Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

parts of the Middle East yet. In retrospect, it was a great place. General Dynamics
had built a compound within the confines of the air base for its original support
folks. It was like a little village. There were nearly a hundred houses,
euphemistically called “villas” while in reality they were 1960s-style ranch homes.
Other good things included a baseball diamond, volleyball and tennis courts, a
splendid pool, and, of course, a bar with hot tub.
Much like McCarthy-era America, which feared the Soviet Union, Egypt
suffered from acute national paranoia toward Israel. This meant each fighter wing
maintained a different six-day schedule to prevent the Israelis from sneakattacking.
Theoretically. The Israeli Air Force couldn’t have cared less about
Egypt’s alert status. In fact, I met a veteran Israeli pilot who told me that before
attacking Beni Suef in 1973, he flew down the runway, in fingertip formation, to
give the Egyptians a chance to make it to their bomb shelters. In any event, Egypt
had fighters actively flying, seven days a week, all year long. (Apparently, the fact
that Egypt and Israel were both American allies didn’t bother anyone in the PV
program.)
The Egyptian pilots were all brought in from their homes in Cairo or Alexandria
via C-130 transport on day one. Days two through five were workdays. This
usually meant four scheduled flights, called lines, in the late morning, followed by
four more late in the afternoon. So, eight lines a day for four days. By comparison,
a typical American fighter squadron would fly ten to twelve lines in the morning,
followed by eight to ten lines in the afternoon or night. American pilots also plan
meticulously and debrief each mission exhaustingly, sometimes for five or six
hours. Egyptian flight briefings were more of a Zen thing. It was hardly a taxing
schedule. On day six, they were on a C-130 back home for a four-day weekend.
Then the whole ten-day rotation would begin again.
Between the military detachment and the civilian contractors, there were maybe
thirty people living on a compound built for a hundred and fifty. There were no
children and only two wives. We played lots of volleyball, swam, and cooked out a
great deal. Almost every late afternoon we’d sit up on the roofs and watch the sun
go down. Sunsets were truly spectacular. Bands of yellow, orange, and gold lay like
glowing sword blades along the horizon. It would become thinner and thinner until,
at the very end, the orange fire slid abruptly into the darkness. The final desperate
rays would shoot upward, splattering the pink bellies of clouds until they, too, were
extinguished. This ritual was usually enhanced by drinking Fuzzy Navels and
playing very loud classical music. The Egyptians working on the compound thought
we were crazy. They’d stand in small groups, talking softly, pointing at us, and