*     *     *     *     *

     On days that we were required to “standby” at “Silverbow,” the Air Force put us up at the “Mancamp.”  Usually we’d arrive between 7:30 and 8:A.M. at “Silverbow,” and while the captain and I secured the 737, the two flight attendants would sign out a beat up Air Force station wagon from dispatch.  Since it was winter and bitterly cold, we all wore our topcoats, and it was a real treat to climb in the backseat of the wagon that the girls had already warmed up for us.

     The “Mancamp.” 

     One of the girls would then chauffer us to the “Mancamp,” which lay six miles north of the airfield.  On the way we’d come across the occasional, minimal herd of wild mustangs or burros.  Being in the bottom of the Cactus Flat Valley, we were surrounded by raw desert, covered in brush of black sage and creosote.  What these animals could possibly be grazing on eluded me.  Largely they ignored us – seldom looking up from their munching.

     Cactus Flat Valley.   

     The flight attendants had a running gag, dear reader, which they loved to play on new pilots.  On my initial visit to the “Mancamp,” when I spotted my first group of mustangs, the girls told me not to get excited.  The horses weren’t real.  They were plastic - and had to be relocated three times daily by E-2 Airmen – in order to fool the Russian spy satellites passing overhead.  I damn-near fell for it – causing me to really scrutinize the grazing horses.  Ha...ha...made you look!

     Wild Mustangs on the way to the “Mancamp.”  Are they really made of plastic? Ha...ha... made you look.

      The “Mancamp’s” front gate.  T.T.R.? Tonopah Test Range.

     Upon reaching the “Mancamp,” we made a beeline for the mess hall – where an endless, cafeteria style, chow line awaited us.  Breakfast entailed pancakes, waffles, all manner of eggs, steaks, sausages, bacon, chicken fried steak (my favorite), biscuits with gravy, hash browns, “SOS,” fresh fruits and juices, plus gallons of fresh milk and coffee. 

     NCO Mess Hall.

     You could go back for seconds and thirds, dear reader, all for the single price of thirty-five cents!  God help me!  If this kept up, I was well on my way to becoming another obese American!

     After breakfast, we all waddled-heavily to the “trailers.” 

     These were long, elevated, prefabricated barracks, where we were issued our rooms.  Actually they were comparable to closets - with a TV and small bed – plus an even smaller closet containing a shower, toilet and sink.

     Dumping my uniform and climbing into sweats, I’d stretch out on my miniature bed, in my minuscule room - feeling like one of Snow White’s Seven Dwarfs - read a good book and perhaps catch some Z’s.  This was how we did a “standby.”

     Generally on the days when performing a standby at the “Mancamp,” I’d return to Nellis at roughly four in the afternoon.  And while running a post-flight inspection on my 737, I’d experience the enjoyable privilege of observing the “Thunderbirds” practicing their routines. 

     This was the USAF Air Demonstration Squadron, dear reader, who toured not only the States, but much of the world.  And take it from me, these boys were the best of the best – they really knew how to put on a show.

     At this stage in their history, they were operating the Northrop T-38 Talon – the world’s first two-seat, twin-engined, supersonic jet trainer.  Among fighter pilots it was known as the “hot rod.”  Because its light weight, sleek, Coke bottle design enabled it to achieve a max speed of Mach 1.3 (858 mph), and a rate of climb at 33,600 feet per minute to an altitude of 50,000 feet.

     Having the rugged range of bleak mountains east of Nellis as a backdrop, I’d watch in awe as their white, javelin bodies swept in low over the runway in formations of twos and fours - glinting in the low afternoon sun – performing tight, clean, impossible, aerobatic maneuvers.

     As I stood all alone on that apron next to my 737, dear reader, I felt these guys were putting on a private air show just for me.  This was most definitely a spin off benefit.

     Upon completion of my third visit to the “Mancamp” on a standby - when we drove the station wagon back to the airfield – one of the flight attendants asked me if I had performed my “radiation check?”  Naturally I drew a blank, and asked her what in the Sam Hill was she talking about?  She proceeded to enlighten me.

     Due to our unknown proximity to the classified stored nukes, and the “testing” being performed on these weapons, the flight attendants recommended the following:

     First: Strip down naked.

     Second: Step inside the cramped bathroom.

     Third: Shut the door.

     Fourth: Stand in front of the mirror.

     Fifth: Turn off the light – making it pitch black.

     Sixth: Check the mirror.

     Seventh: Is your body glowing?

     Initially I laughed, dear reader, thinking once again the flight attendants were “popping” the new pilot.  Only what if this girl was serious?  To be on the safe side, whenever I did a standby, I’d perform the “radiation check.”  I must admit it was more of a placebo – simply to put my mind at ease.  Goddamn those flight attendants!

   

   

              *     *     *     *     *