Vic Socotra

18 March 2009

The Great Jacket Flail

I was going to keep my head down this week and trot out some vintage material that surfaced in an inadvertent house cleaning. The strategy was intended to cover a morning like this after a trip to O’Sullivan’s in the later afternoon to honor the memory of Staint Patrick, or of the serpents he chased from the island so long ago.

I forget which. We were all green, and it was all good. When I took leave of the crowded bar it was just getting really rolling, and the memory of other celebrations down through the years made me both mellow and a little pensive.

I didn’t open up the mail until just before bed, and got one of those little shocks that happen when you see something blunt and consistent with what you already know, but stunning, when you follow the logic string to the bitter end.

I can’t vouch for the provenance of it, and make no claims of its authenticity. A simple search for the title fond it all over the web, but that is hardly a case for truth. But something titled: “CIA report: Israel will fall in 20 Years” is calculated to get your attention.

The claim in the article is that the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) has estimated that there will be an "an inexorable movement away from a two-state to a one-state solution, as the most viable model based on democratic principles.”

Israel is the only real democracy in the Middle East, and the demographics of the region do not bode well. Palestinians make up about 15-20 percent of the Israeli population now, and their birth rate is accelerating even as that of the Sabras is not. It was apparent twenty years ago that an aggressive effort to promote emigration from Russia and the Horn of Africa was not going to tip the balance, and the clock is running on the state of Israel as a religious or democratic state if the numbers continue as they are.

Of course, numbers lie, and noting a trend can often cause it to change. But there is a certain imperative to this trend that verges on the inexorable. The article purports to make comparisons with the former regime of South Africa, which went fast at the end, and says many Israelis have already obtained passports and other travel documents in the event they are needed in a new Diaspora.

It did not go so fast that the small number of nuclear weapons obtained in case of the worst end-game, were not disposed of in a responsible manner.

As I said, I cannot say that the US government is considering the possibility that the “one state” solution for the region may be the inverse of what we have long considered a fundamental truth. I hope for the best for all concerned. The demographics are clearly not a surprise to the Knesset, and it lends a new perspective to the recent operations against Hezballah and Hamas. It is certainly a dynamic in an already tough problem that over time, could ultimately be settled by the ballot box, and not the Kalashnikov and the Katusha rocket.

The next couple decades will show whether or not that is going to happen. One thing I know is that everyone in that land has got a story, and the narrative normally starts with “Well, they killed my whole family and then….”

This one didn't start that way, but of course we are Americans and don't understand a lot sometimes.

16 March 1990

The Great Jacket Flail

The day of the great Jacket flail began early. We are nattily attired in Certified Navy Twill uniforms of generally the same color. It is hell for aviators, who should be wearing the rich brown leather that screams “I’m cool, and you are a land-bound oaf.”

Almost everyone is carrying a helmet bag, the green nylon sack that is intended to keep the visors of the flight helmets pristine for long range vision, and the connections to radio and oxygen protected from getting banging around. They are rarely used for that purpose. Mostly they are the Mach One equivalent of a brief case, since no one would accuse a Naval Aviator of needing a purse.

We stumble down to the Fantail precisely at 0730.

The group is in a motley assortment of outer garments. VF-31 (Fighter Squadron) is defiantly attired in green nylon jackets. A few guys who didn't get the word are wearing brown leather jackets. Those who have complete sea-bags are sporting the geeky khaki windbreaker. The Deputy CAG, ever conscious of the letter and spirit of the regulations is attired in a long black raincoat.

The rest of us, walking the fine line, wear no jacket at all but carry suspiciously lumpy helmet or gym bags.

Thus was it ever, I suppose, but the intent of the instruction to standardize our appearance resulted in no less than five variations of the uniform.

Thankfully the day is balmy and the issue never gets to the front burner. Still, we start the tour with bile rising in the back of the throat. Boating is inexplicably delayed for a half hour; there appears to be no known connection between the people who make the announcements over the 1MC and the very same individuals who could look over the end of the ship and notice that there isn't any boat there.

I could go on for a couple hours of ranting about the boating.

There was a persistent lack of etiquette and decorum. Anarchy in the lines. Drunks coming back fro the night ashore, the mismanagement, the horrible condition of the ship's boats. It is enough to drive you berserk each time you essay the journey ashore.

Here, with the swells high and the wind blowing, virtually everyone has been arriving soaked because the canvas covers have been ripped away. It looks like hell. I don't know what our guests think about all this.

Anyhow, we wound up on a Eurobus making the northward trip to Ramat-David Air Field. We followed the signs to Nazareth, passing the industrial suburbs of Haifa and passing into the rich green country of he Kibbutzim. In between we saw pleasant homes perched on the hills that could have been in California.

We get to within 16KM of Nazareth. The hills in the distance under the beautiful blue sky must be the Golan Heights. The turn to the base is not marked. We follow a two lane for perhaps three kilometers and arrive at the Security Checkpoint. We wait while things are explained to the gate guards. I look out the window and watch a cluster of national service kids trying to hitch rides home.

The bus was particularly entranced with a girl with a leonine mane of blonde hair and an UZI sub machine gun. Apparently the troops are billeted at home in order to keep costs down.

We picked up LT Danna, who is typical of PAO officers around the world. She is pretty and her hair falls down over one eye. She is accompanied by a young man whose purpose is undetermined. I presume it is security- a military intelligence minder? By this time the leather jackets are out of the helmet bags, and the pilots are starting to preen.

LT Danna asked who was in charge, and DCAG mentions that no one is in charge and Danna looks at him and says deadpan "I could tell that." The bus erupts with hoots.

We drive to the Club where we are served sweetened black coffee and a lavish spread of breakfast pastries. This is followed by a briefing from one of the XO's of an F-16C squadron. He gives us a history of the base.

Built by the Brits in 1937. Supported Mid-East operations during the war. Evacuated by the Brits in 1947. First Israeli Meteor jets in 1955. Combat ops in 67, 73 and 1983. There is another war in there somewhere that I do not recall. The Major recounts the kill numbers from all engagements, and mentions that the base was hit by Syrian SCUD missiles in 1973.

He mentions that this is a small place several times. Flight time for him in his F©16C to overhead Amman, Jordan, is 3.5 minutes. 5 minutes to Damascus. He is less than forthcoming during the question-and-answer session. DCAG asks him how many aircraft are in his squadron. The XO clears his throat and looks to the back of the room for guidance.

Someone says something and the XO says "Not enough."

I turn around. The classification expert is the bus driver, who I must presume is the Mossad representative. DCAG follows up his question by asking the umber of pilots in the squadrons but the XO says "About as many as the airplanes" and smiles.

This is clearly going nowhere, so I refrain from asking whether U.S.-supplied satellite imagery is used by the strike planners and how is the RF-4 photo-reconnaissance imagery processed and can we meet with their Air Intelligence people?

They then show us some fantastic gun-camera footage of MIG kills from 1983 that played to rapt attention. Then off to the maintenance hangars. We look at some F-16C's in SDLM (Stanard Depot Level Maintenance) and some venerable F-4's and note the engine canisters stored outside that still have the words "property of USAF" stenciled on the side.

Then we pile back on the bus to the flight line and watch some routine flight operations. We get to see a take off and landing by the F™16's, a low fly-by and a section of Phantoms in the break. It is clear as a bell, warm and a perfect delight to be outside.

Danna hands out some zappers, which we exchange for squadron and Air Wing Six stickers and DCAG manages to get the fact that they have 13 pilots in the squadron out of the XO. They also fly about 15 hours a month.

Then the tour is over and we are back on the bus and rolling through the pastoral valleys of northern Israel. The kibbutz workers are in the fields and it is quite lovely, almost like
there were not SCUD missiles lurking on the next set of ridges waiting to crash into the earth.

We arrive back at Fleet Landing at noon and are back on the ship to change clothes and hit the beach and enjoy the gorgeous day.

We are no more than aboard when the 1MC crackles to life and we hear that Boating will Be Secured until further notice due to spray painting on the Stern.

Trapped! Major Bummer! What perverse son of a bitch runs the boats around here?

We cannot get off the ship again until nearly 1600, and we have to move fast, since this port visit is coming to an end.

The liberty party includes Toad, Doc, Mark Scooter and me.

We have DCAG’s car- we are supposed to try to take the flat tire back to the Hertz People- but we are pushing the closing times of the Sabbath and decide to blow that off

Toad wants to find a jewelers shop and Scooter has actually decided to come ashore for the first time in the in-port period. We wind up on top of the mountain at the Hotel Dan Panorama, which is one of the only two open bars in town as the sun lowers on the horizon. We buy newspapers and read with interest of the events of the day.

The Libyans are claiming that the Pharmaceutical plant at Rabta has burned to the ground. I make a note to check the master target list. The NCAA playoffs are starting back home. The Israeli-PLO talks are continuing to wreak havoc with the Government.

Pizza and wine; this is not the Sabbath we had heard so much about. In fact, it is sort of crazy.

The boats worked better from the Fleet Landing. Back home i gray steel by 0050.

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