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Two Highway Patrol Officers were conducting speeding enforcement on I-15, just north of Oceanside , San Diego , California .

One of the officers was using a hand held radar device to check speeding vehicles approaching the crest of a hill. The officers were suddenly surprised when the radar gun began reading 300 miles per hour and climbing.

The officer attempted to reset the radar gun, but it would not reset and then it suddenly turned off.








Just then a deafening roar over the treetops revealed that the radar had in fact locked on to a USMC F/A-18 Hornet which was engaged in a low flying exercise near this, it's home base location.

Back at the California Highway Patrol Headquarters the Patrol Captain fired off a complaint to the US Marine Corps. Base Commander for shutting down his equipment.

The reply came back in true USMC style:

'Thank you for your letter.





You may be interested to know that the tactical computer in the Hornet had detected the presence of, and subsequently locked on to, your hostile radar equipment and automatically sent a jamming signal back to it, which is why it shut down.




Furthermore, an Air-to-Ground missile aboard the fully armed aircraft had also automatically locked on to your equipment location.




Fortunately, the Marine Pilot flying the Hornet recognized the situation for what it was, quickly responded to the missile system alert status and was able to override the automated defense system before the missile was launched to destroy the hostile radar position.
The pilot suggests you cover your mouths when cussing at them, since the video systems on these jets are very high tech.





Sergeant Johnson, the officer holding the radar gun, should get his dentist to check his left rear molar. It appears the filling is loose. Also, the snap is broken on his holster.'








Semper Fi
 

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Photoshop Pisser Offer
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Two Highway Patrol Officers were conducting speeding enforcement on I-15, just north of Oceanside , San Diego , California .

One of the officers was using a hand held radar device to check speeding vehicles approaching the crest of a hill. The officers were suddenly surprised when the radar gun began reading 300 miles per hour and climbing.

The officer attempted to reset the radar gun, but it would not reset and then it suddenly turned off.








Just then a deafening roar over the treetops revealed that the radar had in fact locked on to a USMC F/A-18 Hornet which was engaged in a low flying exercise near this, it's home base location.

Back at the California Highway Patrol Headquarters the Patrol Captain fired off a complaint to the US Marine Corps. Base Commander for shutting down his equipment.

The reply came back in true USMC style:

'Thank you for your letter.





You may be interested to know that the tactical computer in the Hornet had detected the presence of, and subsequently locked on to, your hostile radar equipment and automatically sent a jamming signal back to it, which is why it shut down.




Furthermore, an Air-to-Ground missile aboard the fully armed aircraft had also automatically locked on to your equipment location.




Fortunately, the Marine Pilot flying the Hornet recognized the situation for what it was, quickly responded to the missile system alert status and was able to override the automated defense system before the missile was launched to destroy the hostile radar position.
The pilot suggests you cover your mouths when cussing at them, since the video systems on these jets are very high tech.





Sergeant Johnson, the officer holding the radar gun, should get his dentist to check his left rear molar. It appears the filling is loose. Also, the snap is broken on his holster.'








Semper Fi

LOL! That's nice!
 

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Bullshit story. There are no F-18's flying below 500 agl with any type of armamnent engaged near non hostile population. Not sure if they even fly that type of aircraft out of Miramar anymore. I believe a few years ago it was changed to all helicopter activity. Not sure though. Makes for good reading....lol
 

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barndoorslammer
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Someone sent me a similar story in '07. But the USMC one is better, for sure!
Subject: Radar Gun -

Two British traffic patrol officers from North Berwick were involved in an unusual incident while checking for speeding motorists on the A1 Great North Road. One of the officers used a hand-held radar gun to check the speed of a vehicle approaching over the crest of a hill, and was surprised when the speed was clocked at over 300 mph. The radar gun suddenly stopped working and the officers were unable to reset it.

About that time, a deafening roar over the treetops revealed that the radar had in fact locked onto a NATO Tornado fighter jet which was engaged in a low-level exercise over the border district, approaching from the North Sea.


Back at police headquarters, the chief constable fired off a stiff complaint to the RAF Liaison Office.

Back came the reply in true laconic RAF style:

"Thank you for your message, which allows us to complete the file on this incident. You may be interested to know that the tactical computer in the Tornado had detected the presence of, and subsequently locked onto, your hostile radar equipment and automatically sent a jamming signal back to it. Furthermore, an air-to-ground missile aboard the fully-armed aircraft had also automatically locked onto your equipment. Fortunately the pilot flying the Tornado recognized the situation for what it was, quickly responded to the missile systems alert status, and was able to override the automated defense system before the missile was launched and your hostile radar installation was destroyed. Have a Good Day."
 

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Dina Parise Racing
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And I thought my ticket for 58 mph in a 55 mph zone was bad! LOL! (and YES that is true!)
 

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Bracket racer
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And I thought my ticket for 58 mph in a 55 mph zone was bad! LOL! (and YES that is true!)
You seriously got a ticket for 58 in a 55? WTF?!
 

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Local legend:
Some years back, at Boeing's Military Modification site, they were ground testing a B-52 after the installation of an updated avionics system.
At the other end of the ramp the company cops were checking for speeders on company property with a rented radar gun.
The test crew noticed that the ship's system fired a spike of energy and didn't know why.
The rented radar gun literally "smoked" in the company cop's hands, for no appearent reason.
Several days later someone overheard a conversation from an adjacent table in the company cafeateria and tied the two "mysteries" together.
The company cops didn't have a clue what was going on with the big airplane or even about what it was capable of.
The test crew didn't know that the company cops were pointing a radar gun toward the airplane.
The electronics in the airplane identified a threat and eliminated it.
Ain't technology wonderful? A retired electrical engineer friend of mine says that it would be possible to build somthing simiilar (but much simplier) for your car,
but never tried it.
 

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The Media has an agenda!
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He He He......on another note......................... In Lafayette, La., speed cameras issued 114,748 speed violations in less than a year and a half.
 

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i love this one.

There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed.
Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "HoustonCenterVoice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the HoustonCenterControllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that... and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed.
"Ah, Twin Beach: I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed."
Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
"Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check."
Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it -- ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
"Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done -- in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
"Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?"
There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if was an everyday request:
"Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
"Ah, Center, much thanks. We're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A. came back with,
"Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
 
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