"A Few Good Navs"
You want the truth, pilot? You can't handle the truth!
Son, we live in a world that has mountains, and those mountains have to be found by Navs with APN-59s. Who's gonna do it?
You? You, Major Stick Monkey?
We have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for
a color copied chart and a decent box lunch, and you curse the Navs. You
have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what we know—that
a modified contour, while tragic, probably suppresses detection; and my
existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, dominates the
electromagnetic spectrum. You don't want the truth because deep down in
places you don't talk about at parties, you want me in that radar—you
need me in that radar. We use words like "peanut," "cut," “ banana left”
and "painting black." We use these words as the backbone of a life spent
frustrating the enemy. You use them as a punch line.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who flies and fights under the blanket of recommended altitudes that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather that you just said "thank you" and fly SCNS centerline. Otherwise, I suggest you take
the next J-model assignment that comes around. Either way, I don't give
a damn what you think you’re entitled to fly.