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My shooting would be in the "adequate" category. To ensure we are talking the same 8 ring, I use the B-27E standard law enforcement-type black silhouette target. The 8 ring is a shade under 12 inches wide and just under 18 inches tall. At 25 yards, that's still pretty big. My consistency hitting that is with untimed, aimed fire, i.e., I don't shoot until I like the picture. For center of mass, more rapid fire, the target comes forward quite a bit. I also have been averaging 200-300 rounds per week since October. Practice certainly helps. As to the 9mm vs. .45, you are correct. The 9mm is very effective as demonstrated in it's worldwide use for military, law enforcement, and personal roles. I'm just old-school (probably just old) and prefer a .45 if given a choice. As the psychology is an important element of the confidence needed for any self-defense weapon, I likes what I like. For me, size matters and I make the choice to have fewer .45 bullets available as opposed to using a similar sized 9mm. YMMV which is fine by me. But I really do like that P99.

"A Nightmare's Prayer" by Michael Franzak, Lt Col, USMC (ret) Pretty good read about a loooong deployment of a squadron detachment of six AV-8B's to Bagram during the 2002-2003 period. He was the XO during the deployment. He does a good job of describing the combat and sometimes lack thereof due to weather, ROE, CAOC remoteness from the facts on the ground, Pakistani collusion, and political correctness. He also does a very good job of capturing the endlessness of extended deployments - from the homesickness, the petty frustrations that can blow up to soul-destroying anger, trying to keep up morale, unlearning bad habits from ROE restricted missions when dropping during real ones, the sight, sound, and smells of Bagram. He's not a great writer, but he did seem pretty honest describing his experiences including when he was an assh*le or stupid.

"The King's Speech" starring Colin Firth, Geoffery Rush, Helena Bonham-Carter Very good flick. About the second son of King George V starting in the 1920s. Dude was the forgotten son and stuttered. Given that their duties involved a lot of public speaking, that was an auto-fail which made it even worse. Could've been shunted out of the public eye except when George died, the heir was boinking Wallis Simpson, a married American woman already divorced once (and a man, baby, yeah! She was one dude-looking woman...). After becoming king, that guy was forced to abdicate by the government (Churchill played a major role in this as well) when he wanted to marry Simpson. The line of succession brought forward stuttering guy as king who developed a friendship with speech therepist Geoffrey Rush. No skin, no explosions, no cool gadgets. Some very good writing and performances. YMMV.

Walther P99 AS in 9mm note: Not my photo Before getting to my review of my P99, a quick, probably superflous lesson learned: Watcht the F*&K out for noobs at the range! I've nothing against new guys learning to shoot, in fact I encourage such. But if you don't know what you are doing, please don't try to fake it. If you are shooting besides such, keep your skull on a swivel. Went this morning, guy beside me has the blue plastic bucket which signifies he's using their guns. Looks like he's got a SIG something and a 1911, both in 9mm. Ok, no worries so far. Lots of delays/stutter starts in loading his magazines, readying the weapon, etc, etc., enough to make my spidey senses start tingling. After about 10 minutes, I see him put down the 1911 after shooting a couple of shots from his current magazine. He puts it down hammer back, no safety and in the middle of the bench while he then starts fumbling with the other pistol. After about a second of delay considering being a d1ck or not, I put my gun down, exit my lane, and catch his attention. I tell him I don't want to be a jerk, but that I think he put down his weapon in an unsafe condition and was he aware of it? (I'm not wanting to get the RSO involved ((which is another discussion, he should've already been involved)), but that what he was doing was unsafe. Fortunately, the guy took the criticism well and I wound up giving an impromptu safety and operation lesson. I can see, however, someone too full of themselves to take such intrusion. In that case, it's for the RSO/range to deal with, but damned if I'm gonna get shot due to someone else's stupidity and/or inexperience. In other words, if you don't know what you are doing or how it works, figure it out before arriving at the range or ask. The range should never have let him rent without ensuring he knew how to operate both guns. It's all fun and games (and profit) until someone puts an eye out. And now back to the review: After working my way up the Walther polymer pistol ladder, I finally got via Bud's ($551 + $30 FFL transfer fee) the P99 AS in 9mm I've been lusting after. The gun comes in a plastic, foam cut case with a plastic cleaning rod, two 15 round magazines, three grip backstraps (S,M,L), and three front sights, a lock, and a fired casing. It also has the target enclosed from where it was test-fired at the factory. My "schutze" was named Ronelhabs and at 25 meters hit 5 shots center ring, lower half. The "AS" stands for "anti-stress" in the marketing literature, but means essentially the first shot is traditional double action, the rest are single action. This is a polymer-frame, steel slide, internal striker fired pistol. The first time I ever fondled one in a store, I knew I wanted one due to the just great feel of the grip. I'm certainly late to the polymer pistol party and adjustable grips, but I liked this one for quite a while. Surprisingly, the large backstrap was too big for me and the medium works just fine. The three dot white sights are good, the gun points very easily, it's light, but big enough to come back quickly for follow up shots. The magazine releases from the now-standard to me Walther design consisting of the back third of the trigger guard. The slide release (yea! The damned PK380 I wrote about earlier doesn't have one) is in the standard position and easily reachable with the shooting hand thumb. There is no safety per se. There is a decocking button on the top of the slide, but you either have to turn your gun hand into a funky position and move the pistol from pointing forward or use the non-shooting hand. The first shot after decocking is now double-action which means a long trigger pull. You've gotta mean it for that long a pull hence, I guess, the "AS" moniker. If you are in single action mode, there is a red pin pointing at you from the back of the slide. You can see it easily and feel it at night if need be. The specs of the gun: Barrel Length: 4 inches Dimensions: Length: 7.1 inches Height: 5.3 inches Width: 1.3 inches Weight: 21.2 ounces Eyeball comparing it to my Government Model 1911, it's about 1.5 inches shorter lengthwise, about 3/4" shorter in height. Curiously, it's about 1/8th-ish of inch wider than the Colt. While this could be a good concealed carry gun, it's a little on the long side for that for me. As it was designed for a service weapon for some of the German police departments it is better suited for that role than as a covert gun. Although, {GEEK ALERT!}, it is the new 007 gun. Helluva jump in size from the PPK to this under a tux. Bond must be getting a gut... Again, the slide is milled into this rounded triangle shape that just looks cool, all panzer-like. The chamber on the P99 is beveled to match the shape and compliments the lines so much better than leaving it square like a lot of other semi-autos do, but again, that's looks, not performance. I put 200 rounds of Federal 115 gr. FMJ ball ammo and 25 rounds of Remington Golden Saber 147 gr. hollow point and it never skipped a beat. As noted, the first double action is both long and heavy (sts) with the single action pulls crisp and short. I was shooting all 8 rings from 25 yards down to 10 ring at 10 and 5 yards, both two-handed rapid fire and one-handed slow aim fire. Something new for me and having 15 rounds available was my experiment in just pulling as rapidly as possible. The string looked like a Thompson submachine gun spray. Climbed from the 10 ring all the way up into the throat. Field stripping and cleaning it was very straightforward. Push the retaining ring down, push the slide forward, take the spring and guide rod out of the slide, pull the barrel, and that's it. So simple like it should be. No extra keys required, no additional tools either. If they can do this for the full-size P99, why couldn't they do that for the sibling P22 and PK380? Pros: - Most comfortable pistol I've ever shot - Simple, clean, elegant engineering and lines - Good on-line reviews and performance today with those 200+ rounds - I like the decocker button except for the placement, but that does keep the lines clean. - The P22 is the 3/4 scale version of the pistol and allows for even more cheap muscle-memory practice although the 9mm certainly is not that expensive either. Cons: - 9mm. Although 15 in a double stack is a lot of rounds, I'm still a believer in that anything over one or two fired and my day is gonna be bad. All things being equal, I'd like a bigger bullet. Note, it does come in .40, but I wanted the 9mm as I probably will get other 9mm's so wanted to keep ammo logistics simple (yeah, right...) - Starting to get a bit dated in technology. The original design was late 1990s and has morphed into the SW99 (same clips) and the SW M&P series. I've heard that Walther is coming out with something new next year or so. Overall, I really, really like this pistol. My only complaint is that it is not in .45 ACP. I think I'm out of the acquisition phase for bit because I'm having a custom made gun cabinet built. The three sizes of Walther will look really good in there, but that's not why I bought them. Just got on a Walther kick and can't seem to shake it. My next might be a PPK/S in .380, but I'm still waffling on that one.

A cop was killed in Baltimore this past weekend while breaking up a chick fight outside a bar. A by-stander and/or another cop killed him and another by-stander. While I do regret the death of the innocent victims in Tucson, especially the little girl, not one mention of this cop's death in the line of duty. Or the guys doing the job overseas who won't be coming home. Ever. Aren't they worthy of the attention being heaped upon this tragedy? Not one word beyond the local media and even that is buried in the middle of the paper/broadcast.

Those that have a personal connection to the event or victims will have a very different view on the incident than I will. Acknowledging a bad situation, but not pouring out essentially feigned grief (I don't know any of the victims personally) is not good enough for you? Wondering how the over-reaction to the event is going to affect me and my ability to protect my family is embarrassing? I shall try to live with the approbation. It will be difficult, but I'll try. God bless you for your universal view. Who are you to decide if "all that is necessary?" How about if I just want it? (*cue what about RPGs or tactical nuke arguments...) The illegal act of this headcase is the issue, not those who exercise their freedoms responsibly. Hint: it's illegal to murder someone. That didn't stop this idiot. Restricting even more those of us who decide what we want to have is not going to undo this tragedy or stop future ones. Ever b1tch about Big Blue's penchant for making everyone wear diapers for the stupidity of one?

Much obliged!

Oh, ok. Many thanks. I had that part in my book. I was hoping the article had more about the diving, etc. Again, thank you.

That helps (doh! on me), but I'm still looking for a full up translation if possible.

Can anyone read/translate French? If so, I'd be grateful for a transcript of the linked story: French news story re WWII fighter I helped a French maritime archeologist [sic] ID the wreck of a US fighter, actually a borrowed British plane called the Beaufighter. This particular squadron, the 417th NFS ( much later commanded by Chuck Yeager and eventually becoming one of the F-117 squadrons) had a bad string of crashes while based near Marseille, France.* In the general area where this wreck was found, there were two possible suspects. One where the crew ditched and got out, one where the crew didn't. I helped (think checking records, not diving on the site) match the site to the plane where the crew made it. Along the way, there was an interlude with the Joint Personnel Recovery folks who also helped. That would be an interesting, rewarding gig to help find/ID American KIAs so they could finally come home. Anyway, I'd like to read the story. Can't speak a lick of French (not that great with English). Anybody able/willing to help? * Turns out the squadron's gas was pumped from tankers to 55 gallon drums on the docks of Marseille. The dockworkers often times didn't bother to put the lids on the barrels until the delivery truck actually showed up. Water contamination down nearly a dozen airplanes from the squadron with several dead aircrew as a result.

Never let a tragedy go to waste... A two-fer. Scoring against the 2d and 1st Amendments: Glad he and others get to decide for me what I want, not just what I need. Tell me again of your disgust for me for pondering the very realistic consequences from this numbnut's action? Most of this will be a lot of furor (word of the day) and not much action, but I'm still pretty sure that law-abiding gun owners will face even more restrictions based upon unlawful action.

WTF? Either you misunderstood my intent or I didn't do a good enough job conveying it. The victims of this tragedy are the result of one (possibly more) sad sack's actions in his use of a gun. I am sorry he was taken alive. I hope he suffers before meeting an untimely end. I hope, but would not be surprised, that the rest of us who possess firearms legally and use them the same way, are not tarred with a "all guns" are bad brush with resulting constraints. What's to b1tch about in that?

Hopefully the following won't completely hijack this thread, but I fully expect the anti-gun crowd to use this as a way to force registration/ban/limit the 2d Amendment. As noted earlier, now that one of Congress' members has been shot, the rights of the citizens won't really be of importance. I do regret the shooting of the congresswoman (man, talk about an overachiever couple - congresswoman and USN fighter pilot/astronaut.) and the others, particularly the little girl, but those that choose to own/use firearms lawfully are going to be the ones who get the blowback from this. Hope not, but I'm too cynical to think otherwise.

Also, while each situation is different, it's not always considered rude by the family of the deceased to either want to know more or provide them info if you have it. I found that many families had no idea of Dad/Uncle/Cousin role in the war (pick one) and were surprised, but very pleased, to know. The old guys often never told their stories because they thought no one would be interested and/or they wanted to forget. I have occassionally contacted families if I have something on a relative - go through the funeral home, explain who you are and what you have/want, ask the home to contact the family. That way there's no pressure for anybody to accept or decline. I've never had a family decline to talk/receive the info. Nice rifle historically. Interesting to note the crude serial stamping on the receiver. Quantity vs. quality - the age-old debate. What do they shoot like as far as recoil? M1 or 1903? Accuracy?

M2, copy all. I haven't shot anything 9mm since the last time on a USAF M9 in 2006. Didn't get back into shooting anything until earlier this year. I really want to get the Walther P99 in 9mm Luger, although it is available in .40 as well. But I figured I could get a wider variety of other pistols in 9mm as compared to a .40. Again in the interests of simplified ammo supply chain. Reasonable line of thinking or not? I don't see another .380 in my future and only keeping a box or two of ammo for this one around. How'd you get into the Russian firearms kick? An odd bit of curiousity was finding out that one of my favorites, the .44 is based on a turn of the 20th century Russian cartridge as well.

Walther PK380 After getting and shooting the Walther P22 .22LR and really enjoying it, as well as saving up for a Walther P99 in 9mm (still saving), I found a good deal on gunbroker for the mid-size PK380 chambered in the self-explanatory .380 acp. It is a polymer-frame, steel slide semi-auto holding 8+1 rounds. Won the auction on Sunday, paid the dealer on Monday, had the gun on Thursday. Went for a test drive this morning. The pistol came with one clip, a plastic key (more on this later), an external lock, and a plastic foam cut-out carrying case. Using Federal FMJ 95gr. ammo, I put 200 rounds through the pistol. It points very naturally and is pretty accurate right out of the box (which it came out of pretty greasy. Bits of thick lube oozing out of the slide and the ambidextorous safety). At 7, 15, and 25 yards aimed fire, everything was inner 9 or 10 ring. The front sight is fixed, the rear sights adjustable for windage. At 7 yards rapid fire center of mass work, everything stayed 8 ring or better. Those more experienced/practiced will undoubtedly do better. Like the P22, the PK380 has a remarkably comfortable, ergonomic grip. It feels good in the hand, not awkward or boxy at all. I had one FTE "stovepipe," and four failures for it to fire although going double-action, i.e., squeezing the trigger again with no other corrective action made the appropriate "bang." There is no choice in grip backstraps as in the P22 or the P99 so one size fits all. Operating the gun is cumbersome. The instructions are 2/3s "don't shoot yourself" and 1/3 practical instruction of care/feeding/cleaning of the weapon. Like the P22, the bottom rear third of the trigger guard is the magazine release. Unlike the P22, the PK380 does not have a slide release. There is no way to bring the slide forward unless there is a magazine in the well. So loading the weapon consists of (with the slide locked to the rear) inserting a loaded magazine, pulling the slide back slightly with the off-hand and releasing it. You are now ready to go. A thumbable switch/button would be much better. To safe the gun, you place the safety to "S," retard the hammer while pulling the trigger. A block rotates in front of the firing pin during this evolution. Moving the slide forward requires a magazine in the gun. It won't go forward without one. The worst part of this gun is field-stripping it. It requires a separate tool - the plastic "key" mentioned above. Insert the key, rotate counter-clockwise 135 degrees, drop the locking band on the underside of the frame, slide the slide forward until clear. This is an automatic fail in my opinion. You should not need an external tool to be able to break down a gun. All well and good if it's back home in a controlled environment cleaning it, but if at the range, a match, or God forbid, a no-kidding shooting situation, having a cheap piece of plastic required to turn a mechanism is a a bad bit of engineering to me. It breaks down fairly standard, the retaining rod and spring hooking on the front of the chamber block. Getting the spring back into the front of the slide is a three-handed manuever, but do-able. I bought the gun because I wanted to get the set, P22, PK380, and P99. While I don't regret buying this pistol, I almost do. It is not my favorite and, in addition to breaking my policy of simplified ammo logistics - cue Tom Skerrit in "Top Gun - "You broke a major rule of engagement and jeopardized your storage space." this pistol will not be a go-to gun for much of anything. It will look good in the my hoped for next year plan of a custom made gun cabinet alongside it's big and little brothers. For a plinker, I'll use the .22. For a carry, I'll use my .45 compact. 7+1 of big bullets vs. 8+1 of little in a gun only fractions of an inch difference in all dimensions. This could be a useful gun for those of smaller stature or limited hand strength. Indeed, some of the on-line reviews highlight those attributes, but for me, I'll take a bigger gun. To summarize: PROS: - Relatively inexpensive as is the ammo - Big enough to shoot comfortably unlike some of the micro-380s (KalTec, for example) which are just too small for me to hold - Small enough for concealed carry if desired - A good, accurate plinker CONS: - Better plinkers available - Requires a separate, easily lose-able plastic key to break it down - No slide release button/lever. Ejecting the magazine to move the slide forward on an empty gun is cumbersome, as is having to rack the slide with the off-side hand once a loaded clip is inserted into a slide held in the ready position by firing previously. I did learn, however, that a .380 acp is a different flavor of 9mm. This caliber is also called a 9mm Kurz while the 9mm Luger is the more commonly known 9. I did not know that.

Nice review, Timbonez. Lot of homework (900 rounds before cleaning!) done to get that one done.

Concealed carry TTPs? In the past, concealed carry for me meant putting a gun under the seat. Lately, however, I've been carrying on my person which is easy with a coat with an inside pocket. I am curious, however, as to what to do come warmer weather? How do those that use a holster keep it from showing or your shirt from riding up to reveal that you are carrying? I'd like to keep a concealed weapon concealed and not have to show my permit because somebody freaked when they saw a gun on me. Of course, in DC, where I really feel the need to carry, I can't. Gotta love gun control there... So, anyone willing to educate/share their techniques?

Walther P22 Got this one yesterday after several trips to the dealer and trying to convince myself to buy it. Finally did because the price seemed ok ($325), it felt very good in my hand for a small gun, and I want to get my wife and, eventually, my daughter comfortable with shooting and a .22LR is a better introduction than a .44 or .45. My wife, also retired USAF, hasn't shot in about 6 years and did the bare USAF minimums back in the day, so she is basically starting from scratch, in my opinion. Anyway, to the gun: It's a polymer frame, metal slide, 3.4" barrel, 10 + 1 .22 long rifle. It looks very cool to me. The slide is triangular shaped when viewed from the muzzle, rounded at the top, sloped sides to a flat bottom. Looks reminescent of the King Tiger panzer of WWII fame. More on this comparison later. I read a lot of on-line reviews on the P22, most good, a few not. The good included the ergonomically sweet grip - two choices for a backstrap for larger-ish/smaller hands. Reliability and accuracy. The bad included some comments about the slide since it is a poured-mold full of zinc not all steel, i.e., "pot metal." There have been cases of fractured slides and the like. Clips that wouldn't feed without bending the hell out of the lips. Supposedly these faults have been corrected on later numbered guns. Hope so. Gun comes with the two different sized backstraps, changeable front sights, adjustable for windage rear sights, one clip, key for an internal lock, a trigger lock, a wrench for changing out barrels (a 5" barrel and weight compensator for more serious target work is available)and a small dowel for which I did not know the purpose. My box did not contain a cleaning brush or rod, but I've got those so no worries. I put 200 rounds through it this morning with one FTF. I believe that was the manufacture of the bullet and not the gun. I tried twice to use the clip to feed that particular round, as well as one manual attempt to feed and it would not physically fit into the chamber. Other on-line comments were that lower-powered (pun intended) .22LR didn't always feed and that more zippy bullets didn't cause that problem. I used Remingtion and Winchester 40gr. and had no problems. Out to 25 yards, the guns shot very accurately. All 9 or 10 ring. Tighter groups will come from a better marksman than me, I'm sure. The magazines have a handly little slide button to aid in loading, push down a little on the button, drop the round in, lather, rinse, repeat until 10 are in. The slide release is also different. Instead of a button on the grip or frame, the back 1/3 of the lower trigger guard pushes down to drop the magazine. Not difficult to manipulate while on-target, but different from other guns. I'm neutral on this feature. I really enjoyed shooting this little gun. It's supposedly about 3/4 of the size of it's original big brother, the Walther P99, available in 9mm or .40. Prices look pretty steep on these however as they are manufactured by Walther in Germany. Smith & Wesson teamed up with Walther to both market in the U.S. those as well as a collaboration on a building a SW99 - again, 9mm, .40, and a .45 ACP. A further generation is the M&P, same calibers. The P99 carries the Walther logo, the SW99 and M&P are Smith & Wesson branded. Field stripping and cleaning were a little different. Like the King Tiger, this gun is well made but over-engineered to me and took a specific tool to do the job. Take the slide off, remove the guide rod and spring, and the barrel stays attached to the frame. Difficult to clean the frame under the barrel and getting the spring and rod back in was baffling. Looking up an on-line video showed what the dowel was for. Put it into the spring, feed the dowel through the opening in the front of the slide while pushing the slide onto the barrel, then push the slide all the way back onto the rails until it catches. The dowel is pushed out and falls during this process. Ok, I guess, as long as you don't drop the dowel and lose it. Simple enough once you get the hang of it, but having the barrel come off and the spring catch on the lip of the chamber like nearly every other semi-auto pistol would make more sense. I am now on the look out for the full-size P99, maybe a SW99. I liked this feel of this gun's grip better than any I've ever shot. Although this P22 was little small for me, I'm anticipating a full up gun will be even better. Maybe than enough to make me bring a new caliber (the 9mm) into the arsenal, something I try to avoid in the interests of ammo logistics, but this one might make me eventually. I like the gun a lot. I think it will serve the purpose in re-introducing my wife to shooting (as much as possible. She could care less, but I want her familiar enough to use one should the zombies come through the door) as well as not scaring my daughter once she's ready to shoot. Taking it apart, not so much.

In legal terms, it's called a "Blame Bush Bravado." Everything is your predecessor's fault. I hope the Navy upholds their tradition of the captain of a ship is responsible for everything, all the time. Inherited a crappy staff? Tough. You took responsibility for it when you assumed command.

"Red." Bruce Willis, John Malkovich, Morgan Freeman, Helen Mirren, some other old to elderly actors. Actually pretty good movie. Retired CIA spec ops agent Willis is tagged by the bad guys to settle some old scores. Cross country run "getting the band back together." Enlists the help of a Russian, former Soviet spy, to help out. Some good lines, good action, Malkovich plays a good paranoid. Worth it if TDY, a slow day, or on Netflix.

Based on a true story, the flight described and the immediate post-war crash are actual events. I filled in the rest after numerous experiences interviewing WWII, Korean, and Vietnam veterans. Most had not talked about their experiences because they didn't think their families would be interested (definitely not true!) or that the past was just that or that it was too painful and they didn't want to bring the memories back. But they are there. This won a short story contest several years back. Now or Later I’m dying. Not unexpectedly really, but still not the way I wanted to start my day. I guess at age 79 I shouldn’t be surprised however. The big ‘C’ is eating away my liver so I’ll be gone soon. When I found out a few days ago, I was shocked of course. By now, the surprise has worn off and I think I’m ready. I had a good life – married a great gal that I really did love for nearly 55 years until she died, we had a couple of good sons, and now I’m a granddad. So far, both my kids and grandchildren have managed to stay out of jail and are making something of themselves, so I’m content on that score. I had the opportunity to live a full life. My former pilot and best friend, Bill Williams didn’t. I sometimes wonder who was more fortunate. I was looking at some old scrapbooks including ones that had my World War II photos. Like a lot of guys in my generation, that was probably the most exciting, most defining time of in my life. Everything since then has been pretty good overall, but when you put your own ass on the line for something you believe in, the sweetness of living can’t be described. I first met Bill when we ‘crewed up’ at a RAF training base in England in late 1943. I was a radar operator or R/O for the new military science of aircraft nightfighting. Science, hell, art. The Brits had pioneered the craft during their dark days of the Blitz on England during the winter of 1940-41. They cobbled together a system of ground-based radar stations providing guidance or ‘vectors’ to a nightfighter carrying its own smaller, less powerful radar until the fighter could pick up the target. Once the searching beams of the fighter detected the bogey, the R/O would then give vectors to the pilot until he could acquire a visual on the target. After identifying the target as a bad guy, the pilot would then maneuver to shoot down the Luftwaffe bomber. Sounds pretty basic in theory, but the practical application was a nightmare. If the ground radar or GCI muffed the placing of the nightfighter in relation to the target, the puny fighter radar would never see it. If the R/O couldn’t paint an accurate verbal picture to the pilot using the often-times fuzzy and obscured radar scope display of the ‘blip’ sliding closer to the fighter, and if the pilot couldn’t see the target at night, often times in horrible weather, then the bandit would get away. A not infrequent occurrence, I might add. Anyway, when the U.S. joined the war, like in most military areas, it lacked any aerial night fighting capability. The P-61 ‘Black Widow,’ a specifically designed behemoth of a twin-engined fighter was years away from being ready. In a little known aspect of the war, the U.S. approached our English cousins about ‘reverse’ Lend-Lease. So we wound up with 100 Bristol Beaufighters to fly as a nightfighter in the North African and European theaters. I would find myself in the Beaufighter, usually just called the ‘Beau.’ But I’m getting ahead of myself. I joined the newly named US Army Air Forces hoping to become a pilot. After making it through about half-way, I washed out. I was crushed but ‘there was a war on’ as we used to say. Suck it up and deal with it. The Air Force then sent me to the new radar school down at Drew Field, Florida. It was there that I learned the arcane methodology of radar interception, trying to use one aircraft to meet and destroy another in the dead of night. I made it through this course and sailed to England to undergo what we call ‘type conversion’ in my operational aircraft, the Beau. The Brits gave me a couple of months of training in the Beau and how much different it was compared to the U.S. training aircraft. The Beaufighter was a pretty big aircraft with a 57 foot wingspan and a length of more than 41 feet. It carried a crew of two, me the R/O in a raised seat with a cool little bubble canopy about two-thirds of the way back and a pilot in the extreme front end of the hulking aircraft. A big radial engine swinging a 12 foot prop perched on each wing even with the pilot. It carried a helluva wallop, four 20mm cannons in the nose underneath the pilot’s feet and six machine guns in the wing. If we ever did manage to catch a Jerry, those guns would chew him up. At the end of conversion training, they brought a bunch of new U.S pilots that had trained on the Beau at another base and all of us R/Os and put us in a room and let us figure out for ourselves who we’d ‘crew up’ with before being shipped to a fighting squadron. A shortish, kind of dumpy looking pilot kept staring at me so I finally went over to him. “You looking?” I asked rather stupidly since that was the reason we were there. “Yep,” he answered laconically. After about 30 seconds of staring at each other, we held out our hands and shook. Thus was born a partnership that would see us through the next 18 months of terror and boredom. Some guys have likened crewing up to a marriage because it was usually ‘until death do us part’ and that’s how it was for Bill and me. I never regretted one minute that act of fate. After that, we met up with the 417th Night Fighter Squadron (NFS) based at a charming, flyblown spot called Tafaroui in Algeria, North Africa. The 417th was one of four U.S. nightfighter squadrons based in the area. They shared a big-ass dirt runway, actually a huge scrapped out field, with some Free French P-39 day fighters and a squadron of B-25 medium bombers. They lived in big, round six man tents and flew night patrols every single evening and sometimes during the day when the weather was dogshit and the day boys couldn’t get it up without risking driving into the ground. Bill and I were fed into the rotation and after a couple of local area orientation flights were declared ‘ops ready.’ That meant that we were considered a fully qualified combat crew and were scheduled for missions. “Ready” is a relative term since we had flown all of 10 hours together and only two in North Africa but ‘there was a war on.’ At Tafaroui, it was damn hot and wet in the summer and unbelievably cold and wet in the winter. Thunderstorms would build all day until they released their massive stored energy in torrential downfalls that would turn the hard-packed runway into a rutted quagmire. Made for some damn bouncy taxiing and take-offs let me tell you. Landings I never minded, I was always happy to get down in one piece. Flying with Bill was always pretty good. He was conscientious if not flashy like some of the guys. We’d spend hours doing cockpit drills on the ground until we knew the location of every knob, switch and handle in the Beau. We practiced our ditching drill religiously as well. Hard-won experience from other Beau crews had shown that if you had to splash down, you had about two minutes to get out before you became a submarine. Bailing out was much easier. Both of us had hatches that swung down beneath our seats and blocked the windblast so that we could drop clean if we ever had to. We did a night flying test every evening we were ‘fragged’ or scheduled to fly. We’d take our assigned bird up and check that everything worked – radar, guns, controls, everything. If something wasn’t right, we’d land and get the maintenance guys on it. You wanted a ship you could count on if you were going to be shooting at somebody later that night. Bill and I didn’t shoot at anybody our entire time in North Africa. It wasn’t for lack of trying and we weren’t an exception. The plain truth was that most guys never saw an enemy aircraft but we all still provided a valuable service by patrolling and deterring the Luftwaffe from getting too ornery in our sector. During our year in North Africa, I became more comfortable with Bill and he with me. We got to know each other’s moods and acquired that almost symbiotic relationship in the air that we didn’t have to speak much to know what the other wanted or expected when flying. I understand that same kind of relationship is common to other partnership jobs – cops, firemen, etc. Whatever it was, we had it. Bill was not a risk taker at all. He flew the Beau by the numbers according to the manual, he didn’t try to do crazy aerobatics or see ‘just what this baby’ can do like some of the other stickboys would do. He always said he just wanted to do his bit and go home. By then, I had learned that he was the oldest boy in his family and wanted to go back to his family farm in North Carolina. “My folks didn’t raise no fool,” he’d say when we’d watch somebody else beating up the field returning from a sortie. He’d handle the infrequent aircraft emergencies well. We lost an engine once, but were at altitude so it was no big deal. If it had been at take-off, that’s a different story. The Beau was a heavy airplane with a well-deserved reputation for difficult ground handling. It wasn’t a forgiving airplane, but if you treated it with respect, it would get you home except when heavy with fuel during the take-off ground roll. If an engine packed up just after you went airborne, all the skill in the world wouldn’t keep you from settling back down and tumbling into a burning ball of molten metal. Sometimes I wished Bill had been more daring, but on the other hand, since my warm, pink bottom depended on his skill and judgment, I didn’t push him too hard. Especially when we’d see some idiot make a smoking hole in the surrounding hills of Tafaroui. Anyway, we plugged along doing our small part in the big war. As the bigger picture around us unfolded, we’d move up as the good guys advanced. We moved to a base on Corsica and then Sicily as the Italian campaign progressed. The squadron flew regularly, occasionally scoring a kill on the diminishing Luftwaffe, but Bill and I were never in the right place at the right time. No matter, we did our job and never tried to beg off a mission. When the Allies invaded Normandy in June 1944 and then southern France in August, we moved there as well. We based at Lavallon, France, a little north of Marseille until almost the end of the war. It was early December of that year when Bill and I finally scored in a mission that showed me just what kind of a man Bill was. The whole squadron was briefed on a flight profile the Germans were believed to be using to smuggle gold, artwork and other stolen loot from an area in still-occupied northern Italy to a spot near the neutral Spanish city of Barcelona. This run had become so regular that our intel guy said the bandit had picked up a nickname, “Barcelona Charlie.” The big shots, Eisenhower, etc., were worried that the Nazis would build up a strong presence in Spain and either use it as a base for guerrilla warfare or a staging post for Nazis escaping from Allied justice once we finished kicking their asses. Ike wanted this run stopped and stopped now! Bill and I flew our regularly assigned patrols for the next several nights and like all our missions to that point, nothing exciting happened. We had our area to guard and other guys looked for the high profile target. Just after Christmas, 1944, the 28th to be exact, Bill and I were fragged to work the patrol line southwest of Marseille. This was astride “Barcelona Charlie’s” escape route so maybe we’d get lucky. We took off about 5 p.m. and it was already dark and Jesus, was it cold! Snow squalls were all over the place and we bounced around for nearly two hours, freezing our asses off flying on instruments. Bill did his best to keep us on course and at our assigned altitude while I talked to ground control and scanned my scope. Finally, about 7 o’clock, the GCI site, callsign “Starlight,” radioed us that they had ‘trade’ for us. Starlight was a Brit radar station and used the vernacular to indicate that a possible bandit was headed our way. We turned onto the northeasterly heading they gave and waited while they refined the ‘picture.’ They would do their damnedest to place us about 1-2 miles back of the target so that we had the best chance to use our on-board radar to take us to a visual range. And that’s just how it worked. The only snag was that once I acquired the blip on my scope, I could see that it was way below our 12,000-foot altitude. Quickly I took over control of the intercept from Starlight by using the code word “Judy” which means, “I’ve got it, shut up talking.” (From what I understand, the US Air Force uses that same term with its mega-million dollar jet fighters and high-tech AWACS radar airplanes.) I told Bill over the intercom, “Bogey, two five zero, 2 miles, low.” That translated into “the unknown target is just slightly southwest of us at two miles distance and below us.” Bill kicked the rudder to line us up on the same course and put the nose down to dump altitude. Simultaneously, he pulled the throttles back and lowered the landing gear to keep us from getting too fast and overshooting the target in our dive. It would be really bad form to pop up in front of the bad guys. I continued refining the geometry of the intercept, trying to place us in the best spot for Bill to spot the target and if need be, open fire. That spot is usually just behind and just below the tail of the other aircraft. This gives Bill the best profile to ID the type and nationality of the other aircraft and usually is the best spot to keep the other guy from spotting you. While we closed the distance to what we hoped was Barcelona Charlie, we kept descending. Bill finally piped up, “When do you want me to start to level out?” Even though I had a set of flight instruments in my ‘back office,’ I had lost track of our altitude while concentrating on the target. I looked up and saw our altimeter passing through one thousand feet. The scope showed the target still well below us. “Keep the descent going, “ I answered. “Bogey, 11 o’clock, half mile, low.” “Roger,” Bill answered but I felt the landing gear thump back into the wheelwells as he sucked them back in by flipping the big gear knob up. He didn’t want to risk getting caught with our metaphorical shorts down when we finally did spot the target. We kept descending until we hit one hundred feet. Remember, this is at night, in crappy weather, and there is probably a enemy aircraft in front of you ready to squirt machine gun fire at you if he spots you. The tension in our Beau was thick. We both were sweating heavily by this time. Amazing how the thrill of the chase and not a little nervousness can heat you up. Finally, Bill called “Judy.” The weight for the intercept lifted from my shoulders onto his. Only if he lost sight of the target would I get back into the fight. “I ID one Ju 290,” Bill said formally. Since this was our first enemy sighting, he wanted to stay cool and follow the book. I looked up from my scope and peered out. Four in-line engines, a double tail, a long skinny fuselage with ugly gun blisters sprouting from the top and bottom; yep, sure looked like the Luftwaffe’s long range reconnaissance/transport to me. The pilot of that aircraft must have been a master. He was thundering along at about one hundred feet above the cold, angry waves of the Mediterranean and had been for several hours. Of course, the knowledge that if he were spotted, he’d get shot down probably worked wonders to hone his skills, but still it was impressive. Now, our problem was to shoot him down. Since we were so low, we were out of radio range with anybody. If we climbed to report our find, we stood a good chance of losing him or crashing ourselves while we descended again. Bill let the range creep up a little so that the Ju was in optimum gunsight range. Our cannons and machineguns were calibrated to form a cone or sweet spot about 150 yards ahead of us. If we were too close or too far, we’d probably still hit him, but our fire would be dispersed and he might escape. We wanted to knock him down on the first burst. We almost did it. Bill finally was satisfied with the firing solution and squeezed the thumb switch on the yoke. The 20mm cannons barked and the .303 machineguns chattered as he aimed at a spot at the Jerry’s number two or left inside engine. Bill connected and almost immediately the engine spouted flames. Incredibly, the German pilot retained control from a seemingly catastrophic engine failure that low over the sea. He dropped even lower and poured the coal to his remaining engines. Bill followed him down. This was a side of Bill I’d never seen, the killer with his fangs bared. Having tasted blood, Bill wasn’t about to let this prey escape. He stayed with the Ju as it descended and even began pretty aggressive evasive maneuvers. When I tore my eyes from the spectacle outside and checked our altimeter, I almost shit myself when I saw the needle bouncing around 20 feet! Bill stayed with the German, turn for turn, skid for skid, jink for jink. He scored several more bursts into the wonderfully handled German transport, finally taking out the other left hand engine. With a loss of power from both motors on that side, the incredibly brave and skillful pilot finally couldn’t control his ship anymore. The left wingtip dug into the gray, foaming sea and the aircraft cartwheeled in to the ocean. We were mesmerized by the steaming impact and almost joined our fallen prey. At literally, the last second, Bill recognized the approaching water and hauled the yoke into his lap with everything he had. We climbed like a scalded cat until we had several thousand feet of safety below us. With the adrenaline ebbing and reality setting in, we were somber as we checked in again with Starlight control. We reported our kill without any embellishment. It was considered poor form back then to brag on yourself. After we got back to Lavallon, during the intel debrief we got confirmation that we had bagged Barcelona Charlie. Unknown to us at the time, but revealed by an awe-struck airplane crew chief, our pitot tube, the metal prong that sticks out and measures our altitude had gotten clogged with salt spray. Our altimeters were stuck at the 20-foot mark and exposed our nearness to the hungry Mediterranean Sea. Bill and I were later awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for that mission and the squadron won a Presidential Unit Citation. We found out later that Air-Sea Rescue aircraft had gone out the next morning to the crash site but all they found was some packing and crating material. No sign of that talented pilot or his crew. Bill and I didn’t think we earned our DFCs anymore than the Ju 290 pilot earned his watery grave but such are the fortunes of war. Bill and I resumed our normal flying duties; flying patrol after patrol with no other excitement or enemy contact. All that suited Bill just fine. He wanted to go back to his farm. When the squadron moved to a base near the German border in spring 1945, we moved top. Finally, the happiest day of our young lives, VE Day. Victory in Europe meant that we were done risking our necks and wouldn’t have to kill other young men. In the celebrations that ensued, Bill partook but a little. He just wanted to go home in time for the summer harvest. In one of the few outside activities he did participate, Bill and a few other guys flew to an abandoned Luftwaffe field near Pilsen, Czechlosvakia. There were a bunch of abandoned German aircraft there and the guys wanted to see them up close. I was too hung over and wanted to sleep in so I didn’t go. I wonder what would have happened if I did. Once there, they wandered around a veritable museum of Luftwaffe airplanes including a tired old Ju 290. Bill walked around the big transport, running his hand along its aluminum skin lost in thought. I imagine he was reliving our claim to fame. After that, for whatever reason that I could never figure out, he walked over to a Me-109, once the hottest fighter in the Luftwaffe. A short, stubby winged single engine fighter, thousands of American and British bombers had felt its sting. Bill looked it over and climbed into the cockpit. Even as small as Bill was, it was a tight squeeze. The 109 was all engine and cannon with little left over for pilot comfort. He hit the master switch and the machine came alive. The fuel indicator indicated half full, so he hunted for the magnetos and fired up the big engine. The unexpected sound of the fighter cranking brought the other guys running. They tried to yell to Bill about what he was doing. Apparently, he had his fangs out again because he ignored them as he figured out the instrument layout. He tripped the brakes and the fighter rolled forward. Swinging the tail back and forth so he could see past the long sloping nose and propeller, Bill taxied to the runway. He shut the canopy and gave the 109 the throttle. They tell me he did a credible job taking off, not veering too far off centerline before he rotated. They watched him fly around the pattern several times, each time becoming smoother on the controls of the foreign fighter. I guess the fun wore off because Bill finally lined up on final to land. Unfortunately for him, the only other time in his life that he took a real chance, he muffed it. He didn’t know the stall speed for the 109 and ‘best guess’ didn’t work. The guys told me that at about 100 feet, he dropped a wing and went in. The fighter went up in flames with a ‘woof’ and by the time they could get to the crash, it was too late. Bill never went home, never went back to his farm. He never married, had kids or worked until he was too old and had to retire. He didn’t have to see his wife age and die, breaking his heart so that it never recovered. He didn’t have to watch his own body deteriorate and fall apart. He didn’t have to sit and wait for death. He died a young vital man flush with victory from saving the world. I wonder who had the better life.

I served with a guy in my first assignment in missiles who went from 1Lt to O-6 riding the exec express. Started as wing exec (volunteered for that job), wound up hitching his wagon to a now retired 4-star. Followed his benefactor around like a faithful dog for multiple consecutive assignments save for both IDE and SDE in-residence - BTZ major, Lt Col, Col. His deployments consisted of being the luggage master for his sugar-daddy who would show (his) flag.

Military retirement pay is an incentive to get enough folks to take the full ride until at least 20 years of service. You trade your youth and prime career earning years for that guarenteed check at the end of the ride. Cut that and your replacement and training costs increases even more than the money spent on retirees. The all volunteer force depends upon just that, volunteers. Want to get enough folks to sign up? Make it worth their while. Don't and they won't. Anyone willing politically to reinstitute the draft? If so, what number of dollars will be needed to make that work? It'd be a damn lot. Go look at the numbers when military retirement has been monkeyed with. There is a corresponding dip in retention as folks bail to pursue other options that help them guarentee their personal retirement. This play has been done already in Europe. Repeat acts are going as we bicker here. The entitlements of Greece broke that country. Ireland ditto. Portugal and Spain are about a month (exagerating for effect) away from the same result. We are 5 years away from it if entitlements are left unchecked. $13 trillion and counting in a national deficit is simply not an option. What happens when The Man, in this case China, et al, want to claim their note? We'd default. That'd do well for the country and the world. Other nice ideas recently - last year's "stimulus" of $800 billion. Sure would've been nice to not have that added to the debt. Continuing to add to unemployment payment lengths? At what point is enough enough? Yeah, easy for me, I have a job right now, but for the country as a whole, how long can we pay for that?

...sigh....again? "Hey, here's a great way to cut spending; let's defer/reduce retirement pay. It'll save gazillions!" "Hey, how come we are 50% short on retention and our replacement and training costs are skyrocketing?!"