Once upon a time, there was a Cold War (look up the term on Wikipedia). The world was reassuringly bi-polar, kept calm by nuclear pacifiers, television came in color, newspapers came on refined wood pulp. "The enemy" spoke a reasonably easy to learn language and did not pretend to be religious.
All this gloom, however, had moments of sublime hilarity.
We told you about a few, for example, the German officer on his way to Berlin by car being sent off with "have a good trip, Colonel Meyer"** by the East German freeway border guard. Assuming a mistake, our German major was somewhat surprised to learn of his promotion to Colonel upon return from Berlin.
Or how someone took old WW II Wehrmacht flags out of a museum for a ceremony without paying attention to the small black swastikas on the metal tips. A number of NATO grandees saluted a bunch of 2 inch by 2 inch swastikas, and you have never heard about it***.
Here is a new one.
Early morning at a NATO base in southern Germany, some time after the 6 AM shift change but before the daytime crowd arrives.
The telephone of the duty officer rings. The guard commander is on the line.
Sir, I would like to report two Russian trucks at the main gate, says the sergeant, his voice calm with just a hint of incredulity.
The duty officer, a rotund colonel with a BMI a tad too high for a modern professional fighting force - as well as for the tastes of his wife - is trying to find a way to express leadership in a crisis: Soviet trucks, you mean, sergeant? What about them?
Sorry, sir, yes, Soviets. Two civilian flatbeds loaded with wood. The drivers say this is a delivery for the base firing range.
Tell them to wait, I'll be right over.
The colonel was mildly apprehensive. Civilian trucks out of the Eastern bloc countries, and especially out of the Soviet Union, were widely regarded as a mere extension of the mighty Soviets, an impression quite understandable when most drivers looked like special forces personnel on vacation.
The encounter with the drivers went from cautiously professional to rather cordial when they showed the papers. The listed original shipping company was an Italian outfit that had won a NATO wide bid, which had been sub contracted out, to eventually end at a Soviet lumber plant. For the foreseeable future, the firing range of this NATO base was going to use Russian, pardon, Soviet, wood for target practice panels and supports. Every now and then, some of the troops rotating through would see a "Made in USSR" stamp on a panel and wonder for a second.
A couple of the guards were dispatched to accompany the trucks to the range, as much out of residual caution as to avoid surprises for the Soviets at the firing range. After all, there always were lots of guys with live ammunition at the firing range.
It remains unknown whether the Soviet drivers took a few pictures on the way out, and, frankly, nobody involved cared. The guard log had an entry, but it is unlikely that an incident report was ever filed.
** Name changed, incident true.
*** Except here.
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