someone else in the unit do it. Nobody wants the humiliation.
You could petition to keep your former call sign, but most opted to get a new one, especially if their old one was bad. Bribes were the traditional way to keep your old call sign and to make sure you got a good new one. Usually bribes were in the form of alcohol or food that was rationed, like chocolate or anything that tasted better than what the chow hut served. Personally, I preferred booze. However, if the food item was interesting enough, I could be swayed by it.
So far I’d received plenty of beer offerings and at least one good whiskey bottle. This was most promising. The savvy pilot would purchase enough bribery materials to ship with him to a new base. Most forgot about it and wound up scrambling to make offers with what was at hand, already behind the curve.
Naming parties were the highlight of your social calendar no matter where you were serving. The more remote the assignment, the crazier they got. Considering where I was, I fully anticipated security police intervention, puking, broken furniture and probably a few unintended sexual encounters. It was pretty much expected, if not condoned. But if I didn’t spell out what I expected in terms of behavior, things would easily escalate past even these.
Pilots started filling the hootch shack a few hours after dark. It was another balmy night in paradise and few of them wore unmodified flight suits. Sweaty skin and alcohol was not a good mix, especially amongst horny young pilots. I wondered how many of them would be hooking up with people they might not have looked sideways at when sober.
The newbies all lined up at a table near the bar where they could be seen by everyone. Myself and the leads sat across from them with our bounty laid out before us on the table. There were plenty of pitchers of tap beer and a few wrapped food items. Sweetness even had a racy calendar filled with hunky soldiers. All the women had already examined it and determined the best months of the year. It would likely get passed around long after the year ended.
Choke got a nice bottle of cream liquor from Selene. He was pretty protective of it. The best I had was my whiskey bottle and a slab of fine dark chocolate. I’ve done better, but this was pretty good for the middle of nowhere.
The ceremony began with a few rounds of singing traditional fighter pilot songs. Some of them had some obscene sexual references. The bartenders struggled to keep the libations flowing as the singing slowly became more unintelligible. I took center stage and ordered the three FNG’s (Freaking, New, Guys) front and center.
Henry, Katya and Kelli reluctantly came forward and stood at attention. Henry was the youngest so we did him first.
“Okay, this court of naming is now in session and the judge will now hear potential names from the crowd for Lieutenant Shaun Henry,” I said, waving for suggestions.
“Angelic!”
“Lubber!”
“Babyface!” That one drew a round of good natured laughs for being an accurate description of Henry’s youthful face. I could see the look of abject horror on his face and laughed.
One of the women in back hollered, “Hank!”
I turned to face Henry and pretended to look him up and down. He hadn’t done anything particularly stupid since I had arrived. His flying was competent if a bit uninspired and he always had a good deal of enthusiasm for his missions. Failing to come up with anything derogatory, I decided to cut him some slack and went with Hank, a play on his name.
The crowd both cheered and booed as Hank bowed to me and tried not to grin. He was no doubt sweating this out, hoping he didn’t get an embarrassing name. Choke had some patches ready and hastily wrote Hank on one and handed it to me. I proceeded to show it off to the crowd and then slapped it onto his chest. “From hence forth until such time as he leaves our fine company, this pilot’s name is Hank.”
More cheering and a
You could petition to keep your former call sign, but most opted to get a new one, especially if their old one was bad. Bribes were the traditional way to keep your old call sign and to make sure you got a good new one. Usually bribes were in the form of alcohol or food that was rationed, like chocolate or anything that tasted better than what the chow hut served. Personally, I preferred booze. However, if the food item was interesting enough, I could be swayed by it.
So far I’d received plenty of beer offerings and at least one good whiskey bottle. This was most promising. The savvy pilot would purchase enough bribery materials to ship with him to a new base. Most forgot about it and wound up scrambling to make offers with what was at hand, already behind the curve.
Naming parties were the highlight of your social calendar no matter where you were serving. The more remote the assignment, the crazier they got. Considering where I was, I fully anticipated security police intervention, puking, broken furniture and probably a few unintended sexual encounters. It was pretty much expected, if not condoned. But if I didn’t spell out what I expected in terms of behavior, things would easily escalate past even these.
Pilots started filling the hootch shack a few hours after dark. It was another balmy night in paradise and few of them wore unmodified flight suits. Sweaty skin and alcohol was not a good mix, especially amongst horny young pilots. I wondered how many of them would be hooking up with people they might not have looked sideways at when sober.
The newbies all lined up at a table near the bar where they could be seen by everyone. Myself and the leads sat across from them with our bounty laid out before us on the table. There were plenty of pitchers of tap beer and a few wrapped food items. Sweetness even had a racy calendar filled with hunky soldiers. All the women had already examined it and determined the best months of the year. It would likely get passed around long after the year ended.
Choke got a nice bottle of cream liquor from Selene. He was pretty protective of it. The best I had was my whiskey bottle and a slab of fine dark chocolate. I’ve done better, but this was pretty good for the middle of nowhere.
The ceremony began with a few rounds of singing traditional fighter pilot songs. Some of them had some obscene sexual references. The bartenders struggled to keep the libations flowing as the singing slowly became more unintelligible. I took center stage and ordered the three FNG’s (Freaking, New, Guys) front and center.
Henry, Katya and Kelli reluctantly came forward and stood at attention. Henry was the youngest so we did him first.
“Okay, this court of naming is now in session and the judge will now hear potential names from the crowd for Lieutenant Shaun Henry,” I said, waving for suggestions.
“Angelic!”
“Lubber!”
“Babyface!” That one drew a round of good natured laughs for being an accurate description of Henry’s youthful face. I could see the look of abject horror on his face and laughed.
One of the women in back hollered, “Hank!”
I turned to face Henry and pretended to look him up and down. He hadn’t done anything particularly stupid since I had arrived. His flying was competent if a bit uninspired and he always had a good deal of enthusiasm for his missions. Failing to come up with anything derogatory, I decided to cut him some slack and went with Hank, a play on his name.
The crowd both cheered and booed as Hank bowed to me and tried not to grin. He was no doubt sweating this out, hoping he didn’t get an embarrassing name. Choke had some patches ready and hastily wrote Hank on one and handed it to me. I proceeded to show it off to the crowd and then slapped it onto his chest. “From hence forth until such time as he leaves our fine company, this pilot’s name is Hank.”
More cheering and a
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