Word: corsaire
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...built from plans or kits, antiques rescued from rust and decay by men and women who, like Orville and Wilbur Wright, still want to fly free like birds. Now and then at this mecca of private aviation, the towering cumulus clouds are sundered by warbirds like the gull-winged Corsair, the kind the Jolly Rogers squadron flew in the Pacific, lovingly restored by men with heroic memories and oversize checkbooks (half a million dollars...
Built in the 1960s, the A-7 Corsair fighter-bomber has been outmoded by more advanced planes such as the F-16. At Nevada's Nellis Air Force Base, where a squadron of A-7s is located, pilots say the plane is a "dead stick without power" -- meaning that without engine thrust, the jet cannot easily be guided...
HARM, the gold-plated ($283,000 each) high-speed antiradiation missile, which has been criticized by some Pentagon officials for poor test performance, succeeded in twice disabling a Libyan SA-5 radar station. Fired from the wing of a Navy A-7 Corsair jet, the missile homed in on signals emanating from the radar. A 14-ft.-long, 800-lb. weapon, HARM carries a 46-lb. high-explosive warhead over a range of about 40 miles. The Libyan radar resumed operations within hours of both attacks, but during a full-fledged battle, that would allow time for U.S. bombers...
Another mistake resulted in a Corsair strafing a group of U.S. paratroopers. The airborne unit "was trying to rout Cuban soldiers in their well-fortified Calivigny barracks when it called for Navy air help. Their position was close to an abandoned Cuban antiaircraft gun that still pointed toward the sky. From the air it looked like the intended target. "All of a sudden the world blew up," said Lieut. Scott Schafer, who was hit by shrapnel when the Corsair fired. Twelve paratroopers were wounded. As the plane banked for another strike, a ground officer reached the pilot by radio...
...helicopters came rocketing in on their principal target, the army base of Fort Frederick on the hill just behind us. A-7 Corsair light attack jets screamed down, bombed and fired on positions surrounding where we stood. Then a lumbering gray-painted C-130 with its rapid-fire gun in the rear made its entry, spraying the hillsides above with percussion fire as loud as hailstones hitting a tin roof. We could feel the hot rush of air and the concussion from the exploding bombs, and yet, directly in front of us, four fishing boats still bobbed idly at their...