Do you know when you pop got his wings? I got mine in late 1971. I'll bet he pre-dates me. While the A-4 community was pretty small there were east coast marines and west coast guys and we didn't all know oneanother. It has also been a very long time and my memory, well.....it's a bit mushy.
If your dad flew charlies, he was before me. When overseas, I flew what we called Super Echos. They were A4 E's with the larger P8 engine. The A-4 was a wonderful little combat aircraft. The Scooter. I used to call it a trans-sonic Cessna 150. Tiny inside and not much bigger out. Your dad and I must have known a lot of the same guys, but I'm not going to toss out names. It was an exciting time.
One sat in that little airplane all alone. When you closed the canopy I used to say it was like crawling back into the womb. It felt like home, an old friend, comfortable in a cramped, smelly sort of way. It was tiny, tight. No room. Miserable really, but we were accustomed to it. Comfort was never considered. The aircraft was astoundingly manuverable with a rate of roll that would bounce your head off of the canopy. No after burner. We experienced constant mechanical failures of one kind or another. Those darn CSD's. We had so many emergencies that they became commonplace. I rather enjoyed them, something different. Fire however was another matter. I never caught fire. I had friends who did. I never punched out, but I had lots of buddies who did. I never blew a tire either. I did from time to time have to take out a grease pencil and make a mark on the windscreen to use as a gunsight. I flew that aircraft in lousy weather NORDO and with spun gyros. I spun inside a thunderstorm once. Ice. Partial panel and training saved me. I trapped on SATS strips. I salvoed Zuni rockets and dropped FAE, the only weapon that I actually heard go off while in the cockpit. I was a FAC. Most of us were. What fun.
The Skyhawk was uncontrollable on a slick windswept runway. We'd land in a crosswind on a rain soaked runway, about lose it and pour the coal to it, rotate, take off and come back around. On our next landing we'd trap, which meant we'd drop the hook and take the gear, a wire stretched across the runway. If you did it at an Air Force base you'd catch a load of crap. They had fancy airplanes with anti-skid breaks and drag chutes. We just had little A-4's made simply for killing communists and not built for show.
Flying these little jets was not exactly a joy, but it was out of this world exciting. The danger made it even sweeter. However I must admit that from time to time I'd get so scared that my knees would shake. I couldn't stop them. Even if I reached down and grabbed them, they'd continue to go. It only happened a few times, but when it did I wondered why I couldn't stop them from shaking, even if I told myself to calm down. I wasn't all that scared, just concerned that I might be killed. I was never frightened when coming aboard the boat. Just busy.
You never, ever let your voice sound anything but supper cool. A slight Southern drawl, learned from Chuck Yeager, which all fighter pilots adopted, was our vernacular. Our montra was Better dead that look bad.
Could our kids today do what we did during the VN War? Sure, they are proving it today in the Mid-East. Another war that we are about to lose. Again we are about to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
Would I do it all over again? Absolutely. I'd just like to win the next time around.