Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

operations. We had bases in the Far East, but I wasn’t interested in that part of the
world.
Now, the operational (that is, non-training) Air Force was divided up into
several large sections. There were the strategic aircraft—like bombers, transports,
and air-refueling tankers. The bombers were there to fly deep into enemy (Soviet)
airspace and drop nuclear bombs on Russian cities. Transports and tankers kept
everyone supplied and full of fuel.
Then there were the tactical assets, like fighters, forward air controllers, and
reconnaissance types. The fighters, in Europe at least, were basically speed bumps.
We were to be thrown into the melee to slow down Russian tanks. You see,
prevailing wisdom had decided that the big Soviet armored thrust, which would
sweep across Europe to the English Channel, would come through the Fulda Gap
on the West German border. This was a narrow pass in the Hartz Mountains and
was assumed to be the focal point for the opening tank battle of World War III.
Naturally, the U.S. Army and NATO were deployed around it, and the airspace
above was nicely divided into chessboard sections called Restricted Operating
Zones. Maps were drawn and color-coded, procedures exhaustingly created by
officers with too much time on their hands, and, over the course of three decades,
everything was neatly organized. There was, however, one problem.
It was nuts.
We were outnumbered ten to one by an enemy that had no problem turning
Western Europe into a wasteland. They had nukes and would use them in a
heartbeat if an all-out hot war broke out. This, of course, meant we would also
have to use nukes. So Europe, with its beautiful cities, rivers, art, and good wine
would become an immense, glowing parking lot for several generations. This war
would make all previous conflicts look like Little League games.
Like I said, it was nuts.
To this day, I’m still not certain how we avoided all that. Mind you, I wasn’t too
interested in geopolitical considerations at the time. Like most young warriors, I
was a fairly simple tool. I had silver bars on my shoulders, wings on my chest, and a
cool jet to fly. I didn’t care too much about who I was supposed to fight. And if
you’re one of the guys doing the fighting, you have to believe you’re more vicious
and lethal than the guy sitting in the opposing cockpit.
And we were the best.
The Royal Air Force, and maybe some NATO types, might take issue with this
statement, but they used our equipment and had been through our training
programs. We also had a generation of fighter pilots who’d seen combat in