MY CRUSADER

Like a threatening Eagle, she hunkers down, looking numb, with a tight grip on her weapons. Her wing is up appearing detached from the fuselage.  Her snout is sucking up air like a Texas tornado. On the deck, she is not a thing of beauty. But she is my F-8, and her nest is the steel flight deck of the aircraft carrier—her eggs; 4-20mm cannons; 4 Sidewinder missiles, bombs and rockets, and sometimes cameras. This bird has daggers. She is ready to fight ... and so am I.

I become a part of her--we are one in intention. I connect myself to her with straps, and garters, and hoses, and plugs, and connectors. I breathe her air--I communicate through her brain. I see through her eyes.

With a surge of jet fuel, a blast of compressed air, with ignition added she comes alive. We are as one—tied together—the machine is an extension of the man—her hydraulics; my muscles; her radar; my eyes; her mighty engine; my power.

She screams and whines as we taxi along the narrow flight deck. Final checks, her nose pointed down the sharp end of the ship. Resting on the catapult –with her harness attached – we are ready to be shot into the air or eternity.

Full power applied—THUMP—the afterburner kicks in. An ambient cloud curls in a cyclonic pattern around her nose -- she is thirsty for more air.

My salute is her release.  She races rapidly toward her freedom -- escaping the pitching deck, leaving a roar behind that rattles windows and shakes the onlookers on deck.

Clean-up; clean-up. This is my mental signal to reduce drag. Gear-up; Wing-down. She is happy, accelerating and climbing at the speed of heat. I am astonished at the transformation of the ugly duckling into a thing of graceful beauty—yet she is business-like, threatening, thrusting forward and upward with deadly purpose.

We streak across the oceans below, pushing the Crusader to the limit. We go from ‘Feet Wet’ to ‘Feet Dry’ in a matter of minutes. We look and listen for the evil white speck of a SAM rising to kill us. The AAA is reaching out for us. Tracers have the right of way. We evade. That missile is steady on an intercept course, we are the target. Then, on signal - we jinks - it goes stupid. We are saved again.

We search for bogies – they run – they hide. They know the ‘Gun Fighter’ is deadly. Air superiority is our legend – the word is out. We exercise – man and machine are superior – we train to kill – we don’t run from a fight.

We make the sky safe for others – we escort – we strafe – we bomb – some photograph. We claim Air Superiority -- Mission complete – we head home. Low state - we tank – easy goes it – fuel transfer.

All birds return to roost - the big ‘Bird Farm’ pitches and rolls – weaving, and moving up and down in the rough seas. – It is a dark night -hook down – heart rate up.

 “A little power, don’t climb.” “WAVE OFF – WAVE OFF” – foul deck is declared!

We try again – low state – “Sader Ball 1.1 – manual” –

“Looking good – keep it coming.”

Salt spray – stack gas –I can do it – meatball -- line up – airspeed – concentrate - I can do it –deck is moving? – don’t look at the deck – meatball – line up – airspeed.

BAM! – aircraft trapped – my body thrown forward – full power –reduce power – find director – taxi clear foul line - fold wings –watch director – easy goes it – still dark – too close to deck edge.

Park & shut down – thumbs up – good bird –heart rate down - Brandy time!

Ron

[I was inspired to write this after reading a poem written by General Robin Olds about his love for the Phantom.]