Read Online Air Force Brat by Susan Kiernan-Lewis - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Kiernan-Lewis
Tags: German, World War II, France, Germany, War, Europe, Berlin, NATO, Paris, French, hitler, Soldiers, Army, Battles, boomers, WWII, rifles, air force, village, bombs, Language, berlin airlift, airmen, grenades, military dependent, ordinance
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south of the road leading
to Verdun, and southwest of Paris which was a four-hour drive away.
Built on farmland near the village of Chambley, the airbase was
formally dedicated and turned over to the USAFE on June 12, 1956.
In 1961, Chambley was reactivated as part of Operation Tack Hammer,
which was the US’s response to the Berlin Crisis. The 7211nd
Tactical Fighter Wing was sent to Chambley to support the
Seventeenth Air Force and various NATO exercise in Europe—flying up
to thirty sorties a day with Seventh Army units in Germany. The
F-84 Thunderstreaks showed up at Chambley in 1961.
As part of the
7122 nd Tactical Fighter Wing, my father was sent to Chambley in the
spring of 1962. My mother and all of us kids followed in the early
fall.
As I understand it, the
Berlin Airlift 1 was considered an international crisis requiring
the expansion of US military forces in Europe. The Department of
Defence announced in August of 1961 that 148,000 reserve personnel
would be called up for twelve months of active duty service. 27,000
of these would be from the Air Force Reserve, and the Air National
Guard flying squadrons and support units would augment the Air
Force and about 112,000 Army reservists. At that time, it was the
largest overseas movement of aircraft since World War
II.
Dad’s first assignment at Chambley was as
squadron commander of a combat materials squadron. Of course, his
first sergeant ran the squadron and managed the enlisted men. I can
remember overhearing him talking from time to time about
disciplinary problems with some of the airmen. If the first
sergeant couldn’t get it straightened out, then the offender was
sent to “the Commander.” Dad could reduce the guy in rank, toss him
in some kind of confinement (either to barracks or the brig) ship
him back stateside, or even discharge him.
The impression I get is that Dad had a lot
of time on his hands and so he was free to enjoy the French people,
discover local sources for great food and booze, and build a
five-star restaurant out of the rundown pilot’s watering hole of an
O-Club. It wasn’t what he was there to do but it’s likely that
creating and running this restaurant/night club on this forlorn
little air base in postwar France was some of the most fun Dad ever
had in his working life.
I’m not sure of all the
details of how my Dad came to be the acting commanding officer of
the base. I remember some of the stories I overheard of the ex-CO.
One involved him trying to throw an airman and his family off base
because the airman wasn’t mowing his yard often enough. I think I
remember hearing the word sociopath in reference to the CO, too. I don’t know what
happened to him.
We had lived in the village nine months when
my father assumed command of Chambley Air Force Base. When that
happened, it was necessary for him and us to live on base and so we
moved in the spring from Ars to what felt, in contrast, like
“little America.”
Of course, when we moved on base, Tommy not
only took his mort of munitions from the countryside, he also
brought his still-ardent desire to collect more. With Chambley a
good twenty-plus miles from Ars, Tommy had brand-new territory to
explore. It was clear that the kids who were already on the base
had not thoroughly ransacked the area. Tom was gleeful about the
still undiscovered and unexploded bombs in the area.
And find them, of course, he did.
Like all kids on base—probably like all kids
on any base during this time—we had an unusual amount of free
movement. Not only were all dependents free to roam the base, but
we were always jauntily waved or saluted as we made our way OFF
base into the countryside—at least until Tom revoked those
privileges for all dependents on the base for eternity.
We had only been living on
base a few weeks when my father found himself in a very unusual
traffic gridlock—complete with honking, shouting, and steaming car
hoods—down the main road intersecting the base.
to Verdun, and southwest of Paris which was a four-hour drive away.
Built on farmland near the village of Chambley, the airbase was
formally dedicated and turned over to the USAFE on June 12, 1956.
In 1961, Chambley was reactivated as part of Operation Tack Hammer,
which was the US’s response to the Berlin Crisis. The 7211nd
Tactical Fighter Wing was sent to Chambley to support the
Seventeenth Air Force and various NATO exercise in Europe—flying up
to thirty sorties a day with Seventh Army units in Germany. The
F-84 Thunderstreaks showed up at Chambley in 1961.
As part of the
7122 nd Tactical Fighter Wing, my father was sent to Chambley in the
spring of 1962. My mother and all of us kids followed in the early
fall.
As I understand it, the
Berlin Airlift 1 was considered an international crisis requiring
the expansion of US military forces in Europe. The Department of
Defence announced in August of 1961 that 148,000 reserve personnel
would be called up for twelve months of active duty service. 27,000
of these would be from the Air Force Reserve, and the Air National
Guard flying squadrons and support units would augment the Air
Force and about 112,000 Army reservists. At that time, it was the
largest overseas movement of aircraft since World War
II.
Dad’s first assignment at Chambley was as
squadron commander of a combat materials squadron. Of course, his
first sergeant ran the squadron and managed the enlisted men. I can
remember overhearing him talking from time to time about
disciplinary problems with some of the airmen. If the first
sergeant couldn’t get it straightened out, then the offender was
sent to “the Commander.” Dad could reduce the guy in rank, toss him
in some kind of confinement (either to barracks or the brig) ship
him back stateside, or even discharge him.
The impression I get is that Dad had a lot
of time on his hands and so he was free to enjoy the French people,
discover local sources for great food and booze, and build a
five-star restaurant out of the rundown pilot’s watering hole of an
O-Club. It wasn’t what he was there to do but it’s likely that
creating and running this restaurant/night club on this forlorn
little air base in postwar France was some of the most fun Dad ever
had in his working life.
I’m not sure of all the
details of how my Dad came to be the acting commanding officer of
the base. I remember some of the stories I overheard of the ex-CO.
One involved him trying to throw an airman and his family off base
because the airman wasn’t mowing his yard often enough. I think I
remember hearing the word sociopath in reference to the CO, too. I don’t know what
happened to him.
We had lived in the village nine months when
my father assumed command of Chambley Air Force Base. When that
happened, it was necessary for him and us to live on base and so we
moved in the spring from Ars to what felt, in contrast, like
“little America.”
Of course, when we moved on base, Tommy not
only took his mort of munitions from the countryside, he also
brought his still-ardent desire to collect more. With Chambley a
good twenty-plus miles from Ars, Tommy had brand-new territory to
explore. It was clear that the kids who were already on the base
had not thoroughly ransacked the area. Tom was gleeful about the
still undiscovered and unexploded bombs in the area.
And find them, of course, he did.
Like all kids on base—probably like all kids
on any base during this time—we had an unusual amount of free
movement. Not only were all dependents free to roam the base, but
we were always jauntily waved or saluted as we made our way OFF
base into the countryside—at least until Tom revoked those
privileges for all dependents on the base for eternity.
We had only been living on
base a few weeks when my father found himself in a very unusual
traffic gridlock—complete with honking, shouting, and steaming car
hoods—down the main road intersecting the base.
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