My Squadron Reunion

Thirty five years ago, I was part of something that shaped my life and Cherie's forever. ("C's" name is Cherie. She responds to Sherry, Cherry, or even Chickie Sue, but, like Marilyn Monroe in "Bus Stop," prefers the French pronunciation, Chay-ree. ). We were stationed at Torrejon Air Base on the outskirts of Madrid, Spain. My new organization was the 612th Tactical Fighter Squadron.

I don't know how to explain why this particular assignment was so profoundly significant.  I was in over my head, a lieutenant, just out of initial flight training and the F-4 school.  Most of the pilots and Weapons System Operators (WSO's) had already had at least one combat tour in South East Asia. I was un-tempered.

Plus, we were five thousand miles away from family and friends.

At our reunion, after the banquet, we had a kind of trivia contest. Several of our members had contributed stories of the antics we'd gotten up to while we were there.

I wanted to share the funniest of these, but was not sure how best to do so.  I've decided, to dole them out one at a time. Check my comment for the correct answer and, if necessary, a brief explanation.

Here's the first:

MQF 102  Rich Dolinar, placing his life in the hands of Skip Beasley over the Mediterranean, had just passed through the sound barrier for the first time when Skip got clearance for a low approach at Valencia followed by a burner climb to altitude.  They lit the burners, pulled five Gs to point in a heavenly direction, and aileron-rolled their way out of sight.  What did the Spanish controller say on the radio?

A.    “Bravo, bravo.”
B.    “Say your squadron and base of operations.”
C.    “Change clearance to read, ‘Do not exceed seven thousand feet.’”