'Twas the night before Christmas, in an alert facility so deep, B-52 crews were nestled, in quiet, restless sleep. Their dreams were of missions, both secret and grand, while visions of spot promotions, checkrides and ORI’s danced in their heads.
When suddenly, a klaxon, a piercing alarm, echoed through the halls, raising instant alarm. The crews sprang from their bunks, to their bombers they raced, on the dimly lit flight line, where the planes were kept safe.
The air was electric, with tension and flare, as crews swiftly readied, for a mission so rare. Flight gloves were donned, helmets strapped on tight, B-52s prepared for the cold, dark flight.
Engines roared to life, with a thunderous sound, as the ground crews worked quickly, their tasks to expound. Christmas eve was no time for reprieve, as the B-52s taxied, determined to leave.
With the night as their cover, and stars overhead, the bombers ascended, leaving dreams for the shed. Onward they flew, into the unknown, A Christmas Eve mission, seeds of uncertainty sown.
Their cargo was heavy, a nuclear load, determined to strike where tensions had flowed. The crews were all focused, their minds on the goal, to deliver the payload, but pray that they don’t.
Then appeared on the horizon, a tanker so grand, a floating oasis in the vast, starry land. And then with precision, practice, and care, fueling in-flight, a dance in the air.
The tanker TOAD’s gift, a lifeline bestowed, ensuring the journey, through challenges flowed. Refueled and resolute, they continued to roam, hoping for the signal to just come back home.
And then came the signal, decoded at once. Push to your targets, you’ll all drop at once.
With glances at their partners and deep breaths of air, the bombers pressed on with their solemn affair.
To the IP they went, their nerves all on the edge. Concerns for their Wife, Children, and friends, swirling in their heads, they knew that night they must keep their pledge.
But up in the heavens, a challenge arose, Surface-to-air missiles, in formidable rows. The red lights were flashing, the warning bells rang, as the B-52s soared, through the missiles they sprang.
The enemy fighters, sleek in the night, zoomed in for the kill, ready to fight. The bomber crews rallied, a chorus of might, machine guns and flares, one hell of a fight!
The cockpit was tense, but the A/C was clear, “We’re gonna make it through this, just tend to your gear!” “Coming up on release point! Let’s get the curtains down!”, the silvery covers, any light did they drown.
“Bomb Bay doors open. I need your consent” A switch, and a light, their fate now represent. The payload unleashed, a powerful glow, a message sent clearly to both friend and to foe.
Yet, as they soared through the digital sky, A glitch in the code, a technical sigh. The flight simulator wavered, then plunged into night, The perilous mission dissolved from the sight.
In a chair, a pilot, a storyteller true, navigated a world where skies are not blue. The tension, the drama, all within the mind, A simulation crafted, a journey designed.
So, let’s honor those who once stood the test, in reality’s theater, where bravery is best. Merry Christmas to all, our dreams taking flight, and to my Mudspike brethren, I wish you all a good night.