Writing this must have been an excellent exercise for you. I enjoyed reading it.
I had a break from my USAF active service to go to college. While in the USAF Reserve at March AFB, I worked for General Dynamic on an F-16N maintenance contract for NFWS & VF-126 (NAS Miramar). I was hired as an Avionics Lead, but we had few people, and everyone had to be available for Plane Captain duties. It was the best job of my life. I liked the launch and recovery, inspections, towing, brake riding, and contact with the aircrew. I wasn’t so fond of the wash rack.
There was a mix of former Navy and former USAF on the contract. It was interesting exploring the differences between USAF and Navy culture and procedures.
Thanks for serving, that has been one of the fun things in this exercise, is reading how other branches handle this. (I get the distinct impression that, yes, F-16s must be a pain in the butt to wash, although I suspect diving the intake on those must have been much like the A-7!)
By the way, my best friend who joined with me, and is my best friend to this day, served in VF-126 back in the mid-late Seventies. Hahaha...I really worked hard to get him a transfer to my outfit, but the Navy doesn’t make that easy. They said it could be arranged if I found a guy in my outfit who was interested in a trade, so I got a guy nicknamed “Bear” Baldridge who was interested, and we began the process.
Bear once pinioned me against a bulkhead for waking him up to go to the shop when he overslept. (You can see “Bear” above at the post #55 above. He was standing third from the Left in the back row. He was a big guy with a bushy beard, and not someone to be trifled with. But I always got along well with him, both before and after this incident)
I walked up to his rack, and after saying “Bear...Bear...they’re looking for you in the shop. Bear, wake up...” to no effect, I gently grabbed his foot and wiggling it said “Bear...”
Well, in a flash he leaped out of his rack, and had me by the throat against the bulkhead, growling like the bear he was nicknamed for, and looking absolutely as menacing as one, too. His eyes were bulging, and his lips were peeled back from his teeth as growled menacingly in a low voice “Don’t you EVER touch my feet...” before releasing me and crawling back into his rack.
I disconsolately went back to the Line Shack, and told AD1 Cook that when I woke Baldridge up, he made it clear he wasn’t going to cooperate, so “Cookieman” (as we all knew him) got up and said “Follow me.”
As we approached our berthing space, there was one of those ever present buckets on wheels with a mop in it, the ones that have the mop wringing device on top. Without even missing a beat, Cookieman, who was walking briskly in front of me, stuck out his hand and effortlessly extracted the dripping wet mop.
He walked up to Bear’s rack, and using the dripping wet swab, brushed aside the stupid blue curtains we all had, and shoved the mop into Baldridge’s face saying in a low, monotone voice “Bear. Come on, Bear. Get up out of that rack.”
Baldridge leaped to his feet, his eyes blinking rapidly in his dripping face, fists clenched ready to do combat, but when he saw it was AD1 Cook, after soundlessly opening and closing his mouth, turned around and opened his rack.
Anyway, our transfer agreement never did get consummated, and my buddy happily served out his tour of duty in Miramar!