Fate of the Wingman

Just got this from one of my Lao buddies who's an American GI stationed
in Thailand at the moment. LOL

His story...


To start with, the mission briefing was completely erroneous. At no
time before take off was I informed that this would be a live fire
operation and deep in hostile enemy territory. To the best of my
knowledge this was a simple training run in friendly airspace.


We were cruising at an altitude of 2 pints (Guinness) when my flight
leader picked up 2 land based bogeys on visual. I must stress at this
point that said bogeys were not in our designated flight path, they
were in fact seated at the opposite end of the bar. Flight leader
requests an AWACS support (bartender) and ground recon (waitress)
before establishing a holding pattern. At this time I informed FL of my

limited fuel and ordnance and requested immediate alternate flight
support. AWACS reported estimated enemy strength at 5 Bacardi Cooler
for the young lass and 3 double scotch (Johnny Walker - Black Label) on

the rocks for her mother. Ground recon established they were holding a
mini wake in honor of the mother's brother's passing away in Pattaya.
FL announced we would be dropping to the deck for an eyeball.


The daughter was a genuine 6 star, a full 7 star (scale of 1 - 10) if

Asian chicks are your kryptonite. The mother was a borderline 4 star,
less if she opened her mouth more than twice in 5 minutes. FL ordered
weapons armed and another 2 pints. At this point I voiced a strong
objection to this course of action. I was overruled and ordered to
commence strafing runs on the mother, while he attempted to get a
missile lock on the daughter.


Target description is as follows: 20 years ago this woman would have
been sizzling HOT, a smoking hot 24 years old. Her daughter was a
living proof of that with the tight body, smooth silky skin and bigger
than average Asian girl's hooters were natural. She was also proof
that 25 years of cigarettes, booze, dietary apathy and cheap cosmetics
extract a terrifying toll. Crackled skin, like cheap sun-exposed vinyl.

A voice that sounded like scourers being dragged over gravel. Wrinkled
cleavage! And makeup that would make a Moulin Rouge dancer look plain.
And these are the good points.


10 minutes in and I switched to rum and coke. Then back to Guinness
with a shot of rum, after hearing how she loved her brother and missed
sex with her husband. 20 minutes in and she was describing in gruesome
detail her sexual preferences, while giving me the eyes. 30 minutes in
and not enough booze in the world to keep me in holding pattern! I
contacted my FL and declared situation critical, tanks dry, ordnance
deployed, just as he got tone and a full lock. The desperation, the
pleading look in his eyes was palpable. I slammed down my shot and
chased it with half a Guinness.


Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more unto the breach! I
concentrated on my sweet, sweet dark malty brew as this harridan leaned

in close and breathed her fetid smoke upon me. I gritted my teeth as
her hand slid over my thigh in that way that lets a man know a woman
has made up her mind. FL gave me a desperate "Hang in there just 5,
maybe 10 more minutes" look. I tried, I swear by almighty Buddha, and
the spirit of Chuck Yeager himself, I TRIED to hang in there.


She leaned in close, the smell of cheap fake perfume, mixed with scotch

and cigarettes, caught in my throat, making me gag. Then she purred in
my ear, like a freight train, hauling coal on wonky tracks. "You know,
I keep it shaved, down there"


MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is Delta Sierra One, I am hit! Repeat, I am hit!


My knee slammed the table on the way up as I levitated out of my seat,
spilling drinks everywhere. The cry of "EEEEEUUUUUWWW!" reverberating
off the walls as I scrubbed at my arms like a rape victim. Followed by
"Eject! Eject! I'm bailing out, Abandoning mission! Get your hands
off of me you old hag!" before I could stop myself. Hell hath no fury
like a woman scorned, especially a drunk 44 year old Thai hags. I could

see the look in her eyes, the rage, the conflict, the pain, 15 year old

scotch, to throw or not to throw? Her daughter saved her such a
heartbreaking choice by flinging her Bacardi Cooler in my face and
calling me a "F*cking prick!" After that, it was all spiraling
downhill.