Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

evaluate, and this is another reason for American air supremacy.
For a FWIC student, the ME phase is a rite of passage. However, I knew two
pilots who washed out in this final part of the course. If you do survive, your
immediate reaction is disbelief. At least it was in my case. That, and the weaklimbed
numbness that comes from profound relief. I’d been through every other
formal course and training possible for a fighter pilot—and had seen action in the
Gulf War. Fighter Weapons School was by far the most difficult.
After my final flight, I drove back to the Visiting Officer’s Quarters and sat
outside on the Wailing Bench. Normally, you only sat on this thing when you
busted (failed) a flight. You’d carve your call sign and the mission number into the
bench and wait for your buddies to pass you a shot of scotch by way of solace.
Needless to say, there were hundreds of names and dates, because everyone busts
rides. So I sat there, let the sweat dry, and the realization sink in that I was almost a
Patchwearer. There was one final, very closely held initiation that would take place
during Patch Night. After this, graduates received the gray-and-black patch they’d
proudly wear for the rest of their careers. The idea was now to go back to a fighter
squadron with the latest techniques and tactics and pass it along to everyone else.
I’d known for months that my combat experiences in the Gulf were at odds with
some of the tactics being taught at Nellis. But remember the environment. FWIC
instructors fight other elite American pilots, so their tactics tend to reflect that level
of threat—and not necessarily those posed by poorly trained Russian, Chinese, or
Middle Eastern aviators. Besides, if you can defeat the Nellis “threat,” you can
beat anything in the world. One curious result I’ve noticed is that we often falsely
equate the threat’s capability with our own standards. We give them too much
credit and occasionally derive some flawed tactics from this outlook. I was
determined not to do this. I wanted to combine all my previous experience with the
magic I’d just been taught—a perfect marriage of real-world lessons with the most
lethal fighter training in the world. In retrospect, it was a nice thought.
Fighter Weapons School was a tremendous, life-altering experience and you
truly do emerge as someone else. Anyone who has survived to be part of an elite
group knows this feeling. No matter what unmanned space-based crap they’re
gluing to the Nellis main gate these days, that place will always be “The Home of
Fighter Pilot” to me and those like me. I’m sure that’ll piss off the politically
correct ground-pounders, but really, who cares