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#1
06-21-2005, 10:41 AM
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The Raptors Eye.
I'm gonna post my "writings" here from time to time. Help me with the PTSD. Please feel free to comment on them, good, bad or indifferent, thank you.
__________________
"I fly this plane for my country, when it stops flying it's not my fault, it's the countrys." CDR Fred "Bear" Vogt. The Last Skipper of VF-33's, F-4's. A veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard or reserve - is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." That is honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it. -- Author Unknown 
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#2
06-21-2005, 10:48 AM
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"The Hooded One"
The Hooded one with no face and only a bony finger that gestures come here, greets me again. "Not now" as I spit between the space that should be his eyes.
For there is work to be done, the flight deck does not launch and recover without help. I am there to help, pull my share and more if needed. I have no time to deal with the hooded one. Men often fighting with machines that will take flight in mear moments are devoid of the danger. Thousands of pounds of high tech gear come down to being physically moved by flesh and blood. There is no time for the hooded one. Seconds between steam launched birds on missions unknown to the deck crew take to the air. Final checks, run ups, tail hook and flap checks command attention. There is no time for the hooded one. A busy evolution is taking place. Air Boss barking orders to make it happen. Boson's and Chiefs and PO's all in turn barking the orders to make it happen. Cocks and chains removed, yellow gear put into activity, men make it happen. The hooded one is not wanted nor will he offer help. We have beat the hooded one this time. He will return, he will call again. Now men stand by for the recovery of the flat tops air wing. The hooded one sits on the ramp and calls someone to join him. The Cry, POWER, POWER, POWER, WAVE OFF! Now only a sad echo. Fifty-two thousand pounds of aircraft are now scrap fot the sea to consume. No pillow like chutes, no radio beacons, no hope to stop the hooded one. The hooded one leaves us for his job is done this day. Clutched in each hand is a Normex suit of shipmates we will morn.
__________________
"I fly this plane for my country, when it stops flying it's not my fault, it's the countrys." CDR Fred "Bear" Vogt. The Last Skipper of VF-33's, F-4's. A veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard or reserve - is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." That is honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it. -- Author Unknown
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#4
06-22-2005, 07:37 AM
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Re: Hawk
Quote:
Thank you, DMZ LT!
__________________
"I fly this plane for my country, when it stops flying it's not my fault, it's the countrys." CDR Fred "Bear" Vogt. The Last Skipper of VF-33's, F-4's. A veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard or reserve - is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." That is honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it. -- Author Unknown
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#5
06-23-2005, 06:52 AM
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"On Deck"
The night flows in like syrup, enveloping in it's path all that is good and right. My never resting mind repulsed by the darkness and the company it brings with it. I am taken back to the fuel soaked humidity of the flight deck. Worn and tired, the days work jet blasted into my face, it's . It's reward, sweat soaked deeply into all that I wear.
Having fought the phantom dragon-like fires, the shark-like twisting teeth of the turbine and the guillotine whirl of the props, myself relieved relax and close out the day. What were once soft leather gloves are carefully pulled off of stinging, throbbing fingers. The mouse's chatter, no longer a painful ring in the ear, is still an echo. A shower and hitting the rack and not much else are the top of my personal list. The JP5 is endless in it's quest to invade joins in the shower water again. The rack a 3x3x6 coffin like home, in which some of my life is stowed. The letters will have to wait another day, my eyes will no longer bear the weight of their own eye lids. Sleep comes, shrouded with noise and activity, for the ship does not sleep. Nor does the ocean we ride on. But the ship carries secrets with it that will turn into tales to be repeated. The sea holds on to it's dead, and tells no tales of it's own. I carry my own nightmares into my rack. My mind has forever trapped events I'd rather forget. A life ended by the shark-like turbine, left a crimson stain not only on the deck. The swipe of the guillotine destroyed a life. The sea reached up to grab and forever hold on to a shipmate. The shattering, explosive demise of aircraft. Written through the Raptor's eye, dedicated to those AB's on the last cruise!
__________________
"I fly this plane for my country, when it stops flying it's not my fault, it's the countrys." CDR Fred "Bear" Vogt. The Last Skipper of VF-33's, F-4's. A veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard or reserve - is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." That is honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it. -- Author Unknown
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Hawk
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