Pete Azzole's On-line Library

Mid-watch peace in the communications center was broken by a long string of bell-functions coming from the teletype on the PYTHON crypto circuit with Naval Communications Station (NAVCOMSTA) Kodiak. It startled me when it lit off. I was as anxious as the rest of the crew about the heightened readiness condition related to the crisis in Cuba. It was my turn to stand the solitary commcenter watch -- the other three men on the watch section were down in the DF (direction finding) shack. Being alone all night made it easy to get spooked. The tension of being in a high DEFCON (Defense Condition) didn't help either.

Although we didn't have much information -- CNN (Cable News Network) wasn't even conceived yet -- we knew that we were truly head-to-head with Kruschev over missiles in Cuba and a blockade had been imposed. At any instant, Northern Lights permitting, I usually had good copy on one of the mainland AM band broadcasting stations, which was a far richer source of background information than that received through official channels. Nonetheless, being out of theater meant being out of the loop, for operational information.

Cape Chiniak was a long way from Fidel's bastion but we were directly affected. We were conducting armed security patrols around the DF building (aka, the hole) and the main complex. We also began conducting dispersal drills which were akin to abandoning ship. A particularly taut general war command post exercise (CPX) was being conducted world-wide. We also knew that a Russian fishing ship moved into position just south of our tip of the island. Our site was located atop a hill perhaps a few hundred yards from the Pacific ocean's shoreline -- a terrific view, by the way. The Navy complex at Kodiak was about 20 miles to the north. We felt vulnerable.

Meanwhile, back to the bells on the teletype. A series of three sets of bells was the procedure to alert teletype operators of a FLASH precedence message -- the highest possible urgency designation. I promptly acknowledged COMSTA's raucous callup. Pleasantries and chatter were notably absent as the COMMSTA operator exchanged PYTHON segment numbers with me. We quickly shifted into enciphered traffic mode. Immediately, a FLASH precedence message began revealing itself line by line. My eyes were fixed on the canary yellow paper, watching each character come to life. Finally, after a gazillion addressees, the classification line revealed itself, then the CPX line -- but all that hardly registered. It was the numbered paragraphs that I was interested in. My patience was finally rewarded. My stomach turned into butterflies and my ears became hot as I read:

"1. A NUCLEAR ATTACK HAS BEEN LAUNCHED AGAINST THE EAST COAST OF THE UNITED STATES . . ."

It took only milliseconds, but it seemed forever before I regained the composure appropriate for a CPX drill message. It made a lasting impression on me. It seemed so real, albeit for a split second, with all the other things going on.

I enjoyed Mike Stockmeier's CRYPTOLOG article on Cape Chiniak (Winter 92 issue). It brought the above incident and many more of my own "Cape" memories to mind. I'd like to share just a few of them.

My tour at The Cape (October 61-December 62) predated Mike's -- it was also my second duty assignment. I served under two Officers In Charge during my time on the rock. One was Irv Newman and the other was Richard Loden. Despite my being married only six months before being assigned there and having spent more than the normal twelve month tour, it was a great experience and a rich source of vivid recollections.

I mentioned dispersal drills earlier -- I'll never forget my section's turn at it. Our OIC, Richard Loden, divided the entire ship's company into three sections (from four). Each section, during time off from operational watches, had the pleasure of Richard's company on a trek deep into the Kodiak woods for an overnight. It involved a simulation of a complete emergency destruction followed by an abandonment of the site and an evasion from potential captors. We took only the basics: sleeping bags, C- Rations, coffee grounds and M-1 carbines (without ammo clips, of course -- Richard was no dummy).

I need to set the scene here. An overnight hike in August on Kodiak Island is not your basic Indian Summer holiday. It wasn't bitter, but it was cold enough to have been compared by some to a witch's loins or by others to the hind quarters of a well digger in [appropriately] Alaska. When night fell on our campsite the pine trees groaned from the rapid temperature drop -- honest. That night, I was introduced to chuckwagon coffee -- a handful of grounds thrown into a pot of water sitting in the center red hot pine embers. Picking grounds out of your teeth adds something to the thrill of rising victorious over mother nature. The wonders of chemistry were also demonstrated through the use of self-heating cans of rations. We punched air holes in the wide can rim and added water to the carbide rocks in the outer jacket around the so called food. Theories of thermal transfer were proved as well. Although the outside edges of the self-heated food were hot, the centers were stone cold, as was our tender, spoiled bodies. We quickly committed our hungry hulks to sleeping bags in order that unconsciousness might hasten the coming of the morning and a blessed return to more gentile accommodations. Sleep didn't come easy though. It's hard to drift off while wondering if a deer -- there were plenty around -- would come bounding through the camp and stomp your brains out. Or any other parts of your body, for that matter. Worse yet, the thought of a Kodiak bear picking up the scent of food was probable enough (anything greater than 0.1% was enough) to keep your eyes from closing. When that blazing ball of flame lifted itself out of the sea to the east, it made a lot of guys happy. Those of us who didn't have the daywatch took hot showers and hit the rack.

All in all, operational duty at The Cape was essentially identical to any other AN/GRD-6 Direction Finder station. But the leisure -- not to be confused with liberty -- was unique. For the Compleat Angler set, the coming of the humpies (humped-back salmon) was a dream come true. An angler had his choice, either snatch 'em from the cold, clear water on their way upstream by hand or net, (anglers never chose this option), or cast lures or large hooks into the schools amassed at the junction of the stream and the ocean. During the period of the salmon run, one could find several GI lockers sitting outside the garage building, smoking at the seams. Fresh, home-smoked salmon and OlympiaŠ beer are simply terrific!

The loooong Kodiak summer days were awesome; one could come off the evewatch and go fishing -- in daylight. Those who pulled a tour at The Cape know that's no fish tale. One cannot think of Dolly Varden trout without thinking of the word awesome. Dollies left the fresh water streams in the Spring and ventured into the salt surf to feed on unsuspecting delicacies. These beautiful silvery trout turned into strong, ravenous and crazed killers. There was no decision making required about the color or style of a lure to get Dollies. If it moved, they whacked it -- it was that simple. Heaven! On the other hand, the small lake nearby contained stubborn Brown trout which yielded only to plump worms -- or bacon strips.

Many days off were spent exploring the territory on our isolated tip of the island. Getting outdoors and roaming amongst raw nature provided the balance to being cooped up with fifty other lonely guys. When not hunting or fishing, the derelict WW II Army defensive positions captured our attention. Hardened lookout bunkers and howitzer emplacements were positioned along the high sheer faces of the coastline around our end of the island. They held a commanding view of the approaches to Kodiak harbor. Their height above the sea extended the visual horizon many miles. Also near our site were old watchtowers, Quonsets, bunkers, ammo storage tunnels and a heavy artillery complex. It appeared that the departing Army left nothing of value that could be hauled away. I can remember even the fuse boxes being empty. But, just the same, there was plenty of stuff to facilitate a time-bridge and allow us to make imaginary contact with the men of another era. One might find a stained and tattered page from a newspaper or magazine, moldy corporal stripes, a rusty straight razor, a boot heel, corroded belt buckles, buttons, names and initials carved into wooden things, signs and shell casings. I particularly recall scouring through the remains of a Quonset hut and finding a can that, for some reason, piqued my curiosity. Inside was the remnants of a young lady's picture, presumably a "Dear John" author. The photo was torn into tiny pieces and stuffed into a ration can behind a rotting olive drab boot sock. It took me an hour or so to complete the puzzle of the fragile pieces -- she was pretty!

There were many such things. When you held them in your hand, you could feel and visualize men of yesterday. It was eerie. I could imagine men playing cards, the smell of their cigars, taste their strong coffee, hear them talking and feel their loneliness. Ultimately, I thanked my lucky stars for living in a more modern age.

It was difficult to appreciate that only seventeen years or so had passed since this abandoned coastal artillery complex was functional. Contrast and similarity with our DF system was interesting: bearings of visual sightings from the multiple lookout positions (outstations) were communicated on sound powered phones (report circuits) to the command center plotter (net control) deep underground. Sitting high on a hill at the shoreline, just above the command center, were the huge hard-mounted guns (fix consumers) which looked out over the harbor entrance.

Cape Chiniak was an animal lover's paradise. Fortunately, the Kodiak bears stayed on the far northern end of the island. Our large animal life was mainly a strain of small deer that roamed our area freely, as well as red fox, ermine, squirrels and strangely enough, cows. A reclusive farmer had a spread several miles to the north of us. He allowed his herd, including several fierce looking red-haired Scottish Highlanders roam for forage. Bald eagles perched atop the tall, steep cliffs. They soared majestically in the updrafts above the coarse, dark gray basaltic beaches. Since the first day I saw my first live Bald Eagle, I've been totally enamored with them. They are a very appropriate national symbol. I used to lie in the grass quietly and watch them for long periods of time. They brought words to mind like, regal, powerful, alert, confident and beautiful. On the other end of the avian spectrum was a hardy breed of oversized crows which ruled over the trash dump at the nearby Air Force satellite tracking station. I believe it was Gary Summerlin, home town Tuscaloosa, Alabama, who named them "creagles." They were too big to be crows but lacked the colors and DNA of an eagle.

I could go on, but I'll spare you, at least for now. Yep, I enjoyed my tour at The Cape.