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I guess, after some minor success with the first, I’ll try one more. Hopefully I don’t wear out my welcome. Although not aircraft induced, I think it’s still worthy. A minor caveat: I was not actually present when this happened but the guy who told me the story was. He began by saying, “You know, you just can’t make this kind of shit up”……. I agree. Middle weekend of a Red Flag and it’s Friday night at the Nellis O’Club. Our hero has just taken over as the new CC of the Gorillas at Eglin. He was a well-known and highly respected target arm in the community. The bros were extremely happy to have him as the new boss. In order to welcome him and really start things out on the right foot, one of the guys decided to buy his new “Big Toe” a shot of, what else……Weed. So, “Uncle Hulka” (I guess I’ll just go with the “Stripes” reference for lack of something else) and his new subordinate toss back that historic elixir. Using typical fighter pilot logic of “more is always better”, another squadron pilot decides he should be just as welcoming to his new commander as the first guy. More bros take notice and the situation unfolds quickly. At some point between the first shot and say… number 6, it becomes pretty clear that a conspiracy has developed. Whether it was planned from the start or just happened will probably never be known (or admitted). One thing I can say from personal experience is that Uncle Hulka is not the kind of guy to shy away from a challenge. Prior to these events I had the pleasure of flying a few sorties with him during his TX course. Always the warrior. Anyway, back at Nellis…….. So, the boys are tag-teaming shots of Weed and the new guy is up for the challenge. There is enough judgment left in those present to realize having the boss overshoot the OBL (optimum buzz level) by 2045 on Friday night isn’t the best plan. Best to let him go a little while longer. The night continues with crud, more drinking and the standard stupid fighter pilot tricks. The conspiracy continues, however, and it seems that barely 30 minutes can pass before another one of his new minions arrives with pair of welcome Weed shots for them both. Finally, last call arrives and the O’Club bar sells one last Weed shot which sloshes around in Uncle Hulka’s belly as he stumbles out into the parking lot. The designated driver and a couple other squadron drunks have corralled the boss and are making sure he gets back to the hotel. As is typical of rental car ops during a Flag, finding the damn thing is sometimes harder than mission employment. This 4-ship is no more successful than any other and they wander the parking lot for a few minutes in search of their steed. Drunks number 2 and 3 find it first and call the rejoin at their current posit. They grab hold of the fin across the back of the trunk for support while Uncle Hulka takes up a position at the front leaning on the hood as they wait for the DD to get there and open the car. At this point, the eventual goal of the conspiracy is achieved as Uncle Hulka’s “weed over-serviced” warning activates. As expected, he does his best imitation of Mr. Creosote and paints the hood of the car from grill to windshield. Simultaneous with the completion of his outburst, the DD arrives and hits the button on the key FOB to open the car. This results in the car lights flashing and the happy little “here I am” sound we are probably all familiar with. Unfortunately, the sound and the lights are about 50 feet away coming from a different car parked in different spot. It’s around this time that Uncle Hulka, while catching his breath and spitting out a little leftover weed-bile onto the hood, looks up from his masterpiece into the horrified eyes of the two occupants sitting in their car that he has just christened with his welcome to the squadron present. A little wave, a shrug and a quiet “hic....Sorry” and he stumbles off in the direction of the flashing lights and the waiting back seat of the rental car – rightfully leaving at least some of his new charges to deal with the fallout from their master plan.

Long enough ago that I must finally admit to myself that I’m an old dude, we had a 2-ship of Eagles on the way to a weekend airshow in France. In the lead aircraft, a two seat D-model, I was accompanied by a crew chief who was one of two maintainers that were joining us for this grueling weekend flying for the crowd, drinking and generally living the dream. His partner was already a couple of hours southwest in one of the base vehicles beginning his land journey when we lifted off. That guy had no desire to slip the surly bonds, which meant my GIB got to look forward to an extra sortie on the way home. After departing Bitburg AB, we spent about an hour of that beautiful summer Friday tapping various NATO fighters, taking in some of the sites and raging around Germany and France VFR. 1-Bravo was taking it in stride. He seemed to really be enjoying himself and had no problems with 6-8 G conversion turns, wrapping it up with some of the aware fighters and just bouncing around in the typical hot summer thermals at low altitude. 500 knots on initial at our destination, a snappy high G pitch out with the jets disappearing in balls of summer vapor completed his test and he passed with flying colors. Man, I wish all my incentive rides were with guys like that. In addition to the standard fare of military aircraft demos, there were also a large number of civilian singles and teams flying everything from classic Warbirds to Extras, Sukhois and Stearmans. At various points in their displays, some of those high performance civilian aircraft were flying outside loops, resulting in what I’m sure were some fairly high negative Gs. As we were watching this, the other pilot and I must have made some kind of remarks, cringed or probably both. My backseater asked why with a look of confusion on his face. We did our best to explain the negative Gs but I don’t think we were completely successful. Since I was still getting the “RCA dog look”, I offered, “I can show you on the way home if you want” – and promptly forgot. We finished up the rest of the weekend and got ready to depart Monday morning. The plan was to do another VFR low fly mission, land at Spandahlem AB, drop our bags and 1B off and fly a full-up BFM mission (since bags and a maintainer kept us at limited maneuvering training rules). His buddy would be waiting to pick him up and take him and our stuff back to Bitburg. After crossing back into Germany, we completely our sweep of low fly-7 and were RTB cruising at a couple thousand feet. Up to this point, his performance had been similar to the flight out and his enthusiasm was still high. While we enjoyed the morning view, he remembered my suggestion during the airshow. “Hey, what about showing me those negative-Gs”. I was kind of surprised that he suggested it (or even remembered after the weekend we had). But, considering how well he had done up to that point in both sorties, I didn’t think much about it. After a quick check to make sure the map case was covered and he didn’t have anything loose, I let him know it was coming. I then proceeded to pull the nose about 20 degrees up, paused and then smoothly, but smartly brought the nose back to the horizon with some forward stick. Duration of the event was at most 2 seconds and the G-meter registered just shy of 1 negative. Halfway through the 2 second interval of negative G, I heard a noise begin to come over the intercom that sounded like a clip from a demon possessed Linda Blair in “The Exorcist”. It starting out as a low growl and then, as we finished the maneuver, rose in pitch enough that I momentarily wondered if a loose lap belt had allowed him to float off his seat and he had crushed one of his nuts under his thigh when we returned to positive G. After that, he said nothing and communicated only with head nods and an occasional feeble thumbs up. To his credit, he found his sick bag in record time and even had the presence of mind to go cold mic without any prompting. The next 15 minutes were epic. It was like having Mr. Creosote (Monty Python’s Mean of Life) and his “wafer thin mint” riding in my jet. What was most alarming were the total body muscular contractions involved in each and every bout of literally violent vomiting. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he split the back of his flight suit up the middle like the Hulk. I don’t think I will do it justice if I tried to describe the noise he made with each hurl. Suffice it to say that it reminded me of a large wild animal and I could hear it through my earplugs and helmet over the ambient cockpit noise while he was cold mic. I monitored him with some morbid fascination using the mirrors and some fairly regular glances backward when the noise rose from behind me. I was amazed that he didn’t blow a hole in the bottom of his first sick bag which was filled in record time and looked like a white water balloon in his hand when he was finished. He managed to tie it off and prepare his second (and last one) as the next wave hit. During the initial part of this, I climbed to try to find some cooler air for the poor guy as he alternated between his incredible Hulk and Wild Kingdom impressions. As we got closer to Spang, we had to descend and I rocked #2 for a quick BD check. Apparently, that was the exact time my passenger was trying to tie off his second bag and my stick movement hit his hand and caused him to drop the twist tie. Anyone who had spent any significant time in the mighty Eagle knows that if you drop something on the floor, you may as well have put it at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. It’s gone until you land, shut down and get out. Unbeknownst to me, as we were making our approach, this poor bastard is feeling round 3 arrive and he is still trying to decide what to do with unsecured water balloon #2. Possibly as a result of dealing with a clean-up similar to those describe in previous posts, he made a stellar command decision to sacrifice the loaner helmet bag life support gave him Friday. Unfortunately, he opted to hold previously mentioned open bag #2 in one hand and the helmet bag in the other as he convulsed for his next delivery. When using his sick bags with both hands available, he was able to bring them completely up to his face. Now, with both hands occupied during this round, he didn’t consider the fact that his oxygen mask was dangling just to the side of his mouth ready to catch whatever flew out. Halfway through the next explosion, he realized the situation with the mask was a significant problem and made the grave error of trying to halt it mid-stream. Anyone who has witnessed such an attempt or tried it themselves knows what often results. There are other holes in the human head available to alleviate the quick pressure build up created in such a situation. Since this last part was fairly self-critiquing, he quickly realized his error and flexed back to the primary exit. Luckily, what didn’t fill up the mask (immediately unserviceable, for certain) blew straight past it into the helmet bag with some minor collateral damage to his flight suit. As I flew the straight-in, I knew things had gotten bad back there based on the smell and I was starting to think my BFM sortie might be on hold. By the time I was turning off the runway, I was very, very thankful for the opportunity to open the canopy. After shutdown, I got out of the jet and waited for him to do the same. It took him 15 minutes to actually exit the aircraft and make it down the boarding steps. He probably would have stayed longer but the fuelers made him get out so they could gas the jet. He told me later he didn’t go to work again until Thursday. When I climbed up to secure the back seat for the next flight, amazingly there were only a few stains on one side of the lap belt. I even found the twist tie.

I'll just leave this here. Air Force pilot's unlawful detainment claim dismissed

From the few briefings I've received from Legal/JAG, it's my understanding that you can't get more money than you seek in civil cases, so they name an outrageous number in the initial suit to be the ceiling, including the possibility of discovering additional causes for damages in the procedures of the suit. They realistically expect to get only a fraction if they win.

3. The FAA

Nothing intelligent to say (one of those nights), just a pic. Marines B last spring at Cherry Point.

All I know after reading through that link is that if I ever commit rape, I am glad I am in the Air Force and an officer, jail for a couple weeks (maybe) and I walk free? Those punishments are disgusting. Especially the ones involving children, sometimes their own. Punishments of 6 mos, 40 mos, etc? If I was the JAG, those motherfu**ers wouldn't make it out of the courtroom before they were lethally injected. I thought the UCMJ was supposed to be tougher on us because we are held to a higher standard. I am truly disappointed in every single one of those punishments. My daughters are no longer allowed to be in the military.