A Pilot's Christmas

[Rambler 1-1 9]

'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,

Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.

The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,

In hopes that come morning, they'd all still be there.

 

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,

With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.

I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,

And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

 

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,

I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard over static and snow,

Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

 

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,

I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".

I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,

The better to welcome this magical flight.

 

He called his position, no room for denial,

"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a Lockheed-built sleigh, with Pratt-Whitney Reindeer!

 

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,

As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:

"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!

On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

 

While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,

They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,

The message they left was both urgent and dour:

"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

 

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,

Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."

He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh

And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho. "

 

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,

I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.

His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost

And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

 

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,

And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,

His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

 

He was chubby and plump, like the guys down in stores,

And he asked me to "fill it, with some good JP-4."

He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,

I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

 

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,

And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,

Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

 

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,

These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.

He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,

Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

 

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,

He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.

"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,

Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

 

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,

"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,

"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

 

-Anonymous

 

This cracked me up. Kinda similar to the Navy version, but different.

[+Typhoid 231]

another classic

 

 

P-51 Christmas Ride

 

'Twas the night before Christmas all over the place,

When we were confronted by an old flying ace.

There was icing reported and turbulent air,

He said "File me a flight plan, I gotta get there."

Outside sat his aircraft all ready to run,

And the old man walked out to that P-51.

"Bad weather's no problem," he silently mumbled,

The prop came to life...that big Allison rumbled.

He eased in the throttle, the roar shook the ground,

He taxied on out and he turned it around.

He went through the run-up and seemed satisfied,

Then he said to himself "I'm in for a ride."

So he lined it up straight as he poured on the coal,

The tailwheel came up as he started to roll.

Up off the runway, he sucked up the gear,

And that mighty V-12 was all y! ou could hear.

He screamed overhead with a deafening crack,

The blue flames were flying from each shiny stack.

He pulled up the nose and started to climb,

No ice on that airframe, it didn't have time.

On top of the weather with the levers all set,

He looked up above him and saw a Lear jet.

With jet fuel and turbines there just ain't no class,

Gimmee pistons, and props and lots of AVGAS!

Now he was approaching where he wanted to go,

But the weather had covered the runway with snow.

How will he land it? We just have to guess,

Because the only way in was a full I-L-S.

Then over the marker, he started his run,

The ceiling was zero, visibility....none.

Still going three hundred and he felt the need,

For an overhead break to diminish his speed.

Over the numbers he zoomed, along like a flash,

Pulled into his break, we just knew he would crash.

Oh, why do they do it on these kind of nights???

Then over the threshold,! we saw landing lights.

"I'm on short final with three in the green ,

And I see enough runway to land this machine.

Then he tied down that Mustang, and they all heard him say...

"Next year, I'm stickin' with my reindeer and sleigh!!"

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all.....

From Paul Harvey....Goooood Day!!

[+Typhoid 231]

Watch out Santa........

 

 

 

 

Have A Stealthy Christmas

 

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,

 

Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.

 

Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,

 

As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.

 

Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,

 

Was triply-redundant linked to the Blue Cube,

 

And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense,

 

That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.

 

 

When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter,

 

I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter,

 

I dialed up the gain and then quick as a flash,

 

Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

 

 

And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded,

 

An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.

 

"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,

 

As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE"!

 

 

On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!

 

And scramble our fighters -- let's send the whole flock!

 

Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard!

 

Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!

 

 

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged,

 

Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,

 

And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,

 

As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.

 

 

So we sent out some recon to look for debris,

 

Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea,

 

Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,

 

Broken sleighbells, white hair, and a deer's parachute.

 

 

Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.

 

There are unhappy kids in each village and town.

 

For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade,

 

All the web of defenses we've carefully made.

 

 

Just look how the gadgets we use to protect us,

 

In other ways alter, transform, and affect us.

 

They keep us from things that make life more worth living,

 

Like love for each other, and thoughts of just giving.

 

 

But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day,

 

All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.

 

So let's wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,

 

For the future has hope: Santa's coming by stealth!

[+Typhoid 231]

and of course the Ballistic Missile Defense version.............

 

 

 

 

'Twas The Night Before LDO!

 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,

Missile defenses were up, with electronic eyes.

MDA staffers were nestled in ready-room beds,

As successful IFTs danced in their heads.

 

Every GBI in its hole, each PAC-3 in its tube,

Was doubly-redundant, linked to the Blue Cube,

And UEWR and COBRA DANE gave coverage so dense

That nothing that flew could slip through our defense!

 

When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter

I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter;

I increased the gain and then, quick as a flash,

Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

 

And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded:

An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.

"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,

As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE!"

 

On Aegis! Up Patriot, use GMD, and the full 04 Block,

And scramble our fighters--let's send the whole flock!

Launch decoys and missiles, use chaff by the yard!

Get the ABL up! Call out the National Guard!

 

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged.

Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,

And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,

As the foe met his fate in that high arctic night.

 

So we sent out some recon to look for debris,

Yet all that they found, using SATCOM and C2BMC,

Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,

Broken sleigh bells, white hair, and a deer's parachute!

 

Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.

There are unhappy kids in each village and town.

For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade

All the web of defenses we've carefully made.

 

But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day,

All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.

So let's wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,

For the future has hope: Santa's coming by stealth!!!

 

NOTE:

Many years ago, in some radar Ops room far away, an "Air Defense" version of "'Twas The Night Before Christmas" was penned by an air defender whose name has been lost to history. This is the somewhat modified poem to a Missile Defense version (with apologies to Clement Moore).