Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

combination of pool and rugby played on a billiard table. To the left, against the far
wall, was a stage, although there was no band. A rainbow-colored jukebox the size
of a Dumpster was cranked up, and about a dozen flight-suits were jumping around
to “Viva Las Vegas.” Looking closely, I saw a few female officers from the
AWACS surrounded by swarms of men. The girls weren’t good-looking, and the
flight suits definitely didn’t help, but they were the only women in the place, and
they were having a good time. The male officers from AWACS were nowhere to be
seen. Go figure.
Squinting at the shadows, I saw one table of four very serious, dark-skinned
pilots with perfect hair, clean flight suits, and all their patches. They’d given up
trying to figure out the Crud game and were watching the women and the dancing.
Turks.
I thought they were drinking water, until one of them poured another round of
something clear from an unmarked bottle.
“What’s that” I yelled in MooMan’s ear and pointed at the Turks.
“I’ll show you. Raki!” he screamed at the bartender, who returned with two
shot glasses and a bottle of the clear stuff.
He winked again and gave the standard German toast: “Prost.”
My eyes watered and the room wobbled. Raki. Turkish hooch. It tasted like
tobacco spit mixed with licorice. I tried not to throw up, and very carefully cradled
the toxic shot glass in my hand. MooMan laughed and wandered off. I found my
young captain buddies, and we leaned against the bar to watch the Crud game.
It’s actually a pretty simple game, which only uses two balls—the colored
“object” ball and the white “shooter” ball. It’s played with two teams of almost any
size, and the goal is to kill off your opponents by sinking the object ball into any
pocket. Naturally, this is resisted by the other team. Everyone takes turns shooting,
and if you sink the ball, then whoever shot before you loses a life. When you lose
three lives, you’re gone. There are really only two rules. You can’t hit the referee
(at all) and you have to shoot from the ends of the table. Beyond that, the rules
vary depending on who’s playing, who’s watching (women), and how much
everyone’s had to drink.
Tonight was the full menu of testosterone, adrenaline, and alcohol. After a day
of combat missions, with some women watching, it was a wild game. Any force,
short of lethal force, was allowed to block shots, keep shooters from the table, and
otherwise screw up the other side. A few of the players were limping, and several
had been sidelined with gashed faces and broken noses.
Now, Officer’s Clubs are open to all officers. But on fighter bases, it’s a rare or