Flying Safety, Vol 1 - Global Safety Primer. MONTY led the four-ship of F-111 E models from RAF Upper Heyford across the English Channel and low-level across the French terrain enroute to the Suippes bombing range. Finn McCool raised a sleepy eye toward the heavens as he handed-off Monty’s flight to the next point of harmonic convergence – the City of Lights. Monty sounded like a New York City disk jockey on the UHF radio and avoided the common ‘Yank’ error of trying to impress the French air traffic control officer by butchering their native language with a badly phrased ‘bonjour’ or ‘merci bien’. Monty’s ingress just above tree-top level was at the speed of heat. The right seaters wiggled in their parachute harnesses. “Gambler 77 flight, request permission to join the range, live drops, twenty-four Mk 82s.” “Ahhhh, Gambler ah-seven seven, you are a-cleared a-hot for a-live a-drop on Suippes a-range. A-watch out for le nuclear power plant to the north.” “Ahhhh, roger Suippes, cleared hot for live drop. Gotta visual on the nuke power plant,” Monty added in a voice crisp and clear. The rambunctious Master Navigator on Monty’s right wing got a case of the ‘yips’ and started worrying about the power plant. He just couldn’t contain himself. He keyed the Hotel Fox. Crackle, crackle. “Arrrrrrr, (garble, garble) lamma wanna (garble, garble) trenty-tree degree left (garble, garble)”. Click. Monty just rolled his eyes behind his dark visor and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Let me guess,” Monty whispered to his Electronic Warfare Officer from Hibbing, Minnesota. “Major Boofer thinks the smokestack is the nuke plant.” “Ya, ya Monty; you betcha dupa. He’s my flight commander you know.” “That’s the problem of course,” Monty whispered. “he’s outlived his usefulness.” Hmmmmmmm , Monty’s right seater thought. The good Major will fry my aft (if I don’t get Monty to adjust course fifteen degrees to the right). Monty knew what he was thinking. “Tellya what we dooo,” said Monty exhaling a plume of blue smoke. “When we get to Maintenance Debrief, tell the good Major that you told me to adjust track (per the good Major’s instruction), but that I just ignored your vector. That way, you can both unite against a common enemy,” Monty paused. “C’est moi,” he added with a spit eating grin. “Merci beaucoups, Monty, that will keep me outa hot water until the next reporting cycle.” After that brisk exchange, Monty focused all his attention on the IP to target run to defend his Top Gun title and to take his wingmen’s money like he did last time and the time before that. Buck a bomb , he smiled to himself. “We’re on government time now Wild Bill,” Monty said to his trusty right seater whose face was planted predictably in the radar scope. These were modern times indeed. The Cold War was full on. Comrade Leonid Brezhnev (Леонід Ілліч Брежнєв) already the Secretary General of the Communist Party was newly installed as Chairman of the Supreme Soviet two years ago. He was rested, tanned, and ready. It was August 16th in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Seventy-Nine (a Prime number of course). Of a truth, Monty was a senior officer now and even as a ‘boy colonel’ he carried himself with the grace and stature reflective of a more noble time. Monty was still the go-to guy for a timely and exhilarating ninety second safety minute to educate and inform the team. Flight safety, ground safety, vehicle safety, sports safety, and the all-important railroad safety briefing that brings home the concept of high-speed collisions and the concept of ‘smash’ that fighter pilots and race car drivers are most familiar with. Truth be told, nothing delivers smash like a runaway train. Francis E McIntire on Amazon and Kindle