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View Diary: Nukes - Part 1 (119 comments)

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  •  An idle mind is the devil's workshop. (5+ / 0-)

    Fifty or sixty idle minds is big, big trouble looking for the right cast of characters to carry out the mayhem.

    I did tanker alert every third week from November 1975 through December 1978. The only exceptions were TDYs to Alaska and Spain, three of them. My second alert was at Goose Bay, Labrador, and was the last satellite alert routinely set there. I probably saw every form of idiocy that could be conceived by bored, pissed off crew dawgs. There were some incredibly memorable ones.

    I was at Platsburgh AFB, NY. Great place to hunt, fish, ski, anything outdoors. Every third day we were stuck inside with nothing we wanted to do so we ate, slept, played, and messed with bomber toads. FB-111 bomber toads, the best kind.

    The FB-111 was often called the Edsel and was best known for being grounded, often. It was said that the 111 was proof that all Air-Ground Equipment (start carts, electrical carts, etc) wasn't painted yellow. One particularly fun loving bunch of geniuses replaced the 528 and 529th Bomb Squadron patch displays (painted on 2' diameter plywood "patches") in the alert briefing room with ones of their own design. The work was so well done that it was over seven months before the masterpieces were discovered - by the Wing Commander himself at his monthly wing commander's call with the alert crews. One read 528th Static Display Squadron and the other said 529th Air-Ground Equipment Squadron. I really don't understand how he could have been so offended. It was hilarious and not just the patches we'd been snickering about for so long. Seeing a well loved full colonel, affectionately called 'roid - short for hemorrhoid, jumping up and down screaming while foaming at the mouth with pulsing veins popping out of his neck is quite an incredible sight.

    The best I can say about alert was that I could always sleep. It was always darker than the pits of hell and normally deathly quiet in the rooms. Aircraft commanders roomed together, the copilot and nav roomed together, and the boom operators roomed together. One winter night, very early in the morning, there was a sudden tremendous ruckus down the hall. The most gawd awful fight I'd ever heard was going on just two doors down. Surely someone was being killed. I got to the room right after a few others threw open the door and turned on the light. In one corner, huddled in his bed, wide eyed was a nav. The room had stuff scattered everywhere and furniture was overturned. On the floor was his copilot, his right hand strangling his own left wrist, rolling around on the floor screaming. Our laughter stopped him dead. The poor bastard's arm had fallen asleep and when he rolled over it flopped down across his throat. He was sure someone was strangling him until the light popped on and a dozen guys start howling at the sight.

    Yeah, good times. Not so much really.

    Time makes more converts than reason. Thomas Paine, Common Sense

    by VTCC73 on Thu Feb 07, 2013 at 01:00:53 AM PST

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