Today it’s cold and damp—a good day to sit by a fire, just relax and soothe my aching bones. The fire generates an orange glow; its flame’s heat mollifies my body’s pain. Oh my friend, my fire, I’m older now; my thoughts intensify just as your orange glow does its seductive dance. The crackling logs sing to me: the oak’s sweet aroma pleases me. Yes my fire, my friend, you do remind me of war games beneath an orange sky.

How do I forget something I wish wasn’t true? That day so long ago my friend, my fire; you were anything but appeasing. You were death. I turn on my MacBook. The online news account of your destruction swirls towards my consciousness. I again read it to make sure I’m not dreaming—imagining. Oh my friend, my fire, according to a report from the Aviation Safety Network, these are the facts:

• Date: 08 MAR 1973
• Type: Boeing KC-135A-BN Stratotanker
• Operator: United States Air Force - USAF
• Registration: 63-7989
• C/n / msn: 18606/645
• First flight: 1963
• Crew: Fatalities: 2 / Occupants: 5
• Passengers: Fatalities: 0 / Occupants: 0
• Total: Fatalities: 2 / Occupants: 5
• Airplane damage: Written off
• Airplane fate: Written off (damaged beyond repair)
• Location: Columbus-Lockbourne AFB, OH (LCK) (United States of America)
• Phase: Taxi (TXI)
• Nature: Military
• Departure airport: Columbus-Lockbourne AFB, OH (LCK/KLCK), United States of America
• Destination airport: ?
• Narrative: During a practice alert at Lockbourne AFB, two KC-135 Stratotankers (63-7989 and 63-7980) taxied from an unlit ramp towards the runway. Both aircraft collided while manoeuvring off the ramp. Stratotanker 63-7989 continued 200 yards before coming to a stop in a muddy, grassy section just off the concrete apron. Flames engulfed tanker 63-7989 from the cockpit to the mid-section and burned two large holes in the plane.

But my friend, my fire, the narrative is incomplete, isn’t it. We know more. My eyes close, as I again become that 18-year-old Security Police Specialist. Be patient my friend, my fire, I’ll remember, just give me a moment; some memories take time to surface.

Names … Faces… Smells… Sounds…

SAC  (Strategic Air Command) was conducting an alert exercise just prior to dawn for members of the 301st Air Refueling Wing at Lockbourne. In conditions compounded by a thick relentless fog intent on fooling us that the sun was forever gone, I was sitting in the bed of blue 67 Chevy Pickup, cold as hell, helping to patrol the fence line adjacent to Rt. 317. My assignment during this war game, was to observe and detect enemy encroachment towards the hangers housing the two FB-111A strategic bombers armed with AGM-69 Short Range Attack Missiles and four SRAMs on external wing pylons. The enemy, my friend, my fire… you remember the Ohio State protestors, the hippies and intellectuals who protested Vietnam (post peace accord) and Nixon’s nuclear proliferation. Those protesters, along with unknown enemies, were to become targets for the M-16 I didn’t load. It was just a fucking war game, my friend, my fire—a pain in the ass “what if?”  with no real conclusion. Funny… I remember joking to SSGT. Onders about lock and loading—meaning I needed to take a shit. How prophetic! Oh God, the sounds… the smells…

Two KC-135 refueling Stratotankers collided on the ramp of the flight line, igniting an explosion: the concussion nearly threw me from the bed of the truck. Voices… Screaming voices… Searing heat… Fear… We thought we were under attack. Control began chirping over handheld radios for all stations to stand their posts. K-9 dogs challenged their handlers, as they turned into werewolves baying at an invisible moon. Sirens penetrated the fog’s silence… and the sky… you my friend, my fire, your wrath coloring the sky creamsicle-orange. What happened, for wasn’t it you who claimed victory that day? took the lives of three 301st officers: Capt. James R. Blackwell, Maj. William E. Thomas and Lt. Bari W. Stone? Wasn’t it you my friend, my fire, who was satiated enough to let the eight other crewmembers escape your inferno?

Thirty-six years later, I try to answer my own questions as I again feel death’s blackness choking my lungs. Tanker 63-7980 became disoriented in the fog; it’s right wing sliced through tanker 63-7989—through Capt. Blackwell and Lt. Stone. How Capt. Blackwell managed to divert his tanker from the fuel pits eludes me to this day. Some who witnessed the rolling inferno make its last turn swear God was the pilot. I don’t know. The upper-half of Capt. Blackwell was found lying on the tarmac amidst the foamed fire retardant and pieces of melted aircraft. He was still alive, barely breathing—burnt beyond recognition. How I wish I didn’t witness his body’s recovery: Capt. Blackwell being placed in an ambulance with rescue crews and us SP’s still confused as to his identity. It was only after you, my friend, my fire, departed and the orange sky cried a gentle rain, that the placement of Lt. Stone’s and Major Thomas’ remains revealed the truth. The true pilot… the true hero of 08 March 1973 was Capt. James R. Blackwell. He managed to prevent the fuel pits from exploding, from creating carnage that would have fed on nuclear material and innocents beyond the Air Force uniform. Capt. Blackwell saved my life. He died 10 days later in the burn unit at Lackland AFB, San Antonio, Texas. He was older than me, but why is it I only see a flash of young man’s face, silver bars on his Garrison cap, a thick mustache neatly trimmed? I play back the many times we saluted each other. I no longer feel you my friend, my fire; instead, the heat thrown from his tanker’s engines as it taxied and took to the Ohio sky warm me. Why? Why stupid war games beneath an orange sky?

Yes, today it’s cold and damp. But there’s no need for you, my friend, my fire. My thoughts minimalise my aches and pains. I’m sorry my friend, my fire, but you must be extinguished—perhaps punished. We’ll meet again, this I’m sure of. Yes, spring turns to summer as fall turns to winter. Today I’m old as winter. Alexi Murdoch sings in my head…

Well I had a dream

I stood beneath an orange sky

Yes I had a dream

I stood beneath an orange sky

With my brother standing by

With my brother standing by

I said Brother, you know you know

It’s a long road we’ve been walking on

Brother you know it is you know it is

Such a long road we’ve been walking on …