“The pride in my Dad’s eyes… that’s what I remember. He passed away three years later. But he got to see it—the ceremony—the one where the wing commander awarded me two Distinguished Flying Crosses for heroism in the SAM-filled skies of North Vietnam, December, 1972. Proudest moment of my life. Leading a cell of B-52s into North Vietnam and over Hanoi with broken navigation/bombing equipment. He’s been gone many years, and you know what… it remains my proudest moment. Yes, for what I did in that B-52, but more that he had the opportunity to see those medals pinned on his son. It doesn’t get any better than that.”
—A former B-52 radar navigator
The history of one of the greatest warplanes ever created—the B-52 Stratofortress—is resplendent with personal stories of loyalty, sacrifice and service: true reflections on the long and glorious life of a battle-hardened, war-wearied, proud, flop-winged, “takeoff nose down,” mighty aircraft lovingly nicknamed the “BUFF,” and the valiant men and women who have flown her.
It has been said for decades that the last B-52 crew member has not yet been born. Unbelievably, that same statement is, in all likelihood, still true as this 70th B-52 anniversary story is published. It’s also rumored, tongue-in-cheek, that the Air Force will announce soon that when the B2 stealth bomber is retired, the last crew will be ferried home in a B-52.
It’s my airplane. It belongs to the thousands of us who occupied its cockpits and compartments, most of whom would not have given up that challenge as a part of our young lives, for anything. It belongs to
