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'Good to Go'
| Article
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21906 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
7 / 1993 |
2,410 Words |
| Author
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Jim Moore
Jim Moore is a free-lance writer and photographer living in
Alexandria, Virginia. His articles have appeared in health,
education, and military-interest magazines, and his
photographs in such newspapers and magazines as Time,
Newsweek, Paris Match, Stern, and Riyadh. |
Second Lt. Marisa Flo had managed to coax only a few feeble sparks from her metal match when a drop of rain hit the mound of tinder she was trying to ignite. Pausing in her efforts, she listened to a sound coming from below the ridge on which she was camped. The sound rose in pitch and intensity as it moved up the valley hidden in a cold mist. A freight train of wind was sweeping toward her, bringing with it a renewal of the bitter rainfall that had been drenching her rudimentary campsite for two days and nights. She could feel the pressure of the storm as it made its way through the pine forest, advancing relentlessly on her position.
Once more she forced her knife down the length of the artificial flint, remembering to roll backward the knuckles of the hand holding the knife as the blade edge bit into the magnesium-impregnated shaft. Halfway down the match, the blade found the resistance of a nearly imperceptible flake of metal, but it was enough. A white-hot comet of flame leapt off the rod and buried itself in a pine shaving. Almost immediately a wisp of smoke rose from the tinder and a weak but workable fire spread through the sap-rich wood. From under her poncho she withdrew a handful of dry twigs, strips of birch bark, and shaggy bits of goatsbeard lichen. Restraining her impatience, she placed them methodically over the flame-engulfed tinder. In a moment the fire blossomed, feeding greedily on its new fuel. Working quickly now, she added kindling, finger-thick branches and splinters of cedar. The fire gained strength and rose with foot-high flames through the crisscrossed wood. A gust of rain-laden wind rushed around her, but the fire held its own.
As she added larger sticks to the fire, a young man wearing mud-encrusted boots, camouflage pants, and a forest-green wool shirt approached and squatted down beside her. His left shoulder bore a Survival Instructor patch. His boonie hat dripped rain as he nudged a precariously balanced branch into a more stable position in the fire. "Looks like you're good to go, lieutenant."
"Good to go." It is the highest praise any student in the U.S. Air Force Combat Survival School can receive. Flo, a C-141 transport pilot with the 730th Airlift Squadron, had just successfully demonstrated one of the many skills taught to all aircrew during a rigorous seventeen-day survival course.
She was one of approximately 120 students in "A Flight," a class of Air Force commissioned and noncommissioned officers and enlisted personnel in a mandatory program instituted forty-four years ago by the U.S.
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