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C.D. Henley

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(A10) Warthog Pilot
by C.D. Henley
Wednesday, November 05, 2014
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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This was written as a thank you for all the pilots that went in harms way to bail my butt out, and the ones who did not return. Written from their point of view.


 Winding up my engines

Com' on fill my noise

Listen to them howl and growl

I'm all lit up


Here I go again

Two feet on the brakes

One hand on the gas

Guys on the front screaming for help

Being begged to catch and go


Its just a ball of dirt under my feet

Zero to two at 185

Jumping off the deck

A Warthog on the loose


Feeling my way through the darkness

Searching for a radio call

Rising up to catch hell

A Knight of the air

Looking forward to the fight


I'm the one, its automatic

You're the kinda friend that begs me

Only when you're breaking


Riding the highway to hell in

Triple A lights my path up

Coming in hot, one away, two away

Shells ravage my plane


I'm on fire and never coming back

As I become the midnight sun

Like the missile in my wing

I'm going down, down, down


Could have been the Jim Beam

Could have been the Wild fling

I stumbled on a broken dream

My wounds fill my flight suit as I eject.

 

 

 

 

 

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Reviewed by John Domino
Good poem, well understood by this writer. I was the Aircraft Maintenance Officer in the 308 TFS at Myrtle Beach AFB for a spell. One guy I knew was called Lurch Lindsey was over 6 ft. and he has trouble fitting in the cockpit of the A-10. The other guy as called Poo because he looked like a Poo Bear. How about Col Fero? They would all tell such crazy stories. I wonder if you knew any of them? They called me The Pizzaman - go figure!
Reviewed by Ronald Hull
Quite graphic and adrenaline filled. This had to be a dream, because most sorties were rather one-sided with the Warthogs receiving little incoming and raising hell below.

There's something about this, distant, simulated warfare that is quite disconcerting to me. While powerful and effective, it's like a video game where the other side always loses. air power seems to rule these days.

Other than that, one hell of a poem!

Ron
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