Trip to Münster 

D. E. Larsen, DVM

I sat my stuff on Smouse’s desk and watched as Moyer had guys scurrying about gathering every possible piece of test equipment that I may need. They had a car delivered from the motor pool, and all this stuff was packed out and loaded into the car.

Since I didn’t have a European driver’s license yet, I would need a driver.

Moyer looked around and finally asked Smouse who they could spare.

Smouse looked at the shop schedule carefully. “Looks like the best option will be Geibb.”

So Geibb was my driver. If anybody in the Army ever looked like Zero in Beatle Baily, it was Geibb. How he ever got into the shop was beyond me. Geibb was tall and thin, walked slightly stooped over, and his glasses were like the bottom of coke bottles. When he talked, he squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose.

Smouse spoke to me in a hushed tone. “Geibb never does anything right. Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

We loaded into the car. Moyer was giving Geibb some last-minute instructions about driving in the snow. There was still snow on the ground, but the roads were clear. The trip started off well. Actually, I enjoyed the ride. Geibb seemed to know where he was going. However, he constantly leaned over the steering wheel and squinted as if he needed a better view. He kept up a constant chatter. He was excited about the extra money he would be getting for TDY (temporary duty) pay. The heater was going full blast, and it was still a little chilly in the car. But the countryside was fascinating.

By noon it had started to snow a little. Geibb held his face closer to the windshield to see better. We were pretty close to Paderborn, probably just a few more miles to go, and I thought that would be a good place to find lunch.

As we met an oncoming car, there was a sudden flash with a cracking sound as the windshield shattered into a million fragments. I had seen car windows do this before in freezing weather, and I believe it was a spontaneous event. Geibb was sure the other car had thrown something at us.

Geibb was able to stop. We broke a small six-inch hole in front of Geibb so he could see.

“All you have to do is get us to Paderborn, and we can call back to the shop and get another car,” I assured him.

It was slow going, but we pulled into Paderborn sometime later. I was looking for a good place to stop when we came to a German Army MP station.

“Pull in here,” I instructed Geibb. He was reluctant, but I often dealt with the Korean Army in Korea and found them more than willing to help. I figured these guys would be just as helpful.

They were very willing to help. We called the shop from the main office. Moyer had a little trouble getting the story straight but finally arranged to have a van from the Detachment come and pick us and the equipment up. They would send the motor pool to pick up the car.

The Germans were very helpful and anxious to be good hosts. They assured me that the car was very secure in their parking lot. As it turned out, the commander of the MP station had gotten married that day, and they were having a big party upstairs in the Cantina. They said we were welcome to wait in the main office, but we were also most welcome to come upstairs and join them in their celebration. I declined the invitation, saying we needed to watch the car. They pointed out that it would be several hours before anyone arrived from Rothwesten or Münster.

Finally, after repeated invitations, we agreed to join the party. The duty sergeant assured us he would watch the car, and since it was after five, I thought it would be okay. We head up to the third floor and enter the small Cantina. The place is packed, and the atmosphere is electric. 

A couple of beers are pushed into our hands. We are pushed to a table in the middle of the room. Everyone wants to talk with us and practice their English. I speak not one word of German, and Geibb, who has been in the country for over a year, doesn’t speak much more than me.

One beer follows another. I return downstairs to double-check our situation. 

The duty Sergeant gives me a thumbs up. The car is okay, and no word from anybody else. Back upstairs, the party continues. There is not much to eat, and some sausage and cheese and a hard roll are all I can come up with.

After what must have been a couple of hours, the van arrives from the Detachment. The driver, the maintenance man, happens to be MacDonald, a classmate from Fort Devens.

Another reunion, one more reason to celebrate. Mac has no trouble settling into the party. The guys from the motor pool don’t arrive until after eight in the evening. We transfer our stuff from the car to the van. The motor pool guy tells MacDonald that we should stay the night here, but we head to the Detachment anyway.

The ride to Münster was exciting, but we made it while most of the crew was still awake. Maybe twelve or fifteen guys, the Detachment was housed in a large German farmhouse. It didn’t take long for us to get into the spare room and hit the sack.

I was in shape for partying, and nothing was unusual about last night by my standards. I was up for the trip to breakfast at a small Gasthaus in town and then on to work. Geibb wasn’t up to the schedule, and we let him sleep. His job was done anyway.

On the way to the site, I started going over the problem with McDonald.

“The problem is really a simple one,” I explained, “It is in the power supply for the antenna rotor. There are two large power transistors that burn out. The number is 2N174, I believe. All we have to do is come up with a couple of those, and we’re done. The problem is I doubt if they are in the supply channel. I tried to get Moyer to get them on order, and he would not do it.”

“We checked those transistors, and they are fine,” MacDonald says.

“The problem is an emitter to collector short,” I said. “We can’t detect that short the way we check transistors.”

We immediately tore open the rotor power supply and removed the transistors when we got to the site. The typical burned braided wire on the emitter side told me all I needed to know. We called the shop, and sure enough, there were no 2N174s in stock.

Moyer was surprised to hear from us so early. He had already heard about the party. “It will take several days to get those transistors to the site,” Moyer says.

“You get several pairs on order with an ASAP on the order. If this site is down, the others will be soon to follow,” I instructed Moyer. “We will probably be able to get started with some from the German economy, I would say Black Market in Korea.”

Mac knew of a little German TV repair shop that also served as a supply for a large group of Ham Radio operators. We made a quick trip to town and came up with a half dozen transistors with a bit of bartering. These didn’t have the braided wire attached to the poles, but they would serve their purpose until the Supply channel was full.

We had the site operational before noon. Mr. McCann was on the phone to thank me shortly after it returned to service. I told him that we had about 3 pairs of transistors that would work in a stop-gap manner.

“Each of the transistors that we have will last about three days, four days at the most,” I said. “That gives you nine to twelve days of function before we are out of transistors. So you had better get on Moyer’s ass to get the right ones into supply. I tried to get him to order them earlier, and he was going to go by the book, and there are none in-house now. This site will not run if you guys go by the book,” I say.

The Army had strict rules on supply inventory. You could only stock so much of any one item. The figure was based on the need for that item in the previous six months. If you had an inspection and were found to be overstocked, there was some hell to be raised. You could get around this in a couple of ways. One was to order an item more often than you actually used it. The other way was to hide the overage (in your pocket if necessary). Moyer knew this stuff as well as I. He just liked to follow the book. I wanted to keep the equipment running.

It took a couple of days before Geibb and I were retrieved. MacDonald was eager to learn everything I had to teach him, and we used our time well to cover the entire unit. The evenings were used to celebrate us as visitors, and these guys could party just as well as the Germans at the MP station.

When we returned to Rothwesten, our glory was short-lived. The story of the windshield and the party at the German MP station had been entirely blown out of proportion. The Maintenance Officer, a 2nd Lieutenant who knew nothing about maintenance, wanted to see us right away.

He really raked Geibb and me over the coals. How dare we drink on TDY? How dare we jeopardize the equipment in the car? He didn’t give a damn if I was the only one that could fix some of this equipment. Our asses were his, or we could go see the company commander for an Article 15. He restricted us to the base for 30 days. I was really pissed.

Christmas came and went. I was restricted to base, so dinner at the mess hall and an evening spent at the NCO club watching a bunch of lifers and their wives get drunk and call it a celebration.

The next day the Army issued a directive that said that any soldier volunteering for duty in Vietnam would go. Commanders were not allowed to prevent that transfer. 

I read this directive posted on the Orderly Room bulletin board on the evening of Tuesday, December 26. The next morning, the 27th, I marched into the First Sergeant’s office and filed a DD1049 (request for transfer) for Vietnam. He took it with a wry smile on his face.

When I told Smouse what I had done, he was so inspired he filed one also. He said I had things in such turmoil he didn’t know what would happen. Nothing had ever happened in the shop like this before.

In the afternoon of the 27th, I was working at the bench doing a routine tune-up on an R390 receiver. Colonel Paris, the Field Station Commander, walked into the shop. Colonel Paris was very tall, probably early 50’s, with slightly graying hair that was sparse on top. Judging from everyone’s reaction, this was just something that never happened. He spoke briefly with Sergeant Moyer and then walked over, pulled up a stool, and sat down at my bench, facing me in a very relaxed manner with one foot on the rung of the stool.

“I guess I owe you a real thank you. Mr. McCann tells me you have done more for the mission of this station in a couple of days than anyone else has done in the last couple of years. So thank you,” he says.

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied. “I just happened to be lucky enough to arrive at the right time.”

“Thanks anyway, and keep up the good work,” he said as he left my bench. He walked around the shop, stopped again, talked with Moyer, and left.

A couple of hours later, near the end of the day, when Moyer comes over to talk with me.

“Colonel Paris wants to know what it will take to get you to withdraw that 1049,” he says.

“I don’t like it here, not one bit. I will withdraw it if you send me to a detachment,” I said.

“Well, we have you scheduled for a detachment as soon as a spot becomes available.”

“Not good enough,” I said, knowing I had him over a barrel. “You send me to a detachment this week, or the request stands.”

“Okay,” he said, “go pack your bags. I’ll send you to Wobeck tomorrow. And by the way, the old man was going to recommend that your transfer request be denied.”

“I am sure that he read the same directive that I read,” I said as I started to clear my bench.

The outcome of those few days at Rothwesten took a few more weeks to completely unfold.

I went to Wobeck, and we arrived late at night on December 28. I checked into the Banhauf Hotel in Schöningen, West Germany. Schöningen was a small village located right on the border of East Germany. The site, Wobeck, was located a couple of miles up the hill in The Elm, an ancient Elm forest full of local lore of witches and goblins.

TDY pay for the site started on my arrival, an extra $16.00 a day. Smouse let his transfer request stand, and he went to Vietnam.

MacDonald was pulled from his Detachment for poor behavior displayed on my visit. Geibb was in the dog house deeper than ever.

Mm biggest allies, the DF and RFP operators, were back to poor maintenance. My presence was short-lived, but they had a new starting point and an understanding of what they should be expecting from the maintenance shop. Moyer knew he would have to keep someone on top of things a little more.

It took a while, but Moyer was replaced by Sergeant Z. The shop was run more efficiently, and I had someone I could work with from this distant shop.

I was in bed shortly after my check-in. Morning came early, and the bathroom was at the end of the hall. The clerk said if you wanted hot water for a shower, I needed to be the first one there.

It was a Brisk shower in the morning as most of the hot water was gone. By the time I got downstairs for breakfast, most of the maintenance crew were there to meet me. 

This was the start of a whole new chapter in the Army.

Photo by KarinKarin on Pixabay.

Rothwesten Operations

 D. E. Larsen, DVM

Tuesday morning was a little busy. I had borrowed Sergeant Z’s jeep again to get my new uniform taken care of as far as new patches and the like sewn on and laundered. By this evening, I should start to look like a soldier again. When I brought the jeep back at noon, I stopped at the orderly room with an armload of new laundry.

“Any word on my clearance papers?” I asked. I was getting anxious to get to work.

“Nothing yet. Sergeant Z has been trying to build a fire in personnel for you. I think he sort of likes you,” the clerk said.

With nothing to do, the afternoon was a real drag. The swing shift guys were just starting to stir. I would be bored to death if those papers don’t come through pretty soon.

Just about this time, my roommate comes through the door. He is a little excited and starts throwing things into a bag like he is going away for a few days.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“They have serious problems at one of the DF sites. The new TRD-23 is down, and the maintenance guy there can’t get it fixed. Anyway, they are sending me up there to take care of things,” he says.

“I can tell you how to fix the thing. We had the same problems in Korea a few months ago, and I spent a couple of weeks with the factory team,” I say.

“No need; I am perfectly competent. I will have it up with in the first hour that I am there.”

Smouse was right. This guy was a real jackass. If I give him any information, it will be just enough to hang himself. He heads out the door with his bag.

“I expect to be back by tomorrow night,” he says as he heads down the hall.

Wednesday morning, when I checked, Sergeant Z had my papers and badge. He hands me the envelope and I am all smiles.

“I have called the operations gate, and they are expecting you. So is Sergeant Moyer. He is maintenance NCOIC, a good man,” Sergeant Z says. “I’ll have the clerk run you out there as soon as you’re ready. It’s not too far to walk, but I know you’re ready to get to work.”

Sergeant Z had coached the MP at the operations gate well. He took my papers and glanced at the badge. “You drop that here when you leave, and we keep it on the board,” he said.

Smouse was sitting at a large desk in the middle of the maintenance shop. He had worked himself into the desk job. He jumped up and showed me around the shop and took me on a tour of the operations building. Other than Smouse, there was nobody who I knew. When we got back to the shop, he introduced me to Sergeant Moyer.

Sergeant Moyer was about average height and in good shape. His short dark hair was starting to get sparse on top. He seemed a little preoccupied and not very talkative.

I told Sergeant Moyer that I had a lot of factory-trained experience on the TRD-23 and could help them with any problems they might have. He assured me that they had their best man on the job, and it should be fixed in no time.

“If you don’t have any power transistors in supply, you should be getting some on order, 2N174. I suggest you order as many as they will allow you to order,” I said.

“Here, we handle orders by the book. We are not authorized to order supplies that we have not documented that we have a need for them,” Moyer says. “You will find that we follow the book around here.”

That was all he had to say. Time would show him that he needed to bend those rules once in a while.

Smouse showed me my workbench and handed me a toolbox. He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head toward Moyer, “He is alright most of the time. But times like this are why I work at that desk. The DF network is down, and it will be his ass if it is not up and running in a short time.”

I sat on my stool and thought, here I am at work with nothing to do. Just about that time, a tall, thin Sp4 entered the shop and came over to my desk. He looked young to me, and I wasn’t twenty-three yet.

“Hi, I’m Jim Simpson from the DF center. We heard that you came from Korea, and I know that they are very functional in DF and Radio Fingerprinting. We wondered if we could get you to look at our RFP unit. It has been down for about two years now.”

“I’m Dave Larsen,” I said as I extended my hand. “What the hell are you talking about. How could that unit be down for two years?”

“Nobody here seems to know how to work on it,” he replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Let’s get a look. I took care of the unit at the 177th. It is complex, but everything comes together if you go about it systematically.”

After looking things over, I looked at him and shook my head. “It might take me two or three hours, but we should be up and running by mid-afternoon.” Jim just looked at me blankly. I wasn’t sure if that meant he had heard that line before.

Since this had sat for 2 years, the first step was to go through and check all the tubes. Hopefully, supply would have replacements. After Moyer’s comments earlier, I was a little concerned about that part of the project. 

After all the tubes were checked and the bad ones replaced, I started through the alignment. In Korea, I usually had the next in line working with me. Being new in the shop and working on something they had neglected for two years, I had no new guy to be an understudy. That required a lot of extra steps when I started alignment on the CRT deflections. I finally talked with Jim, and he came and helped out a little, so I didn’t have to run from the back to the front all the time.

Working through the lunch hour brought some attention from Mr. McCann. He was the CWO who was the DF Operations officer. He had been sitting and watching the process for the last hour. It was about 2:30 when I had Jim pull up a signal and turn on the camera. I was worried that the high-speed camera might also be a problem if it had sat for two years without being used.

The signal came up, the camera ran, and everything looked good. Now we just had to wait until Jim developed the film. I sat back and relaxed for a minute. Mr. McCann looked at his watch.

“When did you start on this?” He asked.

“I don’t know. It must have been 11:30 or so this morning. I had to test all the tubes and get replacements from supply, which took a while. Usually, this alignment only takes an hour or an hour and a half.” I said.

Jim was excited when he returned with the film. He stood stripping through 10 feet of the paper film before handing it to Mr. Cann.

“How come you can come in here on the first morning and fix this unit when that shop has not been able to get it to run for the last 2 years?” Mr. Cann asked.

“Beats me, pretty standard stuff in my view. In Korea, we limited the people who could work on the until to one man, like myself, and a new kid who would work into my place. Too many hands in the soup make bad soup.”

“Don’t you worry. This is your baby from here on out!” Mr. McCann said.

I picked up my tools and closed the back of the unit. Jim was getting a crew together. They had a lot of work to do to catch up on stuff they had missed for the last couple of years.

When I got back to shop, Mr. McCann was at Moyer’s desk.

“Larsen has just fixed the RFP unit. He has done in two hours what your entire shop has failed to do in the last two years. I want Larsen to be the only maintenance man to touch that unit, period. Do you understand?” McCann said in a loud enough voice that the entire shop could hear.

Moyer was not too happy but busied himself at his desk. Maybe half an hour later, the phone rings. It’s my roommate from the Det. He tells Moyer that he has problems figuring out just what the problem is with the TRD-23, and he thought he might benefit from talking with me. Moyer calls me over to his desk and hands me the phone.

My roommate starts running down the list of his checks. He is way out in left field, but I listen as he goes on and on.

“Have you checked the two power transistors in the rotor power supply?” I ask, almost as if it is an afterthought.

“I have checked them 3 times, and they are fine,” he replies.

“They have an emitter to collector short, and they need to be replaced,” I said.

A long silence, “I have checked them 3 times, and they are fine,” he says again.

“I don’t have anything else to help you,” I say as I hand the phone to Moyer.

He tells Moyer he will be a few days longer than expected. When Moyer hangs up the phone, I tell him he had better get some transistors on order.

Smouse almost snickers. After the dust settles, he drops by my bench and says he thinks I am causing more havoc in the shop than it has seen in a long time. Moyer comes over and says he is assigning me to the swing shift starting tonight. I think he wanted me out of his hair. It was going to be a long day. Moyer sent me to dinner early so I would be set for the shift starting at 4:00.

The first night they sent me with a couple of guys to do maintenance on a transmitter at a nearby Air Force detachment. These guys were excited about the job. “This is an excellent way to spend the evening without having to do much,” Jim said. “This is a radar station located on another hilltop, not far from Rothwesten. 

“I didn’t know much about transmitters,” I said. But these two assured me it would be a good trip.

I can’t say that much was accomplished. These guys checked some gauges and made sure the thing was running. Then we sat around and shot the breeze with the Air Force guys, played some pool, and drank some beer. We started back to Rothwesten about 11:00, planning to get back just in time for shift change. It had started to snow while we were there, and it was snowing hard when we walked to the car.

We drove down the hill, the snow was not quite a white-out, but it was really coming down. The guy driving was straining to see, knowing that the main road was coming up anytime. Suddenly, there was the road, and we were speeding across it. We bounced across the shoulder and were in the middle of a snow-covered plowed field.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop, or we will never get going again,” I shouted from the back seat.

We drove in a wide circle and came back to where we could see the gate to the road. We drove through the open gate and right back onto the road. I would not have believed it would be possible. We laughed all the way back to Rothwesten. Actually, we were pretty lucky the field was there.

When I reported to the shop the next night, Mr. McCann and Sergeant Moyer were waiting to talk to me. The new TRD-23 at Munster was down and had been for several days now. It was desperately needed as the entire DF network was nonfunctional without it.

“How much do you know about this problem?” Mr. McCann asked, not giving Moyer a chance to say a word.

“I can fix it in a few hours if I can come up with the correct transistors. I have been suggesting that we get them on order for several days now. I spent several weeks with the factory team in Korea. I can train the on-site maintenance man to handle the problem.” I replied.

“I want him up there tomorrow!” McCann said to Moyer as he turned and left the room.

“You better go and get packed and get some rest,” Moyer said. “We will see at 8:00 in the morning. Bring your bags and be ready to go.

I arrived at the shop the next morning with my bag in hand. My roommate was there. He was pulled home overnight. He still couldn’t believe that he was unable to fix the problem. I didn’t have anything more to say to him.

Photo by Bruce Richards at http://brucerichards.com/army/kasselpics.htm

Rothwesten, West Germany, Dec 1967

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The train lurched to a stop. Then, with a couple of jerks, it started backing up. I rubbed my eyes as I woke from a sound sleep. Straightening my uniform, I peered out the window. It was dark outside be we were backing into the lighted station at Kassel, West Germany. I remained seated until the train came to a complete stop. It was a jarring stop, and I was glad I was not standing. 

The night air of early December in Northern Germany had a bite to it. I wished that I had not shipped my trench coat in my trunk. I could see my breath as I walked toward the main station. Hopefully, there will be a currier meeting this train, I thought. But when I reached the central platform, there was no evidence of any army guys. I stood and looked around, wondering what my next step would be. I knew not one word of German but figured I could at least get a cab that would know the way to Rothwesten. 

I must have looked a little lost. A well-dressed older gentleman stopped before me as he was heading to the train. Pointing to the far corner of the platform, in perfect English, he says, “Most of the GIs read the information on the bulletin board over there in the corner.” 

There was not a lot of information on the board. Basically, it said if a courier was going to be at the train, they would meet you here. Not seeing one, your best option would be to catch a cab. You could call the base for a ride, but that may take some time. I stepped outside and walked down to a short line of cabs. The driver quickly loaded my bags into the trunk. Getting in, I realized I only had dollars, no Deutsch Marks. 

I asked, “Do you take dollars?”

 “Rothwesten?” He asked, “Ten dollar.”

 I handed him 15 dollars, and he was happy. Off we went. 

The cab did a quick u-turn at the main gate and stopped. The driver jumped out and had my bags on the ground before I got to the rear of the car. He stood there briefly. I was not sure if he had forgotten the extra five dollars I gave at the start. 

I stepped up to the MP booth and handed my orders to the guy on duty. 

 “ASA Company A is about a mile down this road and a couple of blocks to the right,” he said, pointing in the direction of the road. 

I took a deep breath, picked up my bags, and started toward the road. 

“Wait a minute,” the MP shouted, “We will run you down there.” 

I was relieved as I threw my bags into the back of the jeep and jumped into the front seat. The streets were empty, and the guy drove too fast to suit me. He would give a GI a ticket for this kind of speed.

Rothwesten was an old German Army Air Force base. About 5 miles out of Kassel on a high hill. The buildings were arranged in long rows around the edge of the hill. The buildings were long, 3 stories high, and made of stone. The old landing strips were now filled with antennas at the top of the hill. The operations building was also on the old airstrip. 

Rothwesten was on top of this hill on the southeastern side of Kassel. It was apparently disguised well enough that it avoided being bombed during the war. The city of Kassel was heavily bombed. Early in the war, mainly at the request of the citizens, they had shot some 137 British POWs. There was a saying within the bomber crews when they started bombing Berlin, “Save a bomb for Kassel.” Most of the planes, virtually all British planes, would drop any bombs they had left when they passed back over Kassel. 

The young MP pulled up in front of Company A barracks. “This is it,” he says, pointing to the main door of the large building. “The mess hall is in the next building there. It is probably too late to get anything to eat. They hire Germans to run the place, and they don’t cater to us GIs.” 

I took my bags, thanked the MP and walked up the steps, and pushed through the door into a chaotic orderly room. There were at least a dozen guys doing anything but something official. Finally, the CQ noticed me standing at the counter, and I handed him a copy of my orders. 

“I will put these on the First Sergeant’s desk,” he said. “He won’t be in until Monday. In the meantime, you can find a bunk in the maintenance section on the second floor, at the very far end of the hall,” he said, pointing in the direction I was to go. 

Almost home, I thought, as I climbed the stairs and started down the hall. Halfway down the long hallway, around the corner, walks Bill Smouse. Bill and I were close friends at Fort Devens. He was dressed to go out on the town. 

“Aw, who is this but Dave Larsen!” Bill says with an outstretched hand. “Let’s stow your bags, change your clothes, and go downtown to celebrate your arrival.” 

Bill leads me down the hall to the last room. “I’m sorry that you have to take this bunk, your roommate is the biggest jerk in the shop, but this is the only bunk. You change out of that uniform, and I will run down to supply to grab your bedding.”

It felt good to get out of my Class As. I was just pulling on my shoes when Bill returned with my bedding. My bags and bedding were neatly stacked on the bed. It would have been a good idea to make the bed because I might not be in very good shape later tonight. But Bill was anxious to go, so off we went.

Bill had an old VW bug. It didn’t look like much, but it ran. We hit a small Gasthaus that the maintenance shop frequented. My first German beer impressed me, especially the liter mug they used to serve it. I was introduced to more people than I could possibly keep track of, and Bill was trying to make up with his girlfriend in the middle of the celebration. 

Later we went to a large bar in downtown Kassel. The main memory I have of that place was the restroom. The urinal was a tiled wall with a drain on the floor. You just stood up to the wall and made sure your toes were out of the way. 

Friday night, we slept downtown at an apartment of a married couple Bill knew. The husband also worked in the maintenance shop. No spare bedrooms, we spelt on the floor.

Bill was a guy who drank pretty heavy, we probably all drank more than we should, but Bill always seemed to overdo it. We woke early before anyone was up. Bill got up and pulled a bottle of cognac off the shelf. He poured a large glass and offered me a glass. Way too early for me. 

We said thanks for the floor and made some small talk when the couple finally got up.

“I wonder if we could borrow your floor again tonight?” Bill asked. It sort of depends on how things go during the day.”

“You’re always welcome here, Bill,” the guy’s wife said. “As long as you replace that cognac bottle.”

We headed back to the small Gasthaus for breakfast. German breakfast was not much, a small piece of sausage, an egg, and a hunk of bread. The coffee was excellent but strong, and it was definitely stronger than the coffee I was used to drinking. 

We spent most of the day at the Gasthaus. The girls started filtering in well before noon. Bill was well known, and I was sort of a novelty. 

Bill drank the whole day, and I stayed with coffee until evening. I was not sure how he would drive up the hill to Rothwesten, and we would probably end up on the floor again. 

Most of the girls were at least somewhat linked to various GIs. They all look pretty good, and with little effort, I thought I could fit in somewhere. 

When we finally got back to base on Sunday morning, there was quite a stir in the orderly room. They were making a big deal about my absence. Nobody knew what had become of me. Was I was lost or injured. All they knew was my stuff was untouched on the bunk upstairs. Apparently, my roommate was the source of the concern. Up at the room, he was really worked up. 

“The First Sergeant will have your ass in the morning,” he said. 

Bill was correct about this guy. He was quick to tell me that he was the best man in the shop. Then he filled me in on the organization of the maintenance department. Since my clearance papers were still in transit and the barracks were no place to discuss classified information, he was the one who should be in front of the First Sergeant. 

When I got back from breakfast on Monday morning, there was a note that the First Sergeant wanted to see me ASAP. 

Sergeant Ziggler was a short, heavy-set man who reminded me of Sergeant Scagliotti at Fort Devens. He mainly seemed bothered that he had to deal with petty concerns on Monday morning. 

“Smouse and I are old friends from Fort Devens,” I explained. “We never thought there would be a problem with me going out. If you did your job in Korea, you were free to go without worrying about a pass.”

“Well, things are a little different here,” Sergent Ziggler said. “But I can let it slide under the circumstances. Your personnel file preceded you, and you are highly recommended. You just need to play the game a little here”. 

“What about my clearance papers?” I asked. 

“They usually follow a day or two. They come under separate cover. I will let you know when they come. In the meantime, coming from Korea, you can Dx your uniform. So that is something you can do today. Turn in anything you want, your entire uniform if you want.” 

“What are my chances of getting a jeep to run down to supply to pick up the stuff I had shipped. I shipped a trunk and my duffle bag,” I asked. 

“You don’t ask for much, do you,” he said. “I bring you down here to chew your ass, and you end up driving off in my jeep,” he said as he handed me the keys. “Do you know where you are going?”

“I have no idea.” 

“When you get your supply papers, stop by here, and I will send one of these clerks with you. Then you can use the jeep to Dx your stuff. Just have it back here before noon.” 

Turned out to be a good Monday. I think I will like Sergeant Z as he was called. 

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