The Great Pumpkin Raid

I could tell that my pilots were nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Our group was going to drop Jack-o’-lanterns from a very low altitude onto some very choice targets, and it would not be easy.

I had requested a mix of munitions, including high-tech vegi-weapons like laser-guided gourds, smart squash, and mega-pumpkins, from the powers that be. My entreaties were turned down faster than a twice-married copilot with hair plugs by a cute flight attendant after offering her a free dinner and drinks at a Vegas layover.

We were relegated to dropping gravity gourds. Our bombardiers, mostly made up of elementary school children leaning out of cockpit windows, would have to have nerves of steel to get their pumpkins on target without causing collateral damage to the nearby playgrounds, parked farm equipment, or the right main gear of their airplanes.

Our mission planners told me to expect a 15% loss rate during this operation, but I know my pilots, and none of them will get lost on the way to the free post-flight cookout and concert. 

Of course, we might lose Frank and his Ercoupe along the way. He usually chickens out, but the rest of us should make it OK.

Stand by for the 9 a.m. mission briefing from Captain “KG-LeMay” held at the FBO lounge in Georgetown, Kentucky:

Ah-ten-hut! At ease, ladies and gentlemen. Exactly one year ago to the day, the Pumpkin Air Force sent up its first maximum effort. It was a combined force of three Cessna 150s and two Cherokees. Today, the “Pumpkin” will send up an even bigger maximum effort totaling five straight-tailed 172s, three Ercoupes, and one Stearman. Not bad, huh? 

We will be part of the first task force targeting the back field at the Bourbon County Farmers Market. The second and third EAA task forces will target a Renaissance Faire in Butler County. 

If the primary targets are unavailable, your alternate targets are a mime school and an inflatable critter costume factory in Berea.

You are not, I repeat not, allowed to drop on any kind of political rally, fun run, bake sale, or kids soccer game.

You’re probably thinking our list of targets requires a lot of flying time. It is. It’s the deepest we’ve attempted to drop semi-rotten orange vegetables, but the mighty Pumpkin Air Force has a plan. 

Yes, you, Jeff, in the back of the room next to the “airplanes for sale” bulletin board. Do you have a question?

“Uh, Kevin? Why does that red line on the briefing map go all the way over to Lee Bottom Airfield?” 

That is a characteristically astute question, Jeff. This is why I asked you all to pack lawn chairs, a tent, and a sleeping bag. 

That’s because, ladies and gentlemen, you’re headed to Indiana. (pilots in N-numbered ball caps whistling, clamoring) The folks at our favorite grass strip will welcome you with open arms, ice-cold beer, flush toilets, and cheese brats. (pilots cheering) It’ll be … It’ll be like a holiday. Y’all like beer. If we get lucky and nobody diverts because of having a barfing passenger or a rough engine.

And now for some bad news. My and Jeff’s planes are tail-end Charlie—the worst spot in our squad of squash droppers. We will be hanging out there like s-turning losers trying to stay behind all of you, but we can do nothing about it. 

Now, the weather seems OK for the mission, but we have been fooled before. With the government shutdown and the recent cuts to the National Weather Service, we will have to look for unforeseen rain and fog. Here is Jim with a short weather brief:

“Over the targets today, pilots, cloud cover stands at about five-tenths stratus at 4,000 feet. Topped by five-tenths. Cloud cover should be good over Western Kentucky and on your way west to Lee Bottom.”

The success of this mission rests upon precisely coordinating all of our aircraft over the targets. If we don’t rendezvous in sync, we might all miss the bluegrass concert after tonight’s fly-in dinner. 

The group left the briefing muttering to each other with a combination of anxiety and excitement. Would they make it to and from the target successfully? Would their pumpkins hit the spot? 

No one could tell for sure. That is the nature of a risky daylight gourd bombing mission. 

Pumpkin stuff, as they say, “happens.” 

One thing we knew for sure. By the end of the day, pumpkin guts would be spilled on the verdant fields of our local countryside. It would not be pretty—especially for the ones that hit people’s cars.