. They clicked instantly.

“We’re both no-nonsense people. For all our dedication to the craft of writing, when we talk to each other, we have a ‘cut to the chase’ attitude,” Parrish said. “We don’t dress up our intent in descriptive words; we save those for our novels. We’re brutal when critiquing each other’s work. Borderline merciless.”

“She has dared me to write certain stories and made offhand comments that inspired others,” Witt said of Parrish. In one case, they’d been discussing the merits and pitfalls of outlining.  Lori outlined. Parrish refused.  “I decided to give it a try without an outline. So in a show of solidarity, she decided to outline her next book.  The resulting books, which we came up with specifically for this little challenge, turned out to be two of the best books either of us has written to date.”

As close as sisters, the two talk often via instant messenger and e-mail, collaborating and sharing ideas. “Could I write on my own? Could she? Oh yeah. But it wouldn’t be half as much fun,” Parrish said. “And sending each other chapters ‘hot off the press’ is a good way of getting instant feedback which encourages us to keep going.”

Meanwhile, the subject matter of Witt’s genre always raises an eyebrow. Adult romance isn’t mainstream, but the markets are there, especially in eBooks, where Lori does much of her business. Sales of eBooks are up 35 percent from 2008. Royalties average between 5 and 8 percent, and advances can be as high as $10,000.

The downside? Seventy percent of the books published do not earn out their advance and do not make a profit, according to the Jenkins Group, a book publisher. There’s also the stigma the genre presents.

“The reader can always tell if the author has written something they feel is distasteful. It’s simply a matter of personal choice,” said genre blogger Morgan Hawke. “To many people, fiction is an outlet and/or an art. To me it’s a way to pay the bills. Either you like writing erotic romance or you don’t. It’s not a bad thing – it’s just a thing.”

Lori is straightforward about her work. “I’m in this to make a living, but I’m also in this to write quality fiction.  My writing partner and I both aim to raise standards, particularly in our genres,” she said.

She’s also raising the bar in sheer volume. In 2009, by her own account, Lori wrote 1 million words. That’s the novel Twilight eight and a half times. Six Da Vinci Codes. Four thousand double-spaced pages. And she reached that number before the year even ended. Someone bet that she couldn’t do it and she proved them wrong again.

“I used to be the queen of starting but not finishing things,” she said. “Hitting this goal meant I could not only set myself a lofty goal, but I could reach it.”

With 14 total books in her portfolio, and another sold March 1, Lori continues to make her living with words. She’s started a literary novel and another in the works “that can’t decide what genre it is.” Parrish said the formula to Lori’s success is easily made.

“Strengths? Her work ethic. We’re tired of people saying, ‘I don’t have time to write.’ You know what? There are 24 hours in everyone’s day. She makes time, not excuses.”

“I want to branch out just to try new things,” Lori added. “That, and everything I write teaches me something. So I want to see what other genres can teach me to improve my writing across the board.

Don’t bet against her.

(Note: Lori can also be found on her blog at http://navywifeadventures.blogspot.com)

(Note: This article appeared in Air Force News Service and Airman magazine in Fall 2005.)

by Jason Tudor

The thumbtacks number in the hundreds. Blue. Yellow. Red. Green. White. They cover a large white map of Baghdad’s southwest side like some creation Picasso might have made on a child’s Lite-Brite toy.

Red tacks are the favorite for dirty, worn thumbs that must press them into the map. Each time a member of the Air Force explosive ordnance disposal team at Sather Air Base, Baghdad, Iraq, pushes one in, it means they destroyed another Improvised Explosive Device that could have potentially killed someone.

The yellow (unexploded ordnance), white (weapon caches) and blue tacks — representing an EOD response where nothing was found — are just as important. A red tack with a black top means something’s already exploded.
Using a variety of high-tech equipment, special clothing and training, the 12 members of the EOD team have dealt with 62 IEDs and 1,685 UXOs in just 90 days. They’ve destroyed almost 54,000 small arms and a van packed with about 700 pounds of explosives.

Given the danger of their mission, Tech. Sgt. Michael Lenfesty said there’s no place he’d rather be working.

“ This is the culmination of all of our training in our EOD career,” said the EOD craftsman.

The work is “feast or famine,” he said. Some days there are no calls. On others there may be eight or nine.

“ We’re not typical emergency responders, but we do respond to certain emergencies,” the sergeant added.

The team’s area of response includes the Baghdad International Airport complex plus a chunk of land outside the wire that amounts to an area about twice the size of Washington, D.C. They are among few Airmen at Sather who go outside the base perimeter. Within minutes of receiving a call, the EOD team suits up with 45 pounds of extra gear and roll out in their armored vehicles. They may respond to a simple call like picking up an unexploded rocket or may spend more than four hours disarming a roadside IED. All the while, looking for additional hidden explosives set to specifically kill EOD responders.

Inside the wire and the 447th Air Expeditionary Group, people like Senior Airman Nicole Gonzalez are EOD’s eyes and ears. Airman Gonzalez is part of the 447th Air Expeditionary Group readiness team, who teaches others how to spot UXOs. Her team frequently uses all-terrain vehicles to conduct searches throughout the base. She’s been close — too close — to the action three times so far, she said.

“ We were pouring cement for a tent and all of a sudden, a UXO rolled out. We thought it was a rock. Then, we went, ‘Whoa!’ and realized it wasn’t a rock,” she said. “We cleared the area and called EOD. They made it safe, but it was a live one.”

Explosive ordnance disposal practitioners know their work isn’t an exact science. Even their technical orders shout, “good luck!”

One order reads: “There is no “safe” procedure for rendering safe and disposal, merely a procedure which is considered least dangerous.”

Another more tongue-in-cheek phrase says that: “EOD is a science of vague assumptions based on debatable data taken from inconclusive experiments with instruments of problematic accuracy by persons of questionable mentality.”

While ambiguity appears to abound, all the EOD troops agree they’re happy to be doing their work in the “real world.” Senior Airman Mike Credidio, who’s been disarming explosives for a year and a half, said the hands-on work is amazing.

“It’s a rush. It’s always a rush. We actually get to do our job here,” he said. The job changes every day, so “the enemy is constantly changing how they set up IEDs for us and we keep changing with them, and beating them every time.”

Almost gone are the days where a human has to walk up to an explosive to render it useless. Now, technicians use a herd of robots. The larger robots are actually used to view and disarm a bomb, using metal claws, shotguns and other means.

EOD has turned toys into tools. Radio-controlled off-road vehicles formerly raced as hobbies have turned into couriers. The senior airman said the “Bomb Bots” carry tools or other items to the larger robots during an incident.

At the end of each day, colored thumbtacks will continue to be pressed into the map. However, Sergeant Lenfesty said, the goal is to ensure, regardless of what color is added, everyone involved is safe.

“ When we pull up to a roadside bomb, past a convoy of troops that’s three miles long, take care of the threat and make sure those people are safe, that’s what matters,” he said.

(Originally published in Airman magazine in June 2002)

In another time, they’d creak along huddled in hundreds of bulky wooden wagons filled with their effects. Through thick brown mud, over huge sand dunes and huddled for warmth in the cold, the wheels of this band of gypsies would roll along.  The words from a traditional gypsy song might best sum up their lives:

And their captain was a handsome man
He had a sword and what looked like a plan
But there was something wrong in his eyes
Bloodshot and bleary from too many nights

Eyes, minds and bodies are often weary because Air Force air control squadrons travel constantly. Global conflicts, exercises and training keep wheels moving from place to place. Home is the place where the equipment is stored. It’s a relative spot for those who can be deployed as many as 250 days each year.

Almost vanquished in the mid-1990s, air control squadrons in Europe and Korea are suddenly vital again. Deploying from locations around the world, they roll into place, hoist their radar and begin work. In doing so, they provide a piece of the airborne battlefield picture, meshing their data with that of the E-3 airborne warning and control system and E-8C joint surveillance target attack radar system. When all the puzzle pieces come together, theater commanders see the complete battlefield from top to bottom.

In another role, a 50-year-old U.S. air control unit camped on Iceland’s tundra provides that nation’s only air warning capability. Coupled with American F-15s prowling Iceland’s shoreline, air controllers have caught Soviet Bear bombers and more.

Most assigned to these military gypsy caravans understand the nature of the business. There are three to four deployments each year, some 100 days or longer. That means frequent time away from home. But Staff Sgt. Dee Yates, an operator for more than 12 years, enjoys her nomadic life.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said. “It’s what I joined the Air Force for.”

The gypsy soul

Airmen from Spangdahlem Air Base’s 606th Air Control Squadron in Germany know the refrain all too well:

I see the war and peace
I see the death and birth
I see all the bloodshed
For I have a gypsy soul

From its roots in Texas, the squadron’s three-hour notice to deploy to Pusan, Korea, in 1950, its movement around Bitburg, Basdahl and Dobraberg, Germany, in the 1980s and its eventual settlement at Spangdahlem, the squadron knows the rigors of war.

It spent six months in Italy during Operation Deny Flight controlling 9,600 refueling missions in 1996. It sent 88 vehicles, 800 short tons and 100 troops to Italy for Operation Allied Force in 1999. The 1,600 miles traveled completed what squadron members boast was the longest overland convoy in Air Force history. It sent another 113 troops to Kuwait for Air Expeditionary Force 9 and Operation Southern Watch in 2000. There, controllers tracked more than 3,500 aircraft and controlled 2,400 refueling missions.

Capt. Russ Hayes, who carries one of the squadron’s swords and has the plan, said in addition to the gypsy mentality engrained on everyone’s minds, the squadron offers value to senior leadership.

“An AWACS can’t fly for forever,” he said. “We’re a 24-hour operation. We’re cheap, and we work well with the Army’s missile units.”

Hayes’ unit employs an array of equipment, including the AN-FPS-117 radar and AN/GPA-123 beacon antenna. The sensors coupled with others give the unit greater coverage than most small city airports. The radar works well, Hayes said, through multifaceted conditions, including inconsistent terrain, heavy rain, migrating birds, glaciers and chaff.

There are also several trucks and small trailers filled with computer equipment. Smoky, pungent smelling diesel generators power the unit while thin fiber optic cable connects it all and sends the data to headquarters.
Unfortunately, with a Godzilla-sized infrared/radar “footprint,” Hayes and his fellow gypsies are a ripe target for enemy bombers and guns. Sometimes, that means taking cover from enemy bombs and shooting.

“Our infrared signature is huge,” he said. “Although we have certain countermeasures, no one is a stranger to bunker dives.”

Although his two years served is miniscule compared to many of the squadron’s gypsies, Hayes is well aware of the toll time away can take. He said he and the other squadron leaders take great care in working with airmen, spouses and children to understand and cope with the lifestyle.

“The tempo of operations can be frustrating. We have a United States Air Forces in Europe commitment. We have a NATO commitment. We have our AEF commitment and others,” he said. “We can’t do any of it if we can’t deploy and train.”

Meanwhile, Hayes always looks forward to the next deployment.

“I work with the best bunch of folks in the world. I love being in the field with them,” he said.

Loki’s mischief in Iceland

For more than 50 years, it’s been the Air Force mission to watch the skies of Iceland, reminiscent of another familiar gypsy song verse:

I whiled away all the years of my youth
Tending my fields searching for the truth
Gazing past horizons to the west
Hoping I’d see them before my death

In contrast to their European and Korean counterparts, controllers who wander into Iceland’s 932nd Air Control Squadron at Keflavik Naval Air Station catch a break. The tempo has slowed since the Cold War. Not since 1999 has anyone seen a Russian aircraft or sent an F-15 to chase one.

Codenamed “Loki” — named for the Norse god of mischief — the squadron with 15 outstanding unit awards doesn’t deploy as often. That means Loki’s airmen have ample time to finish an education, spend time with their families or simply drink in the pleasures of an Icelandic tour.

However, there’s still work to be done. Despite a 75 percent annual turnover rate and a 60- to 75-day initial qualification for each new Airman, the squadron manages to keep the air sovereignty big picture focused for the North American Aerospace Defense Command and NATO.

Four radomes — one of which is only reachable by boat — are based on remote parts of the island. They create a blanket of coverage spreading more than 250,000 miles on Iceland and into the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea. A central headquarters houses a secure bunker. Tech. Sgt. Ed Figueroa, an air surveillance technician, has ridden the air control squadron caravan around the world for 14 years. The single father with two children said Loki hasn’t laughed at his need for stability at a crucial point in his life.

“Keflavik has been a blessing. I have a routine. I can spend time with my kids and not have to worry about child care or other issues,” Figueroa said. “I still get a great sense of mission.”

To keep their edge, the controllers practice their skills almost daily with the island’s F-15 quartet. Exercises are usually filled with radio chatter, animated tracking screens and airmen striving to keep their edge on what Iceland’s 85th Group commander Col. Bruce Rember called “an absolutely vital mission.”

Maj. Dale Sinnott, Loki’s operations officer, said while the work differs from their Europe and Korea comrades, the leadership still keeps people on their toes.

“These are the best trained airmen in the career field,” he said. “Anyone here can sit in almost any other position and perform those functions. That’s a luxury we have — being able to train people in a number of different disciplines.”

The caravan rolls on

Admittedly, air control squadron leaders and supervisors have troubles keeping people. Spangdahlem’s Hayes said the travel schedule wears on some, and no amount of talking will keep them from retraining or leaving the service. There’s also an issue with equipment, some of which has been around since the Vietnam War.

“At the least, we want people to understand what they’ll get here,” he said. “We provide a good support structure for spouses, and we’re doing our best to upgrade the equipment. We’re doing as many things as we can to make this life livable.”

Three years as an air surveillance technician for Senior Airman Amber Hartline have given her a favorable impression so far. She’s one of Loki’s controllers and believes the mission is important, regardless of the venue.

“It makes me feel like I belong,” she said. “There’s so much to do, and we’re constantly busy. I’m part of a team.”
Time away from Spangdahlem gives Airman 1st Class Kevin Byers — one of those airmen Hayes will try to retain — an opportunity to study for promotion and read his Bible. Without Byars and the others who maintain the unit’s 35-year-old diesel generators, the unit would come to a standstill.

“It’s nice to have power,” Byars said. “Without power, you’re just camping.”

They still roll through mud, creak through the desert sand and find their way to places most people never go. But for more than 500 men and women in air control squadrons around the world, these words might sum up their careers and signal the start of another deployment:

Then one day they rumbled by
A gypsy caravan the color of the sky
Water sparkled as the wheels turned round
Across the river into the town.

(Originally published March 2003)

Airman 1st Class George Okorodudu admits with a wide smile he has nothing.

For the better part of two years, the Nigerian-born Okorodudu, a deployed supply troop here, has been building his American Dream with a foundation that’s included an Air Force enlistment. Even as he waits for his U.S. citizenship to be finalized, the 25-year-old Okorodudu is excited about what lies ahead.

“The American Dream is to start with nothing and to work your way up in the world,” he said. “I’m excited to try this.”

He should be. Before his immigration, Okorodudu was one six brothers and nine sisters, and one of 30 million Nigerians applying to get a visa to go to the U.S. While his country is rich with natural resources, the nation is flush with poverty, strife and political unrest.

Disease, primarily HIV and AIDS, affects 5 percent of the 129 million people in Africa’s most populous country, where the average life expectancy tops out at 51 years. According to the CIA’s World Factbook 2002, Nigeria is also a safe haven for narcotics traffickers operating worldwide. Money laundering runs rampant.

Okorodudu said poverty and hardship reigned in his home country. He said the education system was broken and many towns still had no electrical power. Still, he said, Nigerians were “always positive” but longing for more.

“Everyone in Nigeria wants to come to the U.S.,” Okorodudu said, “but they see it as an unreachable dream.”

So did he. He knew that of those who applied, only 3,000 would get a visa. He thought, “What do I have to lose?” Nothing, apparently. He applied and received approval. By December 2000, Okorodudu found himself living with one of his sister’s friends in southern California.

After deciding college would be an uphill climb, he looked into a military enlistment — something that required family connections or money in Nigeria.

Now enrolled at Minot State University in North Dakota majoring in sociology and setting his sights on a law degree, Okorodudu is finding success in the Air Force. He scored a 95 on his recent career development course test and is a candidate for a below-the-zone promotion to senior airman.

Staff Sgt. Ryan Brugman has worked with the airman for a little more than a year. Brugman, also deployed here, said if anyone deserves a below-the-zone promotion and to fulfill the American Dream, it’s Okorodudu.

Photo, caption below.
Nigerian-native Airman 1st Class George Okorodudu deployed to RAF Fairford, England. U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Jason Tudor

“George is very sharp and professional,” Brugman said. “He has a great attitude and his initiative is unbeatable.”

Okorodudu misses some aspects of Nigeria, like the food and his family. He talks to his mother once a month. He said she often calls her son “George Bush” because of his American military service. However, he’s relishing his time in the Air Force and should have his citizenship by the time he gets back to Minot.

“It’s awesome,” Okorodudu said about Air Force enlistment. “I had to leave everything behind when I left Nigeria, but the Air Force met my needs and it was a good opportunity. I’m independent.”

Meanwhile, he continues to build on his portion of the American Dream. In Okorodudu’s mind, there’s no turning back. He’s primed himself for success even as his deployed unit builds up for war. He said to complete his vision sacrifices will be made. Duty here is one of them. That duty is turning nothing into something — and it makes him smile.

“It doesn’t matter where you come from. It matters what you bring to the table,” he said. “The cost is worth it. Freedom is worth it.”

Story and photo by Jason Tudor

(Originally written in November 2006, while deployed)

An American Thanksgiving kitchen is often a loud, clattering commotion of cooks, noise, smells and relatives arguing about what time the Dallas Cowboys’ game starts. By the time the chaos settles onto polished dining room furniture, all that’s left are the clean-up, naps and a good game of bid whist.

The same could be said about the 380th Expeditionary Services Squadron’s dining facility kitchen in the days leading up to turkey day. Sans noisy relatives with neverending stories, the 26 people who planned and cooked this base’s formal Thanksgiving meal were hustling now to meet Thankgiving’s 11 a.m. start time — for good reason.

“Yes, people will be away from home, but they will still get the same quality here,” said Tech. Sgt. Jeffrey Slowick, NCO in charge of the dining facility. “This meal is about morale. Everybody gets to sit down and enjoy.”

And, oh, what they will enjoy: three-quarters of a ton of turkey, including 24 whole birds; 350 pounds of ham; 613 pounds of steamship round roast; 56 sweet potato pies; 42 apple and pumpkin pies; and 32 pecan pies.

That’s just a slice of the feast. There are also enough mashed potatoes to make an Idahoan proud, enough cranberry sauce to wrestle in, as well as an assortment of candy, nuts and much more.

Staff Sgt. James Lotz ordered and received that basket of groceries. The $25,000 food order — bought from the Defense Supply Center in Philadelphia — arrived in country Nov. 1. The contractor delivered it here Nov. 15. Everything checked out fine when he got it. But what if it hadn’t?

“We would have sent it back,” he said. “We wouldn’t sacrifice quality for quantity. We would have made Thanksgiving happen another way. It might not have been exactly a Thanksgiving meal, but it would have been Thanksgiving.”

Ten cooks started preparing the meal Nov. 21, three days before the first hungry Airman hits the food line. Sergeant Slowick said the meats get cooked first.

“The cooks pull the meats, put them in a thaw box and start cooking everything to meet demand,” he said. “We have to make sure everything is cooked properly before we put it onto the serving line at 11 a.m.”

He said the most difficult items to prepare are the steamship round roasts. One roast weighs 65 pounds and is slightly larger than a beach ball.

“The roast has to be cooked 14 to 16 hours to make sure it’s the correct temperature inside,” Sergeant Slowick said. “You can’t halfway cook it and start over.”

Turkeys and hams take about three hours to cook. Almost everything else can be done Thanksgiving day. That is, if the equipment cooperates. There have been issues with a few of the ovens in the past.

“There’s going to be a lot of stress on the equipment,” he said. “There are also a lot of things going into the ovens at the same time.”

Even as they preflight the Thanksgiving meal, the dining facility team is still making breakfast, lunch, dinner and a midnight meal. From the start of the week to today, the crew served 11,100 meals. That’s 133 meals served every hour until show time — in addition to flipping and stuffing the holiday birds.

None of this is lost on the facility’s patrons, like Staff Sgt. Scott Harris. The 380th Expeditionary Security Forces Airman knows his Thanksgiving, too. His hometown is a stone’s throw from Plymouth Rock.

“It won’t be the same,” the Carver, Mass., native said. “We usually eat, watch football, and have a good time. Then we head down to Plymouth Plantations.”

However, when Sergeant Harris heard about the volume of food and the effort undertaken by the dining facility workers, he smiled.

“Thank God,” he said. “Their effort is great. It can’t be something that’s easy.”

To ensure those 3,000 meals reach an expected 1,300 people, both dining facility lines will serve holiday food (no snack line). The center of the dining facility will teem with pies, cakes and other goodies.

The combat dining facility is not left out of this fray, either. Workers at the CDK will prepare some food, but most will be brought over during the day. After all, Airmen will still be “meeting the frag” as turkey is served.

Despite the volume of food, there are some things the staff won’t be able to replicate.

“We can’t bring people’s families over,” Sergeant Slowick said. “Some might want snow. Others might want to hit the beach after their meal. Everybody has their own thing and to bring it all into the DFAC is hard to do. We’ll give them comfort and a good meal. The football comes later.”

So, while the chaos of family and commotion of a busy kitchen may be missing for some, the food will be in abundance. Sergeant Harris said that makes it worthwhile.

“In addition to the food, this is a time for everyone to get together and reflect on giving thanks,” Sergeant Harris said. “We can sure be thankful for what the dining facility has done.”

Story and photo by Tech. Sgt. Jason Tudor

GARMISCH-PARTENKIRCHEN, Germany, April 9, 2009 — A “comprehensive approach” to regional stability and military planning is both historical and prudent to a continued peace, the military leader of Italy’s armed forces said here yesterday.

Italian Gen. Vicenzo Camporini, chief of the Italian defense general staff, spoke to about 100 students from various European and Eurasian nations attending the Program in Advanced Security Studies at the George C. Marshall European Center for Security Studies.

The general said he wants students to understand his message about a comprehensive approach to stability and military planning, while knowing that history is on their side.

“Some things have been true through history,” he said. “So, don’t jump out and say, ‘We’ve discovered a new world!’ The essence is that nothing has changed, but everything is changing.”

The general’s discussion highlighted works from Machiavelli, as well as touching on historical examples such as the creation of “war cabinets” by the United Kingdom during World Wars I and II.

“How the old principles can be implemented today is important,” Camporini said. “That is the essence of my message.”

Camporini also talked about Italy’s bolstering of troops in Afghanistan. Italy pledged to grow its presence there by more than 20 percent, from about 2,300 soldiers to about 2,800.

“We believe Afghanistan is the top priority for the Western world,” Camporini said. “Afghanistan is the place where the threat to our societies has grown. We cannot afford to have parts of the world where those who hate our way of life can nurture activities against us.”

Meanwhile, Afghanistan earned discussion and action during the NATO summit at Strasbourg, France. As the organization celebrated its 60th anniversary, Camporini said, the alliance’s existence never has been more important, and he reminded his audience why.

“When I talk to young students who start complaining about things in their life, I have to remind them that we are living in a golden age in a small part of the world where everybody is free, everybody is fed, everybody has the right to be educated and life is easy,” he said. “This has been possible because of the peace that has been kept in Europe and the Euro-Atlantic area by NATO.

“I do not believe that this is something is just acquired and set for the rest of history,” he continued. “You have to conquer it day by day. That’s why we need NATO today and for the future. We cannot afford a future without this kind of political-military alliance.”

The general also addressed recovery efforts following the April 6 magnitude 6.3 earthquake centered at L’Aquila, Italy, that killed as many as 270 people. He said Italian officials sent 3,000 soldiers and equipment to aid civil protection authorities with medical evacuation and search-and-rescue efforts.

“I am very pleased with the reaction of our military to this effort,” he said.

The Marshall Center is one of five regional centers for security studies belonging to the Defense Security Cooperation Agency, based in Washington, D.C.

(Originally published by DefenseLink.mil April 9, 2009 — By Jason Tudor Special to American Forces Press Service)

(Originally published by DefenseLink.mil April 15, 2009)

GARMISCH-PARTENKIRCHEN, Germany, April 15, 2009 – Rare will be the occasion when the U.S. military will operate by itself. Instead, it will rely on partnerships with other nations going forward, the U.S. Army in Europe’s top officer said here today.

Gen. Carter F. Ham, commander of U.S. Army Europe and 7th Army, told about 150 students at the George C. Marshall European Center for Security Studies that the United States taking action unilaterally would be a “highly unusual” circumstance.

“Building partner capacities” is one of the tenets of how the Army operates in Europe and beyond going forward, the general said, talking about operations and conditions across the theater.

U.S. forces operate with 41 countries in Afghanistan, 32 countries in Kosovo and 25 in Bosnia.

“We will go forward with our allies and partners, developing common tactics, procedures and policies,” Ham said. “We do it because we cannot conduct operations as a single nation any longer.”

The U.S. Army presence in Europe is growing smaller, slashed from a Cold War high of 200,000 to a current size of about 70,000 soldiers. Ham indicated the goal for troops in Europe is about 32,000, which he said presents numerous challenges. Those include NATO Article 5, which says an armed attack on one member nation is an armed attack on all; operations in Iraq and Afghanistan; activity in the Balkans; theater security cooperation; and training exercises in Europe.

“The challenge is this: How I can accomplish the mission with less people and capability while operating with the same capacity?” Ham said. “We’re concerned about sustaining the level of commitment to joint exercises throughout the theater. And we think we can sustain it by building partner capacity.”

In building partnerships, the 33-year Army veteran said, the relationship between the United States and other countries is not senior to junior. “That’s just not the case,” he said. “We will learn as much from our partners as they will learn from us.”

When asked about the “why” of building partnerships, Ham offered three reasons.

First, he said, “the more nations involved, the more legitimacy it has, along with involvement from organizations like the United Nations.”

The second is geographic proximity. “Some nations are very difficult to access,” Ham said. “For example, we rely on Afghanistan’s surrounding neighbors for support.”

Third, as other nations are willing and able to contribute, he said, “that means less U.S. personnel that have to be part of that fight.”

In speaking with the students gathered from 45 countries such as Afghanistan, France, Ukraine and others, Ham talked about keys to success during disputes and discussed the role a military plays in the plan.

“In most cases, the military is an essential, but nondecisive, aspect to success,” he said. “It is the rare circumstance where the military is the decisive instrument.”

In building partnerships, there will be pitfalls, Ham acknowledged. For instance, he said, U.S. and partner militaries work “great” on an operational level, but face challenges on the tactical level. Exercises and education are keys to success, he said, but he added that time, money and resources are precious because of war and struggling economies.

“We have to be persistent about developing tactical relationships,” he said. “There are great challenges, but the U.S. is not alone.”

By Jason Tudor
Special to American Forces Press Service

(Originally published July 2002)

The quote is stuck to a sheet of steel the size of a TV tray. Few people notice the sign, now on the floor of the squadron’s break room, adorned with its cartoonish-looking Soviet mobile rocket launcher and large, all-capital block letters. But the quote, a relic of the Cold War, is priceless.

“A Wild Weasel provides a Warsaw Pact SAM operator the maximum opportunity to give his life for his country.”

Such is the mentality of the F-16CJ pilot. A Scud hunter. A radar killer. A Wild Weasel. He’s an aviator who can intimidate by mere presence, and close the eyes of an enemy nation’s defenses.

In Europe, suppression of enemy air defense — or SEAD — duties fall to the 22nd and 23rd Fighter Squadrons at Spangdahlem Air Base, Germany. Their roles are virtually interchangeable. For example, when one returned home from Operation Northern Watch, the other was on its way to take over the same mission enforcing the U.N.-mabdated northern no-fly zone over Iraq.

Life as a Wild Weasel means many things. It means flying the world’s most advanced F-16s — Lockheed’s Block 50 models — and carrying the sophisticated high-speed anti- radiation missile. It means history. It means being away from home more than a traveling salesman. And it also could mean making the nightly news once a week, targeting and killing Iraqi radar sites.

“We send a message by our mere presence,” said Capt. Jim Cleet, a pilot with the “Big 22.” “The bad guys know we’re carrying the high-speed anti-radiation missiles. It makes them shut down their radars.”

Life as a Weasel
The Wild Weasel lineage for the suppression of enemy air defenses started in March 1965. Flying modified F-100 Super Sabres, the first Wild Weasels launched against North Vietnam targets on Thanksgiving 1965. The Weasels’ primary mission was negating surface-to-air-missile sites. This role eventually evolved into the suppression mission.

The SEAD mission — with a motto of “first in, last out” — means F-16 drivers have to reach out and touch their foe, even at high altitudes. Pilots like Cleet soar into enemy territory hoping enemy ground patrols turn on their radars and find them.

When the enemy turns on its radar, the Wild Weasels find it. Then it’s a race. Who can fire first? Then, who can avoid the oncoming missiles?

Advantage: Wild Weasel. Cleet and his brethren have a Mach 2 — nearly 1,400 mph — passport out of harm’s way. Radar patrols are nearly immobile.

But there’s more to it than that, according to Cleet.

“There’s a lot of coordination that goes on. You have a lot of assets you need to work with,” he said. “There’s also a tough physical and mental challenge. You never want to minimize a threat. You have to have a healthy respect for it.”

Capt. Jed Hutchison from the 23rd Fighter Squadron agreed. “We’re the only guys who do this,” he said. “It’s a huge mental challenge.”

That challenge became fully evident to members of the 23rd Fighter Squadron — deployed to Operation Allied Force as the 23rd Expeditionary Fighter Squadron — on May 2, 1999. During the campaign’s 15th night over Yugoslavia, Capt. Sonny Blinkinsop earned a Silver Star. He destroyed an SA-3 surface-to-air anti-aircraft short-range system designed for destruction of aircraft like his. Then he helped direct defensive aircraft away from anti-aircraft artillery fire.

Twenty-nine days later, SEAD pilots flew as many as 92 missions a night. They were part of nearly 780 sorties per day. At the operation’s end, Spangdahlem’s Fighting Hawks chocked up 4,600 flying hours, 1,071 sorties and fired 191 HARMs.

Col. Greg Ihde, 52nd Fighter Wing commander, said actions like Blinkinsop’s come with the territory. A fast pace, busy days and action “downtown” are not uncommon to any of his team.

“People are pumped. This is what they came in the Air Force for in the first place,” he said. “If we deploy them and they go somewhere and sit, that’s not a good idea.”

Renewed sense of purpose
Spangdahlem’s air space is admittedly confined, and range time is tightly controlled. The weather in southwestern Germany, with its mountain peaks and rolling hills, can turn nasty in a hurry. Snow, rain, fog and gray skies overpowering operations are common during the peak winter months.

To overcome the air space issues, the squadrons train regularly with the Dutch and Belgian air forces. That includes a recent emphasis on night flying, wearing night-vision goggles. The deployment schedule keeps them knee- deep in activity for two-thirds of the year in places like Turkey, Italy, Southwest Asia and points beyond.

And weather? The weather flight can only do so much.

While the colors and conditions of winter can dampen spirits, morale has been nothing but up since Sept. 11. Airmen across the flight line supporting the mission are excited again about their roles. Senior Airman Robert Hoag loads HARMs onto the F-16s. He said the renewed sense of mission has everyone on a high.

“After Sept. 11, we knew we were fighting and bombing things for a purpose. Deploying and the high operations tempo actually pumps people up,” he said.

There’s also a responsibility that comes with the mission. Outfitting and maintaining $20 million airplanes fitted with $200,000 HARMs isn’t something Airman 1st Class James Gilliam, an F-16 crew chief, takes lightly.

“There’s a lot of responsibility. If you jack it up, it’s not going to be your supervisor getting in trouble. It will be you,” he said. “It’s all about attitude. You know you’ll be gone a lot. You know about the weather here. We all learn to get along and do our jobs.”

The wing’s top enlisted person knows the wing’s NATO-ordered workload is demanding. Command Chief Master Sgt. Ken McQuiston said he sees the strain on some airmen’s faces. Deploying them seemingly nonstop to Operations Deliberate Forge, Enduring Freedom, Northern Watch and Provide Comfort takes its toll, especially on families.

“Since Sept. 11, we’ve been on full afterburner,” he said. “When we signed up, we asked to have a target on our chests and backs. But our families didn’t. With every challenge, the wing has performed superbly. It has really responded at a level that puts me in awe.”

McQuiston is one of the people preparing Spangdahlem for a new airlift mission, where as many as 13 C-17s may be parked on the ramp. Keeping his troops aware of their value to the Air Force, NATO and the world is one of his primary concerns.

“Most people here are fighter folks. The sorties will be their first priority. Each person at Spangdahlem is an integral piece of the puzzle,” he said.

Hoag said he understands teamwork and believes his flying counterparts do, too.

“We put the stuff on the jets that goes boom,” the munitions loader said. “They’d have a hard time blowing things up without us.”

With morale and teamwork at an all-time high, one question lurks for the Wild Weasels: How long will they continue to have jobs?

The not-so-wild Weasel
With the inherent dangers of pilots volunteering as surface-to-air missile targets, the Defense Department is looking at other ways to gouge an enemy’s eyes. One of them could yank the pilot out of the cockpit completely.

It’s called the uninhabited combat aerial vehicle. Recently, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency and Air Force chose Boeing to build it. Command and control systems are being built in Seattle while the airframe takes shape in St. Louis.

Entering its second phase, the four-year, $131 million program will demonstrate the feasibility for an unmanned system to “effectively and affordably prosecute 21st century suppression of enemy air defenses and strike missions,” according to the agency. The unmanned system is primarily designed to conduct pre-emptive and reactive suppression of enemy air defense missions effectively and affordably against the anticipated 2010 threats, according to the agency’s program manager Larry Birckelbaw.

“[It] is the next step on the path to a revolutionary new weapon system,” Birckelbaw said. “[The unmanned system] exploits real-time, on-board and off-board sensors to quickly detect, identify and locate both fixed and mobile targets. Overcoming the technical challenges to conduct these demanding and dangerous missions with an unmanned system will provide the war fighter with a revolutionary capability that saves lives.”

Where does that leave Wild Weasel flyers in outposts across the globe? Suppression is one of many missions flown by F-16 jocks at the only composite fighter wing north of the Alps. They’ll find other work. But most of the air-breathing Wild Weasels feel like they’ll be around for the foreseeable future.

“We’re a growth business. We provide trained, well-equipped forces for NATO,” Ihde said. “We’ve got the capability, we know all the rules, and we have a lethal and capable force package.”

For pilots like Cleet, there’s more to his duty than capability. There’s heritage, pride and honor.

“Our guys were dodging surface-to-air missiles in Vietnam. We were integral in Desert Storm and Allied Force. There may have been different systems, but it’s the same vital mission,” he said. “Being a part of that day-to-day history is important. It’s important to know where you came from.

“There will always be F-16 HARM shooters,” he added.

Hutchison said the capability is a must-have item on a theater commander’s checklist.

“People have gained a lot of respect for us over the past few years. You don’t go anywhere without us,” he said.

Today’s Wild Weasels give enemy surface-to-air missile operators the same “maximum opportunity” offered by their Cold War counterparts two decades before.

According to Ihde, a 26-year Air Force veteran, giving them this opportunity is Air Force fun like no other.

“It’s not like we’re crazy, but it takes someone with a lot of guts to want to waltz in and have a bad guy ‘light you up,’ ” he said, smiling. “You drive in and hope somebody wants to shoot at your airplane. Then we go to work.

Story by Tech. Sgt. Jason Tudor; photos by Master Sgt. John E. Lasky

(Originally published August 2002)

Every time someone even says the word “closure” around here, someone else giggles. Maybe it’s denial. Maybe the date scratched on everyone’s desk calendars is erased more than an answer on an enlisted promotion test. Or it could be that this place may simply never close. Maybe.

With cargo planes sitting on the runway, 1,100 people living in contingency dorms and facilities reopening to support Operation Enduring Freedom, Rhein-Main Air Base, Germany, is gaining a second wind as it ramps down toward closure.

At this former hub of the Berlin airlift, where nearly 4.7 million pounds of goods left on flights every four minutes, the push to sustain troops for Enduring Freedom is the result of overcrowding.

When war support arched upward, the flight line at Ramstein Air Base, Germany, filled up. Shortly before Thanksgiving 2001, the first aircraft diverted from Ramstein into Rhein-Main. Operations have reached a feverish pace since, and the few hundred remaining people left from the closure team are trying their best to keep up.

“We have lots of facilities — but not lots of people,” said Col. Christine Prewitt, 469th Air Base Group commander. “It’s bizarre. We went from nothing to everything.”

And it’s no secret Prewitt doesn’t have the bodies to sustain the work. The Air Force has brought her nearly 150 others from around the world to augment operations. Three hangars burgeon with active, Reserve, Guard and civilians aimed at getting aircraft “down range” to Afghanistan and beyond.

Senior Airman Darryl Nelson, who works on aircraft environmental electrical systems for Rhein-Main’s 726th Air Mobility Squadron, expected to finish his assignment with little fanfare. He was wrong.

“We had more than 300 aircraft in February. We’ve always had things to do and stayed busy,” he said, “but not like this.”

Strange days indeed
Situated on the southern grounds of Frankfurt International Airport, Rhein-Main’s location and weather bring smiles to aviators across the bluesuit spectrum. However, the airport is growing at an exponential pace. The German government wanted Rhein-Main’s facilities. The Air Force did an assessment and decided it didn’t need Rhein-Main. Simple, right?

Not so much. It’s been more than eight years since the base’s announced closure. Lowry Air Force Base, Colo., on the other hand, closed a little less than three years following its announcement. While the men and women still stationed here took on a caretaker role, the numbers of missions and involvement of operations actually increased.

Airmen on the Main have seen lots of work lately, including:

* Operations Desert Storm/Shield: 3,300 jets per month, 19,000 tons of cargo and 62,000 passengers per month with 685 airmen working.
* Operation Allied Force: From March 25 to July 6, 1999, Rhein-Main generated 1,513 sorties, served 38,121 passengers and handled 6,624 tons of cargo.
* Operation Enduring Freedom: With 110 people in the aerial port, Rhein-Main is moving 600 jets, 7,000 tons of cargo and 20,000 passengers through each month. That’s nearly one jet every hour of the day.

Chief Master Sgt. Bobby Gamsby supervises maintenance and operations on the Rhein-Main flight line. He oversees his folks’ work as well as the work of the airmen deployed from bases in the States.

The 22-year veteran and former command chief at a Southwest Asian base said the job is No. 1 here and keeps the troops motivated.

“This is what they train for,” he said. “The key is teamwork. We have to have everyone in synch. The deployed folks are very happy here, too. The alternative is living in tents.”

But not everyone is keen on the frantic gait of operations. Staff Sgt. Christian Stamper provides aircraft services for Rhein-Main’s airlift contingent. He cleans the aircraft, removes the waste from the septic tanks and helps load the jets again to go down range.

Stamper released a big sigh and made a slight grin when he thought about all he’s done over the past few months.

“I don’t think I’ll miss this,” he said. “It’s a challenge. It’s a double-edged sword, but I definitely feel like I’m contributing. It’s clicked that I’m helping.”

Senior Airman Tiffany Sisneros crawls around in fuel tanks, performing upkeep and making repairs for the airlift contingent. Rhein-Main’s 2001 airman of the year understands the sacrifice she and others are making.

“It hurts a lot of families, but those are the things we have to sacrifice,” she said.

Closed facilities have presented another challenge to Prewitt and her closure team. With sometimes three to four visiting airmen crammed into a contingency dorm room, she and services director William Wilson are racing to find ways to keep the troops entertained.

Formally known as Frankfurt-am-Main, the city is a 652,000-strong bustling zenith of international life that gobbles up about 97 square miles in the German state of Hesse. Some airmen will make the short drive into town to regale at many of the cosmopolitan stops, but many won’t.

That’s why Prewitt and Wilson spent money to upgrade the Rocket Sports Lounge. With a dance floor, bar, kitchen, video games, pool table and big-screen televisions, the Rocket resembles hundreds of other clubs around the Defense Department and is just a few hundred feet away from the dorms. Before Thanksgiving 2001, few people patronized it. Now it bulges with business, sometimes pulling $1,500 a night.

Throw money into a club less than three years away from closure? Wilson said it’s necessary given the war on terrorism and the commander’s need to care for workers.

“We’re not afraid to spend the money to make this happen,” he said.

That closure business
Retired Master Sgt. Paul Molnar may know the ins and outs of Rhein-Main better than anyone. The 21-year veteran spent time crawling around building heating and air conditioning systems as a technician and operations chief. Fittingly, he’s now Rhein-Main’s closure officer, and he may wear the widest cautionary smile when discussing the topic.

Molnar said Rhein-Main is obligated to maintain a mission-ready posture until its date of closure.

“We aren’t in a normal closure situation,” he said. “But what goes on doesn’t affect our operations. We’re pushing on, and we have a plan.”

Complex and partially executed, the Rhein-Main closure plan involves returning the facilities to the private contractor that owns the international airport. Some facilities, like the fitness center and bowling center, were turned over early on. Other areas, like hangars and flight line space, are being returned piece by piece.

The airport’s encroachment has squeezed Air Force flight line life into a smaller than average area. Operations run out of a handful of buildings and two hangars. But there are still questions as to whether Rhein-Main will cease to exist after 2005.

“The closure timeline is a sensitive issue with Hessen [state] officials,” Molnar said. “The airport is an integral part of its economy. That’s why the state wants to expand it.”

In fact, some 18.6 million passengers used Germany’s largest airport in the first five months of this year. It moved 594,600 metric tons of airfreight and had 184,300 flights. In 2001, it moved 1,494,100 metric tons of airfreight and had 456,452 flights, and airport officials are projecting 656,000 flights by 2015 while moving 2.75 million metric tons of cargo.

“Frankfurt wants to be the center of the European economic community,” Molnar added. “The airport is integral to that.”

The closure date, Prewitt said, is contingent upon a number of things. To accommodate the airlift, construction to build ramp space and facilities is underway at Ramstein and Spangdahlem Air Bases. But until those bases are done, she said, the date is tentative.

“The goal,” Molnar emphasized, “is 2005. The question is, ‘When?’ ”

Second guessing
The line of people who lobby for keeping the base open because of good weather, location and historical value is longer than an opening day for a “Star Wars” film. There are plenty of people who’ve second-guessed Rhein-Main’s closure.

Molnar is one of them. “The weather is great, and there’s so much diversity here,” he said. “Also, we’re next to an international airport. When the high rollers come to town, it’s easier to fly out of Frankfurt than have to drive 100 miles to get here.”

Prewitt is another, though more impartial. “People really don’t believe that Rhein-Main is going to close. It would be a great loss for the Air Force. It’s a tremendous airfield,” she said.

Airman 1st Class Brandon Blanks, who’s assisting security forces personnel, believes Rhein-Main will fade into history.

“I don’t think many people are going to miss it,” he said. “There may be a couple of people, but I don’t think it will hurt too many people’s feelings.”

Despite what many feel, the return of the base to the German government became official in December 1999. There’s plenty of money involved, too. The Frankfurt Airport company is paying $127 million of the total $365 million cost for relocating the air base facilities, the largest portion. Hesse is paying $37 million, Frankfurt $45 million, the state of Rhineland-Palatinate $17 million and the German federal government $61 million. NATO is pitching in $78 million. A contract was also signed for handing over the Berlin Airlift Memorial to the Frankfurt airport.

In other words, based on the committed dollars, closure is coming.

Meanwhile, people are keeping their erasers at the ready just in case anything changes, and Prewitt is proud of the way everyone is focused supporting whatever the Air Force asks.

“It’s a unique challenge. People here have a great mission, and it’s important for them to know that,” she said. “They feel like they are part of something special.”

(Story by by Tech. Sgt. Jason Tudor; photos by Master Sgt. John E. Lasky)

(Originally published October 2002 by Airman magazine)

Forget the mission. Everyone talks about Iceland’s weather. It’s like some Shakespearean character inspiring defiance, tragedy and romance in one sitting.

Winds rage across the Reykjanes peninsula’s black pumice-crusted skin providing commercial airline passengers landing there the rush of a first-time bungee jump. Cold’s teeth clamp down on cheeks, eyes, noses and lips. Thick snow drifts blow through like the playwright’s fictional armies storming a castle, eager to claim victory on just one unguarded victim.

It sinks fishing boats. It musters Marines to form human chains for “kid-catching duty” so school-aged children getting off the bus won’t blow away. It whips car doors past their limits, creating “The Keflavik Crunch.”

Staff Sgt. Melissa Melger, a personnel troop assigned to the tenant 85th Group at Keflavik Naval Air Station, Iceland, knows the character of the weather well.

“You haven’t seen weather until you’ve been to Iceland,” she said.

The 650 or so airmen at Keflavik laugh at it. Most get used to the sun shining 24 hours a day, contrasted six months later with no sunlight for weeks on end. But the weather is always at the top of conversation, especially during winter.

Group Command Chief Master Sgt. Dan Kuester said there’s no gradual acclimation.

“We welcomed the Hawaii Air National Guard for a rotation. They were like, ‘What the heck is going on?’ ” the chief said. “It’s not Hawaii. Your lifestyle will change.”

Not always welcomed
Americans and their technological toys have not always been welcomed in Iceland. The United Kingdom originally set up camp without Icelandic permission. Then came the United States. When the British needed troops for battle, both governments insisted the United States should provide the island’s protection.

After receiving approval from the Icelandic prime minister, President Franklin D. Roosevelt sent in the Navy. He addressed the Icelandic occupation issue July 7, 1941.

“The United States cannot permit the occupation by Germany of strategic outposts in the Atlantic to be used as air or naval bases for eventual attack against the Western Hemisphere,” the president said.

After the war, however, the United States broke a contract and didn’t withdraw its troops. Instead it asked for and was refused permanent military bases. The two governments later reached a compromise in 1946 spawning Keflavik and a seven-year lease. Eventually, Iceland joined NATO in 1949. During the Korean War, the United States received permission to station troops in Iceland, this time under a NATO umbrella.

Hunting grounds
Keflavik is coupled with Keflavik International Airport. The naval station — home to the joint-billeted Iceland Defense Force — is a stone’s throw from the Arctic Circle, wedged between Greenland and the invaluable, oil-rich storehouses beneath the North Sea.

These were once-fertile hunting grounds. American pilots sent here flew P-38s, P-40s, F-89s, F-102s, F-15s, F-16s and other aircraft in search of one of the Cold War’s top prizes — a silver hulking Russian turboprop-driven bear bomber. From 1962 to 1973, the Iceland Defense Force intercepted more than 1,000 Russian aircraft. In the mid-1980s, Iceland intercepted more than 170 aircraft each year.

Like any good hunt, 90 percent of the time spent is waiting until “Loki” spots the bear. Loki — the Norse god of mischief and the call sign for the 932nd Air Control Squadron — has watched 250,000 square miles of airspace in and around Iceland for 50 years [See “Band of Gypsies,” August 2002]. A pair of New Orleans-based F-15 pilots made the most recent Bear catch in 1999.

Maj. Dave Sinnott, Loki’s operations officer, said the key to air defense is keeping his team alert.

“The greatest challenge is keeping everyone on their toes,” he said. “That’s why we run so many exercises.”

F-15 Eagle-driving hunters from around the world deploy with the 85th Group for three months. To sharpen the edge, aircrews fly regularly with Norwegian and other foreign services. But even the best hunts are spoiled by the weather, according to Capt. Mike Morgan, an F-15 pilot assigned with the group.

He said the greatest danger is a slippery runway. The nearest “divert” runway — where an aircraft would go if it couldn’t land at Keflavik — is in Scotland. Diversion usually means calling out “the tanker,” the sole KC-135 available for the task. Unfortunately, if the weather’s bad, the bloated, fuel-filled tanker can’t get airborne either. No gas means aircraft become large metal weights that can plummet helplessly into the ocean.

“The weather is a huge factor,” Morgan said. “It puts us in a bind if we have to divert.”

While the Eagles patrol the island and the humanitarian rescue team saves lives [See “Above Icy Waters,” July 2001], the assign-ment’s best secret may be hidden away in its education center. Iceland serves as a safe harbor to complete work on associate’s and bachelor’s degrees.

Airman 1st Class Joshua Highley, one of Loki’s scope watchers, has extended his stay twice to further his education. Why not, he said, given the ample resources and opportunities the assignment provides.

“When you’re assigned to Mountain Home [Air Force Base, Idaho], or Hill [Air Force Base, Utah], you’re pretty mobile. You won’t get the same kind of time you have in Iceland to finish a degree,” he said. “I came here for the break.”

Icelandic culture
Iceland displays some radical cultural differences with its temporary American inhabitants. This is, after all, a country nine centuries America’s senior with roots in Viking lore.

Iceland was settled by Nordic people in the 9th century. Tradition says the first permanent settler was Ingólfur Arnarson, a Norwegian Viking who made his home where Reykjavík now stands. Icelanders still speak the language of the Vikings, although modern Icelandic has undergone changes of pronunciation and vocabulary.

Iceland also upholds another Norse tradition — using patronymics rather than surnames. An Icelander’s Christian name is followed by his or her father’s name and the suffix -son or -dóttir. For example, Gu rún Pétursdóttir is Gu rún, daughter of Pétur. Members of a family can therefore have many different “surnames.” Iceland is the only Western culture still doing this.

Service culture
While Icelanders and Americans have cultural differences, there are similar chasms between the Air Force and Navy. No one makes any bones about the uphill climb it can be on both sides. One Air Force senior noncommissioned officer said resolving the services’ differences “can be like gouging your own eyes out with pencils.” A Navy master chief petty officer agreed.

The rift is evident even as you walk into the Keflavik Naval Air Station headquarters building, which is split down the middle. Each side is distinctly service oriented.

Despite the differences, several of Keflavik’s command-level leaders, including Col. Bruce Rember, 85th Group commander, said issues about use of money, facilities, resources and time often reach mutual and amiable conclusions.

Rember cited a Zoomie vs. Squid incident involving liquid oxygen carts. Recently, the perception of some bluesuit maintenance troops — who had three liquid oxygen carts — was that the Navy maintainers — who had one cart — weren’t taking care of their equipment. So, they shouldn’t ask to use what the Air Force has available.

“Most of this was hearsay,” he said. “It turns out folks simply weren’t talking to one another.”

Eventually, the airmen invited the sailors for some maintenance training and face-to-face conversation. It worked. Both sides gained a deeper understanding of a once tension-filled issue. Rember said this kind of outreach will be how both sides of the headquarters hallway work together to keep the operation running smoothly.

“It’s a very collaborative effort between us and the Navy,” the colonel said. “There’s probably not always one practical approach to every situation. You have to know the right touch points. However, I think we’ve started to create the right environment now.”

Back to the weather
Cultural differences aside, everyone returns back to the common point of reference — the weather. Rember’s first F-15 flight involved making a landing in ferocious crosswinds and referring to emergency checklists. Another had him on a one-hour loiter over Keflavik while a freak snow storm blew through.

“The weather,” he said, “is probably the first thing people talk about.”

Iceland’s weather can bring harrowing experiences and leave rich memories. But its gruff character, Kuester said, isn’t strong enough to wear on the psyche of the airmen pulling the tour.

“We’re pretty careful about watching how the weather affects people’s behavior,” the chief said. “You can get cabin fever pretty quickly. As long as the sun’s out, you should get outside.”

Melger summed up her Iceland assignment experience by comparing it to the weather.

“The job is easy compared to the weather,” she said.

(Story by Tech. Sgt. Jason Tudor;photos by Master Sgt. John E. Lasky