Tribute to the Herk

(Something a little different. This is reference to an airplane, the Lockheed C-130 Hercules, which has been flying for the United States Air Force, Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard, as well as for about 50 other countries, since the mid 1950's. Just thought I'd write a short narrative tribute to a machine that's been fighting our wars since right around the end of the Korean conflict, and is still flying today over Iraq and Afghanistan) I step out to the ramp, Of this old Kuwaiti camp, On a cold and arid, desert winter night, Talk of beauty I’d refrain, When referring to this plane, That for fifty years has ushered men in flight. In its most unsightly pose, With it bulbous rounded nose, And its wings without the slightest touch of sweep, With four engines drenched in mud, And a slew of various crud, Which combine to form a large metallic heap. With its strands of fraying wires, And its worn and beat up tires, With a musty scent like old abandoned cellars, When the plane, to work refuses, Check the million valves or fuses, And then making matters worse, it has propellers. Iclimb into my seat, And adjust it for my feet, Which I place upon the pedals for the rudder, When the crew is set to go, And the idle’s set to low, With a button push, the engines start to shudder, But the high pitch whine you get, When you start a normal jet, Is replaced here by a low and rumbling chop, The old instruments and dials, Stretch upon the dash for miles, As they indicate the actions of the prop. With the checklists called complete, Then across the grey concrete, We will taxi and hold short behind the line, With a last glance at the chart, Tower clears us to depart, As we climb out on the heading they assign. With the throttles to the stops, You can feel the metal props, As they carve into the cold and arid air, And the rhythmic thumping beat, Echoes through the padded seat, On your neck you feel the standing of the hair, As we climb into the night, You can see the stunning sight, Of the sandy desert landscape down below, As you turn the helmet toggles, To adjust night vision goggles, Then the world takes on an eerie, greenish glow, If the mission, we must hack, In the skies over Iraq, Or anywhere throughout the Middle East, These old planes will still be flown, Through each violent combat zone, This ungainly, yet amazing metal beast.