(Iranian militants storm the US Embassy in Tehran, Nov. 4th, 1979. In years previous, the Marine Guard in Santo Domingo stood off violent protesters and were awarded medals. In Tehran, they were directed to stand down. Image courtesy Getty Images. Right reserved).
In the parallel universe of CV-41, steaming post haste for the North Arabian Sea, there is rising tension and excitement that we might be directed to conduct operations against the Islamic state. I have my briefing notes from the period- the big folder is entitled “Notes on that Iran Shit.” It is located at the farm, though, and I can’t get at it until I am there again. If it survived the last twenty-odd military and post-marital moves. I will hope for the best and expect the mice will have done the right thing and eaten it.
Anyway, it has been a little more than a week since the ‘students’ overran the embassy and seized more than sixty Americans on November 4. It was not at all clear who they represented, nor what they hoped to achieve. In fact, a similar mob had briefly done the same thing nine months earlier, holding the American ambassador hostage for a few hours before members of Khomeini’s retinue ordered him released. But this time, Khomeini saw a chance to consolidate his power around a potent symbol, and issued a statement in support of the action against the American “den of spies.”
The students vowed not to release the Americans until the U.S. returned the Shah for trial, along with billions of dollars they claimed he had stolen from the Iranian people. President Carter had toasted the Shah in Tehran in 1977, and then waffled about admitting the deposed former holder of the Peacock Throne to the U.S. for treatment of his throat cancer. The admission on humanitarian grounds may have sparked all this, but we were still figuring out how to say the word “Shia,” and no one on the boat had ever heard of the Holy City of Qoms, much less the whereabouts of the Twelfth Imam, and what was likely to happen when he showed up.
We needed something else to talk about. And in view of the fact that a bunch of American were suddenly locked up, I decided to send Nick Danger to the Brig.
“THE ADVENTURES OF NICK DANGER, PRIVATE DICK”
TODAYS EPISODE: “NICK DANGER, BRIG RAT”
WHEN I CAME TO, THE GREY STEEL WALLS WERE REELING AROUND LIKE A merry-go-round. I reached for my pocket flask, but it wasn’t there.
That wasn’t all. My clothes were gone, and all I had was a denim shirt and dungaree pants. I reached up to touch my forehead, and my fingers felt a soft mass just slightly smaller than a volleyball. Somebody had K.O.’d me, but good. As I ran my hand back further, I encountered only stiff bristles. Someone had shaved my head!
Was there no outrage the Fat Man would not perpetrate on his enemies?
Apparently not. I looked around and the little cubicle spun. My head still felt like a big pre-war Duisenberg had rammed it at full throttle. I grabbed the bottom of the narrow rack and steadied myself. At the front of the room was a wire mesh screen.
I was in the slammer. My hands went to my pockets for a smoke. They had even taken my Lucky Strikes!
I knew I was in for the treatment now. I saw a figure go by in the passageway, clad in some sort of camouflage outfit. The Fat Man’s operation was even bigger than I thought. This was going to take some dramatic action. I crawled over to the wire mesh and pulled myself upright. I heard footsteps coming back. “Got a smoke, buddy?” I asked nonchalantly.
The figure halted and turned my way. I heard a shouted command and feet pounded towards my cell. I clenched my fists. All I had going for me was knuckles and know-how against my captors. I didn’t think it was going to be enough, not this time . . . but I had one thing that they didn’t – an Expense Account …
DON’T MISS TOMORROW’S ACTION-PACKED CHAPTER
OF NICK DANGER: “ESCAPE AT GENERAL QUARTERS”
Copyright 1980 and 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303 #nickdanger