When I flew fighters, my tactical callsign was Skid. How did I get a nickname like that? Simple: I blew a tire. But enough about my sex life....
Tac callsigns, as often as not, are based on screw-ups, minor mishaps, and notable personal traits. I flew F-15s with guys named Crash, Ripple, Mumbles, Buick, and Tiny Bubbles. Crash wrecked a car (not, thank goodness, a jet); Ripple, during a live missile shoot, fired two Sidewinders when he was supposed to fire one; Mumbles really did mumble; Buick got drunk and puked; TB fell in love with a Korean bar girl who milked him for hundreds of dollars' worth of champagne cocktails. You did something unforgettable, you got a tac callsign.
When I was first assigned to the F-15 I was part of a group of new Eagle pilots destined for a USAF squadron in the Netherlands. We trained together, first at Luke AFB in Phoenix, Arizona, then at Langley AFB in Hampton, Virginia. The instructor pilots who taught us how to fly the Eagle had tac callsigns, but they made it clear to us we were not to name ourselves -- our betters would bestow names upon us in time, when we earned them. A few guys earned names at Luke and Langley, but the rest of us managed to stay out of trouble until we got to the Netherlands.
I was Warlock for a few months, for want of anything better. And then Prince Claus came to visit. Prince Claus (formerly of the Hitler Jugend and the Wehrmacht) was the husband of then-Princess Beatrix, later to become Queen Beatrix. Soesterberg Air Base wasn't far from the palace, and members of the royal family would visit from time to time.
On that day I happened to be one of two pilots on five-minute air defense alert. We figured we'd get a practice scramble during the royal visit, and we did, and off we went in full afterburner. An hour later we were back on the ground, rolling out on the runway. I had landed first and was headed for the turnoff at the far end of the runway when I suddenly remembered the last taxiway was closed for resurfacing and that I was supposed to turn off at the taxiway I was just about to roll past. I stomped on the brakes, instantly blew both main tires, and lurched to a stop. The Dutch tower controller made a terse announcement: "Alpha Kilo Zero Two, you have fouled the duty." Lead, who had landed behind me, was able to stop safely, but now there were two jets blocking the runway. I knew I had covered myself in glory.
Lo and behold, the prince was still on base, and up he rolled in a staff car driven by our squadron commander, Buzzard. By now I'd shut down the engines and opened the canopy, and there I sat, sixteen feet above my shredded tires, while Buzzard and Prince Hitler Jugend walked around the jet, surveying the carnage. Finally Buzzard looked up and said, "How do you like your new tac callsign, Skid?"
So that's how I earned the name I flew under for the rest of my USAF career. Indeed, Skid followed me into retirement, when I went to work as a civilian defense contractor, training USAF fighter pilots in cockpit resource management, a flying safety discipline.
I'm not the only Skid. There are several others, tire-blowers to a man and woman ... except for one.
As a civilian CRM instructor I was constantly on the road, traveling to USAF bases in the USA and across the Pacific. I particularly loved going to Nellis AFB in Las Vegas, Nevada. On my last CRM trip to Nellis, a few years ago, I was scheduled to train the USAF Aerial Demonstration Squadron, the Thunderbirds. The Thunderbirds are based at Nellis, where they not only fly together but do everything together, including CRM training. When I walked in, the entire team was in the classroom.
I always started my training sessions by writing my tac callsign on the whiteboard, then introducing myself and explaining how I got the name. This time, though, as I wrote on the whiteboard, I heard a couple of chuckles, and when I turned around to face the group, there was a Thunderbird pilot in the front row wearing a nametag that said "Skid." Without missing a beat, I said "Hey, I bet you know how I got my tac callsign." And he said, "Did you shit your pants in the centrifuge too?"
That's such a good story I think I'll end it right there!