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Note: This story inovles the activities of aircrew members stationed at Rhein Main, Germany who made frequent TDY's to Athens Greece. At the time, the crews were often billeted in the Niki Hotel on King George Blvd. in Glyfada. On the day of this incident, the Russian Womens' Shot Put Team was staying there. Bob Ashton was the Chief of Maintenance and the author was an airborne maintenance technician who worked for Ashton who's nickname was "Animal" in recognition of his lack of social skills.
I think you are referring to the time in about '70 when I saved Animal's life. Many of the folks remember that we stayed at the Niki hotel, and even after Dave Bristol got us kicked out, there were many sad memories of good times there. The TDY guys got moved to a hotel much farther up King George Blvd. They played a little game: walk from the hotel to the NCO club, stopping in every bar along the way for a drink. After dinner and a few beers, the return trip was usually made with auto pilot engaged. Bob was on such a quest.
I was home helping the wife make supper when she sent me to the market for some veggies. In one of those sinister quirks, events beyond our control conspired to force us to the brink of war. Athens was sponsoring the Pan Am games that year and the Russians had billeted their female athletes at the Niki. Bob was on his return trip from the NCO club when, lo and behold, there on the balcony where our troops had shared such good times now waived the infamous red rag of communism. Bob, in a surge of patriotic vigor, felt compelled to remove that offensive display. Though the twenty or so drinks that he had consumed reduced his ability, his heart was pure and that flag couldn't stand. He climbed the wrought iron trellis until he reached the flag, then swiftly plucking flag and staff from its mount, fell back to the street. That's about when the Russian women noticed their flag was gone, and they went to get it back.
As fate would have it, that is also the moment I arrived on the scene. Innocently chanting, "Zucchinis, tomatoes, onions and corn" so as not to forget my assigned task, I pulled up to the stop sign and looked down the street to see one drunken GI running as hard as a drunk with a flag can run and a dozen or so "hefty" babes in hot pursuit. Seeing that one of the shot-putters was about to grab the poor guy, I opened my passenger door and hollered "jump in!" Bob and I and the flag beat a hasty retreat, knowing we had just snatched a great souvenir. But, as I looked in my mirror, there were several Greek taxi's right on my tail. Time to put the hammer down. The next 15 minutes or so were a blur of cars in a high speed chase. My car was faster, but they knew the territory better and cheated by using their radios. Suddenly, we broke out onto Vouliagminis Blvd., and I knew it was straight and fast all the way to the base and the sanctuary it provided. As we pulled up to the gate a young airman waived us through, but I grabbed the flag, poked it through the window to the young AP and said, "Here! Keep this for us."
Animal and I retreated to the base Rod and Gun Club for a cool one till things cooled down. But no, Things only got worse. The R&G was right next to police headquarters, and then the fateful radio call was made. "The gate is under siege and surrounded by Russians. Officer needs help." There was an explosion of sirens from the parking lot as four units dispatched to go save their embattled brother. Fortunately, our cop heard the call too, and looking up at the gate he saw cars sideways blocking the gate and people beating on the gate shack door. He called in to get a Russian interpreter.
I think it was Conrad Schott who responded and walked up to the gate about the time the situation had degenerated to M-16 at the ready. Conrad said "I think they want their flag back," and in a flash of perestroika, the cop said "this one?" Tensions subsided when the attackers took the flag, got back in their cabs and left.
Things were pretty cool till the next morning when they called me out of the shop to go to the commanders office. He introduced me to a civilian, the US ambassador to Greece. Then there was about an hour of ass-chewing about a car with my license number being involved in an international incident, bringing the earth to the edge of WWIII. They weren't really interested in me saying that I was just an innocent bystander. Somehow, they never knew it was the Animal that sucked me into it, and since they were so busy yelling at me, I never had a chance to explain. I guess the one reprimand was enough. It was another 5 years before I made Tsgt, and of course I still occasionally hear about going to get groceries and coming home 4 hours later and half drunk without the dam zucchini.
As Big John Deaver would say, "Precious Memories!"