Thunderbirds and The Tracy Family are the creation of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson

Author's Note: Any characters who appear in these following chapters, other than Scott Tracy, are entirely of my own making and are not based on anyone that I know off. All information regarding the Fighter Squadrons and US Air Force Bases to which they belong are true and accurate according to the best of my knowledge and research, as is the information on Combat Survival, however, while the F series of the Fighting Falcon is in use by the Air Force the F-16XD is of my own making for the purposes of this story. The information on the fictional F-16XD, however, is based on the actual F-16.

A note to all my reviewers: Just to say thank you for your very positive reviews in relation to this new turn of events in Scott's life and to ask that you bear with me as I explore how he came by his Medal of Honour. This medal is not given lightly so, in a way, it is my humble contribution in honouring the real life recipients of this award as during my research I have come to respect and admire the real life courage and heroism that they displayed.

Chapter 66

It was the usual hot, sultry and humid day in the seemingly peaceful blue skies above the Nam jungle as a handsome, young 1st Lieutenant Scott Carpenter Tracy streaked his way northwards from his Air Base at Da Nang. The young 24 year old Lieutenant was in command of one of the most sophisticated and versatile fighter aircraft the USAAF had, that of the 2-seater F-16XD Fighting Falcon, having the superior manoeuvrability to out-manoeuvre any Russian MiG, especially in a straight vertical climb, a fact which the Lieutenant had proved on more than one occasion in his many encounters with the MiG.

The F-16 Series was commonly known as 'The Viper' among its pilots, flying at 1500mph and capable of Mach 2 at altitude. The XD version was equipped with the on board avionics systems of the very latest multifunctional display technology, comprising of the Digital Terrain System which shows high resolution ground mapping, a Navigational System and the upgraded HARM Targeting and Tracking Systems. Due to the agility of the fighter aircraft, the speeds and heights of which they were capable, the aircraft also boasted the latest in Advanced Life Support Systems, designed for the physical comfort of the pilot, whereby he is connected to the on-board oxygen supply and by providing on-board air conditioning.

The advanced technology was not just confined to the aircraft but to the pilot as well, allowing him, in effect, to be at one with and connected to his aircraft through the use of the HUD, the Heads Up Display built into the blacked-out visor of his helmet. This allows for him to project mapping images and whatever other information he needs before him, such as the Horizon Indicator, which tells him where he is in relation to the horizon, an absolute necessity given the twists and turns and roll-over manoeuvres the fighter pilot has to make.

Another important and vital piece of equipment for the pilot is his Anti-G Suit, without it they would succumb to the effects of heavy gravity on their bodies in the tight turns and climbs they make. At 5 g's (five times the force of gravity) the pilot's body is exposed to a force that increases his weight. The pilot is pushed down into his seat and his arms and legs feel heavy, like lead, making manipulation of the controls difficult. The extra weight of the internal organs causes abdominal and chest discomfort but the most important effect is on the circulatory system. The pressure supplied by the heart is not enough to pump an adequate blood supply to the head, so resulting in loss of vision and eventual blackout. To counteract the effects the pressure in the arteries must be increased and this is the function of the Anti-G Suit. It used to be with the system that the pilot had to be connected to an air supply in the plane with air being pumped into bladder pouches, compressing the abdomen, thighs and calves and so increasing the flow of blood to the heart. Now they had a totally self-contained system, the latest in the Libelle Anti-G Suit, meaning they no longer had to be connected physically to an air supply. It was a liquid filled full body suit, worn over a lightweight flight suit, with the liquid filling tubes that ran from the neck to the ankles, the liquid performing the same job as the compressed air formerly did. Without the suit, the average pilot can withstand 4.5 to 5.5g's without losing vision or blacking out but with this new suit he is capable of withstanding up to 9g's in relative comfort, vital, given the capability of the F-16XD.

Scott Tracy had wanted to fly for as long as he could remember and on completion of his split degree between Yale and Oxford, England Universities he lost no time in joining the United States Air Force. His first posting was as a 2nd Lieutenant to the 63rd Fighter Squadron of the 56th Operations Group based out at Luke Air Force Base in the desert State of Arizona, the Badge of Honor of the 63rd Squadron being a black crouching Panther; all Fighter Squadrons having their own Badge of Honor of which they are justly proud. He had sailed effortlessly through his training and soon proved himself to have the aptitude of a natural born pilot, impressing his instructors and excelling in everything he did, coming out top of his class time and time again and earning for himself the coveted title of 'Top Dog'. So much so, that when he earned his wings, the Squadron Commanders were practically falling over themselves to have this young pilot assigned to them.

He adapted quickly to each new situation he found himself in and soon earned the respect of his fellow pilots within his new Squadron, having that likeable, easy to get along with personality; his dashingly, handsome good looks making him an instant attraction to all the young ladies, both on and off the Base. Respect for the young Lieutenant Tracy grew even more and, indeed, his fame with his continued ability to out fly any MiG's that he encountered, especially in the straight vertical climb roll over that he had perfected. His Squadron Commander soon recognised the young Lieutenant's leadership qualities and recommended him for promotion and so Scott Tracy became 1st Lieutenant Scott Tracy and given overall command of a small, tight unit of 4 fighter aircraft within the Squadron. It is said that being a Fighter Pilot is a state of mind and not a job; a Fighter Pilot being noted for his intelligence, independence, integrity, courage and patriotism, all of which the young Lieutenant Tracy had in abundance. The role of a Fighter Pilot Lieutenant is a highly responsible one, involving the planning and execution of a mission from start to finish as well as being responsible for those men under your command and Scott Tracy proved more than worthy of the role, always planning his missions with meticulous precision.

Not long after his promotion he had the opportunity to transfer to the 27th Fighter Wing who pride themselves on being 'The World's Most Lethal War Fighting Team' and whose Mission Statement reads: To provide superior combat airpower anytime and anywhere in support of the national interest. Within the 27th Scott joined 523rd Fighter Squadron, being one of 4 Squadrons in the Wing, and whose Badge of Honor was that of 'The Crusaders', quite apt for the young Lieutenant Tracy had he known what his future held in store. He didn't have to travel far since the home of the 27th Fighter Wing was Cannon Air Force Base, in the neighbouring State of New Mexico. A State of diverse regions, the desert coming alive with colourful flora and fauna, famed for its yucca and cacti and its sun-kissed rock formations. New Mexico was also home of the famous Carlsbad Caverns, awe-inspiring and cathedral-like in grandeur these underground caverns boasted magnificent formations, taking many thousands of years to form. Cannon AFB was as a spawling, self-contained city, set in the high plains of eastern New Mexico, near the Texas Panhandle and 6 miles west of the town of Clovis. It had been on the Pentagon's list for recommended closures in 2005 but had been granted a last minute stay of execution, having been deemed, after all, too invaluable to the national defence and it was from here the 523rd Fighter Squadron was deployed to its present 3 month tour of duty at Da Nang.

In transferring Squadrons Scott had also adjusted from flying the single seater F series Falcon to the 2-man F-16XD Fighting Falcon and had soon become firm friends with the man who was assigned as his WSO, Weapons Systems Officer 2nd Lieutenant Jerry 'Jez' Numann. Working together in such close quarters, like that of the cockpit of a fighter aircraft, it was imperative that the two men liked and respected each other, their relationship needing to be based on trust. More often than not, such was the bond of brotherhood that these teams formed they lasted a lifetime. Jez and Scott hit it off right away, in fact, Jez was more than happy to be assigned to Lieutenant Tracy; his fame against the Mig's having preceded him. Both men enjoyed the same dry sense of humor and, along with the other teams, spent a lot of their free time together, both on and off the Base, hitting the local nightspots in the nearby town when they had the chance. Whenever they worked in their official capacity, though, it was never forgotten by Jez that Scott was his senior officer and, indeed, it was not beyond Scott to sometimes remind him off that fact when they were off duty as well, good naturedly of course, and always when there was a pretty girl at stake.

By the morning they were ordered up on the Reconn mission the Squadron had only 2 weeks left of its tour of duty to go and both men were looking forward to heading home Stateside, though that thought did not detract in any way from their total dedication and professionalism to the task and mission in hand. Both were on high alert now as the aircraft passed over the area formerly known as the DMZ during the infamous Vietnam War of the 1960's some 220km north of Da Nang; the farther north they travelled the more hostile it was becoming.

Their mission that morning was to gather information as to strengths and possible location of the enemy forces, which had been proving difficult due to the dense and inhospitable jungle that now lay below them and due to beaurocratic wrangling they had been ordered to fly unarmed, without their twin, Sidewinder III missiles, a situation which Lieutenant Scott Tracy was none too happy about. Not that he was intending to use them but just to know they had the capability of defending themselves should their enemy prove to be the aggressor. Confident and self-assured in his judgement he had strongly voiced his opinions and concerns to his Squadron Commander who also shared his view, having come to trust and value his young Lieutenant's judgement implicitly and together they had confronted the Base Commander who, from a military point of view, totally agreed with them but told them, politically, her hands were tied.

Scott expertly took the aircraft into a banking manoeuvre affording them a good look at the dense and humid green of the jungle canopy below. "Gee Scott….sure wouldn't wanna be down there, huh," Jez commented in the easy tone of familiarity, there being no need to use rank, as seeing it was only the two of them on this mission. "Place is probably crawlin with all sorts a little nastys," he added, giving an involuntary shiver.

"Yeah…..like spiders….and….spiders…..and….great big hairy spiders," Scott remarked, feeling his skin crawl as he thought about it.

"Scott Tracy! I never took you as being scared of spiders!" Jez responded in mock surprise.

"Hey….I didn't say I was scared…..just don't like 'em….that's all," Scott replied, quick to defend his macho image.

"No….. you're not scared of anything, are ya Scott," Jez answered back through his helmet headset on inter-cockpit communication.

"Not true buddy…..there's one thing that sure scares the hell outta me," Scott responded with a wide grin, although Jez couldn't see him.

"And what's that? No….don't tell me. I know. Those hard ass Survival School instructors that hauled our asses all over that wilderness," Jez laughed.

"Naw…..it's those little hunnies that wanna haul my ass up in front of an altar," Scott replied with a pretence of fear, sounding every inch the confirmed bachelor and causing both men to laugh.

"Ahh Scott……you'll fall…..and when you do…..you'll fall good and hard," Jez commented as though he were offering his friend some profound insight.

"Well….if she provides me with a nice soft landing……who knows……maybe I'll consider it," Scott replied light-heartedly. As he looked down into the dense jungle, though, he thought silently to himself, that he hoped he never would have to put into practice the things they were taught on their survival course. Every airman, whether pilot or crew, was required to go through the course, should they ever find themselves in that unfortunate position of being forced down.

Within minutes the mood changed drastically, from jovial banter to professional high alert status. The targeting panel in front of the Weapons System Officer just lit up like a Christmas tree along with the warning siren. "Hell Scott…..we've just been targeted," Jez shouted through his headset. "We got us a missile lock…..I repeat…..we got us a missile lock."

Scott gripped his control stick tightly and immediately took the aircraft into evasive manoeuvres until he could determine where the threat was coming from, both men scanning the skies above and around them through the panoramic view of the cockpit canopy. "Can you see her yet……where she's coming from, Jez…..I need answers buddy," Scott called back through his comm., his mind and body already having stepped up a gear in readiness to evade this imminent threat.

"I'm right on it, Lieutenant," Jez responded automatically as he busily tapped away at the panel in front of him. "I got her……I got her…..she's comin at us from 4 o'clock," he called back excitedly.

"Affirmative…..4 o'clock," Scott repeated, to make sure he had understood what his WSO had told him.

Scott's face was now that of stony intensity, his jaw muscle set tight in concentration, knowing it was now up to him, that only his skill as a pilot was going to get them out of this one. He looked down over his right shoulder at the 4 o'clock position and saw the streak of fire rocket up from the jungle canopy far below. Instinctively he pulled hard on the side-mounted control stick, pulling the aircraft over at a 90 degree bank to the left. The missile shot up past the now vertical underbelly and on into the blue sky.

Scott blew out a breath as he brought the F-16 level again, and he wasn't the only one. "Gee….that was close. Did ya get a mark on that position, Jez?" Scott called back, knowing now they'd be able to take back some information as to where the enemy was.

Jez was just getting his breath back and his heart starting to beat again at the close shave, though all the time he was recording the information they needed on his instruments. "Yeah….that's affirmative, Lieutenant…we got what we need," he responded in a clear and concise manner. "Hey…..I don't think 'Charlie' was too happy to see us, Scott……in fact….I'd say we pissed him off," Jez added with a grin, now that he was able to breath again and once formalities were seen too, to which Scott laughed and agreed.

"Rodger…..well let's get outta here then….we're goin home," Scott told him, making the command decision that this reconn was at an end. "Timber Wolf to Wolf's Lair……Wolf's Lair….this is Timber Wolf….acknowledge," Scott called, adjusting the settings on his communication to access Base and using his call sign. Once he received his secure acknowledgement he went ahead with his brief report. "This is Timber Wolf….and we are returning to the Lair…..Reconn a success," he added, in that easy, languid flow of a pilot. "Have located 'Charlie'…….hiding out in Vector 6…..and he's not too happy to see us…..we've just been lit up……over and out." Charlie was the slang term the Americans had used during the Nam War when referring to the enemy and the term had just stuck, even to this day.

After the weaving evasive manoeuvres Scott consulted his on-line maps, readjusted his position and headed south. In the next moment they were on high alert status again. The targeting monitor in the back seat in front of the WSO once more lit up, flashing it's warning along with the alarm. "What've we got, Jez…..talk to me?" Scott called out calmly but firmly, his face full of heavy concentration as he scanned the skies around him.

Jez tapped away furiously at the panel. "Damn," Scott heard him swear through the headset. "It's the same one…..we got us a heat seeker…..Scott we got us a damn heat seeker," he called back, his voice rising in recognition of the danger. "She's comin at us from 10 o'clock…..I repeat 10 o'clock," he informed his pilot, managing to control his fear and concentrating on his job.

Scott immediately shot his eyes skyward and over his left shoulder to the 10 o'clock position and saw the missile streak downwards towards them, having obviously reached a certain height, turned and then sought out its prey, hunting them down by targeting the heat from the F-16's jet burners, like a hungry shark following a trail of blood that can be detected from miles away. Once a Heat Seeking Missile has locked onto its target it will hunt it down mercilessly, never giving up until it finds what it is looking for or else is destroyed, a fact of which Lieutenant Scott Tracy and, indeed, his WSO were only all too well aware.

The young pilot, his face set in grim determination, banked his plane hard over to the right. His aircraft responded to his very deft touch, evading the missile as, once again, it streaked down past the underbelly. This time, though, they knew it would come back. Scott heard his friend blow out a breath. "Don't worry…..we're not ready to buy the farm just yet," he assured Jez in an effort to keep up his morale, though he couldn't swear to being as confident as he tried to sound. 'Buying the farm' was one of those rather unique slang terms that pilots had adopted for whenever they felt their end was imminent.

Scott silently swore at the fact they had no Sidewinder Missiles of their own to defend themselves with. If they had been armed, as he had wanted, he could have manoeuvred them into a position whereby he could have destroyed the rocket, eliminating the threat against them, as it was, they were now locked into a deadly game of cat and mouse and, much as Scott hated to admit it, they were the mouse. How long could he keep up these evasive manoeuvres? He didn't know; all he knew was he would use every ounce of his skill to keep them alive and, perhaps, they would get lucky. His keen pilot's mind was already a few moves ahead; if he could get into the position whereby he could dive for the treetops and get the missile to follow then he would pull up at the last minute and hopefully the missile would slam into the jungle floor, expending its explosive energy. It was a high-risk manoeuvre, at the speed the F-16XD was capable of there was every chance he may not be able to pull up in time himself but he didn't see that he was left with any other option. Now all he had to do was get into that position.

Jez, all too aware of the highly dangerous situation they were in, knew to remain silent, allowing his pilot to concentrate to his fullest, unless he was otherwise given an order or asked a question. Scott levelled off the plane again, scanning below to try and follow the missile's trail but had lost sight in the evasive action. They didn't have too long to wait, however. "You got a fix on her, Jez?" Scott called out as he took them in a zigzag move to prevent too easy a target.

After consulting his panel. "She's ….eh…..she's……eh…," Jez started to say, then his eyes went wide. "……gawd Scott….she's comin head on….she's comin right at us," he shouted, his voice rising as the adrenalin pumped through his body. But Scott didn't answer, didn't acknowledge his warning and only then did Jez realise they were not flying zigzag any longer but straight and level. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as from his position in back and looking out through the forward windshield, he could see the missile looming ever larger. He gulped. His pilot did not appear to be taking any evasive action whatsoever, though he knew Scott must be able to see her now, for one could hardly avoid seeing a heat seeking, deadly destructive rocket blaze its way to meet you head on. It was with a sudden, chilling realisation he knew why. "Aww hell Scott….no," Jez groaned. "Tell me you are….NOT….gonna play chicken with a damn Heat Seeker."

But Lieutenant Scott Tracy did not answer; instead, his eyes were locked onto the missile, his face taut with tension and it was as though this had now become a personal battle, a Mexican standoff, with neither opponent willing to back down. Scott was in another zone of concentration entirely, seeing or hearing nothing else, other than what was directly in front of him, as the two immoveable forces raced towards each other at breathtaking speed.

From his seat in back Jez's lips moved rapidly in silent pray, then he closed his eyes, though he trusted Scott's flying ability implicitly and could think of no other man he would rather have in the front seat of that cockpit right now than Lieutenant Scott Tracy. Whatever Scott had in mind, though, he knew he was going to have to brace himself. And brace himself he did, for just at the absolute last minute when it seemed inevitable there would be an impact, Scott pulled hard back on the control. Immediately punching the ignition the afterburners lit, sending the F-16 vertical 8000ft in seconds and pulling 6G's as she rocketed skywards, pushing both men hard back into their seats with the incredible force it exerted on their bodies. Once more the missile was denied its prey due to the cool, calm and agile skill of its opponent and it streaked away harmlessly across the sky.

Scott knew he couldn't keep this up forever and decided now was the time to put his plan into action. At the top of the climb he pulled hard over to the right on the control stick rolling her over in a barrel roll and for those brief few moments before she started to fall away they experienced that incredible feeling of weightlessness, what one would normally only associate with space travel. It was in stark contrast to the crushing weight of the G-force they had just felt. For seconds, as they fell away to the side, they were upside-down, seeing the world from an unnaturally crazy angle, then with another pull on his control stick Scott brought them right-side up again and turned her nose down in another roll-over movement to head for the jungle floor.

It wasn't for lack of his skill that this time they were finally to run out of luck, he had done everything he could, pulling her hard over again but as the missile streaked by underneath and upwards it caught the back of her stabilizing rudder fin, ripping part of it off and exploding behind them. The shock waves sent the F-16 into a shuddering, jarring spin, the instrument panels going crazy with warnings.

The immediate threat of the missile may have been averted but Scott had to bring all his flying ability to bear now to deal with this new and equally dangerous situation. He managed to somehow bring her out of the spin and fought to keep her level, though both he and Jez knew what they were going to have to do. "Mayday….Mayday…..Mayday……This is Timber Wolf……taken a hit…..we are going down….I repeat….we are going down….Vector 9…..Vector Niner," Scott called into his communications clearly, calmly and concisely, knowing he only had time for the briefest of details.

"Affirmative on that, Lima Charlie……we are getting a fix on your position Timber Wolf…..and…good luck guys," the calm, efficient voice from Base acknowledged before adding a more personal sentiment. Lima Charlie, meaning Loud and Clear, is part of the NATO Phonetic Code used by the Armed Forces in their communications.

Scott switched to inter-cockpit communications. "Jez prepare to eject…..repeat….prepare to eject," Lieutenant Tracy ordered to which the WSO responded with the appropriate acknowledgement. With all his skill now brought to bear Scott brought his aircraft down to a level whereby they could safely disconnect from the on-board oxygen supply. Jez gripped the hose firmly and awaited his pilot's order.

Scott reached down beside his seat and without hesitation punched the button, sending the bubble canopy shooting off behind them with explosive force. Locked now into an automated procedure, Jez quickly disconnected his hose and reached down to grasp the D-ring handle of the ejector seat, his heart rate climbing with the adrenalin surge. "Eject….Eject….Eject," came the order and Jez pulled for all he was worth.

As Jez ejected, Scott prepared himself, by pulling his hose free and reaching down to grasp firmly the D-ring handle, situated between his legs. As the pilot and senior officer it was his duty to make sure his junior officer went first and once confident he was well out of the way, so as to avoid any collision, he whispered a silent prayer and pulled.

The was not a manoeuvre Scott Tracy was looking forward to at all, in fact, it was something all fighter pilots lived in fear of, that of ejecting from a high speed aircraft like the F-16XD. Ejection, though while every effort had been made to make it as safe as possible, still carried with it a high risk factor. The force at which the pilot was rocketed up had been known to break both arms and, indeed, pilots had been killed in the ejection process. It was only ever to be used as an absolute last resort and, given the fact that their aircraft was destined to explode in a ball of flame on the jungle floor, Lieutenant Scott Tracy had deemed that it was an absolute last resort.

The ejector seat plus pilot was rocketed skywards due to the small explosive rocket attached, pushing Scott hard back into his seat with the G-force. Immediately he had pulled the ring he clasped his arms tightly together across his chest to prevent the wind from tearing his arms off but the force of the ejection slammed him hard against the left side of the seat, sending a searing pain shooting through his body. "Aggghhhhhh," he cried out, knowing immediately he had, at least, cracked a few ribs but being unable to do anything about it, only ride it out. The nature of the ejection process is such that once that ring is pulled you are locked into a situation you have no control over and have to follow it through to its ultimate conclusion.

On reaching its height the seat seemed to hover momentarily before beginning its rapid descent in the stomach churning ride and when it reached the programmed level the chute deployed. Once the chute had deployed the seat automatically fell away from Scott, leaving him safely descending at a much more gentler pace than when he exited his plane. As the seat fell away, the Survival Pack, which was stowed in a well beneath the pilot, came free, being attached to the pilot by a harness when the pilot first enters his aircraft as a matter of procedure in the event of such an emergency.

The Survival Pack was automatically built in to every seat in the aircraft, whether it was a single seater or a double and was as vital a piece of equipment as any other, though it would only come into its own in an emergency. It contained everything that was thought necessary to help a pilot survive, whether he was on his own or not. It contained such vital equipment as a small survival radio, silver foil survival blanket, finger saw, lightsticks, face paint sticks for camouflage, field dressings, dried food rations and 6 small bottles of water. The pilot also wore a Survival Vest, into which similar equipment including a First Aid kit and a knife were stuffed into the pouches, should he be unlucky enough to become separated from his main pack, although it was somewhat more limited.

Scott winced with the pain that was now throbbing from his side as he looked down below to the green jungle canopy that was waiting to envelope him and welcome him into its world. He could see Jez below him heading straight down for the trees for it was an unfortunate fact that these chutes could not be steered like a normal parachute; with only being emergency chutes it meant you were at the mercy of where the wind chose to take you. His hopes rose a little, though, when he found himself drifting towards a small clearing and in order to give himself the best chance of hitting that spot he began to push his body weight in that direction. He groaned at the pain it caused him but he forced himself not to cry out.

As he drifted every closer to his new environment his mind was already going into survival mode and he thought back to that day when Jez and he, as a team, had begun their required Survival Training. The course was called a S.E.R.E. course, standing for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape and was run by the biggest, baddest, most hard-assed Marine Sergeant Instructors it was ever your misfortune to come up against.

They had completed their classroom part of the training, learning such things as ground map reading and orienteering, a completely different experience from 9000ft and more up in the air. Now had come the part they had dreaded the most, when they moved into the wilderness environment to put into practice the vital skills they were going to need to keep them alive. If they thought this was going to be like one big boys camp-out they were in for one big shock. There were 20 on this course, drawn from Bases all over the States, both pilots and crew alike, with no distinction being made and no privileges given to senior officers; all were treated equal on this course.

Jez and Scott were one of 3 teams that had come from Cannon and very quickly realised that that these Instructors really, really, really loved their jobs, in fact, they would swear they were just waiting to make this new class of student's lives a living hell. They stood now in a silent line, in the clearing, at ease and looking straight ahead, not one of them daring to make a move, lest they should be the one to get picked on.

The sadistic, grinning face of the Sarge turned to meet them. "Good morning gentlemen…..I trust you've all had a nice hearty breakfast." Quite a few of the class breathed a sigh of relief, nodding and smiling and actually thanking the nice, kind Instructor for his thoughtful concern, thinking that maybe this wasn't going to be just as bad as they thought. Scott and Jez remained a little more sceptical, however, finding it rather difficult to believe that their Instructor really wanted to be so nice as to inquire after their comfort. My name….gentlemen……and I know you won't ever forget it," he sneered evilly as he looked around his new intake. "My name is Sergeant 'Bull' Stone……and I am gonna introduce your lily-livered, weak little Air Force stomachs to some of the finest cuisine this wilderness has to offer……and for that…..I'm gonna need a guinea pig…….oopps….did I say a guinea pig!……of course I mean a volunteer…………SO WHICH OF YOU LITTLE LADIES IS GONNA UPHOLD THE HONOR OF THE UNITED STATES AIR FORCE!"