From: (Laurence Doering)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: wargasm wargasm one two three
Organization: Kraft durch Spargelkohl
Lines: 80
Message-ID: <82489q$>
Summary: FTSD
Date: 1 Dec 1999 17:43:06 -0500
X-Trace: 944088199 (Wed, 01 Dec 1999 17:43:19 EST)
NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 01 Dec 1999 17:43:19 EST

    So there I was at 20,000 feet, just south of the FLOT near Kaesong.
The radar warning receiver sounded like a treeful of katydids on an
August night as DPRK surface-to-air missile search radars strobed the
aircraft in my flight.  Ten nautical miles to the IP -- in a couple of
minutes Slamdance flight would be screaming in to put sixteen thousand
pounds of laser-guided hurt on the heads of some of the Dear Leader's
godless Commie bastard pals.

    I thought of the gal I left behind as I crosschecked the master arm
switch and the multifunction displays.  GM radar mode slaved to the
target steerpoint on the left MFD, infrared imagery from my laser
targeting pod on the right.  Two GBU-24s armed and ready to rock.
I eased the throttle forward to full military power as the flight
accelerated to 550 kts over the IP.

    What was her name again?  Something with an R.  I remembered the
smell of burning leather as we held each other tight on the tarmac the
night I shipped out for Korea.  I remembered how the blonde spikes of
her Mohawk tickled my ear as she buried her head in my shoulder.  When
she pulled away, the Nomex fabric of my flight suit was wet with her tears.

    "Larry, don't be a hero," she sniffled, then turned and walked away.
She waved once just before she passed out of sight.

    My eyes were misty for some reason, and I blinked to clear them as
I reached to the left console to energize my ALQ-131 electronic counter-
measures pod.  A ghostly green image of the target -- the Kim Il Sung
Red Banner Peaceful Nuclear Research Facility -- appeared in the righ
 MFD and I slewed the targeting cursors onto the reactor containment
building.  My right thumb tensed over the pickle button as the bomb
release cue began its slow march down the combiner glass of the
heads-up display.

    Would she still be waiting for me when this damnable war was over?
Probably not, if I couldn't even remember her name. 

    Suddenly my thoughts of R.  were shattered by an eerie high-pitched
warbling from the RWR.  A DPRK MiG-29's Slot Back radar was painting my
flight!  I glanced at the display -- shit.  Right on my six!  In seconds,
the MISSILE LAUNCH warning lit up, and my radio crackled to life.

    "Slamdance four, break right!  Archer, Archer!"

    I rolled the F-16 into a 135 degree bank and pulled hard to the
G limiter, simultaneously punching off two chaff bundles.  As I reached
for the "padlock view" key to gain a tally on the inbound missile,
somebody poked me hard in the ribs.

    I flinched, and relaxed back pressure on the stick just long
enough for the missile to turn the corner.  BANG!  The Master Caution
and ENGINE FIRE lights lit and my left hand scrabbled for the Control
and E keys to trigger the ejection sequence.

    I remembered her name now.

    "Hey, Larr,"  Ratt said, "how's your airplane game?"
    I rolled my eyes.  "It's not a..."  I began.
    "Yeah, yeah, I know.  It's a sophisticated F-16 Fighting Falcon
SIMyooLAYshun.  Tell me something.  Does it let you put North Korean
orphanages on your target list?"

    "No," I said.
    "How about schools or maternity hospitals?"
    "Refugee convoys?  Convents?"
    "Ratt,  I don't think they have convents in the Democratic People's
Republic of Korea."
    "Whatever.  If you can only bomb military targets, how realistic
can it be, Larr?"

    "Well, I..."
    "I want to see," she said huskily, "one of these where you can come
in real low, fast as hell, skimming the rooftops, unload a whole bunch
of napalm on a kindergarten playground, and pull up into a vertical
climbing roll.  With maniacal laughter sound effects, and little
computer-animated charred corpses.  If it can't do that, I say your
game SUCKS."