Day of Days

(Source)

Boatswain's Mate 2nd Class (BM2) Ted Jackson had one eye on the beach and the other on the infantrymen huddled in front of him. His Higgins boat was pitching, rolling, and yawing a lot. Sure, he'd seen far worse seas in his three years in the Coast Guard, but for the soldiers he was ferrying to the beach this was probably the worst ride they'd ever been on. Most of them were vomiting, a number of them were praying, all were whey-faced and shivering, save one.

Near the ramp, facing his men, was an older man, grizzled-looking and dead-eyed. He was watching "his" boys. All the training, all the effort of the past year were about to come to fruition. This was old hat to First Sergeant Mendez, he'd made the landings in North Africa and Sicily before being wounded near a small Sicilian town he'd never got the name of. His wound wasn't bad enough to send him Stateside, but it kept him out of action long enough so that he missed his outfit moving from Italy to England to prepare for this: the invasion of Normandy.

Soldat Heinz Bäcker tossed away the remnants of the bitter ersatz coffee and wiped the sleeve of his tunic across his lips. Acorns, who makes coffee out of acorns, he thought. Only the bloody Deutsches Heer. I'll bet the Amis and the Tommies don't have to drink this swill.

"Bäcker, it's our shift, go get some chow. Cookie has more beans today!"

"Iss Scheiße Odo. We had beans yesterday. We'll probably have beans again tomorrow. What happened to all the Wurst cookie promised us, did you, Dicke Hermann, eat all of it yourself?"

Odo Meyer chuckled briefly, then his face went still as he saw the sergeant coming up behind Heinz. He thought it was funny that everybody called him Dicke Hermann, an unflattering nickname for Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, head of the Luftwaffe who had famously stated, "No enemy bomber can reach the Ruhr, if one reaches the Ruhr, my name is not Göring. You can call me Meyer." But Oberfeldwebel Georg Krebs did not.

Before the sergeant could chastise Bäcker for using Meyer's dangerous nickname (as the Gestapo would not find it funny at all), he paused and lifted his head, listening.

"Bäcker you're staying here we need every man on duty. Meyer, go down and sound the alarm, get the men to their posts! Every man to stand to!"

Before either of the young soldiers could say a word, they both heard the sound of big shells overhead. What the Hell? Someone is firing from the sea? Then it struck Bäcker, they're coming. The Allies are coming!

(Source)

BM2 Jackson had to fight the wheel as they got closer to the beach. Seems to be a cross current pushing us away from where we're supposed to land. Why aren't the other coxswains seeing this? He had to wonder, was he the only man in the first wave who noticed that they were all off course. Dammit, I suppose I have to follow the crowd, makes no sense to land a platoon all by their lonesomes when everybody else lands elsewhere.

Crap, he thought as he spun the wheel to follow the boats ahead of him. That's when he noticed the rumbling of naval gunfire overhead. Sounds like the battlewagons are starting to hit their targets. Hope they know not to fire short!

First Sergeant Mendez yelled out at the men, "Get yourselves ready! Get off the damn boat as soon as the ramp drops and get your asses to the sea wall. Stay low, stay alert, and dammit, keep moving!"

Right after those inspiring words his lieutenant deposited his breakfast down the sergeant's leg. Before he could do anything else, he heard the boat's engine rev up and felt the bottom scrape over the sand. The whir of the ramp falling left no room for thought, time to unass the boat!

Second Lieutenant Saul Ginsberg was mortified that he'd puked on his sergeant, but he had never felt so miserable in his entire life. As the ramp of their boat dropped into the surf, the young lieutenant from Fresno, California took one step forward. He heard things in the air, which puzzled him, it reminded him of his time in the pits at the rifle range going through ROTC.

The ramp of landing craft PA-30-31 grounded, exposing the infantrymen who were beginning to move forward to get off the boat. At that point the German gunner who had been firing at their boat adjusted his aim.

Oberfeldwebel Krebs pushed Bäcker aside, "Dammit Junge, you always fire too high. Watch this!" Putting his shoulder into the butt Krebs lowered his aiming point to just in front of the Ami landing craft which was maybe 150 meters away. He pulled the trigger and walked his rounds from the sand into the boat itself.

He'd had the boys strip all the tracer ammunition out of their ready ammunition and most of the stuff stored in their bunker. When asked why he did that, he pointed out that the Amis could see the tracers just as well as they could, and that would pinpoint their position. He'd learned that the hard way, on the Eastern Front.

2Lt Ginsberg felt something tug at his field jacket sleeve, "what was that?" he wondered. Then he heard his radioman behind him grunt and fall against his legs. 1Sgt Mendez shoved him off the boat and face first into the cold water. As he rolled over to yell at the older man, he saw his radioman's lifeless body on the ramp. He also saw that a good third of his platoon was already down, never having made it off the boat.

At that moment 1Sgt Mendez grabbed him by the collar and began to drag him forward.

"Dammit lieutenant, ya gotta move son. Let's go! Let's go!" Mendez's bellowed commands had the same effect here on Omaha Beach as they did in training. The troops began to move, with purpose, spreading out, hunched over and moving inland.

"Peters grab that BAR, Johnson ain't gonna need it!"

2Lt Ginsberg wondered how Mendez knew that was Johnson, the man was missing his head. Oh yeah, he had the only BAR in the platoon. They were supposed to get two more but...

"Dammit lieutenant, quit woolgathering and freaking lead us in!" Mendez was insistent, and Ginsberg was used to that. He'd learned to rely on the big Cuban sergeant and in the confusion of combat, the guy seemed to be a rock, nothing fazed him.

"Helm, left five degrees rudder, bring us in closer!"

"Five degrees left rudder, Aye! Sir, my rudder is left five degrees!"

The low, sleek gray destroyer moved closer in to the beach. The captain could see that the men in the first wave were being cut to pieces. He had to give them a chance, but he prayed there was enough water under the keel for this. Otherwise his next command might be a desk in the Aleutians!

The gunnery officer had his target, he adjusted the gun director to bring the two forward 5-inch mounts onto the target he had spotted. What appeared to be at least one machine gun and multiple infantry aligned along the top of the bluff. They were in prepared defenses but with no overhead cover.

"Fire!"

The two forward mounts aboard USS Emmons (DD-457) barked once, then again, then a third time before the gunnery officer shifted them to a new target. In the judgement of Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Oliver Salliotte, the target he'd first spotted was destroyed.

Bäcker's head was ringing, his mouth seemed to be full of dirt and he couldn't see a thing. He seemed to recall an explosion just beyond their position, then another to one side which had wounded his friend Odo. (Soldat Meyer had actually been killed instantly by the impact of the 5-inch shell from Mount 52 of USS Emmons.)

"Ach mein Gott!" Bäcker thought, "I've been buried alive!"

"Get up Junge! You're not dead yet!" Oberfeldwebel Krebs struggled to get the young soldier on his feet, it was tough to do so with only one arm. His left arm hung useless at his side, the sleeve of his tunic shredded by the detonation of the 5-inch round so close by. As far as he could tell, only he and Bäcker were still alive. They had to get away from this place as fast as they could.

2Lt Ginsberg couldn't believe his eyes. He and Mendez with about seven other men had reached the seawall, as the big sergeant turned to get his men into action, a stray piece of shrapnel had torn into his face.

"Shit, shit, shit, that effing hurts! LT grab a bandage out of my first aid kit!"

Shaking, the lieutenant did so, he couldn't function without this man, he was the soul of the platoon. As he tore open the bandage, he pressed it to the sergeant's face. Who roughly tore it out of the lieutenant's hands.

"Jesus LT, a man could effing bleed to death while you fumble around. Don't look so sad dammit, the Krauts haven't killed me yet. Facial wounds always look nastier than they are. Hell, ain't you ever cut yourself shaving? Suppose not. You, Connors, lay down some fire on that spot up there, keep the Krauts' heads down while we figure out our next move."

2Lt Ginsberg settled down when he saw that Mendez seemed to be okay. The man's field jacket was a bloody mess but he was alive and meaner than ever.

Hell, he might just live through this yet.

Seventy-five years ago today, men from eight nations fought their way ashore on five beaches in Normandy: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword. 156,000 soldiers went ashore on that day to begin a campaign which wouldn't end until Adolf Hitler lay dead in the ruins of the capital city of the Third Reich.

Over 10,000 of those men would become casualties on that day, of whom 4,414 were killed.

Of the men who began the drive to liberate Europe from the Nazis, many are still there. Within sight of the beaches they came ashore on, their grave markers mute testimony to their courage, their honor, and their sacrifice.

Remember them always.

(Source)

Miss Montana

Sunday mornings around the Tuna household are quiet and peaceful.  We usually wake up slowly anywhere from 6am to 8am, depending on a few different variables.  These might include when nature calls (PM fluid intake dependent), our four-legged family member (FEED ME!!), or when nature calls for that same four-legged family member.  I still have trouble staying asleep through the whole night, but this past Sunday I was blessed to sleep in until 0630!  Cici, our Welsh Pembroke Corgi can actually let herself out to the backyard via a couple doggy doors through the garage, but her weekday 6am feeding when I get up for work, is often demanded on the weekends as well, but not that day.  

Sunday Morning.  It's a great little jazzy tune which is a nice little digression for a few minutes if you'd like.  Go ahead, I'll wait.

Anyway, The Artist returned home after completing her junior year in college the afternoon prior, and with that reunion comes her own four-legged kid, Cici's sister Beatrice (we have a B and a C).  Still excited to see each other, they were rough-housing a bit once they woke up.  Normally that wouldn't disturb me, but they decided to play (aka, figuring out who is Alpha again), on my bed, which ended my beauty sleep for the day.  Interesting dynamic there- Bea is typically more assertive and dominant than our Cici, but she only lives here part time so Cici gets top billing.  They fight about it for a bit and learn to tolerate each other, but if it gets a little too aggressive or noisy, I just assert myself as the true Alpha and they mellow out.  

But I had to get up anyway because I had a big day ahead.  

At times Sarge proudly posts photos of his yard that he and his Missus carefully cultivate.  Here in SanDog I don't have much of one, with the backyard being a steep canyon, and the front just a tiny triangle, but here it is.  Eight hours before these photos were taken it was almost impossibly taken over by weeds.  We received so much rain this past winter and spring, that I couldn't keep up.

As you can see, almost the entire state is well above average rainfall levels for the year, and there's still seven months to go.  San Diego, down in that little green corner at the bottom, is over 110%, and the weeds love it.  No matter how many I pulled in a weekend, ten times that many took their place by the next.  I had planned to just wait them out until it quit raining, usually in April, but it just kept raining, and did as recently as Monday.  That's quite unusual for us out here on the Southern left coast, with bright and sunny being the preferred norm.  So I had to get the motivation to spend 8 hours pulling weeds, trimming trees, and raking up leaves.  

Or I could call a guy and pay him to do it.  

That's exactly what I had planned, a plan that was executed beautifully as you can see above.  There's a lot of blank space on that canvas, which I intend to fill with more plants soon I hope.  At 7am when he arrived and started to work, I had a cup of coffee and sat down to watch CBS Sunday Morning.  It's a show my wife and I very much enjoy, and that day's episode was most excellent.  

By now you're probably wondering what the title means and where I'm going with this post.  If you wanted a story about a pretty lady with the title Miss Montana, you can click here.  But if you want to see a pretty lady in the air, one like those that helped liberate a continent, keep reading.

Sunday's episode featured a story about the 75th anniversary of D-Day which will include a commemorative fly over by fifteen C-47 Skytrains.  The story was actually more focused on one specific airplane, the one named Miss Montana. This particular plane, while not actually getting a chance to serve in theater since the war ended shortly after it was built, did see service as a museum piece, and before that as an airplane for smokejumpers based out of Missoula Montana.

June 6, 2019 marks the 75th anniversary of the invasion of the Allied troops at Normandy, France, which became known as D-Day. The invasion was part of the larger “Operation Overlord” which was a multi-national effort; however, of the approximately one million troops who took part in the invasion, roughly half were from the United States.

Prior to World War II, many Montanans were in the armed forces, and in the first year following the Pearl Harbor attack on December 7, 1941 over 40,000 more joined. Before the end of the war there were over 57,000 enlisted soldiers from Montana which constituted 10 percent of our population at that time -- one of the highest numbers per capita of any state. At least 1,500 died during the War, and the remainder are quickly passing on. Their service to America and the world should never be forgotten.

To honor the brave men and women who fought in the invasion at Normandy during this horrendous World War II battle, a contingent of approximately forty C-47’s will fly over Normandy on June 6, 2019.

Miss Montana looking good.                                                          Source

The story intrigued me for a few reasons.  Aviation history is the most obvious one, but I also have family up in Montana now, with my youngest sister-in-law moving up there with her husband and four boys, escaping the meth capital that Southern Oregon has become.  I also like the Smoke-Jumper history that the bird had.  Out in Cave Junction Oregon, near where I lived, was the Illinois Valley Airport, which was the home base of our own area Smokejumpers. 

Source

Source

Seeing how the airplane served as a museum display, it took quite a bit of time, effort, and a whole lot more money to make her air-worthy again.  But they had a lot of donations and a large crew of volunteers, including some Rosie Riveters in WWII factory clothing.  Great story which you can watch below

A similar one from an affiliate.

Lousy internet connection?  The full CBS story is here.

AOPA

Source

They're all in Europe for tomorrow's commemorative flyover.  Like I said in my last post, we need to keep remembering these heroes and the wars they fought.  So the time and money spent to get them flying is a price well paid, and pales in comparison to the price the Greatest Generation paid. 

If you want to read more of the coverage of this event, click here and here and here and here.

77 Years Ago

U.S. Navy Douglas SBD-3 "Dauntless" dive bombers from scouting squadron VS-8 from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) approaching the burning Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma to make the third set of attacks on her, during the Battle of Midway, 6 June 1942. Mikuma had been hit earlier by strikes from Hornet and USS Enterprise (CV-6), leaving her dead in the water and fatally damaged. Note bombs hung beneath the SBDs.

Some of those who paid the cost of victory:

Torpedo 8
Standing (L-R): Owens, Ensign Fayle (transferred); Waldron, R.A. Moore, J.M. Moore, Evans, Teats, Cambell.
Kneeling (L-R): Ellison, Kenyon, Gray, sole survivor Gay, Woodson, Creamer, Miles.

VT-8's first and best-known combat mission came during the Battle of Midway on 4 June 1942. Flying obsolete Douglas TBD Devastators, all of Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron's fifteen planes were shot down during their unescorted torpedo attack on Imperial Japanese Navy aircraft carriers. The squadron failed to damage any Japanese carriers or destroy enemy aircraft.

Only one member of VT-8 who flew from Hornet on that day survived in the action, Ensign George Gay. Ensign Gay was rescued the day following the battle. Torpedo 8 was afterwards awarded the American Presidential Unit Citation. (Source)

USS Yorktown (CV-5) burning after the first attack by Japanese dive bombers during the Battle of Midway.

Major ship losses of the Imperial Japanese Navy -

Battle of Midway, June 1942. The burning Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma, photographed from a U.S. Navy aircraft during the afternoon of 6 June 1942, after she had been bombed by planes from USS Enterprise (CV-6) and USS Hornet (CV-8). Note her third eight-inch gun turret, with roof blown off and barrels at different elevations, Japanese Sun insignia painted atop the forward turret and wrecked midships superstructure. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.

Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma sinking on 6 June 1942.

The burning Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryū, photographed by a Yokosuka B4Y aircraft from the carrier Hosho shortly after sunrise on 5 June 1942. Hiryū sank a few hours later. Note collapsed flight deck at right. Part of the forward elevator is standing upright just in front of the island, where it had been thrown by an explosion in the hangar.

Yorktown's VB-3, commanded by Max Leslie, went for Sōryū, scoring at least three hits and causing extensive damage. Some of Leslie's bombers did not have bombs as they were accidentally released when the pilots attempted to use electrical arming switches. Nevertheless, Leslie and others still dove, strafing carrier decks and providing cover for those who had bombs. Gasoline ignited, creating an "inferno", while stacked bombs and ammunition detonated. VT-3 targeted Hiryū, which was hemmed in by Sōryū, Kaga, and Akagi, but achieved no hits. (Text Source)

Death of Akagi.
(Source)

Within six minutes, Sōryū and Kaga were ablaze from stem to stern, as fires spread through the ships. Akagi, having been struck by only one bomb, took longer to burn, but the resulting fires quickly expanded and soon proved impossible to extinguish; she too was eventually consumed by flames and had to be abandoned. All three carriers remained temporarily afloat, as none had suffered damage below the waterline, other than the rudder damage to Akagi caused by the near miss close astern. Despite initial hopes that Akagi could be saved or at least towed back to Japan, all three carriers were eventually abandoned and scuttled. (Source)

Death of Kaga.
(Source)

The butcher's bill -

Japanese Losses:

• 4 fleet carriers sunk
• 1 heavy cruiser sunk
• 1 heavy cruiser damaged
• 248 aircraft destroyed
• 3,057 killed
• 37 captured

American Losses:

• 1 fleet carrier sunk
• 1 destroyer sunk
• ~150 aircraft destroyed
• 307 killed, including 3 killed as prisoners

Of the six Japanese carriers involved in the attack on Pearl Harbor - Akagi, Kaga, Sōryū, Hiryū, Shōkaku, and Zuikaku - only Shōkaku, and Zuikaku were left. They would join Akagi, Kaga, Sōryū, and Hiryū at the bottom of the sea before the war ended in August of 1945.

Japan had sowed the wind, the reaping of the whirlwind was just beginning...

Semana de aniversario!

Well, as one who has read the title of this post might surmise, this is anniversary week at Rancho Juvat.  Five significant anniversaries occur(ed) this week.  So, in best chronological order for telling the story, let's get started.

Anniversary #1).  35 years ago on June 2nd, Little Juvat arrived on the planet.  I was an IP at Holloman at the time.  We'd had Early, Early week that week and after 10 sorties with the briefings starting at 0400 and last debrief ending about 1530, to say my butt was dragging would be an understatement.  I arrived home at 1630(ish) to find my Beautiful and very pregnant Wife sitting on the side of the bed.  I give her a kiss and start to sit (lay) on the bed when she says "Don't!"

"Uh...Why?"

"My water just broke!"

So...It's back out to the base we go.  22 hours of labor later, Little Juvat arrived.  Here's a picture of he and I shortly after arriving back home from the hospital.

Anniversary #2).  75 years ago, June 6 1944 ~160,000 Allied troops decided to visit France.  Many stayed.  Having strolled Omaha beach about 10 years ago and stood on Pont Du Hoc, I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like and am in awe of their courage and discipline.  Evidently, and rightly so, there is a big memorial ceremony there this week.  Guess who's celebrating his 35th Birthday by attending?  Yep...Little Juvat!

He promised pictures.  So...we've got that to look forward to.

Anniversary #3).  June 1st was the 29th anniversary of the arrival of MBD.  A joyful combination of her mother's smarts and beauty and her father's sense of humor,  we were extremely grateful for her arrival after many trials and losses.  She's been worth every bit of it.

Lost quite a bit of hair in those 6 years.

And I got to feed her first.

Anniversary #4)  64 years ago, also June 6, this young fighter pilot to be arrived on the earth.  He happens to be pointing (at least according to his Mother's rendition of the story) at F-86's in the overhead traffic pattern at Naha AB, Okinawa Japan.

Finally Anniversary # 5) also June 1st.  It's been 5 years since Sarge invited me to join this merry band of ne'er do wells. I accepted and posted my first blog post.  It's been a lot of fun, "meeting" new friends, shooting the bull with old (in Sarge's case VERY old) friends and learning about stuff I new nothing about, but find fascinating.

So...in honor of #5 (and because I got nuttin' else!), a reprint of my first post.




Day 1 Going

I’d been flying the F-4 for about three years and had finally become “experienced” meaning I’ve accumulated at least 500 hours in the jet.  I’m also now a Flight Lead which means not only am I responsible for not killing myself and my backseater, but also not killing anyone in my flight.  I’ve led flights at Red Flag and other large scale exercises, so am at least marginally capable of handling a “real world mission”.

During this learning phase, I’d also met a lady (itself a story to be told at a later date.  Which I did.) who I somehow convinced to marry me.

This story commences about a month before that momentous date.

I’ve just completed a sortie (AKA a flight, a mission).  In other words, a takeoff followed by an hour or so of Pure D excitement followed by a landing, followed by a debrief where every aspect of that hour or so was scoured in excruciating detail with absolutely no regard for offending ones sensibilities or hurting someone’s feelings.  AHH…Those were the days, but as Sarge says, I digress.  The sortie is over and I walk into our flight’s   (in this case a flight is a unit of command primarily used to give Fighter Pilots something to put into their Officer Performance Reports so they might get promoted) office and my Flight Commander calls me into his office.  Well, that’s not good usually.  I quickly review the sortie for anything done wrong that might have been observed from the ground, like accidentally going supersonic directly over the city while chasing a bad guy.  (Not that I had done that…Oh no never!)  Couldn’t think of anything, so figured I was going to get a non-flying related and, therefore, onerous chore.

 Walked into his office and was asked when the wedding was scheduled.  I told him and he said he had a good deal for me.  “Shields to Maximum!  Ready all phasers and photon torpedos!”  I am attentive to his every mannerism at this point.  Reagan had just taken over and actual "Good Deals" were still few and far between.  “I need you, a wingman and two backseaters to  pick up two jets at Hahn AB Germany and fly them back.  A day to get over there, a day to check out the jet and a day to get back.  You’ll be the flight lead, there will be two additional crews from Hahn, so it’ll be a 4 ship coming home.  All the Tankers, clearances, flight plans are being handled by the 2ADG (Second Air Delivery Group), so should be a piece of cake.  You leave day after tomorrow.”  (Hahn was transitioning from the F-4 to the F-16)

I walk out absolutely elated.  I get an all-expenses paid (plus per-diem) trip to Germany.  I’d never been there.  Get 10-15 hours more in the jet, which was still a significant percentage change in my total hours and get to lead a relatively challenging mission.  And I’ll still be home 3 weeks prior to the wedding.  Life is GOOD!

So, I call up my Fiancé and explain all this to her and she’s ok with it.  We’re not planning a large social wedding, close family and respective squadron members only.  (Fiancé is also a USAF Officer.) Most of the planning has already been accomplished. 

I get my backseater and the other crew together and discuss what we know about the mission so far and they’re as enthused as I am.  My backseater had just arrived from Hahn and started regaling us with stories of things to do and see.  I reminded him that we’d only be gone for 4 days and we’d be flying on two of them.  Nonetheless, we’re all enthused.

Departure day arrives, and our Airline Reservations are a feeder airline to Dulles, with a 6 hour layover then Dulles to Frankfurt.  We depart on time and arrive at Dulles, check the flight information boards and don’t see any gate information for our flight.  Well, it is a 6 hour layover.  Grab a lunch, wander around a bit.  Now it’s 2 hours to go.  Still no information on the board.  So I check with the Airline rep, hand her our tickets and see her face go white as a sheet.    “Shields to Maximum!  Ready all phasers and photon torpedos!”  I am attentive to her every mannerism at this point.  I ask “Is there a problem?”  She responds, “Well, the originating point of this flight has been changed.”  Thinking, she’s talking a gate change, I ask “To where?”   She responds “JFK!”  All sensors are on maximum alert now.  I ask her what our options are. She’s talking on the phone (this was the early 80s) to someone and then finally hands us our new tickets and tells us that we have 15 minutes to get to a different airline’s gate and board a flight for JFK.  I asked about our checked bags (flight equipment, helmets and survival gear don’t fit well in the overhead bin).  She said they had already left on a previous flight for Frankfurt and would be there on arrival.  OK, not optimum, but doable.  We OJ through the airport, make the flight, arrive at JFK, and check the flight information board for our Frankfurt flight.  Noting the departure time and the current time are nearly the same we OJ through the airport and down the jetway.  Bang on the closed but not yet locked door and the Flight Attendant opens it for us.  We hurry in, find our seats, strap in and the airplane pushes back.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

I have an aisle seat and across the aisle is the backseater from the other crew.  We have just taken off, and I’m starting to settle in to a book when I glance at him.  He’s white as a sheet.   “Shields to Maximum!  Ready all phasers and photon torpedos!”  I am attentive to his every mannerism at this point.  I ask him if there’s a problem.  He responds “My passport is in my checked bag. What am I going to do?”  I tell him to hold that thought while I ponder the situation over a resuscitating adult beverage.  Somewhere over the Atlantic, it comes to me.  I gather my little flock and ask if everyone has their orders and ID cards.  We all do.  I tell them, we’re going to present that paperwork on arrival en masse and see if that gets us through. Only if it doesn’t will we pull out our passports and then we’ll figure out what the other back seater’s options are.

We arrive at Frankfurt, walk up to the immigration counter en masse and I present our orders and ID cards.  Works like a champ!!!  We’re through.  Go to baggage claim and there are our A3 Bags with our gear.  The other WSO quickly retrieves his Passport and we clear customs.  (Side note, I happened to run into that WSO at TAC HQ very late in my career and we chuckled about this story.  Then he reached in the back pocket of his uniform and pulled out…his Passport.)

Wandering through the Frankfurt airport looking for the USO kiosk where we’re supposed to rendezvous with our ground transportation to take us to Hahn.  It’s about 3PM.  We find the airman and he leads us outside to a VW microbus, olive drab 1 each.  Load our gear and we’re off. 

VW Microbus, Olive Drab 1 each.

The Airman says it’s about a 2 hour drive.  Never been to Germany, so I opt to sit up front.  The others climb in the back and are soon asleep.   Our route takes us on the Autobahn for a while, and I’m kinda excited about that, but this is a VW microbus, olive drab 1 each, so the Airman stays in the far right lane.  We exit the Autobahn and are now going through picturesque German villages, speeding up and slowing down.  I start to notice that the Airman has suddenly started having difficulty shifting gears without grinding them.  We continue on.  As we decelerate into another village, he downshifts into second gear.  We leave that village and as he starts to accelerate, he can’t shift out of second gear.  The Airman says we’re only a few miles from Hahn, so he’ll just leave it there and continue on.  We limp along slowly easing towards our goal.  Now Hahn AB is in the hills above the Mosel River, so we are going up hill.  As we approach the gate, there is a vehicle at the gate asking the gate guard something.  The Airman is trying to gauge the approach, but fails and has to stop.  The VW microbus, Olive Drab 1 Each, stalls and won’t restart.  I look at the Airman and can see he’s sweating BBs.  The 4 of us, get out of the vehicle, walk around the back and begin to push the Airman and the VW microbus, Olive Drab, 1 Each, through the gate at Hahn AB Germany.

We have arrived.

If you're a glutton for punishment, here's the second installment Day 2 Preflight.

The third Departure (Ooops forgot the link)

And Finale

*What’s the difference between a fairy tale and a war story?  A fairy tale starts with “Once upon a time” and a war story starts with “So there I was”.  

Beauty

OVER VIRGINIA -- Steve Hinton flies "Glacier Girl," a P-38 Lightning dug out from 268 feet of ice in eastern Greenland in 1992.
The aircraft was part of a heritage flight during an air show at Langley Air Force Base, Va., on May 21.
(U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Ben Bloker)

PACIFIC OCEAN (April 21, 1992) Fifty years after the daring carrier-launched bombing of the Japanese mainland, a B-25 Mitchell is launched from USS Ranger (CV 61).
(U.S. Navy photo by Journalist 1st Class Joe Gawlowicz/Released)

The most beautiful 'plane in the world?
(I think it's in the top ten.)
(Source)

DAYTON, Ohio -- Curtiss P-6E Hawk at the National Museum of the United States Air Force.
(U.S. Air Force photo)

A U.S. Navy F-14D Tomcat flies up with its refueling probe out preparing to connect with a tanker. The F-14 is armed with two AIM 9 Sidewinder missiles, a Paveway II Laser Guided GBU-10 2,000-pound bomb, and LANTIRN Pod, as it prepares for a bombing mission over Afghanistan in support of Operation ENDURING FREEDOM.
(Camera Operator: SSGT MICHAEL D. GADDIS, USAF)

U.S. Navy F/A-18 Hornet fighters fly over Iraq, March 3, 2016.
(Photo By: Staff Sgt. Corey Hook)

A view of the North American P-51D Mustang and the Republic P-47D (Bubble Canopy Version) before restoration crews at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force moved the aircraft into the WWII Gallery on Aug. 14, 2018. Several WWII era aircraft on display were temporarily placed throughout the museum to provide adequate space for the Memphis Belle exhibit opening events.
(U.S. Air Force photo by Ken LaRock)

Two fully restored World War II vintage bombers, a B-17 Flying Fortress and a B-24 Liberator, will be on display and available for rides May 31 to June 3 at Moffett Field, Calif., as part of the "Wings of Freedom Tour" sponsored by the Collings Foundation of Stow, Mass.
(Source)

Hurricane and Spitfire Mk1A
(Source)

Paul Wood flies a Korean War era F-86 Saber Jet demo at Volk Field Open House, 21 Aug 2010.
(U.S. Air Force photo courtesy Joe Oliva)

Pilots of the U.S. Navy’s Blue Angels fly in a delta formation during a training flight over the beaches of Pensacola, Fla., on Oct. 23, 2013.
(DoD photo by Petty Officer 1st Class Terrence Siren, U.S. Navy.)

NEW YORK -- Six F-16 Fighting Falcons with the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds aerial demonstration team fly in delta formation in front of the Empire State Building during an air show May 26.
(U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Sean Mateo White)

Sometimes all you need is pictures, and a good video...

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast*

(A nice breakfast stout works as well...)

Anyhoo, it's been an odd week. First thing I did when I got home from work on Friday was pop the top on that beverage seen in the opening photo. Yes, that's the very one I quaffed moments after taking the shot.

Second thing I did (after calming down from reading a piece of corporate stupidity just before departing work, which was the reason for the adult beverage) was to think on what I wished to regale you, The Chanters, with on what I trust will be a lovely Saturday morn. (I'm on Friday as I write this. Again, the vagaries of time travel...)

Then it struck me, music. Why not, who doesn't like music, no one who visits here dislikes music, of that I am pretty sure. While our tastes may vary, I daresay that all of us like a bit of a tune now and again.

I know I do.

So I thought I'd share a couple (maybe three) of the tunes I've enjoyed over the years. The first one is from the band I grew up with...

That one never made it to an album (that I'm aware of) it was on the flip-side of Paperback Writer, another favorite. I had that "45" back in the day. (Would one of you old hands take the younger lads and lassies aside and explain to them what a "45" is? The vinyl, not the pistol, not the Jacobite rising, though I like those too.)

I particularly like the bass and the drums on that one, Ringo is often underestimated for his drum work.

Yeah, I liked the Stones as well, but that came later.

That one gets the blood pumping. FWIW, I tend to admire drummers and bass players amongst the musical set and Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts are excellent. I guess it's because I'm okay at the bass and I'm still bashing away on the drum kit. While I'm not that good, I don't suck either. So drummers and bassists are my musical role models.

Many bands have entertained me over the years: Cream, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Led Zeppelin, Men At Work, Def Leppard, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Dropkick Murphys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a host of others. It's usually rock and roll of some sort, though the occasional bagpipe tune wanders in, as does the odd hymn or three.

Military marches (French or German preferred) are much loved, but I need to be in the right mood for those. (Not a big Sousa fan, not sure why.) Not exactly the kind of thing one relaxes to over a fine malted beverage.

I like Vivaldi, Beethoven, a wee bit of Wagner (though not too much), some of Tchaikovsky's stuff is good (I mean come on, 1812 Overture, with cannon! What's not to love?), and I'm sure there are other classical composers that I like. Not a fanatic or anything mind you, just the odd bit here and there. (I could never sit still through an entire symphony, believe me.)

I've seen four bands live, all of 'em outdoors. In order - The Allman Brothers in Saratoga, Seals & Crofts at Red Rocks outside Denver, Jethro Tull at Tanglewood (in Massachusetts), and (of course) Foo Fighters last summer up at Fenway Park in Boston.

The first two I sat so far away, could have been anyone up on stage, and those were in the days of no big screens set up so we folks in the cheap seats could see the band. For Jethro Tull my brother, The Musician, got us awesome seats, I'd say maybe 20 to 30 yards from the stage. The seats at Fenway were pretty good, not to mention that The WSO came with, she made it even more fun. I like doing stuff with my kids and grandkids. That one was fun mostly for the energy that was in it. Those guys put on an excellent live show. So does The WSO once she unleashes her inner NFO.

The Foos also get along well with their fans.

My favorite band at this point in time -

And yes, Taylor Hawkins and Nate Mendel are wicked awesome on the drums and bass, respectively.

Anyhoo, that's what floats my boat musically.

What's your favorite music?

Have a great weekend.

Oh yeah, happy June.






* From The Mourning Bride, Act I, Scene 1. By William Congreve