ALL IN: Race for the White House (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

I learned to fly with the Indiana Air Guard. I spent the summer after graduation traveling through Europe with nothing but a backpack. It was the same summer I decided all I wanted to do was fly fighter jets.

The A-10 is the ultimate machine, with a cruising range of 800 miles and a top speed of 420 miles an hour; I couldn’t wait to get in one and fly it. The first time I ever saw one, I was nearing the Indiana Guard base for a flight physical. The sound was deafening as the jet, the military calls the tank killer, flew from what looked to me to be 20 feet off the ground straight up to 5000 feet in a few seconds. The thrust from the engine looked like the burning end of a lit flare, as the jet headed straight for the sky.
 

The plane was equipped with a fuselage built to withstand 23 mm gunfire, an autopilot for close to ground missions, and night vision goggles, so it could be flown in the dark.
 

There were a lot of kids my age wanting to fly for the guard that day. I managed to pass the flight physical with flying colors. The doctor even commented to his assistant that I was a physical specimen. He only found one problem, he needed to tell me about, I was partially colorblind, something to do with blue, gray, and green. I’d never noticed my impairment before since in real life I rarely pick out numbers from closely colored dots. I guess the military has their reasons, but I always thought I could see all the colors in the rainbow.
 

I guess the doctor must have sensed my disappointment because what he said next surprised me. He told me he would put me through if I really wanted, but I’d be on my own after that. He wanted to be sure I knew, if I failed again, I’d be on ground patrol. Taking me aside, he said, “Listen, Kid, some guys like you memorize the test, you could try that. It’s up to you if you want to chance it.”
 

I said, “I do, Sir.” Then I got the bright idea to find the Base Commander’s office and march right in to introduce myself. I figured meeting the guy couldn’t hurt my chances. The base commander was an important looking guy in his fifties. From a seated position behind a steel-gray desk, he looked up at me for only a second - motioning me to speak before continuing with his work.
 

He must have liked what I had to say because when I finished he jumped up to shake my hand, “Son, you’re the only one who had the gumption to come up here and find me today. I like your chutzpah, the guard needs the type of guy who takes the bull by the horns to fly one of these things. Have you ever been in an A-10 Warthog, Son?”

I didn’t want to spoil my chances, but I told the truth. “No, Sir.” I never forgot what that gravelly voice said next, “Well, Son, if you want to stick around for a while, I’ll see that you get up in one today. If after that, you’re still as gun ho about this as you are now, then I guess we’ve got our new pilot.”

That day, all on my own, I made something big happen in my life. The same afternoon, I was introduced to a captain by the name of Bill Mitchell. In what I later realized was only a routine ride, with a face full of my own vomit, I made a friend for life. Bill was the Squadron Commander, strong and confident. He took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. We had fun in the guard together. Bill was good-looking - I knew from the way women gawked at him. Not the usual way girls do, when they don’t want to get caught. I’m talking about a stop what they’re doing, I don’t even care if he sees me type of stare. I wasn’t jealous, though, cause after, they’d look at me and smile, too. I felt cool being with him.
 

I met Sarah on a warm fall day. Bill and I had driven up to Georgetown from Lexington to go to the State Agricultural Fair. The pulling was my favorite, I loved to watch the oxen and draft horses work the loads. As a trainer in college, I modeled my own workouts after the methods I observed watching the contestants with their animals. “See how they do that,” I told Bill.
 

“Do what?” Bill asked.
 

“See how they work the animals to fatigue, and then when their energy starts to drain, they give them a short rest?” Digging into the dirt for traction, coats glistening with sweat, the animals gave it their all. The arena filled with the sound of animals breathing heavy and snorting as they caught their breath.
 

Bill answered, “You mean sort of working in spurts and then taking it easy?”
 

“Not exactly, see how each pull gets shorter and the rest gets longer? The last pull is an all-out effort to total fatigue.”
 

Bill replied over the applause, “Well, I never really gave it that much thought. You’re always analyzing everything.”
 

By the end of the day, I was feeling the chill as the sun completely disappeared. I had left my jacket in the truck. It was so warm at noon when we got to the fair, I didn’t think I’d need it. The only light was coming from the carnival midway and some strings the organizers had strung up along the walkways.
 

I asked Bill, “Hey, want to grab a slice of pizza and a coke and head back to the…”

I never finished the thought because that’s when I saw her.
 

The prettiest girl I’d ever seen was walking toward me wearing a pair of green knickers. Sarah got in line. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I quickly took the next place behind her. I stood there transfixed, looking at this beautiful blonde. I noticed her hair was a little wet, making her natural curls bounce as she moved. She had great legs, what I could see of them. I remember staring down at my sneakers, pawing at the mix of trampled grass and sawdust, as if that would help me get the nerve to say something. I was fidgeting a little to keep warm, worrying she might get her order and walk away.
 

Then fate and luck merged, Sarah turned around, and in the sweetest carefree voice said, “Oh, please go before me, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“That’s when I blurted out in my half shivered voice, arms crossed against my body, “Your hair’s wet.”

She smiled, “Yeah, I was walking by the water flume ride and some kid sprayed me, I must look gross.”

“I blurted, you don’t look gross at all your hair looks great wet.” I couldn’t believe I was hearing myself say the following and it’s still embarrassing years later, “I fly jets for the Indiana Guard.”
 

Her answer, without missing a beat, “You do, do yah?”
 

I gathered myself and called out as she was walking away, “Hey, what’s your name?”

She smiled the most innocent smile back at me, “Sarah Winn,” she called back.

I watched her every motion as she walked away before being swallowed up by the crowd.
 

Bill with pizza in hand said, “I got us both a slice. I could see you were busy, you ready?” I realized I was getting colder by the minute. I grabbed the slice he held out and headed quickly for the truck. We could both move pretty fast, but the trade-off was the faster we ran the colder I got. I settled for a quick walk, legs straight out like a speed walker.
 

We hurried into the parking lot and headed for the truck. I didn’t pay attention to the barker sitting high up in a perch joking with us as we passed. Once I saw the truck, I broke into a run with Bill a split second behind me. By the time I sat in the driver’s seat, it was so cold it sucked the remaining heat right out of me. Teeth chattering, I started the car. I turned the temperature dial to red and waited while the truck warmed up, being careful not to turn the fan on until I knew it would blow some hot air.
 

Bill said, “We shouldn’t have had those icy drinks.”

I responded, teeth chattering, “Yah think?”

Once the air was warm, I turned it up full blast and slowly returned to my preferred temperature –warm. I put the truck in reverse and got into the long line of cars waiting to leave. “Bill, that girl I met was an angel.”

“I saw, did you ask her out?”
 

“No,” I answered, “But I’ll tell you, I wish she was… my girlfriend.”
 

Then, I changed the subject, feeling bad that I hadn’t taken the chance.
 

“Bill, are you going up tomorrow? I need four more hours of flight time this month.”
 

I remember Bill telling me he had his hours. Then he told me he was going to ask his girlfriend Melissa to marry him at the fireworks the next night. He said she made him tingle and vowed he’d never look at other women if she said yes.
 

Melissa was originally from Waterville, Maine. I loved her mid-coast accent; it was adorable. Even though we moved when I was young, talking to her felt like home. Her brown eyes sparkled with love when she looked at Bill.
 

That night, thinking of Sarah Winn, I pulled out of the State Fair, hit the gas, and headed for home. Trying to get her out of my mind, I cranked up the AM Radio of my Chevy Step Side. We listened to George Jones all the way back to Lexington and sang the choruses at the top of our lungs.
 

I took my hours the following afternoon, which was also the day I probably pulled the craziest stunt ever in that jet. I always fooled around, doing loops and rolls, pushing it once I got out of eyeshot from base. But, what I did that day was foolhardy and could have landed me in the brig.
 

It was a partly cloudy day when I got the okay from the tower to take off. The sun was peeking through serene white powder puffs, the kind I always loved to fly through.

I’d close my eyes and pull the throttle all the way back and push the speed to the max, then with my back pressed four G’s against the seat, I’d open my eyes in the middle of the bright white mist. In the complete whiteout, I’d pull the stick back and go straight up toward the sun.
 

That wasn’t the crazy part. For some reason on this flight, I got the bright idea to fly from our base in Indiana all the way to Lexington, Kentucky to my mom and dad’s ranch. I knew I’d have to push hard to get there and back in my allotted time. You don’t take a 9 million dollar jet out for a joy ride and get back late.

To fly down to the ranch, I would have to press the envelope the whole way and fly away from the homes. Those A-10’s are really loud, not so much when they’re coming at you, but after they go by, and I didn’t want some overly concerned citizen to call the base wondering what was going on. So I flew high, the full forty thousand foot ceiling, as fast as I could go, and then on to Lexington. My plan was to see if I could make it there and back, but once I got close, I dipped down to under one thousand feet. When I flew by the ranch, I brought it down really low—so low I could see my parents sitting on the front porch looking up.
 

The A-10 was designed to come up on tanks from near ground level and eat em up with rapid-fire cannons. The technology was so good a pilot could hug the ground, unseen, come up over a hill and fly right at a tank, do business and then fly straight up a mile high out of harms way in seconds.
 

What I did after seeing my parents watching was purely on impulse and something I’ve never even mentioned to Bill. After a Fly By, I quickly turned it around and landed on the dirt road along the far side of the ranch. I turned toward the house and taxied all the way up to the front yard.
 

My mom nearly fainted and all I could hear my dad saying was, “Do you have a screw loose, Son? Are you crazy? Has the Indiana Guard made a terrible mistake giving you the keys to that thing?”
 

“They don’t have keys, Dad,” I said, jumping down off the wing. Those cockpits are pretty high up—about ten feet in the air.
 

“Dad, Mom, I wanted to see you both, but I do have to get back. Dad, will you grab your stepladder from the garage? It’s too high for me to climb back up.”

My dad could still move pretty fast in those days, and all he wanted was me to ‘Get that plane back to the barn,’ I think he said.

I climbed up onto the wing, slid the canopy closed and hit the ignition. I remember Mom and Dad running back to the porch, Dad carrying the ladder. I taxied down to the end of the dirt road - then full-out throttle up, light from half empty tanks, barely made it off before the road was gone - scraping through some trees on the way out.

CHAPTER TEN

“It’s your brother on the phone,” Sarah said, shaking her head.
 

“What’s he sound like?” I asked. She was holding the receiver against her side so he wouldn’t hear. Sarah usually didn’t put me on the phone when Roger called. She’d listen for a while and tell him I’d call him back. This wasn’t one of those times. Sarah handed me the phone with an
I don’t know
look.
 

I’m the younger of two sons. I have an older brother named Roger. You know how some things in retrospect seem better than they actually were? The good times look great and the bad times seem to fade off or you forget.
 

We all went to the bus station that day in June. My brother Roger graduated from High School two weeks before he grabbed us for a family hug, “Don’t worry, Momma, I’m going to kick some ass and then I’ll be back to help with the ranch.” Mom told Roger not to talk like that as brushed the front of her dress to fix herself. His toothy smile reminded me of Dad - Roger looked like him. Before the military, my brother enjoyed his life. He loved the ranch, anything to do with that place. He’d bring girls up to the hayloft in the barn. I remember they used to giggle a lot. He loved riding horses and especially motorcycles. He’d leave a cloud of dust, riding his Indian motorcycle, on the dirt road in the back of our house. I was his kid brother. To me, Roger had the world on a string.

What I most remember about Roger was that he was so kind to me.
 

“Roger,” I said as I put the receiver to my ear.

“You no good piece of dog shit,” Roger was slurring his words again. “You ain’t a war hero. You’re a pretty boy who lands planes in the backyard to scare his friggin mother half to death!”