Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

Not too long ago, a Predator “pilot” tried to write himself up for an Air Medal
—it didn’t happen, but a lot of fine fighter pilots threw up at the thought. What’s
next A Purple Heart for carpal tunnel syndrome
Be that as it may, I’m not opposed to any solution that kills SAMs. Fixed sites
are relatively easy. Naval bombardment, cruise missiles, or even Special Forces
teams with satchel charges are all options for killing those types of SAMs. Wild
Weaseling, to most of us, is a special mission done on the fly against unknown and
unplanned mobile SAMs. Often reactive, it’s over very quickly. Too rapidly to be
coordinated through the net-centric, space-based, convoluted virtual world
promoted by cyber desk-jockeys. That doesn’t work, since the threat has killed and
moved by that time. There will always be a critical need for an aggressive, lethal
Wild Weasel right up front in the action. The point is, we won against Iraq because
we were prepared to do battle with a superpower. I fervently hope we don’t train in
the future to fight a lesser threat and get whacked by a well-armed China or Russia.
AFTER OUR STOPOVER IN THE AZORES, WE ARRIVED HOME AT Shaw AFB in the late
afternoon, and despite the fatigue of the flight, we joined together as four-ships to
fly overhead in close formation. Pitching out, I remember looking down at the
green fields of South Carolina and the crowd waiting for us on the flight line. I
knew it was my last war, and I was content. I was happy to be alive and it was good
to be home. Home is the best of things to a man in combat. More than just a safe
haven, it symbolizes a place where good things happen. Where you don’t wake up
drenched in sweat from a nightmare or roll into a ditch because mortars are falling
on your head. Home is safe.
Weeks later, after the flags were put away and decorations received, we tried to
reconnect as best we could. Of course, the lessons were put into briefings, all the
numbers quantified and lectures presented, but nothing really changed. Pilots
moved on to other assignments. Several became generals, some left for airline jobs,
the National Guard, and some, like me, retired. I always wanted to try island living,
so I went off to the Caribbean and bought a big sailboat. Several men who I thought
would never get married now have wives and kids. Others, who had perfect
families, seemed like they would never split up—and they did just that. At least two
are now dead, killed in another war on another continent. Regardless of how my
brothers ended up, they’re frozen in my memory as I last saw them, and in that
sense, they’ll live forever.
The summer following the war, I met a middle-aged woman during a Fourth of