Chapter 2: The Kun

Wedge woke up with Glenn shaking his shoulder. “We’re at the Gate, get your ID out.”

Wedge looked around and it was pitch black in all directions. Far off in the distance, he could see lights from a Korean village, but nothing else. Out of the blackness, a security policeman appeared and stepped up to the truck. He had a few glow sticks stuck into an elastic strap around his Kevlar helmet and carried a 90-degree flashlight with a blue lens over the light bulb. “ID?” Wedge showed him his ID card, then the policeman asked, “How long have you been here Sergeant Donovan.”

“I just got here,” said Wedge. “I got off the airplane at Kimpo at eleven o’clock.”

“Orders,” the cop said sternly.

Wedge pulled his stack of orders out of his briefcase, and the cop studied them. Finally, the cop handed them back and said, “Ok, we’re in an exercise, total blackout condition. Do not go wandering around until you’ve spoken with your first shirt. Welcome to the ‘Kun.’”

Soon they were driving across the base, but all the lights were out, including the streetlights. Wedge had never seen darkness like this. There were no lights to see, except for a landing F-16. When they stopped at a stop sign, the two young army fellows hopped out and disappeared into the night. Soon they stopped, and the driver came back and helped Wedge gather his baggage. Pointing off into the inky blackness, the driver said, “That’s the rec center. You can call your unit from there. Be careful of the binjo ditch.”

Wedge stumbled in the dark until he found a building and went in. There was a light trap that kept the interior light from escaping to the outside. Near the entrance was a phone, and he called his unit again, and again Sergeant Clark answered. “Go get a good meal, and get one to go, you’ll want something to eat in the dorm while we’re in exercise conditions.”

“Roger that,” said Wedge and after hanging up, he parked his suitcase, duffel bag, and backpack at a table then went to the lunch counter to order.

“Hi! You new bee?” asked the middle-aged Korean woman at the grill.

“Yeah, what gave me away?”

“You wear blue, new bee wear blue,” she said with a huge, toothy smile. Even though she used simple English words, he was having a problem picking out what she was saying because of her accent. He ordered a taco salad and a couple of ham hoagies to go.

The taco salad was excellent, but it tasted completely different from anything he ever had. It was a typical taco salad: tortilla shell, lettuce, tomato, onion, ground beef, cheese, salsa, and sour cream, but everything had a unique flavor. The salad was interesting but even the lettuce had a different flavor. It wasn’t bad; it was just different. As he ate, he looked around the room and saw about a dozen people scattered around. All of them were wearing flack vests and had their helmets and gas masks at the ready. Their numbers grew and at some point, a loudspeaker outside said something about alarm yellow and a tech sergeant who was lounging without flack vest finished his coffee and rose.

“All right! All you dumb dead, follow me,” and he led most of the people in the room outside. Soon a bedraggled Senior Master Sergeant in full combat gear came in and walked up to him.

“Michael Donovan?”

Wedge swallowed his last bite of the salad and said, “Yes, are you my first sergeant?”

“Yep, Mike Schaeffer.”

Wedge stood and shook hands. “Everyone calls me Wedge after a character John Wayne played.”

“Wedge? Oh yes, the Fighting Seabees. Come on, let’s get you into a room. Wear this,” and he handed Wedge a badge that had a number and the badge boldly proclaimed in bright red letters, “In Processing.”

“And if I don’t wear this, I may end up Dumb Dead?”

“Exactly,” said Sergeant Shaffer, and he led Wedge outside and they walked through the blackness of the Korean morning. “Watch your step or you’ll end up in the binjo.” The sidewalks were narrow and there were deep ditches on either side of the sidewalks that were called binjo ditches. In days gone by, the contents of the ditches were more sinister. Wedge was told that they were once the sewage system of Asia, but these were not as odiferous as the binjos of the past once were.

“I’ve never seen a sidewalk with drainage ditches before,” muttered Wedge.

“Wait for the rainy season.” The first sergeant carried Wedge’s duffel bag and led him through an area with small single-story barracks to a new three-story dorm built on a hill next to the flight line. “This building is all tech sergeants and staff sergeants with a line number for tech sergeant,” explained Mike Schaeffer.

Mike led Wedge up to the second floor and Wedge found himself in a room with a bed and two large lockers, a dresser, and a counter with a sink. The toilet and shower were shared with the room next door. “Keep your curtains closed or you’ll end up dead for sure, regardless of what your status is. Get some sleep and be at my office at fourteen hundred in BDUs. We’ll get you your gear then and start your in processing.”

Wedge took off his blues and kicked off his shoes and socks, took a quick shower and found the shower filled with ‘girly’ products, so he just used the Head and Shoulders then pulled on fresh underwear and lay down on his bunk. The next time he opened his eyes, there was a Korean woman in his room chattering in a rapid-fire mixture of Korean and English. The only words he caught were “new bee.” She gathered up his uniform except for the blouse (jacket) and picked up his low quarter shoes, then left and locked his room from the outside.

Lying back, he convinced himself to call the police, but the next time he opened his eyes there was a pretty black woman peeking at him from around the corner to the bathroom. She was wearing BDUs (camouflage Battle Dress Uniform) and a belt with a gas mask carrier and a canteen. Wedge sat up and she smiled, then tried to hide the smile. “It’s ok, you can look all you want,” said Wedge with his best wise-ass grin, “Touching will cost you.”

“Oh? Like what?” she asked.

“Dinner.” She looked angry, but he said, “You have to have dinner with me.”

“You buying?” again with that smile. Wedge has never seen a smile like that before. Her smile spoke of jokes and laughter and maybe a little ‘slap and tickle’ later in the evening.

“Of course.” Wedge climbed out of bed and pulled on a black t-shirt, then extended a hand to shake. “Michael Donovan, folks call me Wedge.”

“Roxanne Dawson, folks call me Roxie,” she said as they shook hands.

Wedge pointed to their clasped hands. “You’re touching. Where am I taking you?”

“That was the worst!” Roxie said with a smile. “Michael Donovan I’ve been asked out a million different ways and that was...”

“The most effective?”

Her face suddenly became angry. “I came here to tell you to use your own damn towels when you shower and keep your hands off my product. Use your own.” And she stomped off to the bathroom. Just as she was about to pull the toilet door closed, she peeked back at him and, with a smile, she said, “NCO Club. Friday is Mongolian Barbeque.” With a waggle of her eyebrows, she pulled the door closed.

“That was totally confusing,” muttered Wedge. He checked the alarm on his ancient wind-up travel clock and lay back down.

Two hours later, Wedge Donovan was at the first sergeant’s office and started in-processing. First, he got his combat gear, flack vest, canteen belt, gas mask and carrier, Kevlar helmet, extra gas mask filters, flashlight and so much more.

Then he started the process of ‘in processing.’ He hauled his stash of equipment from office to office all over base. Most were just visits to the office listed and officially let the office know he was on base and familiarize him with the facility, like the library. At other offices, he had actual business. At personnel, he handed his records over to them, and the same thing at the tiny base hospital. At the security police complex, he got a badge that allowed him on the flight line, something he desperately needed so he could go to work.

He walked to his duty section that was in a large bomb-proof block structure and found a large open area filled with tables and chairs and small offices lining the walls. He knocked on the door of the weapons flight. “Ah! You’re here!” said a tech sergeant with a deep southern accent. “Josh Gravely,” and he extended his hand.

“Mike Donovan, folks call me Wedge.”

“Why do they call you wedge?” asked a short blond Master Sergeant who was behind the desk.

“Because I tell them to,” said Wedge.

“Good answer!” laughed the blond fellow.

“That’s the NCOIC of the weapons flight, Dan Baker,” said Josh. “I’m the assistant NCOIC for Day Shift and you are my new weapons expediter.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Wedge, “that’s not something I’ve tried yet.”