I woke up this morning to the blaring sound of an air raid siren. Oddly, my first impulse was to reach for my cell phone to check the time. 10:01 am. It must be the monthly drill, when the siren goes off for a minute or so, some jets fly overhead, and the siren goes off again a few minutes later to signal the stand down.

Once upon a time, people on the street during a drill were expected to drop what they were doing and make for the nearest shelter, like a subway station. The first time I got caught on the street during a drill I dutifully made my way to the nearest subway station (it was Chungmuro station on line 4, IIRC), until I noticed that all of the pedestrians were just stopping along the sidewalk, under awnings and in front of stores, their backs pressed against the walls and windows. The cars just kept going for the most part, though some pulled over to the side of the road. These days, I don’t think anyone even pays any attention to the siren. They just continue about their business.

My next thought this morning was the realization that today is not the 15th. You see, the drill always, without fail, is held on the 15th of each month. I was on the sofa (because of my recent back trouble) and my wife on the floor (her mother was in our bed). She sat up and stared sleepily my way for a moment before calmly turning on the TV and flipping the channels. By this time, I was mostly awake. The thought flashed in my mind that if we were under attack, I’m sure North Korean infiltrators would have disabled communications beforehand.

One channel my wife landed on had a live aerial view of a ceremony downtown outside the Blue House (Korea’s equivalent of the White House). Oh, yeah. It’s Memorial Day today. At this point, the siren cut out. It had lasted at least a minute. It must have been some sort of ceremonial thing for Memorial Day. But that’s never happened before. And if it had been announced beforehand, neither of us had heard anything about it. I wonder how many people were taken aback by the unexpected sound of an air raid siren on a sunny Saturday morning.

As my wife had flipped through the channels on the TV, I had been patiently waiting for a confirmation that either we were under attack or we weren’t. I say patiently because neither of us, though quite surprised, were panicking. We were both quite calm and quite clear headed (grogginess from sleep aside), though we both assumed there was a real possibility that a strike from the North was imminent. As soon as we realized that no attack would be forthcoming, we brushed it off. My wife went back to sleep, and I stumbled off to brush my teeth, both without a word of what had just transpired. It reminded me of an incident from my Army days.

In the fall of 1991, there was a stink about North Korea’s Yongbyon nuclear facility. I don’t recall the details and I’m unable to find anything through Google. What I do remember is that the Japanese had seen something in satellite photos that set off alarm bells in the west. At the time, I was an Army medic stationed at Camp Casey, Dongducheon, Korea, just a few kilometers south of the DMZ. At some point, my battalion, 2/72 Armor (affectionately referred to as Second Tank) was called to the nearby base theater for a briefing from the Brigade Commander. We were told that, in light of recent events, there was a possibility of the US launching an air strike on the Yongbyon nuclear facility. If that were to happen, Second Infantry Division (which included us) would go on alert 24 hours prior to the strike.

It was a strange way to go about announcing it, really. We weren’t locked down at the time. We were free to head off base to the local bars, free to get drunk and run our mouths. I don’t recall anything in the papers at the time alluding to possible air strikes, and I don’t remember it being public knowledge (again, I’m finding no mention of it in any North Korea “timelines” through Google). Under such circumstances, would a Colonel really tell every battalion in his command, in separate group “briefings”, that the US was considering an air strike on a sovereign nation? It seems irresponsible. Regardless, at the time, we believed it.

At the time, the Second Infantry Division held monthly exercises that the soldiers called practice alerts. Several alert sirens were set up near the major 2ID bases. In fact, we were prohibited, when off duty, from leaving a certain radius around the nearest siren without a pass. When the sirens went off for the practice alerts, we would go through the motions of a real alert.

First stop was the armory to pick up our weapons. Then it was off to the motor pool. In the motor pool, each vehicle was visited by a member of the commo platoon with a device to upload the encryption/decryption keys to the communication equipment. The vehicles had to be started and the comms configured. No vehicle was considered ready to roll until both had been accomplished. Usually, we would be given the order to stand down within an hour. In the case of a real alert, we would be expected to line up in convoy formation, then roll out to an ammo dump for supply, then head off to a rally point. We never practiced that part.

Yes, even medics maintain vehicles. We had two command tracked vehicles, the kind often used for mobile command posts, that we used for mobile aid stations. Then we had 4 armored personnel carriers, one for each tank company in our battalion, that had been converted to use as ambulances. Each tracked vehicle was manned by two medics, one driver and one TC (tank commander). We also had a hummer, a 2.5 ton truck and a 5 ton truck. In November of ‘91, I had recently been moved from one of the aid station tracks to an ambulance, as a driver (later, I would take over the hummer from my roommate).

Two things can be said about the six practice alerts I had experienced by that point. First, we always knew when they were coming. They were always in the first or second week of the month and almost exclusively on Tuesdays. Without fail, the siren would always sound early in the morning (though I can’t remember what time, it was almost always the same). Plus, my platoon had the good fortune to share a barracks hallway with the communications platoon. The commo guys had to know about the practice alerts in advance, since they needed to prepare the devices used to prime the commo equipment. They always knew about an alert the evening before and always let the medics in on it.

Second, something always went wrong. People misplaced their weapons, vehicles failed to start, commo equipment failed to operate, someone slept off base the night before and straggled in drunk… This was a constant. And these weren’t isolated cases. In Second Tank anyway, problems were usually widespread, in nearly every platoon. I remember after every alert, I’d shake my head and wonder how in the hell we’d be able to do what we were supposed to do if the real thing ever came along.

So it’s late November, just before Thanksgiving. We’d already had our alert for the month. It was a Thursday evening, as I recall, some time after 1800 hours (6:00 pm). I’d just returned from dinner at the Mess Hall and was sitting on my bunk. I had taken off my shirt and was in my t-shirt and pants, unlacing my boots. I was tired, but I was looking forward to a night on the town as usual. In the middle of taking off my left boot, the alert siren sounded. I froze.

My first reaction was one of disbelief. Something must be wrong. The siren’s malfunctioning or something. Aside from the siren, all was quiet. The noise that had been coming from the hallway and outside my window had ceased. Then, one of my roommates, Sam Morris, came running down the hall from the direction of the latrines, shouting, “Alert! Alert!” That seemed to spur everyone into action.

I put my boots back on. Then my shirt. The thing that stands out most about those few moments was that I was calm. I realized that this could be the alert that we had been warned about. The US could be preparing to launch an airstrike on North Korea. Within the next day or two, I could very well find myself in a combat zone. I had always imagined that when that situation came, I’d be terrified of the unknown. But I wasn’t. I just focused on the task at hand. First, getting dressed. Then, getting to the armory. Finally, to the motor pool and my vehicle.

As the evening continued, I was both amazed and impressed by what I saw. Where before I had seen my fellow soldiers as a motley crew of incompetent fools, I now saw a well-oiled machine. There were no misplaced weapons. Any equipment failures were overcome with expediency and without confusion. There were no missing personnel and no one complained. Most of all, no one I came in contact with seemed agitated or frightened. Each soldier was focused on his job. In short order, the whole battalion was in their vehicles, engines running and comms up. Then, the order came to line up in convoy formation and be ready to roll.

We had never before practiced lining up the vehicles. But it, too, went off without a hitch. Then, we waited. At this point, the adrenaline kicked in. There was an edge of excitement as everyone anticipated what would happen next. When would we roll out? Would we pick up ammo? Where would we rally? Then, the fear set in, as evidenced by the bravado that broke through the order for radio silence. Those commie bastards won’t get by us. Bah, get real! We’re just a speed bump until the reinforcements come. They’ll roll right over us. But not without a fight! Kick ass, Second Tank!

We spent all night in the motor pool. Any excitement or fear wore off well before the night was done. When the sun started to rise, we got the order to stand down. Vehicles were parked and weapons were returned to the armory. We were given half-a-day off, with orders to report for duty at 13:00 (1:00 pm). We never heard a word about the situation again.

Over the next year-and-a-half, we continued to have the same old predictable practice alerts with the same old problems. Before a year had passed, everyone in my platoon who had participated in that one, successful alert, when we all had thought it was the real thing, was gone. I was the only one left. None of the new guys believed me when I told them that it had all gone off without a hitch.

I’ve always wondered if it really was the real deal. Were we on the verge of launching an airstrike against North Korea? Did we get the order to stand down because someone, presumably the president, decided not to go through with it? Or was the whole thing a set up by our brigade commander? Did he conduct the breifings as a set up for a practice alert that no one expected? I suppose I’ll never know for sure, though I do have my opinion. I’m not telling, though :)