My last year in the Air Force and at Sembach Air Base

1991 was to be my last year in the Air Force, and consequently at Sembach Air Base. Like I said before, the time I spent on base and the people I met during that time shaped my future like nothing before and probably nothing since. Desert Storm was over in a little less than three months, and by March, most deployed personnel had returned to Sembach, including my friends. 

Over the spring and summer of 1991, Colin, Craig, and John all got orders to new assignments, or in Colin's case transition to serve his remaining military service with the California Air National Guard. This was to be the end of the "NATO Connection". 

When I returned from my trip to the U.S., Colin was already preparing to return to the U.S.. This came as a shock, since Colin was the closest and best friend I ever had. We did so many things together, spent so much time together, that I wouldn't know what to do once he would leave. We had taken a trip to Paris to see the Paris Supercross (with our "hero", French Motocross Superstar Jean-Michel Bayle), and had gone on a weekend train trip across Bavaria, Switzerland and Austria. 

I don't recall the exact day Colin left, but John and James were still around. I didn't see much of Craig anymore, since he had moved off base. Through my German friends Marcus and Martin, I met some other U.S. Air Force members, who eventually, albeit for a short time, became pretty good friends, namely a group around a guy named Michael Freeman of Scranton, PA. It's funny how I remember his name, and I think it's mostly because we talked a lot about how many Jewish Americans viewed modern day Germans, and how his views had changed drastically to a positive one, simply by meeting Germans like myself. 

I took a group of them to the North Sea Coast on the island of Sylt one weekend during the summer, and we had a blast.

In September, another one of my new friends and I went to the Motocross of Nations race weekend in Valkenswaard in the Netherlands. There I was able to see my Supercross heroes from up close, especially Damon Bradshaw, Jeff Stanton, Mike Kiedrowski, Stefan Everts, Jean-Michel Bayle, and above all, Mr. Motocross himself, Roger de Coster. At some point I was by the track, when suddenly Jeff Stanton walked up to me to ask, when they had last watered the track. I told him, I didn't know, but being star struck and a bit flabbergasted, I asked him, if I could take a picture, since one of my air force friends was a big fan, but he got reassigned to the U.S. and sadly had to miss this event. He gladly obliged. 

The summer went by and my last day wearing the uniform approached quickly. It is a tradition in the U.S. military to have your picture taken toward the end of Basic Training, sitting or standing proud in front of the Star Spangled Banner. We don't share that tradition in the German Armed Forces, but in August an opportunity presented itself, when a professional military photographer was available to have one's picture taken on base. I spoke to Col Fricke, and he allowed me to "borrow" the German and American flags from our SOC 3 headquarters, I put on my blue dress uniform and walked down to the BX, where the photo sessions were held. The photo taken is one of the proudest moments of my life, and to this day, I show it to everyone not fast enough to run away. My uniform also sprouts an honor we received for our volunteer work at the post office. 

We were giving the U.S.A.F. occupational badge, in my case the United States Air Force Information Management/ Administration badge in recognition to our services to the United States Air Force during Operation Desert Storm.  

September 30th, 1991 was the day that I left the German Air Force, and left Sembach Air Base, not knowing what to do next, quite frankly. Since I had some money saved, I decided to head back to the U.S.

My first trip to the U.S.

At some point before Christmas 1990, Colin and I had taken a trip to Berlin together, where we visited some distant East German relatives of mine. Ralf was a cousin fifteen times or so removed, he was our age, and we got along great. Unlike his older brother, he had no regrets and excitingly looked forward to a future in a free and democratic Germany, with plenty of opportunities and the sky being the limit. He and his lovely girlfriend Astrid showed us parts of Berlin, especially East Berlin, that normal tourists would never see. Ralf had started his mandatory military service just before unification in the East German army, and as of October 3rd, was now serving the rest of his national military service of 18 months in the unified German Army. The four of us immediately hit it off, and me talking about wanting to visit the U.S. at some point but not having a travel partner, we started to make plans for the following spring sometime in March or April to do exactly that.

When the time came to begin our three week vacation, the NATO gang had already returned to Sembach, and Ralf came down to stay with me awaiting our flight to Los Angeles to begin our adventure. We hung out on base (with Ralf being a member of the German military I was able to get him access to the base) and made some detailed plans for our trip. We would fly into LAX, rent a car, hang out for a few days and visit Disneyland, Universal Studios and other tourist sites, then drive North to Santa Maria, where Colin had instructed us to visit his home. 

After talking to his family numerous times during Desert Storm, both Margie and Kent, Colin's mom and dad, had invited me to stop by and meet the family once we're in the area. We ended up staying in Orcutt, to be precise, for a number of days, where Kent took us on a ride along in the Sheriff's cruiser. Colin's high school friends were thrilled to meet his German Air Force buddy. They were pretty much all stereotypical California punk types, constantly smoking weed, while playing punk music and just "hanging out". I began to understand that Colin's joining the Air Force a few years earlier must have been an attempt to escape that toxic environment, especially with a cop as a dad. Kent and Margie also took us to a place in the mountains called "Pozo Saloon", a pub and restaurant that exists to this day, and left a lasting memory of one of the best steaks I ever had in my life.

At one point Margie called Colin in Germany, and told him, she had made Philadelphia Cheesecake and Rice Crispy Treats for Ralf and myself. When I took the phone I told him I enjoyed his family's hospitality very much. His response was "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE".

Colson Canyon

Brady, Colin's older brother, was also a passionate motocross and dirt bike enthusiast, and offered to take me out to nearby Colson Canyon to ride his Kawasaki KDX 200. I excitingly said, hell yeah, and off we went. Brady dropped me off, drove his pickup ahead to meet me at the top of the canyon dirt trail. Until then I only was used to pure motocross bikes, not enduro types, the difference being, that motocross bikes had no handlebar guards. Unfortunately the one on the right, where the front brake lever was, was not attached properly, and it prevented me from applying the front brake. Since the trail was steep and very rocky with loose gravel, I did not want to apply the rear brake, and going relatively fast I kept trying to apply the front brake, albeit unsuccessfully. I saw a right turn come up, and going way too fast to make that turn, I continued to apply the front brake, but the next thing I know, I'm sitting in a tree, with the bike pinning my left leg to the tree trunk. I felt blood trickling down my left eye inside the helmet, and thought, Oh no, I messed up Brady's bike. I was able to crawl out from under the bike which ended up sideways on top of me in the tree about 5 feet above ground. I dropped down, and managed to also get the bike down. I then crawled up the bank to the road, as I could not walk with my left leg badly hurting. I sat down, and eventually Brady came back knowing something had happened. He and I managed to get the bike back onto the pickup truck, and drove home to Orcutt. 

When we arrived at 153 Ross Lane in Orcutt, I was limping pretty badly, and the bike had a bent fork. Apparently there was a branch that had scraped the side of my head by entering the helmet right next to where the googles protected my eyes. This whole thing could have been a lot worse, and I decided I would never tell anyone how I ended up flying into a tree because I was too busy screwing with the front brake that I forgot to apply the rear brake. I even remember looking at the damn flapping guard thinking, who designed this sh*t?

Later that day we went to the hospital and I ended up getting a leg brace since my ligaments in the back of my knee were severely sprained. 

Ralf and I decided to hit the road again, since I felt too embarrassed and ashamed to stick around, especially after messing up Brady's bike, which ended up costing $200 to repair. 

We drove north, following the Pacific Coast Highway, to Big Sur, Monterey, and on to San Francisco. After driving around a while we found the spot where you overlook the bay with the Golden Gate Bridge to the right, and the City on the far side of the bay to the left. A breathtaking view. After that we drove East through Yosemite, south on the East side of the Sierra Nevada down to Las Vegas, from there to the Grand Canyon, Bryce and Glen Canyon and eventually ending up in Monument Valley. From there we stopped in Cameron, AZ, the hometown of Tina, a Navajo native who served with me at SOC3. After spending the night at the Trading Post we drove South to Flagstaff, where we picked up Route 66 to Kingman. From there we found the Imperial Sand Dunes East of San Diego. In San Diego I met with another former Air Force buddy of mine from Sembach, who was now stationed on Coronado Island. From San Diego we took a quick walk into Mexico, which was so scary, that we immediately returned to the U.S., which made the border guards laugh. After that we drove back up north for out flight back home, but not without stopping in Irvine, where I tried to apply for a job at Oakley. Even then I was very ambitious, determined to move to the U.S. at some point to pursue my dream of becoming an American. 

Operation Desert Storm

At 2am on January 17th, I was in my dorm room watching CNN, when Breaking News announced that the U.S. Navy had begun launching cruise missiles from their ships in the Persian Gulf attacking Iraqi troop concentrations in Kuwait. The U.N. security council had previously given the green light to military action in case Iraq would not comply with the conditions of the ultimatum given in a U.N. resolution. So it has begun. We had been briefed earlier during the afternoon of the 16th, that military action would begin the following morning, but we didn't have any part of the operation itself, and there was no need to know any details. 

The troop deployments during Operation Desert Shield in preparation of Operation Desert Storm decimated the U.S. personnel on base significantly. Not only were the men and women attached to the ECS and TCW units, their maintenance and support crews deployed to Italy and Turkey in the last days and weeks. It was also other support staff that left the base almost empty. The NCO club was practically deserted, and notably the American Post Office on base (APO) was understaffed. 

Me and my Admin Supervisor,

MSgt Lewis O'Bryant,

nicknamed "O.B."

One day, I was doing admin duties at our HQ 17th Air Force admin offices, a sergeant walked in and asked for a U.S. supervisor. I called MSgt O'Bryant over and continued with my tasks at hand. However, I was able to overhear what the sergeant told O.B. The post office was desperately looking for volunteers from other units on base not affected by the operation, since their regular staff had been sent to Incirlik to provide postal services there. After the sergeant who was from the office of the Base Commander left, I had an idea. 

It had bothered me that my American friends were deployed to defend a helpless nation from being overrun by a madman, and that Germany did nothing, other than following Chancellor Kohl's infamous "Checkbook Diplomacy". But there was nothing I could do. Except now! I walked over to the Deputy Commander's office, who with the Commander always being a U.S. General, was by default always a German Colonel and my direct German Air Force superior officer. 

Colonel Fricke was a career officer who rose through the ranks being assigned to mostly German Air Force Air Defense Missile units. We sometimes called those guys the Air Force artillery, and just like their army siblings, the Air Defense guys in the German Air Force, at least back then, always had a stricter, more disciplinarian attitude. Since Col Fricke replaced the first "DC", Col Kluss, even Fricke loosened up after a while and developed a more relaxed, and most importantly approachable attitude. His secretary was a local German lady in her late 20s, and she and I usually got along nicely. I asked her, if the Colonel was available and after she announced me, I entered his office. 

The U.S. Post office (APO) on Sembach Air Base

I told him about the need of the U.S. Post office for volunteers, and since we as Germans had our hands tied when it comes to supporting Desert Storm, at least we could see if the Base Commander would also accept German military personnel as volunteers. Col Fricke, who shared my frustration of not being able to actively participate in Desert Storm, was very happy to hear my proposal and immediately picked up the phone to call LtCol Walker, his DO to share the idea and to have Walker approach the Base Commander. The Base Commander was very grateful for the offer, and gladly accepted. 

At that point it had only been me volunteering, as none of my German comrades knew of any of this. However, I quickly went down to the bunker to talk to my buddies who had the second day shift (the afternoon shift was called the swing shift). I can't remember who was on duty that afternoon but everyone immediately agreed and committed to helping out. We ended up being about a half a dozen or so volunteering, and the next morning, some of us, who were able to spare the time, showed up at the APO to be trained as post office workers. Just like myself, my bunker buddies of course would still have to honor their primary duties as SAM, Flight, or Early Warning Technicians and could only participate on their spare time outside of their shifts.

Apart from helping out at the post office and continuing our daily work at the SOC, Desert Storm had no significant impact on our lives, other than the deserted base, and missing my deployed friends. Colin was able to periodically use a satellite phone (remember, this was a time before cell phones!), and sometimes called me to say hi, and that everything was ok, apart from occasional air raid warnings they received, but without any major consequences. I continued to call his family every once in a while to convey Colin's messages. I did not hear from any of my other friends in Turkey, but like I said, communication wasn't easy back in 1991, since there was no such thing as Internet, Email or Cell Phones.

Operation Desert Shield

At the end of 1990 amidst the world focusing on the collapse of communism all over Europe, another historic event began to take place: The invasion of Kuwait by Iraq and Saddam Hussein. It was clear from the beginning, that with President Bush and his administration deeply connected to global oil, that the U.S. would not let the Iraqi dictator get away with it. Bush was able to swiftly form an international coalition that included some Western nations, as well as key players in the middle east. However, Germany, the newest member on the world stage, who only just recently regained its full sovereignty after decades under Allied control, refused to commit any military aid or assistance, but instead offered to writing checks, and allowing the U.S. to use its bases in Germany as logistical hubs, rather than origins of direct military operations targeting Iraqi forces. The U.S. was forced to use another NATO ally's base to conduct these operations, namely Incirlik Air Base in Southeastern Turkey. 

The time building up to actual military action in the fall of 1990, named "Operation Desert Shield", visibly made my U.S. air force friends increasingly nervous and somewhat anxious, not knowing what the President may end up doing. An ultimatum was set for Hussein to withdraw all troops and cease all aggression towards Kuwait by January 16, 1991. As the deadline approached, Sembach Air Base personnel shrunk by the minute. More and more units were moved to either Italy or Turkey, and my friends were told, that they will also have to go. Being aircraft mechanics working on C-130s, they would need to go where the aircrafts go. 

The C-130s stationed at Sembach were part of the 43rd ECS (Electronic Combat Squadron) and functioned primarily as radar jammers, packed with electronic equipment practically rendering any radar detection efforts by the enemy useless. They were essential in protecting the fighter jets flying assault missions from their Italian base in Aviano, and were also capable of refueling the assault aircraft. 

I often spent hours on the balcony outside my dorm room watching these beautiful and majestic planes practice touch and go's down on the flight line, along with A10s and sometimes F16s.

I believe it was January 13th, when Colin called and woke me in the middle of the night, visibly shaken. He was just told to get ready to be deployed to Incirlik air base, and that they would move within a few hours. I ran over to his room, where he was frantically trying to pack additional items into his duffle bag, that had already been packed for days anticipating an imminent deployment to the war zone with the most basics stuff, adding toiletries and other daily needs.

He told me he didn't have time to call his family in California before they would fly out, and he gave me his parents' phone number in Santa Maria, asking me to call them and tell them that he'd be ok. We talked a little about what he might expect in Turkey, and I reinsured him, that Incirlik is a secure airbase way out of the reach of any Iraqi missiles or aircraft, which would be annihilated by the U.S. within hours of Operation Desert Storm commencing. That by the way turned out to be a very accurate assessment of Hussein's aerial military capabilities. Besides, he would be safe on base working on the aircraft, not anywhere near any combat zones. We hugged, and he left to be picked up by a bus taking him and his buddies to the flight line, where transport aircraft were waiting, ready to take them to Turkey.

The next day I waited until afternoon to call Colin's parents in California, nine hours behind. I spoke with his mom Margie, who was understandably scared when I told her, that her son had just left to go to war. Colin's dad, a Sheriff deputy with the Santa Barbara County's Sheriff Department was not home, when I called, and I promised Margie to call every time I hear from Colin.