I was just reading an article about our aging air force; about how seven years of Bush-Cheney global domination policy has stretched air force equipment to the breaking point. I didn't finish the article. That's because my mind drifted.
I imagined myself as an Iraqi gathering with my family as another day winds down. Despite the failings of the dismal world outside, inside there are still moments for laughter and the sharing of stories from our day as our evening repast is prepared. But all of the stories and laughter are shattered when the last sound any of us hears is an American air force jet flying thousands of feet above us.
That was just a split second before the bomb hit. In the ensuing explosion that flattened our home killing my mother, two younger sisters, my father, an uncle and cousin named Ahmed and me, does it matter if the bomb that unexpectedly dropped in for dinner killing us all was released from an ancient B-52 or stressed B-1 bomber, an old F-15 or newer F-22 Raptor? I imagined not. Dead is dead.
But it matters to the U.S. air force. After all, if they're to continue doing their missions for the forever future in Iraq and Afghanistan, an extra $20 billion/year for the next five years should do nicely to remedy things, they say. Sadly, Bush's "smaller government" with ambitions for global dominance financed with insurmountable national debt may not be able to afford such luxuries says congress, leaving the entire future of the empire in doubt.
(NOTE: Dada is a former pre-teenager and recovering model airplane builder of sleek sub- and supersonic aircraft which he was especially fascinated with because of their ability to deliver inescapable death before victims knew what hit them. Much like today's U.S. Air Force, Dada enjoyed the dominance that comes with having the largest air force of any kid in his neighborhood. Sadly, my once mighty air force fell into decay as I grew up and my priorities evolved.)