70's Flashback

Many years ago, in a prior life as an United States Air Force Law Enforcement Specialist, I was stationed at Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota. We worked three day shifts, three swing shifts, three midnight shifts and then got three days off. (We were actually shortchanged because our first day off started the morning we got off the last midnight shift.) Both Security and Law Enforcement were assigned to the same flights and worked together, but there was a separation of duties. Security guarded the aircraft and the nukes. Law Enforcement manned the entrance gates to the base and provided general law enforcement and animal control. (Although we considered catching stray dogs and cats demeaning, it did have its entertainment value. Like that one time a guy maced a cat in the rafters and the cat came down like a dive bomber and tore him a new one.) As was the case at nearly every base, the midnight shift was boring and we spent most of our time finding ways to stave off the boredom and the sleep (which we called the Z monster) that lurked behind it.

One quiet night around oh-dark-thirty a radio transmission broke the silence.

"I'm going fucking craaazy."

And that was it. Nobody replied and neither the security nor law enforcement flight chief said anything. But everyone pretty much knew that one of the guys was providing an unauthorized moment of levity. There was another transmission about fifteen minutes later.

"I'm going fucking craaazy."

It was the same voice. Still, there was no response from anyone in charge which was surprising since radio discipline, along with weapon safety, was always harped on. Another fifteen minutes passed.

"I'm going fucking craaazy."

Third time's a charm. This time the security flight chief got on the radio.

"Minot Security to the person transmitting, identify yourself!"

A short pause before the reply we all knew was coming.

"I'm not that fucking crazy."

Classic.