Updated from 2014: Customs, Courtesies and Beanies

 Happy Birthday, you old (well...you know what).  Hope you have a great day and many more.

In any case sorry, another rerun. I've got a lot of things going on over the next couple of weeks, so I'm searching my archives for stories from quite a while ago that only the true, and long timer Sarge fans will have read.

So,  There I was……* Flying the F-15 at Kadena and a pinned on Major and Flight Commander.  I’ve spent the last 3 weeks deployed to Kwang Ju AB ROK to provide Air Defense for the Seoul Olympics.  I was in charge of 6 pilots, a flight surgeon and a maintenance detachment. Our mission was to ensure if the Kim family wanted to provide an airshow on international television, that there would be an F-15 in close formation and another one in trail with locked on missiles.  A future post will provide more details about that deployment. 

Not exactly  the formation we'd have flown.  the farside guy would have been directly astern, just outside min range for each missile. The near side guy would have been close enough that it would be difficult to get a TV shot without him in it
Source:Commons.Wikipedia.org

 

This post will be about a comment I’d made on one of Sarge’s posts from long ago which went “the only thing more dangerous than a 19 year old with a gun is a 19 year old with a gun, a badge and a beanie.”  There was good discussion on that post about peace officers vs police and good police officers vs “badge heavy” members of the police.  As Sarge says, go read it, I’ll wait. This post describes the incident where I came to realize the truth in my "gun, badge, beanie" statement.

It’s Sunday morning, 4 of the 5 Eagles had redeployed the day before, but one had a problem on start and had taken the rest of the day to fix.  We had gotten it fixed, but it was too late to deploy so we spent an additional day.  I stayed behind and will be flying the jet back.  It’s a beautiful day and I’m making good time.  Got the radar run out to max range, and as far as I can tell, I’m the only person airborne in the whole world at this time.  Ahhhh!  I’ve been handed off to Fukuoka control and diplomatically made contact.  After a Time, I’ve been handed off to Kadena’s Approach Control.  I can see the island and the runway from a long way away, so am intending to do an overhead and land.  I’m about 15 minutes out, so contact the tower and let them know I’m coming in and would they contact maintenance and customs to let them know, please?

 

A 67FS Eagle at Red Flag Alaska (Aim-9 on Left Outboard, AMRAAM on left inboard and an ACMI pod on right outboard)
Source: en.wikipedia.org

Pitch out and land, go through dearm and back in to the shelter.  Crew chief marshals me in, and gives me the shutdown signal.  I cut the throttle and when the last engine winds down, turn everything off and climb down the ladder handing my A-3 bag down to the crew chief.  We discuss what had happened to the jet and what it’s status was for the flight down, and he starts to do whatever it is that crew chiefs do to get the airplane ready for what’s next.  I glance at my watch, it’s been about 10 minutes since shutdown.  No Customs.  Not unusual, though, they sometimes get busy with inbound MAC flights.  I hadn’t seen anything on Radar, or heard any radio, but…

The crew chief finishes putting the jet to bed, and the line chief comes by in the bread van to pick him up.  Offers me a lift, but I tell him I can’t, customs hasn’t come by.  Would he mind giving them a call when he gets in to the maintenance shack, please?  No problem.  Now been 30 minutes since shut down. 

I sit down on my A-3 bag and cool my heels for a bit, when I see a car drive up in the squadron parking lot and my wife and 4 year old son get out.  They walk up to the red line and ask what’s happening.  I respond with BTHOM, I’m waiting on customs.  It was not unheard of that customs would not show up.  It had happened a time or two.  I decide I’ll give them another 15 minutes to make it an even hour.

 

Where it all went down, at the cross intersection in front of the shelter.
Source: Google Maps

I ask her how everything’s going, she says little Juvat is running a fever, ear infection or something.  As the clock is ticking, one of Kadena’s famous torrential downbursts is headed our way, I tell the wife to get back in the car and then sprint back and climb under the jet.  It provides some protection, but I get wet. 

Well, it’s now an hour.  I grab my bag and walk off to the Squadron.  As I exit the flight line, a little blue truck comes speeding up and slams to a stop right in front of me and out jumps this spiffy A1C.  All shiny boots and beret creased to adhere to the side of his head.  He asks me where I think I’m going and why did I leave the secure area before being cleared by customs AKA himself?  How was he supposed to make sure I hadn’t brought back drugs or any other contraband?  He was afraid he was going to have to detain me. (In Well Seasoned Fool’s vernacular, he’s “badge heavy”.)

I think I smiled before responding.

I stated that if he detained me, that would raise questions about where customs had been for the last hour and ten minutes. Since he had stated that making sure Pilots didn’t bring back drugs or other contraband was their mission, didn’t that absence represent dereliction of duty on his part. Clearly had I wanted to smuggle drugs, his not being present to intercept them meant he had failed in his duty.  I then responded, if he wanted, he could inspect my A-3 bag, otherwise, I was proceeding to the squadron.

Walk in to the Squadron, hang up my flight gear and notice the Boss is in.  Knock on his door and ask if I can have a moment of his time.  I explain what had happened.  He tells me to go home and not worry about it.  Well…

I get home, and as we walk in, the phone is ringing.  It’s Sgt Schmuckatelli, the NCOIC of the customs detachment.  He requests that I report to the detachment for customs evasion. I call the Boss who’s now at home.  He tells me to come over while he makes some calls.  We share a back yard, it’s not far.  

His wife lets me in as he’s on the phone.  His side of the conversation goes like this “Bob, how long should my guys have to wait before customs shows up at the jet…..Yeah, I know they shouldn’t, but suppose a MAC flight had just landed?....10 minutes… would 15 minutes be out of line?.....How about 30 minutes?...It would?….How about 45?.....One of my guys just waited over an hour……”

The conversation devolved from there….

He hangs up and says “Listen Up…Report to the Customs Det.  Do NOT sign any papers.  Do not give them your ID or anything of yours.  Do not make any statements.  Do not answer any questions.  Do you have any questions about the directives I've given you?”

No sir!

I show up at the detachment, and the NCOIC says “Give me your ID!”  I look at him quizzically.  He says “What?”  I respond, “Last I checked, I’m an officer and you’re not.  I haven’t been charged with anything, so protocol would say you should amend that last statement to be “May I have your ID, please sir?” 

Well, if you’re going down, go down fighting.

He says, “May I have your ID, please…sir?”

I respond “Unfortunately, Sergeant, my Commander has expressly ordered me not to give you my ID or any other items.”

“Well, we’ll need you to sign this statement.”

“Unfortunately, Sergeant, my Commander has expressly ordered me not to sign any papers whatsoever.”

“We need to ask you some questions!”

“Unfortunately, Sergeant, my Commander has expressly ordered me not to answer any questions.”

“Would you please wait here while I get this straightened out, then?”

“Of Course”

I’m sitting there cooling my heels when I notice a gym bag by the desk with my favorite A1C’s name on it.  It’s open with some Gym clothes spread out, drying off.  Hmmm.  I also notice the Sunday Stars and Stripes beside it.  I grab it and start reading the comics.  

Finish them and begin the NY Times crossword puzzle.  In ink.  In walks the Airman.  He says, “What are you doing?”  “The crossword puzzle, how was your run this morning?”  His eyes flash to the bag and gym clothes.  Mumbles something under his breath and walks out.

 Shortly thereafter, the NCOIC comes in and says I can go, but “don’t do this again.”  I briefly consider asking what “this” was, but decide discretion is the better part of valor and wish them a good day.

It got very stupid from there.  A few weeks later, we deploy to the PI.  On RTB, I fly via MAC and go through customs at the terminal.  They squeezed the toothpaste out of the tube.  The next deployment, I fly back, they open up all the panels on my jet.  The following deployment, having had about all the fun I can stand and since I’m MAC’ing back, I pack all my laundry in to a box and mail it back to Kadena.  At the time, overseas APO to APO mail didn’t cost anything.  In fact, I recognized the box on a pallet in the back of the same 141 I was riding home.  I get off the jet at the terminal, and walk right up to the processing line.  An Airman says, “Sir, you can’t go through yet, the bags haven’t been unloaded.”  I respond, “I don’t have any bags.”  “How long were you gone?”  “2 weeks”  “Where’s your laundry?”  “In the mail”  “How are we supposed to inspect that?”  “Not my problem!”  and walked out the door.

I’m not the only guy getting the treatment, and the rumblings are starting to get loud.

 Again, we deploy to Cope Thunder.  Towards the end of the deployment, there’s a bit of a security hubbub.  Seems one of the classified avionics boxes is missing from the nose of one of the jets.  Nobody can seem to find it.  We redeploy the next day and my wingman is the one star Air Division commander.  No big deal, within the structure of a Major to Brigadier General relationship, he’s a pretty nice guy.  A good stick, he just wants to fly wing today. 

 

This is obviously not 24 Eagles, nor would they use this formation on Initial, Just thought it was a cool picture.
Source:Commons.Wikipedia.org

We bring the entire squadron down initial pitch out and land.  Dearm and instead of heading to the shelters, we’re directed to park in front of the tower.  

Hmmm.  

Lot’s of vehicles in the area.  We get the jets all shut down, unload our bags and are looking for the bread vans to take us to the squadron.  Instead we get told to form up with our bags, we’re going to get searched for the  missing equipment.  I’m standing next to the General, and look over at him, he gives me the stay quiet sign.  I nod.  

The Airman works his way down the line.  Opens my bag, he doesn't see the 4’ X 2’ X 1’ 125 lb box in amongst my dirty laundry and proceeds to start patting me down.  Strangely enough,  he doesn't find it on my person either. 

 

This is from an F-15 E, but the layout is similar to the C model.  The circle is a bit larger than 4' in diameter,  The missing box is from the bay behind it.  It is NOT going to be found in a flight suit pocket.
Source: en.wikipedia.org

The General is standing right next to me, his bag on the other side, so the Airman begins patting him down.  As he progresses up his leg, side, under side of his arm, top side of his arm to his shoulder where he notices a star and goes white as a sheet.  “Sir, you don’t have to be here.” 

“On the contrary, Son, there is nowhere on earth more important for me to be than right here, right now.”

“Would you do me the courtesy of passing a message to your Commander, your OIC, NCOIC, and the OSI Detachment Chief, inviting them to my office tomorrow morning at 0700, please?”

We never had a problem with Customs after that.

* War Stories begin this way, and while these events all happened, minor details may have been lost to memory.

**BTW to the US Postal Service.  Important note:  re: your current commercial. This is not Your Season! 
It belongs to a child born 2000+ years ago, who proclaimed "Love the Lord, Your God, with your whole heart, your whole mind and your whole soul, and love your neighbor as yourself."  It's a hard discipline, but would more people adhere to it (it's the second part that negates the first), the world would be a better place.

Again, this post including the postscripts was from 12 years ago, one hopes the Postal Service got it's act together.  But....I'm not going to hold my breath. 

Somebody around here's got a birthday!

 

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday dear Sarge, 

Happy Birthday to you!

From your staff at The Chant

Updated from 2014: Le Carte es Merde

 

So, there I was....* Retired from the Air Force almost 22 years now. My first non-Air Force job was working in a school district providing IT support after teaching computer science for a couple years. Stayed there for about 20 years (qualified for a second retirement paycheck). Now am retired retired.  During the teaching years we also owned and profitably sold two wine related retail businesses which introduced me to some fine friends, two of whom owned one of the finest wineries in Texas.  In fact their 2006 Syrah was rated as one of 12 Excellent wines in the United States. We enjoy wine, so having friends in the industry has its perks. Unfortunately, since this is a rerun from 12 years ago, some things have changed, Gary, the winemaker in the pictures passed away a year or so ago.  Good Friend and we miss him.
 

Several years ago, the four of us decided fly to France and vacation with two other friends stationed nearby.  For various reasons, November had worked for our busy schedules.  Their harvest was over and the hectic activities in the crush have slowed down.  School had started and we'd gone through a couple of grading cycles so except for the occasional paper jam, most of the teacher technological panic attacks have slowed way down. So, November it is.

Destination--France.  Unlike Sarge, I've never been assigned to Europe and but thanks to a few TDYs, have been able to visit a bit.  Enough to want to go back. Paris, the City of Lights will be our base camp with day trips to various areas of interest around the country.

Vacation has arrived and we have arrived at CDG (AKA Charles de Gaulle Airport), transitioned to the train, then to the subway and have arrived at our hotel near the Ecole Militaire.  Check in was mercifully quick and we head to the elevator to go to our rooms.  The elevator was quaint.  You had a choice.  Either you, or your bags, could use the elevator, not both.  I go up.  Mrs. Juvat loads bags from below, then joins me.  "You Americans! This is not a bug, but a feature!"

Knowing that jet lag is minimized by staying awake until bed time in the new time zone, we go walking about.  

 

Given that this was the view from our hotel room, we decide on where we are going.

We spend the next couple of days exploring Paris with all the usual suspects.

We saw some pretty ladies.

Go to Church.

Drink some wine.

For some reason, this resonates with my twisted sense of humor.

Spend a lot of time consulting maps.

Even ask for directions.  This fellow was helpful.

We did not get lost. I've never been "lost", that position where you don't know where you are, nor how to get where your going, or even how to figure out where you were.  Nope never!

A low level fly by of a ROKAF runway was simply a matter of practicing airfield attack tactics.  Their calls on Guard questioning my identity simply confirm the effectiveness of my tactics.

Gratuitous Airplane Shot
Source RCGroups.com

 

I digress.  We have successfully navigated a very large city.  It is time to expand our horizons.  We decide to visit Reims.  As I said earlier, having wine makers as friends has it's perks.  We are going to get a private tour of Veuve Clicqout

 

Not usually a fan of Champagne, but this was excellent.

I wonder if they'd miss just one.

 

Successfully returned to our hotel, we plan the next day trip,  I'd always heard about the beaches in France, so we decide to visit one.

This beach is named for a town in Nebraska. Big Red One visited here. Quite a few decided to stay.

Returned from that trip, sobered, but emboldened of our navigational abilities, we decide we want to sample wine from the Loire Valley. We take a train to the town of Tours because that's what we want to do.( I know, "try the veal, I'll be here all week.")

Rent a car and drive to Chinon,  a French Castle astride the Vienne River near Anjou.

With drawbridges on either end, the castle has instant moat protection from an attack.  It was interesting, the gardens are beautiful, but it's time to find wine!  The castle gift shop has a map purporting to have all the local wineries on it.  I purchase it and we hop in the car and are off. The ladies are in the back seat and as good back seaters they have assumed the navigational responsibilities.  We get back on the road and they tell me to start looking for a major highway which we will cross.  We find it and do.  A defined starting point.  They tell me to drive for about 10km when we will come to a village.  We do.  "Take a right, 10 km to next village".  "Take a left".  "We should be coming into village named  xxx".  I can't find anything that says what village we're in at all.  Continue on in this manner for a while and finally come into a village on a river.  It's about lunch time, and we spy an Auberge.

We decide we'll stop and get lunch and ask directions while we're there.

We walk in the front door and are greeted, in French, by the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy. He was a busy man.

He speaks no English.  There are several, male patrons in the Auberge, one of whom comes up to us and says "I speak English!". Great,  I ask him if the restaurant is open and could we get lunch.  He says "I speak English! Your wife is sexy!"  Well, I think so, but....Those phrases seems to be his version of my fluency in 22 languages (the ability to order a beer and find a restroom, neither of which I particularly need at this time).

I pantomime an eating gesture and the Maitre D', the waiter, the proprietor, cook and busboy takes us to a table.  A couple of minutes later, he brings out a terrine of something and cuts off a slice, placing it on my plate.  Points at it and pantomimes eating.  Now, I've eaten balut and lived to tell about it, I'm not intimidated.  I cut a piece of what is probably the innards of some long dead animal and commence to chow down.  The bar erupts in cheers and clapping.  Having passed whatever test was presented to us, we are now old friends,  Wine is poured, food is served and lunch goes on for quite a while.  At some time, I approach my new friend, (the all in one Maitre D'...) with my map and explain our situation.  With the wine consumed at lunch, my friend's English and my French are improving rapidly, or maybe it was the pointing at the map and scrunching my shoulders while lifting my hands.  In any case, We've communicated and he starts unfolding the map from where I had opened it to our supposed location. And unfolds, and unfolds, and unfolds.  Evidently, we are about 30 miles from where we thought we were.

I point to where we think we are, and he shakes his head and points at the location on the map.  I look at him quizzically and he responds "Le Carte es Merde!" (Google translate does a reasonable job on the statement.) 

I point to one of the bottles of wine we'd consumed and then pointed at the map with my patented "Where the hell are we?" gesture, and he points out where the winery is and the route necessary to arrive there.  We pay our bill, thank him profusely and get back in the car. Crank it up and promptly turn the wrong way.

I don't get very far when I realize my error and turn around.  Drive past the Auberge and the clientele is outside, bent over in laughter!

My friend the English speaker on the right

We manage to find the winery and taste some very fine Vouvray.

I am certain that should we find our way back to that Auberge, they will still be talking about the Americans that came to visit.

 

We had a great time, visited quite a few places I wanted to visit, drank some excellent wine and made a few friends.  In other words, an excellent vacation.  I highly recommend it.

 

Peace out, y'all! 

 

*Standard Fighter Pilot beginning to a story which may or may not be completely true! 

Heck! Let's find out.

 

Ok, folks,  please ensure you've taken your blood pressure meds before reading this article in Fox news this morning. This falls into the category of YGBSM.

 

 

 

This fine upstanding citizen of the United States was convicted for killing a State Trooper 25 years ago.   While convicted and sentenced to death, a judge said that the guy believed he is "...immortal, and has already died three times on death row and will be resurrected again if the state executes him."

He also believes "...the judge at his 2002 trial and courtroom personnel were working against him because they were agents of "Beloved Kevin Rudolph," a deity that he thinks is part of a battle to rule the planet, according to the South Carolina Daily Gazette. Wood also believes he was given wings and immortality to win this fight."

Insane or Play acting, one way or the other, murder is murder.  IMHO. carry out the sentence. Let's send him the to the Lord's courthouse and let him decide where this guy goes next.

But that's just me, being understanding, at least of the term "Murder".  

Gonna take a day or two for me to calm down enough to "Peace out, y'all! " But I'll try.  

 

Cruising Norwegian Fjords

 

Ok, Campers, the juvat gang is fixin' (Texan for "getting ready") to go on another trip. (Update: our reservation is in August.) My travel agent, whom I sleep with every night, has decided the juvat family members in “Jolly Olde” need a "get together" vacation.  Given that we haven’t seen the Granddaughter in 2 years (except on video chat) and Little J is stationed in England with his family, she decided a ship cruise out of Southampton, England would be fun, and easier to keep the us all entertained.

So it is written, so it shall be!

Given the Granddaughter’s age, Mrs J decided a Disney Cruise would be fun for the group. Frankly, I enjoy Disney also.  But, then again, I've never really grown up.  "C'est la vie!" 

Source

 The Cruise is 7 nights, Southampton to Southampton, 2 days at sea and 4 ports of call.  Only one of which I've ever heard about.

Source

 

First port of call is Haugesund Norway (pronounced How' Gey Send).  Evidently they have live re-enactments of Viking History.  You know me and history.  Mrs J had my support for the vacay at that point. I'm not sure that 7 hours in port will be sufficient, but I don't want to miss the boat.

Source

 

Second port of call is Olden, Norway.  A small village in a Norwegian Fjord.  Really looking forward to visiting this Fjord and we've got 10 hours in port, so should be doable.

 

Source

 

Third port of call is one I'm sure Sarge would like.  Alesund, Norway.  I mean how bad could a town named Ale's anything be? 

 

Source

 

The last port of call, Stavanger, Norway is one I'm particularly interested in.  Holy Mackerel, look at the View!  I believe it's called Preikestolen (for us non-Norwegian speakers, Pulpit Rock). 

As an aside, I would love to take an Eagle down that valley looking up at the bystanders.  (I bet they'd love it also.). 

ANYHOW!  Expect more pictures upon return. (No, not from a cockpit!) 

Peace out, y'all! 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Updated from 2014, "Last Guy on Base"

 One of my favorite tales, and Sarge needed a break. 

So.  There I was…..*  It is the day before the start of an ORI (operational readiness inspection).  This event would serve as the wing and squadron commander’s report card as well as determine any future assignments/promotions in the USAF for them, ergo no pressure. 

Maintenance will begin generating the deploying aircraft first thing in the morning and as they are available, the squadron will deploy its 24 F-15Cs to Kwang Ju AB ROK.  The other squadrons are doing the same thing, although, they will only deploy to the Navy side of the base, a cost saving measure.  I prefer the deployment option, less distractions.

 On my last practice ride before the fun begins, I am flying an F-15C in a fuel conserving orbit somewhere in the low 30s with a mission to “protect” Okinawa from overflight by a Mig-25 that will supposedly make a run at the island. For this mission, the role of the Mig will be played by an SR-71 (nicknamed Habu, a venomous snake found in the orient.)

 

Habu (Source)

 

  Being based at Kadena, the SR-71 has to slow down and descend in order to land.  While doing that, they pass through the parameters a Mig-25 would fly on an operational mission in Korea.  The Habu Bubbas call it their “low, slow” profile.

  

Yeah, Yeah…..

 

Brian Shul* in flight
Source: en.wikipedia.org

An operational F-15 tops out in level flight at about 55K (centerline bag configuration, don’t know what it would be for the current two wing tank config). The SR-71 will be in the low to mid 70’s and in the high Mach 2’s. This mission’s success is a matter of arriving at a specific point in space at a specific climb angle with a specific energy state.  A lot can go wrong and has, but a missed intercept on an ORI is bad juju.

 

Source: www.flickr.com

As I was remembering details about this and researching, I came upon this article which talks about the maneuver I’m going to perform.  It is called the Rutowski climb profile and is all about energy management.  If you’re into complex math, go read the article.  Some of you will undoubtedly be able to figure out the equations.  Fortunately, there was a diagram I basically remembered.

Source

I’m orbiting at Position C on the diagram.  Once GCI determines the target is inbound and reaches commit range, I will begin flying the rest of the profile (C-E), trying to arrive at E with my nose about 45 degrees up, still above the Mach, at launch range and about 45K’.  If I meet those parameters, I will have enough nose authority to keep the target illuminated for the time of flight of the missile(s).  There will be 4 in flight.

 

This is actually an ASAT test launch, but the parameters are basically the same.
Source: commons.wikimedia.org

Since the SR-71 is travelling at about 1NM every 2 seconds, there is no time for error.  

 

Source en.wikipedia.org

Commit range is about 250nm.  I will turn hot at 350NM. Once I’m pointed at him, I will begin accelerating in Mil Power while beginning a slight climb to gain as much total energy as I can prior to commit. (Total energy is airspeed and altitude.)  At 250NM, I will go Max AB and begin a zero g dive.  This eliminates the drag caused by the aircraft’s lift and maximizes the velocity I can achieve, while minimizing the altitude (potential energy) loss.  At 150NM, I begin a 4 g pull to a 45 degree climb and maintain that throughout the remainder of the intercept.  Oh, and by the way, the F-15’s radar only goes out to 200NM, so while in the midst of this maneuver, I have to locate the target and lock on.  GCI’s radar sweep is too slow to control the intercept.  The closure rate will cause them to tell me to pull too late for a successful intercept.

As I said, there’s a lot going on and no room for error.

I get the call to turn hot, and am now on the attack vector, I’m just under the Mach and in my slight climb around 35K.  I get the commit call, light AB and push over.  I’ve got the radar run out to max range and get the first contact there.  I get the lock on and, Mother Bear, this guy’s fast!  By the time the radar is settled in, he’s about 180.  I’m well above the Mach and down to around 27K.  150NM and pull.  45 degrees set, through 30K, 35K.  Everything looks steady, target is steady in the HUD (a good sign, if he was moving up the HUD, that would mean I was behind on the intercept). 

Coming through 40K, I suddenly feel as if a large nail has been shot through my jaw and into my skull.  The pain is blinding and getting worse!  I roll the aircraft what I think is about 180 degrees and begin a pull to get the nose coming back down.  I recognize the symptoms from altitude chamber training in Pilot Training.  I've either got air trapped in a sinus or a tooth.  In either case, I’ve got to get the aircraft down below the altitude the incident occurred as quickly as possible.

As soon as I get below 40K, it’s as if someone flips a switch, the pain switches from incapacitatingly sharp to dull residual.  I call “Knock it off” to GCI and the SR-71 and tell them I’m RTB.  As I continue to descend, the pain continues to abate, so I come down initial and land.  Get back in the squadron and find the Flight Surgeon.  He runs me through an X-ray, nothing wrong with my sinuses, so sends me off to the Dentist.  I've got a cracked filling on one of my molars.  No problem.  Drill it out and replace it.

Later that evening, I get a call at home from the Dentist.  “I’m not sure I got all the air out.  We should probably try an Altitude Chamber ride first thing in the morning.”  Well, there went my deploying in an Eagle!  Oh, and by the way, I’ll know if he didn't get it all with a repeat of this morning’s episode.  

 

Source: commons.wikimedia.org

I’m in the altitude chamber, watching the altimeter climb.  Just me and the technician in the box.  35K, 38K, 39K, 40K, 41K, maybe……42K BAM!  Holy Crap this hurts!  I don’t even have to say anything; the tech can see it in my eyes.  We start back down. 

To his credit, and mortal risk, the Dentist is waiting at the chamber door when it opens.  I ask him what’s next and he says root canal.  Perfect!  Can this day get any better?  I call the squadron and tell them I’m not going to be flying an Eagle up and what are the Airlift departure times?  They tell me they’re all today.  I ask the Dentist when he’ll be done with the root canal.  I can’t fly in anything, until tomorrow morning. 

 

 

Coulda been this, instead....
Source: en.wikipedia.org

I get this.
Source:commons.wikimedia.org

Now, what?  I ask the squadron to find anything going to Korea tomorrow, and then go have my root canal.

I find out there’s a C-130 leaving for Kunsan first thing in the morning and I make arrangements to be on it.  

Wake up the next morning with the command post calling asking me to swing by the squadron to grab the mission planning computer that had somehow been left behind.  So, I’ve got my A-3 bag with my gear, and I’m going to carry a late 80s era CPU?  That would be ok, if I were getting off the 130 at Kwang Ju, but I have to take a taxi from Kunsan to the bus terminal, get on a bus to Kwang Ju. (Google Maps shows that to be 5 hour plus today, the roads weren’t as good back then).   Hail another cab to the airbase and then flag someone down to catch a ride to the squadron.

I drive by the squadron, and the entire building is empty.  Nobody around at all.  My squadron is in Korea, the other squadrons are on the other side of the base.  I am the last man standing.  I grab the CPU and depart for the MAC terminal and get on the 130.

I make it to the Kunsan bus terminal, (in flight suit), get my ticket to Kwang Ju and actually find the right bus.  I’m struggling a bit trying to get all the stuff going in the right direction, when a ROK Army Enlisted guy takes pity on me, comes up and offers to help.  I ask him to carry my gear. (The computer is No Forn**.)  He does and on arrival at Kwang Ju, hails the cab and tells them where I need to go.  (My ability to order a beer and find a bathroom in Korean being of no use to me at this point.)

I arrive at the front gate, the SPs let me in and call the squadron.  The bread truck arrives and I load all the stuff on board and am climbing in, when the siren goes off.

  

Airfield attack, condition black!  Welcome to the ORI, Juvat! 

 

* I knew Brian as a member of my squadron at Holloman.  A good guy, excellent pilot and an exceptional instrutor.  Received an assignment to the SR-71 after Holloman.  He passed away in 2023.   

 

** NoForn- Not to be used nor inspected by any foreign nationals, friendly or (especially) not.