My Dad took me to the flight line and out along the active runway many times at Minot and Malmstrom. Nothing like watching the wings on a Superfortress begin flying before the rest of it.
And the THUNDER. Oh my.
Dad and I always played a little game where when we were out and about. Hear it, spot it, call it. Or better, spot it and call it. Of course, being in fighter, Dad could kick my @$$ doing that, but he let me win enough that I stayed interested.
Even now, if I hear military jets of any sort, my reaction is automatic -- locate and identify.
A couple of years ago, Dad and I were standing in the shop yard shooting the breeze with some others when "that sound" hit our ears. Both of us latched on, spotted, and said simultaneously: "Aggressor." It was one of the F-20 Super Tigers in blue camo with a red star, what it was doing way up in Kalispell, we have no clue. But Aggressor it was.
