Tokyo was only minutes away, and through the sheer boredom, a new feeling of excitement threatened to break through. He tried to stifle it but soon realized is was no good. The last few miles of the trip were sure to pick up his spirits.
For a moment he felt again the initial thrill he had felt when the Major had come back with the news that they were diverting. A trip to Tokyo had not been on their schedule for this flight, but inclement weather required them to make a stop short of their destination. Leave it to the pilots to request Toyko...given the fact that they had military clout of a General's aide on board, they had known they would get an instant ok on their request. Jim shook his head for the hundredth time over his misfortune. A general's aide. How had he been roped into that?
Shaking his ahead he forced his career dilemna out of his mind. He choice to reflect on Tokay. The last time he had been in Toyko, he was a Junior in High School. Like most of the American military men who had brought their children to Japan, Jim's father had been leary of letting the young men off the base.
Although the Japanese people were gracious and ameable hosts, most of the American military with family in Japan were frightened of some act of of revenge for the only two cities in the world to ever have been ground zero. It was this fear that had ultimately lead to the restriction of young people to the bases. Not a formal restriction, mind you, just something that all the parents subscribed to. Especially now that the papers filled with stories out of Japan every time those particular anniversaries rolled around. The Japanese people had overcome their shyness about their place in history.
But the teenagers had never felt the guilt their parents felt. They knew nothing of the guilt nor the feelings of those who were in the military. In fact, Jim had been pretty damn pleased with his existence in those days.
He had occasionaly been free to go where he would, as long as he confined himself, for the most part, to the base and the annexed housing area, Washington Heights. Of course, the fact that every once in awhile his brother could drive around in that beautiful, big white Chrysler had been like a dream come true. His sibling was a car lover...and an accomplished mechanic. His dad had forced them both to learn everything that was needed know about repair and maintenance of automobiles. His brother and he knew the range of autos from the hot ones to the tame family sedans. And the Chrysler of course. The ultimate luxury car with electric everything. Electric windows, electric mirrors, electric seats, electric, electric, electric. It had even boasted of automatic temperature control for the air conditioning.
One night in that year, his brother, himself, and three buddies had snuck off to Toyko. Oh Toyko, that absolute forbidden fruit. It had been pulling at them for months. The more they hinted to their parents about going, the tighter the reins were pulled in.
Finally they had found just the right pretext and they were off. They had left Washington Heights cruising at just below the marked speed limit, in case they made a wrong conversion from Kilometers to MPH (the Chrysler, like all American cars of the time, had only markings for MPH).
They drank saki at Yosuda's, ate teppan cooking at Noritake House. They even drank a little Japanese beer in a smokey sailor's bar in the red light district, and luckily avoided any fights. It had been a great night.
But now he wondered if Tokyo would be anywhere near the same. He had refused to believe the stories he had heard of the new Toyko and the industrial complex of Japan. He really couldn't bring himself to believe the stories, he just had too many good memories he didn't want to part with.
All this raced through his mind as the C-17 banked low over the salty marsh leading to the runway at Toyko International Airport. The diversion from Yakota AFB was a welcome repast from his current set of worries.
Since the present was more troubling, it was far too easy to deal with the fantasies and memories than the reality of today. He felt a twinge as he realized that after the past was taken care of, the present would quickly overtake him once again. Uncharacteristically, he forced the thoughts of gloom to a spot back in his mind. They would not trouble him for awhile.
As the flaps on the huge jet began to deploy, and he could feel the drag and vibration, the plane began a quick and scary drop onto the extra long runway which was actually extended out into the waters of Toyko Bay.
Out the window, Jim could see the color of water in the Bay, a blue green mixture, not aqua, but very dirty looking. Like someone had dropped brown into a can of aqua paint, then spilled the whole mess. Great puddles of the unsavory result could be seen in patches all over the once beautiful bay.
As the wheels touched down, he lamented over the thought that he had never been able to scuba dive in the bay even as far back as the late fifties. Maybe it was for the best, one less memory to shatter.
The plane taxied for a bit, then made several turns, before finally creeping to a halt. As the engines ran down, the door on the starboard side dropped open, and a flight capped head poked through.
"Courier check. Lt. Aimes, Lt. Ganett." The tall security man relieved the stone faced passenger of his handcuffed attache case and the two stepped through the door. Jim then stood and followed, mindful of the little play he had seen. He wondered how many times his father had watched the same act when he was getting flying time while stationed in Florida.
The object of the drama, was the routine courier flights carrying physical messages from headquarters to headquarters. The "pouch", which was actually a briefcase, was the means of delivery. The pilot would swing the plane into the Operations ramp section designated for security missions, cut the starboard engine, wait for the transfer, and immediately restart the engine and was cleared for takeoff and flight to the next stop. His Dad had probably logged 4 or 5 thousand hours doing that kind of work in old prop driven cargo planes.
In the past, Jim might have found it a little exciting, except for his own little bit of security. His own reality dimmed any adventuresome feelings one could find in routine couriers and the ho hum information in the pouches. Granted his own messages back to the General would probably travel in the pouchs, but even that was just a necessity, rather than an added excitement.
Stepping off the plane, he looked around him. The security man and his escort were climbing into a old ford sedan, painted blue, with the standard markings of an Air Force motor pool vehicle. The large concrete pad was a piece of military ground reserved for Air Force or Navy flights which had to be diverted due to inclimate weather at their destinations.
The only structure on this remote area of the ramp was your basic Air Force temporary building. A double-wide Mobile Home, painted in utility gray, paint probably traded for a fifth of Old Grandad with some Navy chief.
As he was walking toward the door, he thought again of the courier. Jim felt sorry for the poor guy. He would not be able to enjoy the sights of Toyko.
On the contrary, the tired Lt. would be driven in the aging blue sedan to Yokota AFB. The pouch had to arrive before the morning, since there might be special communications to the intelligence chief there. On the other hand, the plane would leave tomorrow morning, arrive at Yokota, disgorge Jim, pick up the replacement courier, and head back for Clark AFB.
Jim of course, being nothing more than cargo on the plane, would be able to stay the night as would the aircrew. What luck. He hoped the stay would be as exciting has he had imagined. He completed the walk to the "shack", opened the door, and shoved his B- 4 bag into the room ahead of him.
The room was standard Air Force issue. Two desks, two phones, two waste baskets, two non-coms, one officer, one hat stand, one fan and one urn of horrible tasting coffee, or so he presumed. The non-coms looked up, considering standing until they saw the two Captain's bars, and relaxed. Very seldom did a Captain require a brace. Especially in a security post at TIA. But the unmoving lips and cold black eyes made them change their minds. A second look revealed the braid of a General's Aide, and suddenly the men were all Air Force again.
"Can we help you, Sir."
"No thanks, Seargent. Here's my orders, I'm just dead heading to Yakota. I'm regular Air Force", he directed the last to the bored Leautenant sitting in the center behind the two non-coms desks. The guy looked like he was worried that the stranger had something to do with his precious pouches. He also looked like the kinda guy who would quote the book all the way, fighting to keep the little precious bags to himself. Fine, he would get his way. "Let me use your phone to fetch a cab... you gotta number?"
While dialing he thought, "wonder if the cab will be a Kamakazee?" This little bit of memory went back to the cab drivers he had remembered in Toyko that well remembered night. They had parked on one side of Toyko after driving for thirty minutes down one long street. The traffic then had not allowed any better time than that, especially with that great white whale, the Chrysler. Deciding to not risk creasing his father's pride and joy, they all had piled into a hundred yenner cab. It only took them 10 minutes to reach the other side of town. The trick was not to watch the road while riding in a 100 yen cab, it was hard on your sanity. The drivers mingled with bicycles and pedestrians at what seemed like 100 miles an hour. Horn honking and blinkers alternating like a railroad crossing, the little cabbies could weave through any traffic, without touching the brake pedal.
In wasn't too long before he heard a short squeal of the brakes as the cab arrived. Picking up the heavy B-4 bag, he went out to see the price on the window of the little cab. To his surprise, he found a brand new Toyota Celica GT, and a young man, about twenty in jeans and a T-shirt. "Oh shit", he thought. It was a 1000 yen cab. That could only mean trouble.
"Where to Captain?" spoke a lazy voice. The driver was a young Japenese, about twenty or so, wearing a Stanford sweat shirt. He spoke perfect English, and Jim had the errie feeling he was back in San Francisco. Another memory shot down, this one was assuredly dead.
"Clean, Close to the Ginza, and within military allotment."
"Right. How about Clean and close instead".
He nodded, and settled down into the front seat next to the cabbie. He was suddenly very tired, and knew that the rest of the stories were probably true. He also realized that he had misinterpreted the screech of the tires as the cab had driven up. It probably wasn't because the cabbie was a crazy driver, but simply that the young man was "stretching his legs" in the hot car, once out of traffic. His theory was proven correct as they entered the main line of traffic. It was a horrible mess. Everywhere he looked, down alleys and major streets, he could stopped cars and three wheeled delivery vans.
As they began to pull through the intersection of one narrow street, the traffic halted, leaving the cab in the center of the intersection. Jim looked down the cross street, and saw two Toyota's much like the cab he was driving in, only painted blue and white, pulled up to a small bar. A man with an apron and a young woman were gesturing to the tall cop dressed all in black. The cop was shaking his head while his partner questioned the bystanders. Except for the faces, the cars, and most of the writing on the signs, Jim felt he could be in Boston or New York City. It was standard inner city. Dirty, rough, and poor.
The cabbie finally pulled around the obstructing delivery three wheeler and continued on the way. Jim had decided that he would be just as happy to get to the hotel and hit the sack. He was now thoroughly drained. The brief excitement of visiting Toyko again had already fizzled out. He might as well forget the wild night on the town idea, and get prepared for tommorrow.
He was sure that he would find the hotel with the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times in the lobby, with some guy in a Boston T-shirt holding down the night counter. What a waste of a beautiful city. What a waste.
Arriving in the lobby of his hotel, he did see the New York Times, but the Journal was absent. Of course, he had forgotten. The Air Force had done their typical duty. Few people knew that the traveling military man had it pretty bad when he wasn't lucky enough to get quarters on an Air Base. The cheap and bare essential was the motto of the Service. His per diem would just pay for this room in a hotel where a self respecting business man wouldn't take a street whore. Naturally, the per diem was supposed to pay for dinner too, but no way. Of course, he was used to it, he just wondered what the American people would think of the Defense budget if they had to live on what he and all the ranks below full Colonel did. That would surely close the mouths of several critics he had heard lately.
After signing in and asking for a wake up call at 7:00 a.m., Jim rode the elevator to the third floor. The place was clean, he decided, just a little worn. Tacky upper Manhattan, would describe it, or old standard, barely adequate San Francisco, two blocks off of Hyde and O'Farrell. In other words, early American Red Light district.
He didn't take long to turn out the light, but he did lie awake for a few minutes, waiting to fall asleep. Visions of his memories kept him from really getting the sound sleep he wished he could get. Perhaps too, it was the feeling of reality once more closing in.
**************************************
Waking the next morning to the buzzer, he pushed the flashing light, and sprang for the shower. His restless sleep had been enough to get him started quickly this morning. Today he could concentrate on the orders laid out for him at Vandenburg.
Washing, he thought back to three days ago, when he had received those orders. The way he had found out about them still intrigued him. He had received word through Bob McNear. His friend had just received the word that a commendation was to be awarded him upon his retirement, in the same batch as Jim's orders. Bob's connections had once again become an asset to Jim.
What intrigued him most, was the fact that Jim had started out to become Bob McNear's friend in order to further his career. But Jim had long ago stopped feeling guilty for cultivating the friendship of Bob McNear. McNear was one of the few men who would have been a true friend of Jim, despite his machinations to make it so. They were both car nuts, loved their country and hated lazy people.
He and Bob had established the reputations for giving 150 percent effort and never less than 99 percent performance. Jim had been lucky to work for Bob, since he was one of the early officers in the Air Force's Space program.
The reason that Jim wanted to have Bob as a friend was an example of one of the horrible realities in the Air Force today. You had to know the right people to rise fast. McNear had been a special case since no one doubted that he he risen fast due to his capabilities as both a scientest as well as a manager. At the same time Bob McNear was a excellent example of what could happen to the good people in the Service.
Of the good ones that could still be found in the Service, Bob was one of the few to have sat the launch officer's chair for the three prime vehicle developments that led to the Shuttle. Bob had fired the Atlas, the Deltas, and had been one of the key men in the Titan III solid booster development. It was for this last vehicle that he had won his fame. That launch system had been the Titan II rocket (used as the core of the SAC ICBM program and still in use during the early states of the shuttle operations) and a pair of strap on solid boosters which had been the prototypes for the solid boosters for the shuttle launch system. Bob had been key in the entire development, including payload systems and analysis.
During one of the SpaceLab missions, he had been a key consultant when the solar panels fouled up. It was his engineering abilities that eventually led him to the first of his adminstration duties in the Air Force. From Air Force shuttle system development to the payload program for that vehicle, Bob had made the program work for the Air Force.
As as such things go, he was now leaving the Air Force to go into private industry. Twice the pay, and ten times the recognition, finally overcame the man's intense committment to serving his country. It was happening too much lately. Of course, Bob would continue to serve his country in his role with private industry. No one doubted it, but the Air Force was already scrambling trying to find someone to replace him. There was a good chance that his leaving would leave a void which couldn't be filled for several years.
Jim was sorry to see Bob go. But as one of the few who might replace him, he couldn't help but see it as an opportunity. After all he had very much the same expertises if one discoutned the difference in years on the job. He also had a few extra skills that he could bring to the job.
His double major in engineering and business would probably help him out alot. He had been Bob's financial wizard for 8 months, and had learned all about how to do Bob's job as well as saw ways to improve on his financial decisions. He and Bob had probably come up with the best ideas for dealing with the industrial giants and still meeting the meager budgets Congress had allowed. Jim also had also one other key skill. He had served for six months as General Haven's aide, at the Pentagon. There he had learned the top brass politics, and how to cultivate the right people to his circle of influence.
Not that he really was a cold and inhuman social climber, but it was a necessity to know how to find the right person for a particular question you had, or for the right recommendation. He had also been privy to some of the top level decisions in the Air Force, and had a good idea where the Service was headed in the next few years. He knew the General's who were banking their careers on the Space program, and Jim was confident they knew who he was.
After this mission, he was sure they would respect him as well. His orders had been delivered by the standard lump of rock recruited into security, a huge stone man, tight lipped and all business. "Sign this form, Sir", read the orders, then the security man signs the orders back, hands you the cover set of orders, and takes back the real Top Secret ones. Now that could have been exciting, but the fear rumbling in his belly had ruined that.
Hand carried orders are fairly rare, even in the missile business. Top Secret information, or Top Secret projects and the like were not rare, but day-to-day operational orders were almost always routine. Not so this time. And like all Top Secret documents, the reading was dry and without any real information.
"Proceed April 5, 1986 to Yokota AFB, Japan, reporting to Wing
Commander, First Bomb Wing, Fifth Air Force, Pacific. Upon arrival
Yokota AFB, assume responsibilies Air Force Liason/Protocol Officer for
United States Navy Submarine Task Force, reporting to Task Force leader,
Yakuska Navy Yard, 5th Submariner Attack Squadron, Yakuska, Japan, until
further orders. These orders are coded "Lone Wolve", and are for your
eyes only. Signed April 1, 1983, General James Haven, Air Force Space
Command, The Pentagon, Washington D.C. and countersigned the Secretary
of the Air Force."
Now why he was to be aide to a Navy Captain, at a Naval Base, was the big mystery,
with the short notice being the next biggest of them all. A Navy Captain was like a full
Colonel in the Air Force, and rarely had a land based aide, let alone one in another
Service. Curious indeed. Of course his missle experience might be of service to a missle
sub, but the attack subs were comparatively small and fast, little room for missile silos.
No, it was a mystery to him.Jim didn't much care for the orders, and cared less for the job. He had payed his dues as an aide, although, he reflected that the usual tour for an aide was one year, but General Haven liked to roll 'em over every six months. The General believed that it was better for the young officers to get the experience.
In any case, Jim simply complied, no questions asked. Not only was it futile to question the orders, it was not in his make-up to question any reasonable order. He had only refused an order once and that had been a tramatic decision for him. He knew he could do it again, but it would be based on more important matters than when and where he was to be reassigned this early in his career.
Once again, he found himself looking out the window as the cargo plane banked into the final for landing at Yokota AFB. The countryside around Yokota looked like a clustering of small businesses around the base's West gate, with rice fields spread everywhere else. Pretty boring looking place, but maybe it would be like rural Japan rather than that crap back in Toyko.
After landing, Jim made his way to the Operations Officer in Operations, made an appointment with the Wing Commanders Office, and hitched a ride with a young Airman Second. This fellow also wore the usual bored look, so Jim decided to ride in quiet.