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Adversary Course – MiramarMiramar it was, and back in the 90’s too, what with your humble scribe being an adversary pilot but recently arrived from the purgatorial southern swamps of Naval Air Station Key West, Florida, from whence liberated, like Prometheus unchained from a demanding flight schedule, bound as he had been like any galley slave and forced to fly two – sometimes three! – air combat flights in a day, alack, and alas and if your heart wasn’t made of brass, wicked thing that you are, then perhaps you would have felt more sorry for him. “Go west, young man!” the operations officer had said, meaning TOPGUN when he said it, and the adversary course to be more particular, challenging though it was to fragile egos and given in judiciously and repeatedly applied thumps by the world’s finest fighter pilots, themselves accustomed to treading the hallowed halls of the Prestigious Navy Fighter Weapons School with the heavy step of Praetorian guards. The School itself was not unlike Valhalla to a man of a certain age, never mind the repeated getting of your ass kicked by your betters. So your scribe and a brother of another mother paired themselves up in a two-seat F-16N and did as they were asked, desired and required, pre-flighting, manning up and tearing the sky apart in a vertical departure before rolling her over on a westerly heading out over the Gulf of Florida and towards Barksdale, Louisiana, that being a short stop on account of all the damn gas we’d burned just getting out of home, profligate wastrels that we were with our vertical departure, and no stewards of the national bounty. At all. There were few places in the world to rival Key West for a young pilot, burdened as he might be with the flying of not one, nor even two, but three kinds of fighter aircraft on any given day, and doing nothing but the fighting of them, so as to make him extraordinarily wise, not to say preternaturally wicked in the art and science of gunning his opponent, given anything like an equal chance, if that was the best chance that offered. Except of course at The School, in sunny Sandy Eggo, where the cream of the crop busied themselves like knights of the round table in the pursuit of such intramural excellence as could maybe only be otherwise had in one of Plato’s forms, while taking it upon themselves in the intervening periods to absentmindedly punish the occasional external pretender to the throne such as your scribe and any of his cohort as a matter of dreary course. Shaolin monks they were, and their aerial kung foo was very strong, and we mere apprentices, a-trying of our mettle against the flower of American youth, equipped with g-suits, harnesses and superabundant attitude. Oh, they were good gentle reader, the TOPGUN instructors, and professional too, so that when they would afterwards describe to you what a chunder-head you had been to reverse when defensive (which you should never, ever do, what in God’s name were you thinking?) only to watch them fall savagely upon your soon-to-be-odiferous corpse with glad abandon and something very nearly approaching carnal glee, it somehow came out sounding in the debrief not like you had simply been an idiot (although you self-evidently had been), but only that you had learned so very much that day, and wasn’t that a good thing, selah. Because you were so damn grateful for it. Weren’t you? You were. And in such a manner is abuse enabled and perpetuated. But all was not pushing rocks up hills, nor even being chained to them at Naval Air Station Miramar in the 1990’s. There was also, as it turned out, an officer’s club, which had, in the days, weeks and months immediately subsequent to the movie “Top Gun” (which they didn’t even spell it right, it being written as one word, all caps, which anyone could have known just for asking) had become quite the venue for all kinds of predatory beasts attempting to determine exactly what the Other was constructed of, and how long it might last when put to the test. At least that’s what I was told by others, seizing the moral high ground and satisfying myself for the most part by the staying in my room at the end of the fly day, and the reading of Gideon’s while conscientiously eschewing any pleasures of the flesh that might have offered themselves up, whenever I wasn’t doing charity work at one of the local orphanages. Chiefly on account of my oak-like constitution and iron will. I’d point out that my next-door neighbor was not nearly so abstemious, entertaining guests, sometimes quite tumultuous and cacophonous guests, until all hours of the early morning, which I couldn’t help but hearing, the walls between the rooms being so very thin and what with my ear pressed up against them. Be that as it may, it came to pass one night that your correspondent and his brother found themselves at the club one night partaking of such pleasures as could be had without entirely jeopardizing their actual lives, should they ever go back home, until the wee hours of the morning, notwithstanding the fact that they had an early go the next day. Which couldn’t have been, based on the rules, any earlier than 12 hours after their last taste of an alcoholic beverage. Because that was the rule. But just as it is always after noon somewhere in the world, so is it also 12 hour or more from take-off time, depending on how you look at it. There were many heroic acts that evening that I will not bore you with, not being central to the tale, which would nevertheless be preserved in song if that sort of thing was still considered fashionable, but anyway. Sufficient to the day the evil thereof, and then some, and it came to pass that the next day as we took off out of NAS Miramar and pooted our way out to the Yuma Tactical Air Combat Systems range to the east that your humble scribe thought it better to ride in the trunk, rather than to lead from the front, at least until the first flight had ended, and maybe its debrief too, and only then might he feel a little more human than he currently did. Up, up into the burning blue, and leveled off at 25,000 in a high tech fighter, your narrator felt quite frankly a little weary, not to say jaded. A big clamshell canopy had the TF-16N, and the day was hot and bright, so it served your correspondent’s leisure to loosen his O2 mask, let it fall from his sweating face and rest his weary eyes, a little, that being thought the best thing for it, really. Taken as a whole, his friend up front didn’t seem to mind his absence on the intercom, asking of him “What are you doing?” and “What’s the plan now?”, etc. But the TOPGUN IP who joined up on the right wing at angels 25 prior to the first push was alarmed and dismayed to see your scribe apparently passed out hypoxic and unconscious in the back seat of a multi-million dollar fighter, just prior to joining the fray. This worthy was y-clept “Stump,” on account of his exceptional vertical stature and physical dimensions, and he wasted no time communicating to the nose gunner that there was apparently a dead man in the back seat, and perhaps something ought to be done about it. The nose gunner wasn’t convinced that I was dead, and cleared Stump out for to give the jet a violent shake, and see if that could revive my spirits. Which of course it did, and damn near brought up breakfast too. Having stirred to greet the dawn with a gimlet eye, I was dismayed to see the Stumpster come back close aboard and give me a questioning “thumbs up”? Was I OK? Would I live? In an inconsidered moment (himself being a Marine major, and a TOPGUN IP, and your scribe a mere snot-nosed Navy lieutenant, not to mention a student, and the distinction between the two being thought critically important) I raised and returned a finger of my own, not corresponding to that opposable digit which is the pride of our species. And for this crime I paid, gentle reader. And I learned about Gideon’s from that, so I did. January 23rd, 2006 | Tags: sea stories | Category: Uncategorized
28 comments to Adversary Course – Miramar |
Credo"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." -- John Paul Jones "Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Caesar and Cleopatra" "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friedrich Nietzsche "A kind Providence has placed in our breasts a hatred of the unjust and cruel, in order that we may preserve ourselves from cruelty and injustice. They who bear cruelty, are accomplices in it. The pretended gentleness which excludes that charitable rancour, produces an indifference which is half an approbation. They never will love where they ought to love, who do not hate where they ought to hate."--Edmund Burke "Μολὼν λαβέ" -- Leonidas "Blogito Ergo Sum" -- Neptunus Lex Relocating? SponsorsNearly 60k hits and 130k page views per month - low rates! Advertise with Lex! Stinkin' Badges For the Effort!Recent PostsPopularPagesTags1st Amendment afghanistan Araby army Blogging buffoonery china culture economy education Flying Friday Musings geopol GWOT Headlines History iran iraq Israel issues media Memory Lane Military Navy norks Oz pakistan people piracy politicians politics Politics and Culture pundits Russia seals sea stories silliness Small Stuff SoCal technology UAVs UK usaf usmc weapons WP Cumulus Flash tag cloud by Roy Tanck requires Flash Player 9 or better. Spam Blocked |
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and hence the scene in “Top Gun,” not to be confused with “TOPGUN,” was born….
Heh.
Capt. Lex – Don’t get me wrong, I like your fictional works just fine… but the “Tales of the Sea Service” are among the most motivating stuff I’ve seen on the web.
I got picked up for 1390 last month.. . can’t wait to get to P’Cola.
LMAO! That was funny Lex. Perhaps you can regale us some more with your many sea stories?
It is SO difficult to wallow with the pigs in the night,then soar with the eagles in the morning.
LMAO!! That’s a great story–a lot of great lines in there. And I loved the peek at the younger Lex.
So, will we ever be treated to stories of how you “enabled and perpetuated” the abuse when you joined the ranks of TOPGUN IPs?
Having been the “mayor” of the training building at Fallon e.g. the SOPA among the denizens who did not have to live in the “House of Pain” when Topgun was forcibly required to join the rest of Naval Aviation at NSAWC; I was alwasy amazed at how Topgun could turn a perfectly good JO into a skilled, but imperfect a**hole in only 9 weeks. JO’s with whom I had supped dinners, drank beers and otherwise enjoyed life became usless Prima Donnas in no time.
There were those who tried to break said mafia, flag officers among them who only came to grief. My departing outcall with one such individual was spent with about 25 minutes devoted to the discussion of the “Topgun Mafia”. This from a 2 -star no less. Being as it was a terminal O-6 I had very little sympathy……
Great program, too high opinion of themselves, and now in the “better business Navy” their real value is not being realized and possibly being tossed to the curb for no reason at all. The Navy needs Topgun and it needs adversary pilots and I worry that the bean counters will not realize that in their quest to cut dollars.
There are nations that are training hard and we need to train harder. Don’t believe me? Watch Mission Udarn on National Georgraphic Channel. Teh Indian Air Force is learning from us. If we don’t make a commitment to stay ahead of them we will regret it.
Bottom line. Topgun trained an asshole, but a very skilled asshole nonetheless. That;s probably a fair trade.
PS. I was one of the carnivores at Miramar O’club in the early 90’s. Go Asian early!!!
Being a former black shoe type, I must say you fliers provided many hours of amusement to us. BTW, if you are flying a helochopter, are you still a pilot? We could never figure that one out.
The visual image you paint can’t possibly equal the original moment – but I’m betting it comes damn close. Just gotta love a cocky flyboy!
*GRIN*
Why am I not suprised that you, Lex… were a cocky young bassid? Perhaps it’s because you’re *still* a cocky bassid? (one I happen to really enjoy, mind you)
I have to admit, Curt beat me to my comment!
“Exactly what were you doing, flying inverted, over the Mig, LT?”
“um… we were “communicating”, ma’am”
haha!!!
Reminds me of a quick Kevin story.
When Kevin was 4, he watched the movie “Top Gun” over at my Mom’s house. That night, as I was tucking him into bed, he held my face with both hands, looked me square in my eyes, and gave me a mouth-slightly-parted kiss.
EWWWWWWWWW!!! “Kevin, that is NOT the right way to kiss your Mommy.”
“But, Mommy… I love you”
“I love you too, sweetheart, but when you kiss me, you need to keep your lips together and your tongue INSIDE your mouth.”
“But Mommy- I was yust playin’ “Top Gun”. I’m Tom Coose, and you’re Tom Coose girlfriend.”
*ARGGHHH!* Thank you, Mom, for that memorable moment…..
“That’s right CAPT Lex… you are dangerous.”
Haha – Another GREAT and memorable read. Thanks again.
Waking up those memories agin, Lex.
Miramar O’Club, Wed night, circa 1987 especially, ah, was something too, post Duke!
BTW, I was aboard Enterprise when they filmed Top Gun. Did you know T. Cruise is about 5″ 6″ at best? True fighter dude size!
Personally, I only dozed off for a minute once, holding the brakes on a T-2 (or was it an A-4?) as dash four at the hold short on a warm spring day, canopy down in PCLA! Nothing like waking up suddenly, while moving and being yelled at simultaneously on the radio! Adrenaline now!
Your story sort of reminds me of the A-7 guy who dozed off flying back to Lee-more from AFB Central, overshot the state of CA and woke up over the barrier islands. I think an AF tanker saved his butt. That was late ’70’s methinks.
B2
Ah, Miramar!
Youngster cruise on an LKA in Sandy Eggo during the summer of 1976.
Two of us headed to the O Club at Miramar to see what kind of trouble we could find.
There were two sweet young things constantly getting hit on by one guy after another.
It was fun to watch as they would dance one dance with each guy and then refuse any further conversation. They worked their way through the entire group, teasing each until we were the only two guys left.
We, of course, continued to ignore them, suave and debonair midshipmen that we were.
Actually, we saw the pattern and felt no need to join in the humiliation. But it turned out we had two things going for us. Our apparent lack of interest piqued their curiosity and we were a lot closer to their age than any other guy there.
They approached us.
My buddy wore glasses so naturally I was assumed to be the pilot and he was my NFO.
We had a pretty good time talking and dancing the rest of the evening with them to the obvious consternation of all the “fighter jocks” that had been shot down.
Well it’s obvious your mistake was in not following up with the hand signal for “sir”. Because it’s not disrespectful as long as you put a sir (or ma’am, this being the modern Navy) on the end.
Haha, Love it – English major indeed!
And Lex, one more thing – book deal.
Bold-Faced checklist following failure to
observe 12 hour bottle-to-throttle rule:
Head: hold in hands
Eyedrops: Insert in both blood-shot eyes
Radio call: request for no loud moves or sudden noises..
Hum to self, gently [crew intercom only]:
“I wanted Wings till
I got the God-d*mned things!
Now I don’t want ‘em Anymore…”
Ignore: gleeful taunts of squadron bubbas
Anyone out here serve with “Heater” Heatley?
I was at NWC when he was there. I got to see a lot of his photo albums and hear his stories of “Top Gun.” Quite a character!
I know someone that went to college with Heater at U of M Rolla I think. She said he was quite the poker player.
I have an F-14 hat pin from C.J…..thanks for the pin, but it would be a toss-up who was the bigger “pick” (r deleted)while filming the movie—Heater, or Tom Cruise (who really IS a hobbit).
On the otter heiney–Rossivich(Slider) was totally cool, Edwards (Goose) was great to be around.Wasn’t around the Big E when filming, but a great American and friend was COB and said Cruise was an “insufferable Pick” on the boat while film crew was there.
My $0.02
Heater was in my air wing when I was just a lad, and I got to experience his tactical acumen one afternoon as I, and a brother of a different mother hit the merge with him, with the intent of doing him wrong, in a training environment.
“Knock-it-off!” we heard, to much dismay, because we had not yet arrived at a guns solution (although we were not so very far away) and because such a strident call often signified a major emergency, to wit: The sun was getting close to going down, and the Heater had his camera in his lap, and thought that the two of us FA-18 pilots arrayed in formation against the setting sun might make a b!tching photo.
Being but mere lieutenants we had nothing to say as the commander flew a 60,000 pound fighter with his knees, while taking happy-snaps all the while.
But we had our private thoughts, so we did…
LMAO, yup—that’s Heater alright….A dear friend and coworker now was a young Lt. during filming, (he did the tower”buzzing” scene).Decorum prohibits me from retelling his thoughts on the Commander—-but Lex’s tale cuts the old boy some slack.Anyone remember the experimental F-4 cammo paint job, “Heater-Ferris”?
seizing the moral high ground and satisfying myself for the most part by the staying in my room at the end of the fly day, and the reading of Gideon?ɬ
ah, another ghost from my past, come back to haunt me!
Heater was Air Wing staff when I met him as an attack puke in an all-Grumman air wing (blessings be on the name of the Ironworks). He distinguished our interactions with a remarkable lack of, how shall I say it, “snap.” I was not alone in this estimation as the fighter guys I knew mirrored this opinion. Cannot take anything away from his terrific eye for photographics composition, though. The Cutting Edge was pretty inspiring to this midshipman.
Thanks for the input on Heater. I did hear a tale of a book in the process of coming stateside from the printers whne John Lehman resigned as SECNAV and the subsequent phone calls that arrived the following morning, with colorful commentary about NAVREGs and making $$$ on the taxpayers working hour…
Lex, you’re hilarious!
Would just love to know exactly HOW you paid for that crime though