Hotdogging

[Mornaric]

One of the many small parts of my teenage years spent in high school was the time I had spent in AFROTC. My other choices at the time were gym or choir. If I had known at the time, I probably would have picked choir. But, seeing as it got some family members off my back, and seeing as I got to shoot off rockets and "Hey, isn't this kinda how astronauts start?" I was all for it. For some strange reason, I seemed to impress everyone with my uniform.

Anyway, one day, the instructor, a retired Air Force Colonel, tossed me a few copies of Airman magazine. He knew I had a thing for jets, and there were some excellent articles about them within the pages of the publication. I thanked him and took them home, promptly devouring all that was in there.

I don't remember now, anything from those magazines, save one thing. They had a humor section within them, towards the back. One story in particular staid with me, and I hope to retell it below and do it justice. I find it amusing because it is supposed to have been a true story. Pilots and those knowledgeable about Vietnam era planes will especially get a kick out of it. Enjoy!

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Seems there was a Boeing B-52 pilot who, during his bombing missions over Vietnam, kept drawing the exact same fighter pilot as a combat escort while flying to and back from the bombers target. The escort flew an F-4 Phantom, a proven and very capable fighter craft. With the drop tanks, it had more than enough fuel to keep up with the B-52 during its mission run.

Now, the pilot of the F-4 was good at what he did. He was the type of pilot that could make the Phantom do things the designers at McDonnell Douglas swore it couldn't. The downside of that, is that the pilot knew it, and wasn't very shy about letting everyone else know it too. "Hotdog," was one word used between the other fighter pilots and bombardiers. Along with a few others that were not so kind.

So the B-52 captain saw the flight roster for this one particular day. Showing it to his co-pilot, they both started shaking their heads as they realized that, yes, once again, "Hotdog" was their CAP for the next mission. CAP stands for Combat Air Protection. Being professionals, they got their gear together and said nothing more.

Now, the outbound leg of the mission went smooth. The bombers annihilated their target without incident and the CAP had nothing to do but fly around in lazy circles. The B-52's dropped the last of their ordinance, then started home, followed by their halo of F-4's. The B-52 is a long range bomber, which meant it could carry enough fuel for 2 or maybe even 3 flights of this mission type without having to worry about refueling, and because they never had to go to combat speed, the Phantoms never really used much of what was in their drop tanks this time. So both types of planes had an over abundance of fuel, some if which would be used and some of it would be jettisoned. Or in the case of the F-4's, literally dropped when they released their tanks just over halfway back.

"Hotdog" saw this as fair game to do what he does best. Making like he was a barnstormer, he started flying his usual routine. Spins, flips, a Hammerhead, and an Immelmann or two plus a few other maneuvers he thought up. Naturally, if he'd been caught, he would have quickly found himself flying a balsa wood soapbox back in the states. But, since the pilot was also an Ace and had in fact saved several of the bombers on previous missions, none of those that flew with him ever said anything.

As he flew, the Phantom pilot also like to brag, or as we nowadays say, talk a lot of shit. Knowing the pilots of the Stratofortress he was flying CAP for weren't allowed to completely turn their radios off, he proceeded to tell them about every single maneuver he was about to do. Even going so far as to provide accurate description on how to do it.

The captain and co-pilot of the B-52 just looked at each other as the Phantom completed a loop around the the big jet from Boeing. He settled into a normal flight pattern for a few minutes after that, but the command crew of the B-52 just knew that he wasn't done yet.

The captain looked at the co-pilot and said, "Enough is enough. I'm going to put a stop to this shit right now."

"What're you gonna do, test fire the tail-gun across his bow?"

"Better. Watch and listen. And learn."

"Yes sir, Captain. Now in OLM." OLM is short for Operational Learning Mode. The co-pilot folded his arms and leaned back, waiting.

The captain reached out to tune in the escort on the radio, then keyed his mic. Using his most serious voice, he looked out the window at the Phantom and said...

"CAP One, CAP One, this BUFF One, over." BUFF is short for Big Ugly Fat Fucker.

"Roger, BUFF One, this is CAP One. Reading you clear. What can I do for you today, over?"

"CAP One, BUFF One. Ah, nothing much. The guys over here just wanted to thank you for watching our asses again. Been letting them watch you out the windows as you're doing your tricks. Tail-gun Charlie even wants to buy you a round or two back at the officers hut. Over."

"BUFF One, CAP One. Roger that. Getting a little warm here, all this sweating and stuff. Over."

And with that, the Phantom proceeded to do a very smart barrel roll. The command crew of the B-52 rolled their eyes in answer. The co-pilot raised his eyebrow, waiting for the other combat boot to drop. He didn't have to wait long. "Sweating?" he asked. The captain shrugged and held his hand up, motioning to be quite again.

"CAP One, BUFF One. Roger that. Lotta thirsty guys over here too. Packing all those bombs, we forgot to pack any bourbon. Say, tell you what. Wanna place a wager on something? Loser buys rounds when we get back. Me and you, for the honor, and the thirst, of the fine men we fly with today. Over."

The co-pilot held his hands up like he was saying, "What?" The captain started to grin and motioned again, "Just wait."

"BUFF One, CAP One. Round of drinks eh? What did you have in mind? Over."

"CAP One, BUFF One. Well, I was thinking this. A round at the OH says that I can do an aerobatic trick in my Strato here that you can't do in your Phantom. Seen a lot of fancy flying from you today, but I think I can beat you. Your call, CAP One. Over."

With that, the co-pilot started laughing. He'd figured out what the captain was about to do. "You are the Master," he said as he mock bowed towards his friend.

"I know. That's why I'm Captain." He smiled back as he looked out the window towards the F-4.

The F-4 pilot knew for a fact that he could make the twin engine, 40,000 pound jet stand on its nose if he wanted to. Looking across at the eight engined, almost 270,000 pound heavy bomber, there was no conceivable aerobatic that he could think of that the Stratofortress could do that he could not. Any such flying would shear the wings off and kill everyone inside just like that. He keyed the mic after a few seconds and said, "CAP One to BUFF One. Toss in a case of Scotch and you're on, over."

"CAP One, BUFF One. Roger the Scotch, Over."

The pilot of the Phantom sat there for a few seconds, waiting as he watched the B-52 fly perfectly straight. Eyes locked on the cockpit of the big jet, he kept expecting to see something miraculous happen, but nothing did. Straight as an arrow back towards base, not deviating one inch off their intended flight path. Seconds grew to minutes like this, and finally after about ten minutes of silent nothing from the B-52, the Phantom pilot couldn't stand it any more.

Rather accusingly, he keyed his mic and said, "BUFF One, CAP One. Still waiting. You old guys over there forget how to fly or something? Over." Adding insult to injury, he wagged his wings just to make a point. He got his answer a moment later, however.

With no hint of arrogance what so ever, the captain of the multi-engine bomber keyed up his mic and said, "I've just shut off two of my engines..."

"...Now, let me see you do the same."