GI Pleads Guilty to Spy Charges

In response to “Orange County GI Pleads Guilty to Spy Charges,” Part I, June 22:

Spec. 4 Michael A. Peri, 21, wasn’t the first, nor will he be the last, American soldier to run into trouble in the good old 11th Armored Cavalry, stationed at Fulda, Germany.

Fulda is near the now East German border and the mission of the 11th Cav is the first-line defense of that border, and has been for some 40 years now. A mythical scenario that keeps being played out year in and decade out. Sure the faces change, but the stark boredom and misery of that fantasy place--where military minds keep trying to fight World War II over again--don’t change.

The siren wails at 3 a.m. and everyone jumps out of bed, dresses in full combat gear, runs down to his tank and charges out to that same old spot he has been going to for years. I served my miserable tour in that place in the early 1960s, but I’m sure I could still run through all those same drills today without missing a step.

I don’t think the public has any idea how tough it is to serve in the military during peacetime. It is like being on a team that practices, practices and practices, but never gets to play a real game. (None of that training in Germany was of much use to us in Vietnam.)

American military personnel in Germany are subject to all German laws and can be tried in their courts. But many of the young soldiers get caught up in our own military justice system. Booze, broads, gambling, dope, AWOL, disobeying an order. (You would be surprised how many guys were volunteering for Vietnam back then just to get out of Fulda.)

We called it the “Freedom Train.” Once a week all the men who had served their tour in the 11th Cav at Fulda were sent off on a train that left the Fulda station on Saturday, at midnight. There were strict orders that all departees would be in full uniform and sober.

One of my friends and his Hawaiian wife threw me a going-away party. And what a grand departure that was. Three carloads of us roared up to the station. We all had those Hawaiian things around our necks and with glasses raised, and kisses from the ladies, they bid me farewell. Laughing and singing, they escorted me to the train while the poor duty officer and the MPs stared in disbelief.

It looks like Peri didn’t make it out of Fulda in time.

Footnote: Vietnam, 1967. They had finally got me out of that rubber plantation, zapped me with a shot of morphine and strapped me into a dust-off. As it lifted off I knew my soldiering days were over.

DON LOVE

Palm Springs