Page 145 - Never Fly Solo

118 | NEVER FLY SOLO
is nothing the crew chief responsible for fueling the jet can do
about it. I was frustrated because my training was going to be
cut short, and instead of sucking it up, I got steamed and
insulted the young crew chief, Airman Tyler, for being com-
placent. I blamed him for the tanks not being full. My sharp
remarks stung. They were also unnecessary.
“Waldo, do you realize how hard our crew chiefs work
just so we have mission-ready jets to fly?” It was pretty clear
that my commander wasn’t pleased. “Do you know how
many hours they spend on the flight line?”
I was at a loss for words. I had messed up, and there was
no excuse.
The colonel continued, “Waldo, I’m taking you off the
flying schedule tomorrow. Dig out your oldest flight suit and
report to the maintenance hangar at six a.m. You’re going
spend the day on the flight line with the troops.” I saluted
smartly and headed to my debriefing.
The next day was one of the longest in my eleven years of
active duty in the Air Force. I was up at the crack of dawn
and spent the day fueling jets, inspecting engines, moving
fifty-five-gallon drums full of used oil, and running inventory
on aircraft parts.
By the end of the day, I was done in. My hands were
caked with grease, I smelled as if I’d been dipped in jet fuel,
and my flight suit was trashed with a huge black oil streak
down the length of each pant leg. I still have that flight suit
today to remind me how my words and actions affect
others.
And yet, while the labor was grueling, the experience was
immensely rewarding. It gave me the opportunity to walk in
the shoes of some wingmen vital to the mission of the 79th
Fighter Squadron. I listened to their complaints, empathized