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“What the hell are you doing in my squadron, Captain?” Before I could answer, the squadron commander, shaking his head side-to-side continued, “You’re a fixed wing fighter jock and I need Snake pilots.”

“No sir,” was my terse reply. Looking at my personnel file, he snapped out, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO SIR? You have 1200 hours in Harriers and as far as I am concerned that’s a damn fighter.”

cobra2.jpg“Sir, excuse me sir, it’s an attack aircraft, sir, and I transitioned to helicopters two months ago, I volunteered, sir,” I said.

“The hell you did, sonny. Who did you piss off, or did you marry the commandant’s daughter,” was his rapid-fire rejoinder. Putting both of his size 13s on his desk while I stood at ramrod attention, the Nomex flight-suited Lieutenant Colonel Steve Lucky, USMC, held court in his Spartan-esque CONEX box office just off the flight line of Sea Cobra gunships.

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“What the hell are you doing in my squadron, Captain?” Before I could answer, the…