I'm adding this blog because of a suggestion from Shane.
First, I have to tell you I'm not a pilot. I spent my entire career in the United States Air Force in the back end of various aircraft platforms. I was an intelligence operator on a number of aircraft, and this story is on an EC-130E, a communications counter-electronics or, most understandably, a communications jamming platform.
Here goes:
So there I was... (like so many AF stories).... I was deployed to Italy in 1999 with my unit for Operation ALLIED FORCE (to counter the Serbian retaliation to the ethnic uprising and ethnic cleansing in Albania.) We'd been flying non-stop missions (16 hour plus) and although we were having a great time exploring the local environment and the wonderful vino, in the local towns, it was tough flying. About a week before "this" incident, I got word from the First Sergeant that my grandmother was pretty much on her deathbed. I was devastated because of the fact that, at this point, according to military regulations, she wasn't immediate family. There was nothing they could do for me as far as letting me go home. Well, a week later, upon showing up for a mission, the First Sergeant met me as I got off the crew bus, and gave me the news that my grandmother had died. He also reinforced the fact that I wouldn't be able to fly home for her funeral. I was more than devastated. I wasclose to my granny. Until I'd come into the Air Force, we'd pretty much spent every weekend with each other.
The First Sergeant made his office available to me for a personal phone call. I broke the news to my family I wouldn't be able to travel home. They were pretty much okay with it, but I wasn't. At least not at that minute. A few minutes later, the First Sergeant told me if thought I couldn't fly that night, it would be okay. So, I asked him what would happen if we didn't fly that night. He walked me over to the local Air Operations Center representative, who told us if we didn't fly, the whole package that night wouldn't fly either until we could fly again. So, there I was. Go "home", which meant go back to my hotel room and cry my eyes out-or go fly.
It doesn't take much to figure out which I decided to do. I decided to fly. So... I walked into mission planning, which, by the way, we shared with a U.S. Marine EA6-B (Prowler) squadron. To back up a bit, I'd been trying to get these Marines to call me by name for about a month or so, but my only first name for them had been Staff Sergeant. I'd even taken them Easter baskets and other prezzies to see if they would actually call me Myrna, but it still didn't matter. My name was Staff Sergeant.
So.... I walked into the operations that night, after having gotten the news and we went to mission plan. During that time, the Marine detachment commander came into the ops area and greeted us. As usual, he asked us how things were, and the usual reply, was everything's fine, "Sir." Then he looked at me. That's when everything changed. He knew immediately something was wrong. He came up to me, put his arm around my shoulder and for the first time since I'd been deployed there asked me by my name "Myrna", what's wrong?"
I looked up at this Marine officer, and damned if I was gonna cry in front of him (or so I thought). I told him that my grandmother died and I wasn't allowed to fly home for her funeral. I didn't cry, but tears welled up in my eyes and I don't know exactly how they didn't spill over to this day--must've been out of sheer respect for this Marine officer.
He looked at me and asked me if there was anything he could do. Knowing there was nothing he could "really" do, I braved some words and told him no. Then, a second later, I had a second thought... because he was with the Prowlers—they had missiles. I asked him if we could put my grandmother's name on one of their HARMs (High-speed antiradiation missile).
He didn't even blink an eye. He told me "of course." He walked me over the the Prowler munitions personnel, and told them to put whatever I wanted on one of their HARMs.
When the young Marines asked me what I wanted to put on it, I told them I wanted my grandmother's name.... Mittie. They kind-of laughed when they realized I was serious about her name, but I saw them do it (I wasn't actually allowed to touch the missiles for safety reasons), and they told me it would be loaded on one of the aircraft that night, callsign: Aero-61.
Later that night, while we were flying the mission, an opportunity came up for the Prowlers to launch their HARMs. The mission crew commander of the aircraft I was flying on notified me that Aero-61 was preparing to launch his missile--Mittie. He cleared me to leave my station in the back of the aircraft and go upfront to the cockpit to watch "Mittie" go in. I went up front and watched the missile launch and impact. It was awesome.
It wasn't long after that that our mission changed course to return to base. As soon as we were "off station", I broke down. I have to tell you there aren't many times I've cried on operational missions, but, boy, did I on this one. I couldn't stop. A wonderful friend got out of her seat and wrapped her arms around me the whole transit back until it was time for us to strap in for landing. Just being held was the most wonderful thing. Even after we strapped in, she reached around the seat to me and held my hand until we landed. It was such a special time. It was a few days later that we actually got the battle damage assessment to find out that the Mittie-HARM had hit it's intended target.
So... my granny went out with a BANG! Go Mittie Lee NeeSmith, I salute you!
