Well, It's Alright

The Buckeye, The WSO, and Me
(Pensacola, July 2008)

There is much that is wrong with the world. We read about it every day. What can we do about it? I dunno, my best guess (and advice) is to do your job. Be a citizen, be informed, get out there in the world and make a difference. A positive difference.

Do what you can, when you can, as often as you can to make this country a force for good in the world.

Don't let the slackers, the moaners, the groaners, and the whiners get you down. It's what they want. I'm not going to say, "don't worry, be happy," (and Lord knows I'm not gonna try and sing it) but hey, cheer up America! Let's fight back against the snowflakes, the addlepated, and the ignorant. Do you want to be special? Earn it buttercup.

I've probably posted that video before, I'll probably post it again in the future. 'S okay, I like it.

Anybody else miss these guys?

I do...

Hey, it is Friday...

Im Kampf gefallen an diesem Tag im Jahr 1918*

Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen
02 May 1892 – 21 April 1918
(Source)

The distant drone of aircraft engines made the soldiers look up, there, a Sopwith Camel was dancing this way and that, trying to elude the bright red Fokker triplane in hot pursuit. Soldiers of a nearby anti-aircraft unit scrambled to bring their machine guns to bear, waiting for the Camel to clear.

As they readied themselves another Camel swooped down on the triplane's six o'clock position. The men on the ground could now hear the German's twin machine guns, short bursts aimed at the lead Camel. Abruptly the German pilot stopped firing and jinked his machine to the right.

The trailing Camel applied full throttle and and pulled up sharply, nearly impacting the ridge over which the fight continued. As the Camel piloted by a Captain Brown of the RAF sped straight ahead, building up speed and preparing to pitch back into the fight, the lead Camel, flown by a Lieutenant May, was clear.

Every rifle and machine gun which could be brought to bear opened up on the little red aircraft.

He saw the enemy plane in his peripheral vision pulling off to his left. Now the young German ace, with a twitch of rudder and a brief caress of the control stick, pulled lead on the aircraft to his front. Just as he fired the entire world seemed to light up.

The air was full of tracer fire, and for every round he could see, there would be up to ten others that he couldn't. So he started to make his aircraft "dance," never staying in the same plane for more than a second, jinking, changing altitude, still focused on the prey to his front.

He felt and saw rounds impacting his bird, saw holes appearing in the fabric of the wings. But he could tell nothing vital had been hit, he was still in control...

It felt as if someone had just hit him under the right armpit with a large hammer. He could also feel a burning sensation across his chest.

Why was it so hard to breathe? What, what is that, am I bleeding? I must try to land before I lose consciousness...

Consummate airman that he was, the Red Baron of Germany managed to land his aircraft in a field just south of the Bray-Corbie road overlooking the River Somme. The aircraft was not badly damaged.

As a group of Australian soldiers ran to the downed aircraft, Manfred von Richthofen, Captain of Cavalry in the Imperial German Army Air Service was rapidly bleeding out. The pain was immense, he struggled to remain conscious, he knew to stay still, he could hear footsteps near his aircraft. Was help arriving? Why was he so cold?

As the first Australian climbed up to the cockpit, he could see that the Hun pilot was a goner. He heard the man attempt to speak, then the German's eyes lost focus. Whoever the man was, he was dead...

On the 21st of April, at just after 1100 hours local time, near the small village of Vaux-sur-Somme, Rittmeister Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen, top scoring ace of World War I, perished in aerial combat.

For many years Captain Arthur "Roy" Brown of 209 Squadron, Royal Air Force, had been credited with shooting down von Richthofen. Men on the ground, Australians of two separate units of the Australian Imperial Force claimed that ground fire had brought the Baron's red Fokker Dr.I triplane to earth.

Subsequent research showed that von Richthofen had been killed by a single .303 caliber round which hit him on the right side at an angle which indicated that it had been fired from the ground. Not an aircraft.

Regardless of exactly who killed the Red Baron, arguably the best pilot of World War I was dead, at the age of 25, eleven days shy of his birthday.

The Red Baron was credited with 80 confirmed aerial victories, sources indicate that the actual number was well above a hundred. No matter, his reign of terror in the air was at an end. One of the finest fighter pilots to have ever lived, was no more.

(Source)

I have written of this man before, and will, no doubt, write of him again in the future. He was a brilliant fighter pilot, his like would not be seen again until a later war. Again, it would be a German pilot who would score the highest number of victories in that war.

A reborn Germany in 1959 would name its first jet fighter unit after the Red Baron, Jagdgeschwader 71, "Richthofen." That unit was founded and initially commanded by Oberst Erich Hartmann, the pilot who had had the top "score" in World War II, 352 confirmed aerial victories.

Fitting, in many ways.

JG 71 Richthofen

Fokker Dr.I. Replica of  Manfred von Richthofen's triplane. (Source)

Ruhe in Frieden, Herr Rittmeister...

* Fallen in battle on this day in 1918.

The Stuff That Spills Out ep. 2

My brain and my inbox seem to be full, so stuff is starting to spill out again.  Part of the reason for that is there's quite a bit on my plate these days.  Which is the usual case for me of course.  I don't complain about it much anymore (except here!) as I realize that this is just my lot in life.  And it's all self induced- I've mostly  brought it on myself.  A few years back I accepted a position as an assistant within a charitable organization.  It's not difficult, just time consuming.  I despise people who say they'll do something, but don't, so once I took the job I had to give it my all.  That performance led to an almost inevitable leadership position a year or so later.  I didn't really want to, as I had already served in that capacity 10 years earlier, but I felt a little obligated.  For the last 4 months of my term back then, the Navy sent me off to Operation Iraqi Freedom so I wasn't able to see it through to the end.  We weren't expecting to go so early, but the deployment got moved up because of the war.  My unfinished commitment then, and the fact that it was a fellow Navy retiree who was asking me to be his assistant, pushed me over the edge to accept.  I may also have some sort of medical condition which makes me unable to say "no," but that's a story for another time.

Doing the job you were hired to do.  That's pretty damn important to me.  Nothing irks me more than when I go into a business in which service is their business, and I get lousy service.  For the government agencies, that isn't always the case.  Everybody jokes about the DMV and how they dread going there.   The Teenangster wanted to see the Disney animated movie Zootopia a few weeks back, wherein all the characters are animals.  In it, the DMV clerks are all sloths.  Perfect imagery for how we sometimes see the DMV.  That might be a bit of an unfair interpretation seeing how they are providing something that nearly every adult needs, and there are only so many clerks, so many hours in a day, etc.  They could hurry it up a bit though.

When the VA scandal broke a few years ago, I partially attributed it to another overworked and underfunded agency, providing services to needy vets, but facing challenging, if not impossible odds. Now however, it seems that it's not just a few bad apples, but a systemic problem that is circulating within the heart of the VA, if not imprinted in their DNA.  The latest issue, outside the covering up of wait times and backlog of patients, is that the VA has been shredding documents needed for veterans' claims.  I could give them the benefit of the doubt again, chalking it up to poor record keeping, but I now think they just don't care, and that's with an almost criminal sense of apathy.

  

"Good Enough for Government Work" used to mean the exact opposite of what we think now.  It once stood for quality; work that could pass the most rigorous of standards.  Now it only refers to poorly executed work, and almost as a joke.  The reason Socialism and Communism will never endure is because these systems, stripping the person of their individuality, eliminate the incentive to do better.  In the US, with our bloated government salaries, Congressional earmarks and an acquisition system that favors jobs over defense requirements and the public good, coupled with the reality that a government job is a job for life, we've created our own socialist society within the US.  The incentive to make it better is just not there anymore, and patriotism and a sense of duty seem to be limited.  Other than the Defense Department, I thought the VA would hold those ideals more than any other agency, but apparently not.

Yeah, the older I get, the more opinionated and curmudgeonly I seem to become. As I grow older, balder, wider, and more white (because I'm staying out of the sun due to bouts with skin cancer), I am more irritated at the way some on the left like to categorize the GOP as a bunch of angry old white men.  Besides being a gross overstatement and reducing me to a sound-bite vice an ideal, I would rather characterize those of a similar mind as the grown ups in the US.  We understand fiscal realities- everything has a cost.  We value and provide hard work, believing that unless you're physically or mentally incapable of giving it yourself, you shouldn't benefit from the hard work others put in.  We understand human nature- that people will always look out for their own self interest, politicians first and foremost.  And that if bad behavior isn't put in check, it will continue, here in the US and around the world.  So a strong defense is vital to freedom and our way of life.  We also understand parables and scripture and how they are good life lessons even if one isn't Christian. 

Remember when Obamacare was being debated?  Outside the left, it was almost universally slammed for being poorly written, rushed through committee, and almost doomed to fail.  I equate it to the parable of a house built on sand that will surely fall. 

And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand.  And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.                                                                                                                                           Matthew 7:26-27

The Affordable Care Act was supposedly put in place because healthcare was too expensive and insurance was unavailable to those with pre-existing conditions.  But that's because healthcare was and still is governed by an inefficient and horribly expensive insurance industry.  So the ACA was a system being built on an already crumbling foundation- sand, not rock.  I and many others like me, knew it was only (poorly) treating the symptoms, but not the illness. 

While I am slowly turning into an angry old man, I also seem to be less concerned with things that used to get to me.  Traffic doesn't bother me much, as I have learned to accept it as an inevitability.  I've become more courteous on the road, letting more aggressive drivers merge in front of me without question, even if they aren't using their blinker!  I realize that the idiots on the road aren't going away and all I need to do is watch out for them.  And besides, sitting in traffic gives me more time to listen to talk radio.





Some other stuff that has been rattling around in my noggin:  I'm irritated by the fact that other than my mortgage, my biggest bill is from my cellphone company?  It's even more than cable and I've got every station on the planet.  And that bill is bundled with my internet and phone!  Every year it seems to go up too. 

More signs that I'm getting old- I find simple pleasures in a power or water bill that is lower than the month prior.  I also take more pleasure than I probably should when I find a coupon for something I regularly buy.  Even more so when it's a BOGO (Buy one, get one free!)   I also kind of like it when the parking lot at work is full and I have to use the overflow lot.  You see, my wife got me a FitBit several months back and the further walk gives me more steps.  A business I'm visiting is on the 4th floor?  Yay, more floors! 

Other joys include finding a full or partially full coffee pot in the morning or afternoon.   If it's fresh, even better, but I have no problem drinking from yesterday's pot.  It's still better than the swill I drank on the boat.  My wife drinks more coffee than I do so if she doesn't happen to drain the pot I made earlier in the day, I'm almost overjoyed.

I am almost embarrassed by how much fun I get out of hearing a baby laugh.  Seen this?  How about this one?

I enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon, vegging in my recliner.  A month ago I was flipping channels and I came across a movie I really wanted to see but had missed in the theaters.  Usually I find those gems already in progress, but this time, it was just about to start.  Simple pleasures.

And of course, a good sunset can put me in a good mood for the rest of the evening. 

By the way, the pictures you've been enjoying have nothing to do with the post, other than it's stuff I've been collecting for a while and it's clogging up my "stuff for Sarge" folder.  They're all taken by a man named Jas Mander who grew up in the same area of Southern Oregon as me, which is where all of these were taken.  He's quite generous with his pictures as his Facebook page is public.  We have many mutual friends, although we've never met.  He's quite the gifted photographer and finds the beauty of the region that sometimes gets overlooked when one considers the terrible economy (no jobs), drug culture (meth and pot), and the high crime rate (see previous two items). 

I will now leave you with a joke. According to the source, this is from is an actual question given on a University of Arizona chemistry mid-term, and an actual answer turned in by a student.

The answer by one student was so 'profound' that the professor shared it with colleagues via the Internet, which is, of course, why you all here at The Chant have the pleasure of enjoying it as well:

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving, which is unlikely. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.

Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Anabella during my Freshman year that, 'It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,' and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct..... ....leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Anabella kept shouting 'Oh my God.'

The student received an A+.


Jerks in traffic?  They barely pass with a C minus.  The VA and Congress get an F minus.  And if Hell does exist, there's a special place there for some of them.

The Shot Heard Round the World

(Source)

19 April, 1775 - Willie Cruikshank rested his hunting rifle on the stone wall in front of him. He could hear musket shots farther up the road, up towards Lexington where the day's events had begun. Cruikshank's militia company had hurried to this position and were just getting settled in. The day was turning hot.

Around the bend in the road Cruikshank could see dust rising above the trees. The lobsterbacks had to be close. He removed his hat and ran his sleeve over his forehead, the day was getting warmer and the run up from Menotomy had him sweating.

"Steady Willie, don't bounce around so much. Those bloody lobsterbacks might see you. Steady lads." Sergeant Sullivan muttered to the other men nearby. He liked Willie, even if he was a Scotsman, and didn't want the lad to feel singled out.

"Sully! I can sees 'em. There the bastards are!" Young McGilvary could barely contain himself as the red coated column began to come around the bend in the road.

"Be still Mac! Jesus, Mary and Joseph can't you lads be quiet?" Sergeant Sullivan's first thought was that the British looked dirty and tired. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but he'd had to flee Ireland on account of the English. There was no pity in his breast this day.

"Willie, you take the first shot. Aim at the fancy boy on the horse..."

Cruikshank laid his cheek against the stock of his rifle and focused on the horseman. An officer, he guessed. Soon to be a dead 'un. Willie seldom missed.

Lieutenant Anthony Williams-Beckworth of the Grenadier Company of His Majesty's Fourth Foot* slumped in his saddle. It had been a very long day. Up well before dawn, getting the men down to the boats and then across to the mainland, he had been very busy. He had wanted to leave his horse behind but Captain Adams had told him in no uncertain terms that he wanted his officers on horseback.

While it had been difficult getting the horses across, he was glad they had. He was tired, his men looked exhausted. The march back from Concord had been a passage through Hell itself. As far as he could tell, his platoon had suffered only a single casualty. Light losses to be sure, but tell that to Jackson's mother.

This was the lieutenant's first fight, his first excursion into the field, truth be told. Seeing the perpetually cheerful Jackson shot down right in front of him had nearly caused him to vomit.

Who knew there was so much blood in a man?

Corporal Wilkerson tramped wearily along next to the lieutenant's horse, The captain had taken him aside that morning and bade the corporal keep an eye on the new officer. At first he'd been annoyed at having to babysit this youngster, little bastard couldn't be more than 17. "I joined the regiment before this lad was even conceived," Wilkerson thought to himself.

At that point the experienced corporal thought he saw something just up ahead.

"Look alive lads, the damned rebels seem to be about!"

Cruikshank settled himself, a breath in, let some of it out...

When the powder in the pan flashed and the rifle kicked back into his shoulder, it was, as always, a surprise. "A good steady squeeze is the way to go laddie," as his old Da' always said.

He couldn't see shite because of the powder smoke but he didn't have time to gawp anyway, he needed to reload, and fast.

Eric Johnson Photo (Source)

Wilkerson saw the flash and then the smoke from a shot just ahead, couldn't be more than a hundred paces away. Before he could react he heard a muffled grunt and then a choking sound coming from his right. And why was he wet all of a sudden? It wasn't raining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lieutenant Williams-Beckworth felt as if he'd been shoved back slightly, then his hands went to his throat as suddenly he couldn't breathe right, perhaps he should loosen his cravat. But then, then, he realized that something, something...

As the lieutenant slid to the road, his world went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wilkerson turned just as the lieutenant began to slide from his horse, his waistcoat was soaked in blood, his horse's neck was soaked in blood. My Lord, my lieutenant's been shot, what will the captain say?

As he reached for the lieutenant he felt his arm swatted away, as if the lieutenant didn't want to be touched. Odd though, the lieutenant has both hands to his throat, how did he...

Wilkerson stared in some puzzlement at his shattered right forearm. Then he realized, he too had been hit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other non-commissioned officers had no time to assist the corporal or his lieutenant, the rebel fire was coming in thick and fast.

"Form up you bastards!"

"Present your firelocks! Fire! Fire at will!"

Eric Johnson Photo (Source)

But the rebels were already melting into the trees. A small group of fusiliers began to jump over the wall to pursue but were ordered back onto the road.

"Retreat, fall back lads, keep your intervals. Steady lads, steady!"

As night fell Corporal Wilkerson regained conscientiousness. His arm was on fire and his throat was parched. In the wan light of the moon he realized that he was alone on the field, his mates had left him for dead.

Struggling to his feet, he looked about for his musket. There, under that body. Rolling the dead man off, he began to lift his weapon out from under the corpse, then the moonlight fell on the man's face enough to recognize him.

Wilkerson sank back to the ground with a sob. The dead man was his lieutenant. The boy he was responsible for. Damned infernal rebels, they will pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two months later, less two days, the rebel who had slain the young lieutenant, Private Willie Cruikshank did pay. He lost his life at the end of a British bayonet as he tried to flee from a bloody hill just outside Charlestown. A hill known as Breed's Hill, where the battle to be remembered in later years as The Battle of Bunker Hill was fought.

Corporal John Wilkerson was there as well, his wounded right arm just beginning to feel right again. The corporal had gone up that hill two and a half times, he'd been forced back twice. Angry, wanting revenge for his dead lieutenant, wanting revenge for the humiliation of the retreat from Concord. So many good lads lost that day.

But as the sun set on another bloody day of this young revolution, Corporal Wilkerson's war was over. As was his life.

He and 206 other British infantrymen lay dead upon the bloody slope. Nineteen officers had also perished. 828 other men of the Royal Army had been wounded, some would die of those wounds.

135 of the rebels had perished (20 after being captured). A further 305 had been wounded. So yes, the rebels had "paid" for Concord and Lexington. But the bill to the British Crown was far too steep. Any further victories such as this and His Majesty's army in the Colonies would be bled white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though Ralph Waldo Emerson's poem "Concord Hymn" was written to commemorate the events of 19 April 1775, the "shot heard round the world" refers to the first shots fired by the Colonial militia at the North Bridge outside of Concord, Massachusetts.

That shot had actually been fired earlier in the day, at Lexington green. To this day, no one knows who fired that first shot. The British soldiers present deny having fired, given the strict discipline of the British, I believe they did not fire first.

The British did not mention seeing those militia gathered on the green firing the shot either. Perhaps it was someone coming late onto the scene, who saw the militia standing as the British officer in command demanded they lay down their arms and disperse.

Perhaps that individual, in rage or in frustration, loosed that first shot. Which caused the redcoats to loose a volley on the men to their front. Of whom eight perished and ten were wounded. Some in sight of their homes.

Who fired that "shot heard round the world" that day? Who knows?

A long, bloody revolution followed but in the end, a new Nation was born.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,

Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;

And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

That memory may their deed redeem,

When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare

To die, and leave their children free,

Bid Time and Nature gently spare

The shaft we raise to them and thee.

"Concord Hymn" - Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* The 4th Foot is recorded as having been present in this source.
** Source for the Concord Hymn

La hondureños, segundo intento

So, last week I ran afoul of the technology gods and my attempt to blend blogging and pleasure was only very marginally successful.  Who knew that pictures on a blog post could be so difficult.  

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa!

But....At least the "What the heck am I gonna write about THIS week?" question has been answered.  To quote from a great Alert Movie "So I got that goin' for me, which is nice."

In any case, I was doing research for my topic and whilst reading the source of all verified truths in the universe, came across this quote.

"Events during the 1980s in El Salvador and Nicaragua led Honduras — with US assistance — to expand its armed forces considerably, laying particular emphasis on its air force, which came to include a squadron of US-provided F-5s."

Source 

I had always wondered why we had two  Fuerza Aérea Hondureña  Officers attend Lead-In Fighter Training while I was an IP.  Now, I knew.

So,There I was *....

I don't know how the Boss got the notion that I might speak Spanish, but one day, he walked in the scheduler's office as I was putting the finishing touches to the next day's schedule.  

Flying time, especially front seat flying time, was highly sought and fought over in the early years of the Reagan Build Up.  As such, the Boss would always come by late in the process and give the schedule a once over.  It was, after all, his squadron and he was ultimately responsible for what happened with it, especially the flying.  Most of the time, he'd just give it his blessing.  Occasionally, he'd make a "suggestion", on students or IPs flying together.  

Today he seemed a bit distracted.  He begins the conversation with "You're from Texas, you speak Spanish don't you?"

I'm still pondering a schedule change he'd suggested and the question doesn't immediately register.  

Then it does.  I think "Huh?"  However, I reply "Sir, I speak a little."  Meaning "Sir, I speak enough to say "hello", "I'd like another beer, please" and "Where's the bathroom?".

I make the suggested change on the schedule, and he replies "Good. Go ahead and post it."

I take that to mean, "I approve your change to the schedule and you can make it public."  (Meaning I can give it to the SSGT who will write it on the plexiglass in front of the flight desk and the pack of drooling fighter pilots (both student and IP) will quit bothering me to find out if they're on it or not i.e. my day is done.)

In that hubbub, I forget about the Spanish Question.

Now, in a spirit of honesty.  I speak a tad bit more Spanish than I've said, but not much.  I do however, read and understand it at a higher level.  I can generally follow a conversation and get the gist of what's being said, especially if the speaker is using the Texas version of Spanish where every 5th word or so is English.  I'm almost fluent at that point.

A couple of weeks later, he calls me down to his office.  I walk down the hall, doing the mental exercise of listing the things I've screwed up lately (a long list) to determine if any of them merit a trip to the boss's office (none that I can think of, but....).

I knock and enter, standing at attention.  He motions me to sit down.  Hmmmm....This is unusual.

"Juvat, (for that was my actual call sign at the time) We're going to have some different students in the next class.  I'm gonna need your help."

"Yes Sir?"

"We're going to have two Captains from the Honduran Air Force in the class, and I'd like them to be your students."

Ooh Boy!

"Yes Sir, are they fresh out of UPT?"

"No."

"What have they flown?"

"AT-6s"

Source

"Oh!"

"Here is their personnel data.  Just so you know, one of them is the son of their Air Force Chief of Staff."

"Oh" (S4!T!)

I glance down at the forms.  They're the usual military personnel type forms.  The person's picture in one corner, assignments, schools, awards etc.  This one also includes a questionnaire filled out by the individual.  One of the questions is "How well do you speak English?"

The top form (belonging to someone we'll call Jorge) is answered "Quite well".  

He's got quite a bit of flying time and will be going through the B course.  

The B course was the F-4 and F-16 course, and will familiarize them with both Air to Air and Air to Ground techniques and procedures.  The A course is for F-15 students and focuses exclusively on Air to Air while the C course is for students going to the A-10 and F-111 and focuses exclusively on Air to Ground. 

I think, Ok, shouldn't be too bad.

I shuffle the pages and look at the second Officer's record.  (We'll call him Juan.)  It is quite apparent that Juan is the Chief of Staff's son.  His picture has him in uniform with a wide variety of medals, ribbons and sashes.  

(As an aside, at the time, I had two ribbons. An overseas short tour and a commendation medal, oh, and one silver star on my flight suit sleeve indication at least 501 hours of fighter time, no combat.)

I glance at the flight experience section, he's got less time than me and most of it is in Cessnas (with props).  OOOH Boy!

I continue perusal of the form and get to the question about how well he thinks he speaks English.  Juan has entered "Fair".

Juan will be going through the A Course.  

I look at the Boss.  He says, "let's see how it goes."

"Yes, Sir"

A few days later, the new class arrives.  Shortly thereafter, I'm invited to the Boss's office, where I'm introduced to Jorge and Juan.  I can tell within seconds that Jorge is a fighter pilot, maybe not a jet fighter pilot, but a fighter pilot.  He will do fine.

Juan, on the other hand.  There's something about a person, who won't look you in the eye, that always make me wonder.  

The Boss dismisses us with a "Juvat, why don't you find a briefing room and sit down with our guests and discuss the program and answer any questions."

Finding an empty briefing room, I welcome them to sunny Alamogordo and ask them to tell me a bit about themselves.  Jorge starts off, describing his AT-6 experience and what he's looking for from the LIFT program.  Jorge, in fact, does speak English "quite well."

He finishes, and I turn to Juan.  He begins to speak.  In Spanish.  

He stops, and Jorge begins to translate.  This goes on for a while, and finally I ask a question.  Juan, looks puzzled, and looks to Jorge.  Who begins to speak, in Spanish.

Oh Lord!

I ask Jorge if Juan speaks and understands any English.  He says Yes, but not if spoken quickly.  I slow down my verbal pace, and I can see that Juan understands some of what I'm saying.

I relate this to the Boss, who turns slightly pale.  He dismisses me with a "Do the best you can."

A few days later, I'm scheduled for a double turn.  A flight in the morning, and one in the afternoon.  It's an orientation ride, I'm in the front, my Honduran friends are in the back.

Jorge is first.  It's obvious that he's never flown a jet, as he's way behind it.  We're out in the area, and I demo some acro, then give him the stick to try and repeat.  He over controls it at first, but I talk him through the corrections, and he performs the maneuver passably.

That afternoon, I walk Juan through the briefing, explaining what we will be doing, and how we will pass control of the aircraft.  (One of the stupidest, but not altogether uncommon, accident causes occurs when two pilots both think the other is flying the aircraft when, in fact, neither is.)  He says he understands.

We go out to the aircraft, and I get it started, airborne and out in the area.  I demonstrate an aileron roll.  I tell him "he's got the aircraft". "I've got it." Close enough.  He does the aileron roll.  His maneuver is actually more of a barrel roll as he's got a bit of back pressure in throughout.  

I demo it again.  He tries again.  Same technique.  I ask him why.  He says he doesn't like the zero g.  

Hoo boy, this is going to be a long course!

Time passes and some changes are made.  Jorge is doing well enough that he can fly with other IPs.  Seems Juan feels comfortable with me and has requested me as his only IP. 

 Yay me!

I've managed to get him "qualified" in the jet, meaning he can take off and land, if I give him several hints with the stick and throttles e.g. holding the stick and throttles in the desired position, until such time as they should be changed.

The program calls for solo rides.  I advise the boss that for Juan to solo, would be to write off a perfectly good airplane.  He says he can't be that bad.  I invite him to take him out for a ride himself.  He does.

Never seen the Boss that shaken before.

The Boss goes to the Wing King with the problem.  The question goes up the chain.  Finally, the answer comes back down.  Juan WILL graduate, whatever it takes. 

The Boss asks "What will it take?"

I reply "Sir, first, he is taken out of the A course and put into the C Course."

"Done."

"Second, it counts as a solo, if I never have to take the aircraft.  I can talk him through any maneuver and if he accomplishes that, but I don't take the aircraft, it's a solo." 

"Done."

And, pushing my luck, "All flights will consist of myself and Juan, and another IP in the second jet, solo only" (I wanted to minimize casualties.)

"Done"

This works pretty well, and Juan is actually making a fair bit of progress. My hands are never more than a quarter inch off the stick and throttles, but still...

We're late in the program, I'm even starting to feel like I may survive.  We're scheduled for a two ship low level mission.  The low level route is one I've flown easily a hundred times.  I know it like the back of my hand.

Our solo IP is a new Captain and He's got a humdinger of a mission brief prepared.  I'm old and tired and want to get Juan graduated.  

The Captain begins the briefing.

"OK, we'll start at XXXX, taxi will be standard, we'll do a formation takeoff.

"No, we won't!"

"Ok we'll take 10 second, you rejoin on me."

"No, we won't!  You'll pass us the lead on the runway, we'll take off, you rejoin on us and w'll pass you the lead."

The Captain asks Juan if he'll excuse us for a minute.  He steps out of the room as the Captain turns to me and says "Juvat, it doesn't look as if you're trying to maximize this student's training!"

I say, "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not!  I'm trying to maximize the chances of you and I living through this mission!"

"He can't be that bad."

"He can.  Trust me"

We get through the briefing, and basically the plan will be to takeoff as I'd outlined, drive out to the low level entry point in route formation, fly the low level in route formation, come back in and I'd update my back seat landing currency.

Juan takes off, and manages to fly the departure fairly well, the Captain rejoins with us and we pass him the lead.  We  let down to enter the low level and are now about 500' AGL on Lead's left side.  Lead gives us a manual frequency for the low level route as he begins a right turn for the first leg .

Now, typically, there would be a channelized frequency, say like the programmed buttons on your car radio.  Today, however, we've got to manually change that frequency and since there are 4 digits in the frequency, there are lots of combinations.    Normally, an experienced pilot would have set those digits in the dials on the ground, so that all it would take would be switching the radio selector from Channel to Manual. 

Juan didn't do that.  I'm watching lead as Juan has matched bank angles with him in the right turn.  I watch lead roll out, we're a couple of hundred feet away, but now with a closing vector.  I'm expecting Juan to roll out.

Nothing.

Nothing.  

I glance in the front seat and am treated to a view up the back of Juan's helmet.  He's bent over looking at the frequency selector as he changes it.

As I holler, "i've got the jet", I slap the stick to the left to level the wings.  Hard enough to see Juan's helmet bounce off the canopy. 

We've still got a closing vector.  I don't want to continue rolling left as that will blank out lead.  I can't go down.  No one has ever exceeded the low altitude flight record.  If I go up, I'll lose sight of lead.  Unless...

I pop the stick back and am treated to a grunt from Juan over the intercom.  As the nose clears the horizon, i slip in right rudder and aileron and do a quick tight barrel roll over the top of lead.  As I Tom Cruise over the top of him, I am treated to a very clear view of his wide open eyes through his canopy.  I now complete the roll rolling out on his right side, back in formation.

Juan comes on the intercom.  "What happened?"

Debrief over, Juan leaves the room.  The Captain says, "I didn't believe you, I'm sorry."

I replied.  "That's ok.  You, He and I are repeating the ride again tomorrow."

That evening when I got home, I kissed the floor, kissed my wife, and poured my self a stiff drink.

By User:Bernardo Moncada - Own work

Honduran Air Force Corsair loaded with Nape.  Just because I like Corsairs

*SJC