Panama Rain

A light rain falls at my home in Eugene, Oregon, but it’s supposed to rain a lot here. There is a breeze blowing in from the north that’s bringing a chill reminiscent of when I lived in Alaska. As the day turns darker and gloomier, I am reminded of the Panama Rain. Now that was the type of rain that seemed it should have an old man with a boat full of animals. I must warn you; this is a war story I have pulled out of my footlocker as the rain continues to fall. 

“We need someone to go down to Det 4 to support the U2.” Master Sergeant Boyle told me in his office with Lieutenant Morris sitting at her desk. There is a lot of information I clearly understood, but to a lot of people it sounds like military mumbo-jumbo, and it is exactly that.

Translation: What M.Sgt. Boyle told me was I was going down to Panama to Detachment 4 to Howard, Air Base in Panama where the U-2 reconnaissance aircraft (or the Gooney Bird as we called it because of the aircraft’s lack of proper landing gear).

“You will be gone for six months.” He told me, “And you will support the civilian technicians from Lockheed.” Not only did the U2 aircraft have the slowest flight speed, pilots dressed in space suits, because the U2 could fly on the fringe of Earth’s atmosphere where it met outer space. Flying at this altitude, the U2 aircraft armed only with high-tech surveillance cameras were out of missile range.

“Yes, Sergeant Boyle.” I nodded. I figured I had it easy since we had just launched Operation Desert Shield against Iraq to liberate Kuwait. As rumors of Scud Missiles loaded with nerve agent being launched at our guys, I figured I got the clean end of the stick. If I landed in the Sand Box in Saudi Arabia, I would be grabbing my chemical warfare suit and mask each time a missile went overhead. For those who have done this, I cannot tell you what a pain in the ass this can be especially when the sirens sound at Oh-One dark thirty. 

In a very formal ceremony the year before, the United States Air Force had retired the SR-71. Beale Air Force Base was the headquarters for both reconnaissance aircraft, the SR-71 and the U2. The Blackbird, as it was known, was the fastest aircraft at the time able to reach speeds of Mac-3. One day while I was sitting in Life Support near the briefing room for the pilots of the Blackbird, one of the pilots just back from a mission still dressed in his spacesuit, told me they had reached Mac-5 on his current flight, but said it was top-secret as he laughed on his way to the briefing room. At one time, information like that was considered classified, but it became a standing joke the closer the aircraft came to retirement.  Mac-5 meant they were traveling five times the speed of sound and could fly from the west coast to London, England in about three hours. 

The U2 on the other hand was the slowest aircraft in inventory.  The military had designated the SR-71 for retirement in January 1990 just as we were getting ready for Desert Storm. It seemed to make no sense that the Air Force had decided to retire the aircraft with supersonic capability rather than the Gooney Bird which was the slowest. Still both aircraft were capable of flying close to outer space, so the pilots had to wear space suits. 

There was a caveat for this assignment. The year before American paratroopers landed in Panama City and extracted Manual Noreiga from his palace in Panama City, the capital. The US troops were able to get him out by playing very loud rock ‘n’ roll music on a boom box for over twenty-four hours.

Most Panamanians cheered his exit from Panama, due to the cruelty of his brutal regime. But there were splinter groups of loyalist factions that remained hostile to American forces still present in the country. In other words, you had to watch your back while you perused the El Central Shopping District in the city. It was wise to travel in a group, but not a big one that would become a target.

A week before I was to leave for Panama, I was handed my orders.

“You will need at least twenty copies of these.” The administrator told me when he handed me a packet of my orders, “If someone asks for a copy, you will have plenty to distribute.”

Looking at the top copy, I was unable to decipher any of the numbers or letters except my name, squadron, and social security number. I now knew how the British explores felt when they first saw the Rosetta Stone. It wasn’t my jog to be able to read them. It was up to whoever asked me for a copy. 

A military taxi picked me up before my flight. I put my duffle bag in the truck and rode ten miles to the flight line where a C-141 transport would fly me to Howard AB near the Canal Zone. There were about twenty other personnel on board. When I got on board, I looked around at all the strange faces. 

I sat next to a guy with sallow skin and eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own. He did not say anything as he put his Walkman ear phones on and immediately fell asleep. Watching him nod off, I suddenly felt sleepy as we took off. 

“Hey.” I heard a voice over the whining of the jet engines.

“Yeah.” I saw one of the crew standing next to me in the aisle.

“You wanna see a refueling?” He smiled. “C’mon.”

“Sure.” I unbuckled my seat belt and followed him to the boom. The boom is a small compartment in the rear of the C-141 where you could watch the boom reach out to another aircraft. The boom would attach itself to the other aircraft like a giant nozzle at a gas station. To see the refueling, you had to lie on your stomach and look out the window. When I looked out the window at the F-15 that was being refueled and saw the pilot waving at me. This was incredible. It sure beat sitting at my desk in Stock Control back at Beale Air Force Base. When the boom retracted, the F-15 peeled off and flew away. 

“Thanks.” I told the crewman as I returned to my seat and fell asleep. In my dreams, I was the pilot waving from the cockpit of his F-15. 

I awoke to the intercom static as a voice sounded in the speakers stating, “Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Republic of Panama. It is nine pm local time and the temperature on the ground is a nice warm eighty-four degrees and very humid. We will be on the ground in about ten minutes, so please fasten your seatbelts. Have a wonderful time in Panama.”

The guy next to me stirred and fastened his seatbelt. I felt the descent in my stomach and then felt the wheels as they touched down with a thud. Once we had come to a stop the large door on the left side of the C-141 opened up and the warm humid air like a sauna rushed in.

“Good evening, I’m Sergeant Moore. I’d like to welcome you to Howard. It is a warm evening. Just in, Magic Johnson of the LA Lakers has just been diagnosed with AIDs.”

I had my bag and began following the others out the side portal and down the stairs.

“Johnson has AIDs.” I heard the guy in front of me comment as he shook his head, “That’s horrible.”

I did not really care much about basketball, but I heard of Magic Johnson and knew he was one of the top players in professional basketball. AIDs were a big deal since most people like Freddie Mercury and Rock Hudson did not survive. I wondered how long Magic Johnson had. 

As I was waiting for the bus to transport us to our barracks, I looked beyond the flightline at the palm trees that created a ghostly uneven horizon just beyond the asphalt. 

When the transport arrived, I had already soaked through my fatigues shirt with perspiration and did not wish to discuss what it was like below my uniform belt. The blue bus took us to the barracks where we would be billeted for the next six months. Inside the barracks the air conditioning cooled me off so I could sleep.

In the morning, I got a map of Howard AB and decided to take a hike and find out what the base was like.

Just as a point of reference, Howard was located on the Pacific Ocean side of the country called the Panama Pacifico. If you drove up the Boulevard Veracruz on base, you would intersect the Carretera Panamericana Highway that cross the bridge over the canal and onto Panama City, the capital of the country, but I did not take that journey on my first day. Instead, I wanted to get familiar with the base. 

Since it was Saturday, there was no one at Detachment 4 or so I thought. I did not even put on my uniform. As it turned out Det 4 for over a mile hike to the flight line from the barracks. When I walked up to the hangar, I was greeted by a Security Policeman.

“Halt.” He held up his hand, but I could see the rifle on his shoulder.

I pulled out my identification card. He smiled as he took it from my hand. “Orders?”

I had them in my jeans pocket and presented the SP with a copy of my orders.

“You are entering a top-secret area.”  He explained.

“I’m just here to see where I will be on Monday.” I took back my orders and identification card.

“We will be closing the area in an hour.” He replied.

“I’ll be gone by then, thank you.”

He nodded and left.

There was a sign over the door, “Supply.”

This was the place. I opened the door but heard someone inside the cage near a desk. The cage door was open. I walked cautiously toward the open door, “Hello.”

“Hello.” Said the person inside the cage.

“I’m the supply guy.” I announced.

“And I’m Andrew McDermott.” He was an older man with streaks of gray hair and a face marked with all sorts of deep lines. He showed his badge which bore his name with Lockheed Supply Technician written under his name. “Call me, Drew. Hell, call me anything but late for dinner.”

I showed him my orders.

“Ah, so you are the new guy.” He nodded as he handed me my orders back. “Welcome to our little fun house.”

“Drew.” I shook my head.

“That’s Mr. Drew to you son.” His face was serious as he said that, but then he broke into laughter. “Messin’ with ya boy.”

“Yeah.” I exhaled.

“I was just here doing my weekly inventory.” His eyes went to a shelf inside the cage. There were a lot of shelves in the cramped concealment that was secured by a single padlock. “Inside this area are the parts that are classified.”

“Really?”

“Sure, most of the surveillance equipment on the U2 aircraft are classified. From outer space, the camera on this aircraft can take a photograph where you could count the dimples on a golf ball at a random gold course.” He pushed the glasses back on place on his nose. “You had better make sure you have good security habits. Not like the guy you are replacing.”

He rolled his eyes. Sergeant DeCinces was not known for his attention to detail, because he’d rather have a beer in one hand and a pool stick in the other.  DeCinces was already on the plane back to Beale. 

“He was lazy.” Drew sighed as he checked a couple more items on his list. When I walked out of the door behind him, I saw the U2 parked in the hangar while a couple of the maintenance crew putter around under the wing. “If you can show me some gumption, we will get along just fine. We have two birds in the hangar, and both are scheduled for daily sorties. They must be ready every day, so it is important to make sure they are ready to go. If they need a unit or part, we must make sure we get it as soon as possible.”

“Alright.” I nodded.

“Most of the crew are off on Saturday, but there are a couple working on one of the birds who had some maintenance issues.” He pointed toward the hanger. “I figure they’ll her ready in time.”

It was then I saw the hanger next to the one I was standing in. On the side of the hanger in big bright letters were the letters DEA. I knew then what our mission was all about at that moment.

“Now, I’ve got some things to do. It would be best if you showed yourself out.” He did not even turn to look at me, but I knew when I was being dismissed.

As I looked at the sky, I could see the darkening of the clouds. It was almost four o’clock local time, but I wasn’t hungry yet, so I decided to go to the base movie theater to watch a movie. I figured once it ended, I’d feel a little more like eating. I was still under the influence of jet lag even though there was only a couple hours difference between whatever time zone this was and West Coast Time Zone. 

As I walked on the sidewalk, I noticed the clouds kept getting darker. I had walked in the rain before, and I figured it was no big deal. I needed to get a good walk in to ignite my appetite. As I continued to walk, I thought more about Andrew from Lockheed and the strange behavior he exhibited. I’d call it quirky more than odd, but he had a way about him. I hoped I would fare better than my predecessor, Sergeant DeCinces.

As I was running this through my central processor, I saw something coming toward me that I could not identify. It appeared to be a wave. Yes, that’s what it was-a wave like the ones I had seen at the ocean. I tilted my head. Did I have that right? Or was it a waterfall? Either way, this sheet of water was coming straight at me and since I had no way to get myself out of its path, I stood there waiting.

It did not take long. Wave? Waterfall? It did not matter. I could not have gotten any wetter if I had dove into the base pool just a block away from where I was. I held my nose, because so furious was this downpour, I would have surely drowned. 

For five solid minutes, I felt like a bug in a faucet. I had never seen rain come down from the filament so hard. 

I managed to get to the theater, but my clothes were drenched, and my hair was dripping into my eyes. When the person in the ticket booth saw me standing under the shelter of the overhang, he burst out laughing.

“I see you got a bit damp.” He continued to chuckle as he handed me back my change.

“This is damp?” I wiped my face with my wet short sleeve of my shirt.

“This is the rainy season.” He shrugged with just one shoulder, “You were lucky you weren’t washed into the sewer. Every day at precisely four pm, the monsoon rain comes down. If you are unlucky enough to get caught in them, you will look the way you do now.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I wiped my wet face with my wet shirt. With a ticket in hand, I walked into the theater. I handed my wet ticket to the man at the entrance. He chuckled as I passed by. “I do not see what is so funny.”

It was then I began to feel the chill of the air conditioner. In order to survive the brutal heat and humidity, you must run the air conditioner all the time, but when you are sopping wet, you run the risk of hyperthermia. As I took my seat, my teeth began to chatter.

I have a strict belief that if you pay for a ticket to the movies, you should see the entire movie, but this was one of the rare times, I left early due to fears of freezing to death. I stopped in the restroom, hoping to find something like a hand drier to attempt to dry my sopping wet shirt, but there was none of the hand driers to be found. Anywhere. Naturally. 

When I walked out of the theater, the rain had stopped. I could not help but smiling thinking about my experience in the monsoon rain in Panama. The barracks were close to the theater, and I was able to get into some dry clothes.

So, I watch the gentle rain fall from my living room in Eugene and smile as I remember my first day in Panama where I almost drowned in monsoon rainstorm and then almost froze to death trying to watch a movie. Something like that, I’ve been told, could only happen to me.