Late in General

Late

The air is fragrant here in mid coast Maine this time of year. I’d like to say it reminds me of my childhood, but the hiccupy way my life worked out I was barely here. Born here. Likely to die here.

But the middle of that story. Oh, the tales. Racing around in an American expat’s BMW in Belgium. Being in the stack flying over Luxemburg, being passed by cars on the Autobahn.
Being the first into Bosnia. Watching the chaos and agony that we couldn’t even comprehend. We were all just call signs to each other.

A couple of years later flying into Iraq. The oil fields still burning. It felt apocalyptic. At thirty thousand feet you couldn’t see the tops of the plumes.
Months later a divert into Kuwait. Landing with no radios. The bombed out shelters from desert storm.

The comical departure from Ahmad al-Jaber. We didn’t file the right international flight plan. Surprise. Saudi F-15s show up. Hilarious if it wasn’t so damned dangerous. Nope.

Still pretty funny.
Sloshing around in the pool with the hot Air Force females. We were gods. Until we weren’t.

I still had another ten years until I bagged. Tales to tell another day.