An idea whose time has come.
I have found my dream car
Australia invaded
Airline pilots as they should be
[jwplayer mediaid=”1688″]
via IMAO
Honor between men
A different time, but Honor between men has never changed.
Here it came, just a few miles out, this American bomber that dropped no bombs. Then, suddenly, it was over them and gone. No one said a word. The crew unhooked the hoses, Franz flicked away his cigarette, saluted his sergeant and was gone, off in pursuit of the American plane.
If he could down this one, Stigler would have his 23rd victory, and he’d be awarded the Knight’s Cross, the highest honor for a German soldier in World War II and one that symbolized exceptional bravery.
Within minutes, Stigler, alone, was on the B-17’s tail. He had his finger on the trigger, one eye closed and the other squinting through his gunsight. He took aim and was about to fire when he realized what he wasn’t seeing: This plane had no tail guns blinking. This plane had no left stabilizer. This plane had no tail-gun compartment left, and as he got closer, Stigler saw the terrified tail gunner himself, his fleece collar soaked red, the guns themselves streaked with it, icicles of blood hanging from the barrels.
—-
Stigler, too, was panicked. This plane was going down, and its crew was paralyzed. Stigler pointed to the ground, and, finally, a reaction: The Americans shook their heads. They’d rather die in flames than be taken prisoner by the Nazis.
Stigler was exasperated. As it was, he was risking his own life: Everyone knew the story of the German woman who, just one year before, had been gunned down by the Nazis for telling a joke against the Third Reich. If Stigler’s plane were to be spotted by a civilian alongside a B-17, and if that civilian wrote down the number on his tail and reported him, he was as good as dead.
Then Stigler remembered what Roedel had told him, that to shoot the enemy when vulnerable went against the code of chivalry and honor. Stigler felt he had to do what was right.
What kind of man would risk his own safety for that of a helpless enemy? I guess none of us will know until we face it ourselves. Honor can be a hard taskmaster, but I’ll bet Herr Stigler had no problem looking himself in the eye in the mirror.
tweeted by Doug Ross (@directorblue)
Who needs Baumgartner?
Gotta love it when a bunch of nerds get their freak on…
[jwplayer mediaid=”889″]
July 20, 1969 20:18 UTC
I was 16, fully a child of the America of the Sixties and all that entailed, but, as a lifelong fan of science-fiction, I was completely transfixed by this.
[jwplayer mediaid=”246″]
At the time, I thought that within my lifetime I’d see colonies on the moon and Mars, and an ever-more-ambitious space program taking us further and further towards the stars. In some ways, that came to be, and I live daily with wonders both near and far that I could not have imagined in that long-ago place and time. I don’t think that we have somehow “failed” as a nation for not fulfilling all those dreams, but I do regret that it turned out to be so much further from our reach than it seemed then. Dammit, where’s my flying car?
Then I look around me at the technology and ease we take so much for granted, and think back to Isaac Newton:
If I have seen further it is by standing on ye sholders of Giants.
Those men- those three men- Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins- were giants standing on the shoulders of giants. Because of them,we see further even today.
Oddly enough, I look at this… video (it’s still a ‘film’ in my 20th-century molded mind)- and I still hope for the future. What wonders will my children see, and their children beyond them? The journey’s just begun!
As Astra Per Aspera
Old Picture of the Day: Test Pilot
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
Allow me to introduce you to Captain Dave:
Captain… May I ask for a ride home, sir?
Who dares talk to me like that? Twisting in my seat, I see a kid in a pilot’s uniform. A pretty little female, shiny brown eyes, about 15 years old. I began to tell her she has to ride in her assigned seat in the back… The pilot outfit is kind of weird, but in today’s society, nothing surprises me.
Sir, here is my stuff.
She hands me her airline ID, and other pertinent paperwork. Date-of-birth is 1990. As my British friend Trevor is fond of saying, hang about… I have shoes older than that. I tell her to quit calling me sirand then ask her a few questions about her aircraft (Dash 8-Q400). She gives all the correct answers. Obviously a smart kid to be co-piloting, at her age, a large turbo-prop for a regional carrier. She is small and petite, the perfect size for the torture jumpseat. Plus, she will add some badly needed class to this flight-deck.
On the downside, the rest of us will need to behave and act like gentlemen, if that is possible.
Radar returns…
The digital multi-scan radar is in MAN mode, antenna tilted a quarter degree down as I look at slices of the storms. They bubbled up fast, changing from rising columns of moist air to planetary scale atmospheric water pumps, complete with their own power source… Fearsome creatures of the night. Their tops punched the tropopause with ease and are spreading out in the stratosphere.
Over at two o’clock and 100 miles, a sucker hole… About 30 miles across. But, there is a reason they are called sucker holes. When I was a young night-freight pilot, I found out the hard way. That’s a story for another post… Maybe.
Turning the end of the line…
The lightning flashes are intense and continuous as we five high-flying metal birds turn the end of the line. Bluish-white, spherical explosions of electric light illuminate the storm clouds and our flight-decks. The storm’s outer skins are covered with brilliant electric webs that undulate in the thin, high velocity winds of altitude. It is a sight that few see in their lifetimes. There are no words…
Words fail me- I grew up around the world of flight, and never missed a chance to squander my opportunities to join that fraternity. That is one of my great regrets.
High FlightOh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth |
|
| Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee No 412 squadron, RCAF Killed 11 December 1941 |
|