CALLSIGN feature
Story by Alan de Herrera
Photography by Alan de Herrera & USAF photographers

GUCCI 09

We were climbing up to 25,000 feet somewhere over Big Sur when I found myself strapped in, backward, inside the tail of the beast—the U.S. Air Force's legendary KC-10 Extender, a flying gas station, hurtling through the California azure sky at 300 knots. Staring out of a large rear-facing window, I watched as the earth slowly rolled by—but in reverse—which was doing strange things to my mind. Or maybe it was the Red Bull I shotgunned right before takeoff. Either way, I was in for a wild ride on the bird they call “Big Sexy.”

*Alan de Herrera - A KC-10 Extender flies in formation with a USAF F-15C from the 144th Fighter Wing/Fresno Air National Guard.*

Suddenly, the radio crackled over my headphones; "Gucci-Zero-Nine, this is Dogs One at FL-Two-Four-Zero, altimeter Two-Niner-Niner-Two"—a fighter pilot from the California Guard’s 144th Fighter Wing barked over the radio. Our first receiver of the day. Emerging out of the misty clouds below, four thirsty legacy F-15C fighter jets, fresh from a mock dogfight off the coast, swooped in on us high on adrenaline and low on fuel—like ravenous hummingbirds to nectar. Only these birds carried AIM-120 and AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles—ready to unleash mayhem at a moment's notice.

The KC-10, unmistakable with its three massive howling engines, had been feeding Uncle Sam's airborne appetite since 1981. I was riding in one of the last active “10s” in the inventory, tail number 1948, affectionately dubbed "Excalibur."

"Noses cold, switches safe," came back over the radio. Fighter talk for “We're not gonna accidentally shoot you down or fry your cockpit with radiation.” The pilot’s voice carried that fighter-jock swagger that even the static couldn't diminish. Our Aircraft Commander in the left seat, Lieutenant Colonel Andy Baer from the 9th Air Refueling Squadron, radioed the fighters back, setting up a classic anchor rendezvous. "Dogs Flight, Gucci-Zero-Nine, you're cleared to rejoin," he firmly replied.

His eyes were now locked on the four silver fighters quickly joining up on our wing. It’s a delicate dance of situational awareness, having this many birds in close formation. Baer then passed the flight controls to his co-pilot, 70 ARS Reservist 1st Lieutenant Courtney Foltz, as he began to shift his focus from flying the airplane to then monitoring the aerial refueling mission tasks and reports from his flight systems engineer.

*Alan de Herrera - A USAF F-15C Eagle pulls up behind a KC-10 Extender from the 60th Air Mobility Wing at Travis Air Force Base.*

*USAF photo by Master Sgt. Traci Keller. KC-10 Aircraft Commander Lt. Col. Andy Baer from the 9th Air Refueling Squadron at Travis AFB.*

Foltz gripped the throttle levers with her left hand, gently easing Excalibur’s wild spirit into submission—keeping the aircraft stable for the delicate aerial refueling process. Our Flight Engineer, Staff Sergeant Tracy Koshman sat behind the pilots in a nifty swivel chair, eyes glued to an arsenal of gauges and switches on the control panel. He’s responsible for maintaining the fuel quantity gauges, hydraulics, and electrical systems. The seasoned trio in the cockpit grooved in perfect sync, every dial twist and lever push a bold note like an airborne jazz-fueled session. The aerial trenches breed a special group of “crew dogs,” they say. Uniquely qualified to orchestrate the dangerous symphony of high-altitude refueling.

*Alan de Herrera - A KC-10’s boom operator’s view of a USAF F-15C from the 144th Fighter Wing, pulling up into the aerial refueling envelope.*

Our boom operator, Staff Sergeant Cameron Carl, sat next to me crammed into the tail section of the plane called the “Boom Pod”—a claustrophobic cubbyhole the size of a small car, equipped with three comfy seats and a maze of switches and buttons. Carl lounged in his reclined position like a man settling into his favorite La-Z-Boy, staring out of a massive four-foot pane of pressurized glass directly in front of us.

Wrapping his right hand around the flight control stick and the telescope stick with his left, he nodded at me with a wild glint in his eye. "Here we go," he said, then keyed his mic. "Dogs-One, Gucci-Zero-Nine. You're cleared astern," he announced, directing the lead fighter to slide in on our six—holding steady at 50 feet behind us. "Requesting 4K," came the reply from Dogs-One. "You're cleared for contact," Carl shot back, now flashing a red forward light—a visual cue to start the in-flight refueling tango.

Carl started to extend the KC-10's flying boom, unfurling it like a mechanical alien proboscis, poised to feed the fighter. With a steady calm, he radioed Dogs-One to "ease forward.” “Thirty, twenty, ten," he called out to the pilots in the KC-10’s cockpit over the inter-phone as the fighter crept in closer, poised to make any subtle adjustments to the plane’s position and airspeed. The fighter had now pulled in so close to our window that I could spot a wrapped sandwich perched on his visor—a classic move for pilots looking to warm up their in-flight meal.

Easing the boom into position, he lowered it to just the right angle with the finesse of a seasoned pro having done this dance thousands of times. Then, with a precise touch, a smaller inner boom telescoped out, locking onto the fighter's fuel receptacle located behind his cockpit. "Contact," Carl radioed. "Contact," the fighter echoed back.

*Alan de Herrera - USAF F-15C peels away after an aerial refueling mission on the KC-10. The fighter is from the California Air National Guard’s 144th Fighter Wing based in Fresno.*

In an instant, 4,000 pounds of the fighter's lifeblood—JET-A fuel—surged into his tanks at a rate of nearly 2,000 pounds per minute. Only a quick top-off for the fighter to help him get back to base; a drop in the bucket compared to the 110,000 pounds of fuel a massive B-1 bomber might guzzle in one sitting. After the first fighter swallowed its fill, Carl radioed, ”Disconnect complete. Dogs-One, cleared right wing," swiftly switching to the number two fighter sliding into position, eager for its gulp of the high-octane brew. One by one, they all four queued up, each a regular at this airborne watering hole. After the last receiver disengaged, they peeled away with a satisfied roar. "See ya," echoed over the radio as they vanished into the horizon.

KC-10 EXTENDER CARGO TANKER

The KC-10 cargo tanker burst onto the scene, a roaring beast unleashed by the Air Force in 1981 as a rebellious offspring of the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 in 1971, it was a tri-motor marvel from an era when speed was the new religion and gas was cheap. With that third engine perched on its tail like a crown jewel, it carved a silhouette unlike any other, setting itself apart from the drab herd of conventional Air Force tankers. This third engine was a nod to the FAA's ironclad rules, demanding more than two engines for long oceanic voyages.

In the smoky aftermath of Operation Rolling Thunder in Vietnam, military brass found themselves knee-deep in chaos once more in '73. The Yom Kippur War had turned the Middle East into a powder keg, and Israel, gasping for relief, dialed President Nixon for a lifeline. Enter Operation Nickel Grass—a frantic, 32-day transatlantic dash of C-141 Starlifters and C-5 Galaxies, each a flying fortress of artillery and tanks.

However, the air corridors were long, and the KC-135 tankers had limitations. Each mission illuminated a glaring deficiency in America's air refueling game, shining like a neon nightmare over the Atlantic. The military bigwigs, trapped in a logistical challenge, faced the cold truth: their smaller KC-135 Stratotankers were outmatched under the circumstances. The Air Force got the job done, but this high-altitude weakness exposed a critical chink in the armor, prompting a frenzied push to conjure up a bigger, more capable tanker to help keep the warbirds flying.

*USAF Master Sgt. Mark Olsen - KC-10 Extender*

Fast forward two years and the Air Force launched the Advanced Tanker Cargo Aircraft Program, hunting for America’s next great air refueling beast. When the fumes settled, the commercial DC-10 emerged triumphant in December 1977, eclipsing the legendary Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet as a serious contender. The military version of the DC-10 was favored for its ability to leap into the sky with a full load from shorter strips.

The newly designated McDonnell Douglas KC-10A Extender, a creature born from the commercial DC-10-30F variant, began its journey in 1979 at the Douglas plant in Long Beach, California. It slid into the existing DC-10 production line with a stunning eighty-eight percent parts commonality. The new USAF design stripped out passenger seats, ditched luggage holds, and crammed three extra fuel tanks into the fuselage. A massive gull-wing door was slapped on the port side for hefty cargo, alongside reinforced wings and military-grade avionics.

The revamped design boasted a boom operator’s station at the tail, featuring an aerial hose and drogue fuel system, plus a tail-mounted Advanced Aerial Refueling System Boom with fly-by-wire controls—a brainchild of the US Air Force Academy's engineering wizards. This metallic marvel, stretching from the plane's aft like an aluminum umbilical cord, transformed the KC-10 into a fuel-spewing giant and pure aviation art. She took to the skies for the first time on July 12, 1980.

This strategic use of the DC-10’s existing design and manufacturing processes streamlined development, and allowed the USAF to start welcoming their new KC-10 tankers just two years later. Sixty KC-10s were eventually ordered to bolster the hundreds of smaller KC-135s already in the Air Force’s arsenal. Alas, one plane, dubbed “Lady Luck,” met its fiery end in a catastrophic maintenance blaze in 1987 at Barksdale AFB.

*USAF - KC-10 Extender during Operation Ocean Venture*

*USAF - Air Force Reserve Commander MGEN Richard Bodycombe and KC-10A Extender pilot MAJ Rosty Olson look at the cutaway Extender model, showing the cargo configuration, during the rollout ceremony.*

*Alan de Herrera -* The Fly DC Jets sign in all its neon glory still shines bright at the former McDonnell Douglas aerospace plant in Long Beach, California. McDonnell Douglas was once the king of the aerospace world, cranking out marvels here including the KC-10 Extenders —a derivative from the legacy DC-10 platform first built here in 1971.

The first KC-10s strutted off the assembly line, decked out in that iconic white upper and grey lower fuselage, trimmed with a streak of blue. Then came the infamous "Shamu" green and grey camo, making her look a little meaner. By the early '90s, she was reborn under the Air Mobility Command, cloaked in sleek air superiority grey. The last KC-10 rolled off on November 29, 1988, just a month after the DC-10's commercial production line made its curtain call.

Excalibur was a trailblazer, the first tanker to juggle both a flying boom and an independent hose and drogue system in a single flight. A revolutionary move that let it refuel both receptacle and probe-equipped aircraft. While the USAF birds lined up for boom refueling, the US Navy, US Marine Corps, and NATO jets went for the hose reel, showcasing the KC-10's unmatched versatility. The final twenty were armed with Wing Air Refueling Pods near the wingtips, refueling two probe-equipped receivers simultaneously.

Hailed as “truly a force multiplier,” the KC-10 wasn't just another tanker; it was a workhorse. An icon of American air power and global reach—an equal opportunity fueler—lugging up to 356,000 pounds of fuel, nearly doubling its predecessor, the smaller four-engine KC-135. "We have no advanced computers. It's an analog machine. It ticks and whirs,” Lt. Col. Baer tells me. “‘Steam gauges,’ we called them. She requires an immense amount of human input to do her job. We can fill her up to a whopping 590,000 total pounds—a staggering number,” said Baer.

“When you show up somewhere filled up on fuel, then check in like 'One KC-10 on station, 300 to give,' the radios go silent.” She can haul an entire force package in one go with a cargo capacity nearly matching a USAF C-17—four F-15s on its wings, parts, engines, tool kits, 75 passengers, medical evacuations—up to 170,000 pounds of cargo, all depending on the setup. It even handles medical evacuations. “We’re doing exactly what Mr. Douglas envisioned,” Baer said.

*USAF - A KC-10 drags USAF F-4 Phantoms.*

Wondering about her speed? The KC-10 could slice through the sky at a blistering .88 Mach (619 mph), nearly supersonic. "The third engine gives us an incredible power advantage,” Baer added, eyes gleaming.

If the KC-135 was a blunt object, the KC-10 was a sledgehammer, a testament to Douglas’ audacity and genius. A 1986 ad boasted: “Mission after mission, the KC-10 continues to prove that it is everything the Air Force ordered. And more. KC-10 —Promises Delivered.” Another chimed in, “Nobody’s left high and dry when there’s a KC-10 in the air.”

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10’s left seat yoke.*

It’s 1982, and Air Force pilot Colonel Bruce Hurd emerged as one of the lucky few—a young Captain at the time—who was chosen to begin flying the new Extender. Fresh from commanding the KC-135 as an instructor pilot, he was thrust into the throes of Strategic Air Command's latest gamble. "This was after its initial test phase at Barksdale AFB 32nd Air Refueling Squadron," Hurd recalled with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. The brass was on edge, uneasy about entrusting this new plane to untested hands. Their master plan? Pluck seasoned aircraft commanders from the KC-135 ranks and slot them in as co-pilots on the KC-10. It was a high-stakes game with 600 eager contenders, but only six would seize the prize. "I was thrilled when I found out I got selected," Hurd said, excitement still laced in his words.

The KC-10 was a revelation, a technological wonder that left him awestruck. "The first time I went out on the ramp and saw her, it was just stunning," he remembered. “It boasted cutting-edge avionics and an inertial navigation system, banishing the need for a navigator like in our older KC-135s,” he marveled, captivated by its sheer size and sleek white paint job. As the KC-10s continued to roll off the assembly line, a new chapter was being written. "They were just starting to build the program at that time," Hurd mused. "The biggest difference coming from the KC-135 tanker was how much more power she had. You push up the throttles and it was absolutely noticeable, even when fully loaded.”

*Alan de Herrera - Travis Air Force Base*

In the air refueling world, a friendly rivalry has always existed between the smaller KC-135 and the KC-10 communities. “‘10’ pilots and their aircrew have a unique understanding because we’ve also been the receivers of fuel, whereas the KC-135 doesn’t have a fuel receptacle and can't take on gas," Baer explained. "Before the introduction of the new Boeing KC-46, we were the only ones with the experience of both receiving and delivering fuel. I think that gives us an extra edge. KC-10 on KC-10 in the early days—that idea was revolutionary for its time."

In the air refueling community, the KC-10 is simply legendary. A tireless workhorse with a storied past. She’s shown up on time in every conflict zone since Reagan started pitching trickle-down economics. Operation Urgent Fury in Grenada, Somalia, El Dorado Canyon, Panama, Noble Eagle, Desert Storm, Desert Shield, Bosnia, Iraq, Sudan, Afghanistan, Inherent Resolve, Allied Refuge and so many more—slipping in and out of conflict zones like a ghost.

*USAF - A KC-135 Stratotanker aircraft, top, preparing to refuel a KC-10 Extender.*

Air Force reservist and legendary KC-10 pilot with the 70th Air Refueling Squadron, Lt. Colonel Brian Johnson, shared his experiences flying the KC-10 out of Guantanamo Bay with ISIS prisoners on board. He then recounted traveling around the Horn of Africa to refuel a top-secret C-17 mission involving SEAL Team 6 and the rescued Captain Richard Phillips. "We even dragged National Guard F-15s from Oregon to the Dakotas to eye a Chinese spy balloon," he recalled, which was later blown out of the sky by an Air Force F-22 Raptor.

From stealth fighters to stealth bombers—Eagles, Vipers, Tomcats; Phantoms and Raptors; Intruders, Prowlers, Warthogs, Tornados, Hornets, Aardvarks and Harriers; along with behemoths like the Globemaster, The Bone, and the Super Galaxy. Even those beautifully painted US Navy Blue Angels and USAF Thunderbirds, with their tight formation glory. The Extender has seen them all glide in for a drink.

*USAF - A KC-10 Extender aircraft refueling a C-5 Galaxy aircraft. An F-4 Phantom II aircraft can be seen in the background.*

OPERATION EL DORADO CANYON

Let’s talk about Operation El Dorado Canyon, the mission that cemented the KC-10 into legendary status just as she was emerging. It was a high-stakes baptism by fire, and were about to prove their worth for the first time in the brutal theater of the Middle East.

Flashback to 1986—a year of tension and turmoil, a time when the air hung with the anticipation of conflict. The mission: a precision strike against Libyan targets in retaliation for a series of state-sponsored terrorist acts, including a bombing attack in West Berlin that killed two American servicemen and injured several others.

France, Spain, and Italy had rejected the idea of a US military strike in fear of retaliation and therefore denied the US military overflight rights for their mission, forcing the planners to adapt, and then devise a radically different attack plan to reach Libya from their bases in England. This new strategy involved navigating around the borders of these three countries, threading the needle through the Strait of Gibraltar before plunging into the Mediterranean. Achieving this would require an enormous amount of fuel, necessitating the use of KC-10 tankers to deliver it.

Operation El Dorado Canyon launched on the evening of April 15, 1986, with a swarm of 24 U.S. Air Force F-111F Aardvark long-range strike fighters. These sleek beasts, armed to the teeth, were accompanied by radar-jamming EF-111A "Spark-Varks," both characterized by their swept-back wings and long, razor-sharp noses. The mission began with the fighters surging into the skies from RAF Lakenheath and RAF Upper Heyford in England. During the first refueling, six F-111s and one EF-111, designated as spares, eventually turned back. The remaining jets continued on the grueling 13-hour, 6,400-mile round-trip mission. Here’s the kicker: none of these intrepid pilots had ever refueled behind a KC-10 under the cloak of night, let alone in total radio silence.

This operation marked the first time since World War II that the U.S. launched a bombing mission from British bases. Supporting this long-range strike were eight KC-10 Extenders, known as the "Mother tankers,” with four additional spares that eventually turned around after the first refueling. They navigated a complex route from the United Kingdom, around the Iberian Peninsula, and across the Mediterranean to their targets in Tripoli. After reaching the Strait of Gibraltar, four of the KC-10s consolidated their fuel into the remaining four tankers before returning back to base —maximizing the fuel available for the deeper mission into the Mediterranean. This operation involved a total of 26 USAF aircraft, the largest military formation since Vietnam.

As the aerial armada approached Libya, chaos erupted from the sea. Two U.S. Navy aircraft carriers, the USS Coral Sea and the USS America, unleashed a relentless assault, deploying six A-6E TRAM Intruder attack aircraft along with a supporting force of six F/A-18 Hornets to intensify the attack.

*USAF - EF-111 Raven prepares for an air refueling rejoin with a KC-10 Extender.*

*USAF - 48th Tactical Fighter Wing’s F-111F, based at RAF Lakenheath, England, refuels off a KC-10 Extender.*

In a wild phone call with legendary KC-10 pilot Lieutenant Colonel Mike Ethridge, he shared what it was like to fly that tanker mission under the callsign DEBAR. “We were locked down at the base in Mildenhall, England, waiting to see if we were going to execute the attack,” Ethridge said. “After three days of briefs, we were on edge, not knowing if the mission would really happen. There were KC-10 squadrons from Seymour and Barksdale. We flew in from March AFB but didn’t know the other guys. We were just a bunch of ‘crew dogs,’ and I had just made 1st Lieutenant,” Ethridge recalled.

Then came the orders. The imposing figure of four-star General Charles A. Gabriel, Chief of Staff of the Air Force, walked into the room. His words cut through the air with the weight of authority: “It’s a go. President Reagan has authorized this.” Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted from calm to electric. “Now it gets really serious,” Ethridge said. And then the twist—“They chose my commander and me to lead the formation.”

Before they even took to the skies, the tension was already thick in the air. “Right before we left, this intel guy comes in for the briefing,” Ethridge recalled; his voice a mix of incredulity and humor. The man was laying down the law about safety protocols and bailout procedures, and it was all well and good—except for one glaring oversight.

“On the 135s, you have a crew escape chute, and you have parachutes and helmets. In an emergency, you can jump out of a KC-135. But you cannot jump out of a KC-10,” Ethridge recalled learning soon after that the plan was originally designed by KC-135 planners. As the intel officer droned on about the safe bailout area and what to do with the precious secret SAC documents if they had to ditch, Ethridge couldn’t help himself. He raised his hand, “Do you know anything about a KC-10?” The absurdity of worrying about classified documents in a life-or-death situation struck him. “I was thinking, the last thing I’m going to worry about if we are going down is that yellow bag of secret papers,” he finished the story laughing.

*USAF photo by Russell Meseroll. A KC-10 “Elephant Walk.”*

*USAF - Senior Airman Preston Webb. Tech. Sgt. Javier, 380th Aircraft Maintenance Squadron Extender Aircraft Maintenance Unit crew chief, marshals a KC-10 Extender.*

Former Boom Operator Tom Degen described how the KC-10’s aircrew helped fix the glaring mistakes in the planner's brief on the fuel requirements for the mission. “They proceeded to tell us our bingo fuel was ‘this amount’ and your offload is ‘this amount.’ I said, well wait a minute. You want us to RTB with 100,000 pounds of fuel left on board? And they were like ‘What do you mean?’” Degen says laughing. “I said no dude, the KC-10 can carry 356,000 pounds of fuel. It’s all off-loadable and all burnable. We can stay on station for hours!”

As the twelve KC-10s in a massive conga line sat idle on the tarmac, thirty-six KC-10 engines howling in anticipation, Ethridge glanced at the clock, the urgency of the moment creeping in. “We were sitting on the ground getting ready to taxi out, and I’m looking at these times,” he confided. He turned to his Aircraft Commander Captain Pete Leonard, and said, “We can’t make these times.” He then told me, “Everything we were going to do that night was based upon timing and we had a winded flight plan in order to hit this window at the right moment to release our guys,” he continued. The gravity of it all settling in. The wind forecast three days earlier turned out to be all wrong, throwing a wrench into their meticulously planned operation. “I was telling Pete, ‘We’re just going to have to haul ass.’”

The KC-10s blasted off from the overrun at RAF Mildenhall, heavy with the weight of their mission. The adrenaline was palpable, coursing through the veins of the crew as they pushed the aircraft to its limits. As they got airborne, the radio came alive: “Hey, you got some VFR traffic below.” Ethridge’s heart raced as he glanced around, knowing full well that the F-111 bombers were barreling towards them for the rejoin.

“The last TACAN down there is called Land’s End before you got to the end of England and then over the water,” he explained. And then, just like that, the air controller’s voice came over the radio, cutting through the tension with wry British humor: “Happy hunting Yanks!” It was a haunting farewell that resonated in the cockpit as the eight massive KC-10 tankers, flanked by the thirsty bombers, soared into the unknown—a band of brothers poised to unleash hell on their targets.

*USAF - A 48th Tactical Fighter Wing’s F-111F, based at RAF Lakenheath, England, refuels off a KC-10 Extender.*

When it came to refueling F-111s, the standard was typically around 310 knots calibrated airspeed. But the KC-10s boom could refuel as fast as 350 knots, a pace they had to maintain the entire way. The bombers would have to hit one of their engines in burner when they started getting heavy to keep up—pushing themselves to the limit to refuel, all while in tight formation to help hide their radar signature. “I’m trying to figure out calculations on our flight plan to get us back on schedule,” Ethridge recounted, the tension palpable as he wrestled with the numbers in the cockpit. “We had a circuit breaker on the airplane that was our max overspeed warning; we called it the ‘chicken clicker.’ We pulled it and over-sped the airplane all the way down.”

The F-111s, fangs out, were loaded for bear with GBU-15 missiles, GPBs and 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs. But the additional speed came with a price. “My boomer back there was saying, ‘Hey, they’re stroking burner just to stay on the boom,’” Ethridge told me. The sheer power of those jets was impressive, but they sucked down gas like thirsty beasts; armed with their high-drag weapons.

Eight behemoth KC-10s loomed against the star-speckled night, nurturing their deadly offspring, the F-111s, with the lifeblood of aerial warfare. Four times they all watched this twisted dance of hardware and jet fuel, umbilical cords of aviation stretching through the coastal darkness like some alien motherly embrace. Then, like divorced parents splitting custody, half the tankers abandoned their metal children to the night and headed home, while the others hovered nearby anxiously, waiting to guide their wayward fighters home after they'd dropped their payload of American diplomacy. But history has a way of twisting fate, and Ethridge grimly noted, “And as you know, one of the bombers didn’t come back.”

*USAF photo by Yasuo Osakabe. A KC-10 Extender assigned to Travis Air Force Base, Calif. parks on the flight line after a mission across the Pacific Ocean.*

Degen, who boomed on one of the KC-10s that were part of the deeper mission, recalled a spectacular show of force from one of the F-111 guys on the way home from their mission. “One of the guys did a ‘Zippo’ for us on the way back,” he said, a fighter pilot’s gesture of thanks for the gas. “F-111s and FB-111s are the only ones that can do it. Their fuel dump is located right between their motors in the back of the airplane. We’d give them extra fuel and they would fly along straight and level then start dumping fuel for like 30 seconds. And then they would hit burner and the whole night sky would light up for half a mile! Just like a Zippo lighter, we’d say.”

“The fact that these crews took a brand new weapons system that was still in delivery, loaded them up with that amount of fuel that the world had never seen before,” Lt. Col. Baer told me in awe. “Millions of pounds of fuel that launched. Just staggering. Those crews became legends that day and it was cool that I was part of a community that has that on our scoreboard.”

CALLSIGN “SLUGGO”

Next, I dove headfirst into a Zoom conversation with retired Lieutenant Colonel Mark Hasara, better known by his callsign "Sluggo." A former KC-135 pilot and Chief Operating Officer for U.S. and Allied air refueling in the Middle East during Operations Anaconda, Iraqi Freedom, and over the chaotic skies over Afghanistan, Sluggo wore a wide grin that belied the battle-hardened veteran beneath. He is a living anthology of high-octane adventure, each story a thrilling ride through the aerial trenches of war—leaving you breathless and craving more of his adrenaline-fueled exploits.

*USAF photo by PA/MSgt Stanley Coleman - A US Navy EA-6B Prowler aircraft conducts aerial refueling from the extended drogue of a KC-10.*

"The tankers are always the first ones deployed," he explained. "They have to set up the air bridge to move the iron across, to wherever the theater is." In preparation for the 2003 Shock and Awe campaign over Iraq, Sluggo and his gas-warrior crew teamed up with Air Mobility Command's Tanker Airlift Control Center, orchestrating aerial lifelines during the movement of aircraft from U.S. bases to the east.

At the deployment's fever pitch, Sluggo's Air Refueling Control Team joined forces with the TACC tanker airbridge to juggle a sky circus of 180 aircraft, with 120 soaring simultaneously. The mighty KC-10 Extenders did the lion's share of the heavy lifting.

Recounting tales from the war in Kosovo, he mentioned, "The best thing about the ‘Gucci Bird’ is that it was refuelable. We'd park two of them over the Adriatic and call them ‘reliability tankers.’ They’d stay up for a three-hour on-station time, then we would send a KC-135 to fill it up with 80,000 pounds of fuel every hour to keep those engines running for a couple of hours," he said, eyes gleaming with the thrill of airborne strategy.

*USAF - An A-10 Thunderbolt II receives fuel from a KC-10 Extender.*

USAF - A U.S. Marine Corps A/V-8B Harrier receives fuel over Afghanistan from a KC-10 Extender with the 908th Expeditionary Air Refueling Squadron, Feb. 24, 2012.

In the surreal theater of aerial warfare, Sluggo painted a vivid picture of the KC-10's prowess. "We could do two F-14s, one on each wingtip pod because those wings were so long," he said. "That’s the beauty of the KC-10—you can park it someplace and make it an open gas station. When you have a time-sensitive target, like a SAM site that’s there for up to six hours, then moves, you can refuel a package, keep them together, and send them in to hit that target." He then described the chaos and strategy of Operation Anaconda, a chaotic whirlwind in the Afghan mountains, in March 2002. Picture this: the rugged Shah-i-Kot Valley, a desolate stage where American forces collided with well-entrenched Taliban and Al-Qaeda forces in a desperate and chaotic battle. The plan? A swift strike. The reality? Pure bedlam.

"In Anaconda, we parked those KC-10s on-call for the close air support airplanes protecting our guys on the ground—Hornets or Tomcats, Strike Eagles or Hogs. They could all tank on the KC-10. The wildcard though was the French Navy Etendard. “They are absolute gas-guzzling pigs,” Sluggo told me chuckling with disgust. “They need to hook up for fuel about every 20 minutes.

The tension peaked when one of those Etendards, flying off the French Navy carrier Charles de Gaulle, faced disaster. "The KC-10s were dragging them in and out until one of the Etendards had a major electrical problem—smoke in the cockpit. It was tense," he recounted. "Not only does this French Navy pilot have to come out, but he’s got to land that thing on the carrier."

*USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Erik Gudmundson. A U.S. Air Force KC-10 Extender approaches another KC-10 aircraft during a refueling mission over the skies of Iraq.*

A KC-10 on station radioed to the Navy fighter saying, “‘We can help you out.’ So sure enough, the Etendard and his wingman show up," Sluggo continued, grinning at the ingenuity. In a daring maneuver, the KC-10 crew dragged the distressed Etendard back to the Charles de Gaulle. "He went into the overhead, came down, and landed. And they saved the pilot and his airplane because of the KC-10’s ability to refuel all these different types of airplanes," Sluggo said triumphantly.

“We would typically do the navy fighters like Tomcats and Hornets at 275 knots. Vipers and Strike Eagles at 315 knots.” And then there was the B-1, demanding a steady 320 knots. “As it gets heavier, it has to go 320 knots, so they don’t have to tap into burner,” Sluggo continued. But with that weight came restrictions—a mere 15 degrees of bank instead of the usual 30—turning the sky into a sprawling canvas of calculated maneuvers. “That makes the turn circle a lot bigger,” griped Sluggo said. “We carved out air refueling anchor areas that stretched 35 miles wide and 70 miles long, all thanks to the B-1's heavyweight and airspeed challenges. The quick jaunt of the KC-10, zipping from eastern to western Iraq, was nothing short of a tactical miracle.”

*USAF - A B1-B Lancer bomber carefully moves toward the refueling boom of a KC-10 Extender tanker over the Indian Ocean.*

Most days, Sluggo and his guys were ahead of the game, mapping out where the gas needed to flow based on the strike packages’ever-shifting paths. But then came those chaotic moments when the battlefield rhythm surged, and they found themselves consolidating tankers in a frenzied cluster. “During the run-up to Baghdad, the ‘thunder runs’ we called them, the sky filled with A-10s, F-15s, F-16s, F-14s, F-18s and Harriers.”

The ability to reposition the KC-10, to move gas at breakneck speed, became their lifeblood when the execution hit its peak. “We had to move a lot of gas—fast. We had a situation where we needed some Hogs in the west because the 3rd ID was making their big run into Baghdad,” Sluggo said. “We’d descend the KC-10s down into the lower altitude blocks, but we couldn’t drop below 18,000 feet because of the threat of anti-aircraft artillery.”

The British Tornados were their partners in this madness, those underpowered beasts demanding the tankers to hang low—between 18 and 21 thousand feet. Meanwhile, the KC-135s were even higher up there, strutting around above the 10s, but when their missions wound down and they still had gas to spare, Sluggo would send them diving down to rendezvous with the KC-10s. “Give him that extra 30 or 40 thousand and consolidate. KC-10 guys hate that because it means they are going to be out long!” It was a heavy burden, flying those extended missions—the weight of the battlefield’s chaos pressing down on their shoulders. “We would try to give the aircrews a couple of days off after those long sorties.”

*USAF - A KC-10 Extender aircraft refuels a F-15 Eagle.*

“The problem was the KC-135s’ crew ratio was 1.4 to a single airplane which restricted the number of sorties they could fly,” he grumbled. The KC-135 was the problem child, raising its ugly head when they needed precision and speed the most. Sluggo then told me they fixed that problem by getting special permission to allow Guard and Reserve crews to deploy and fly active duty KC-135s. “Meanwhile, the KC-10 was boasting a 2-to-1 fuel transfer ratio,” Sluggo continued. “This allowed us to keep them airborne longer, resulting in more sorties.

KC-10 BOMB RUNS

Talking about the Operation Desert Storm air campaign, Sluggo explained, “Three weeks in, the Jeddah-based B-52s were going through bombs like crazy.” He grinned; a glint of madness in his eyes. The air campaign was consuming ordnance faster than the BUFF planners had anticipated, and now they were running low.

*USAF photo by Staff Sgt. Shannon Bowman - A USAF B-52H Stratofortress, assigned to the 5th Bomb Wing, approaches a KC-10 Extender.*

A Weapons Stores ship was steaming out of Diego Garcia—a massive Navy logistics and storage facility in the middle of the Indian Ocean—“loaded with tens of thousands of weapons to keep the B-52 operation going,” Sluggo continued. As fate would have it, the ship was delayed a few days, which coincided with the BUFF’s bomb dump running empty, threatening to cripple the 1708th Bomb Wing’s relentless air campaign. The Air Mobility Command’s airlift system, already stretched to the max, was busy shuttling General Frank’s ground forces into theater to liberate Kuwait. AMC planners cried out to Jeddah leadership, “Sorry guys, we don’t have the capacity to pick up weapons right now!”

Enter Air Force Colonel Denny Carpenter, callsign “Hammer,” the 1709th Air Refueling Wing King at Jeddah. “Hey, we don’t need any outside help,” Sluggo remembers hearing Hammer say about the Mobility Command’s resources. “We’ve got KC-10s here on the ramp! We can airmail BUFF weapons with our own ‘Gucci birds.’” The B-52 planners, looking confused, replied, “What do you mean?” Hammer quickly shot back, “What do you think the KC-10 does for a living?”

*USAF photo by Airman 1st Class Julian Atkins. Airmen assigned to the 19th Logistics Readiness Squadron push a cargo pallet on a K-loader before loading it into a KC-10 Extender.*

*USAF - Two KC-10's, one from McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey and the other from Travis Air Force Base, California*

With the weapons order in hand, like a sinister shopping list, three KC-10s with 28 empty pallets each were quickly launched on a fifteen-hour, 7,200-mile trip from their base in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, to Andersen Air Force Base on the island of Guam. Two additional KC-10s stationed on Guam would fly the reverse trip to Jeddah, “loaded to the gills” with weapons.

“I remember being on the ramp when the first KC-10 returned from Andersen,” Sluggo reminisced. The KC-10s, bellies full of bombs, pulled right up to the waiting B-52s. Pallets quickly slid onto loaders and were placed on the ramp next to the bombers. A loadmaster, watching pallets of bombs being offloaded from the KC-10’s cargo door, was in shock, telling Hammer, “I’ve never seen bombs in the back of a KC-10 Extender!”

*USAF photo by Staff Sgt. Sean Carnes - U.S. Air Force B-52 Stratofortress pulls up behind a KC-10 Extender to receive fuel.*

Ammo crews swarmed like fire ants, wiring and fusing bombs directly on the tarmac. It was a makeshift assembly line of pure chaos, as Mk 82 500-pound and M117 750-pound bombs were hoisted and locked into the Stratofortress's bomb racks, putting the Jeddah BUFFs back in business! Morning, noon, and just before the dinner rush, the KC-10 “bomb air mail delivery” frenzy continued for three straight days. “This is the beauty of the KC-10’s multi-role capabilities,” Sluggo said.

“We didn’t need AMC airlift; we had it already built into our Combined Air Refueling Wing. That’s one of the hallmarks of tanker crews—extremely flexible and quick on our feet; because we have to be,” says Sluggo. “Tanker Air Tasking Order support missions change constantly. We are always at the end of the battle rhythm whip. The KC-10’s ‘air mailing weapons’ from Andersen is exactly what the airframe was built for!”

The KC-10 has proven its capabilities, reliability, and versatility in the most intense environments and theaters. However, it has also played an important role in clandestine operations that also require these attributes. These shadowy missions—those that make airmen whisper, cameras forbidden, and phones mysteriously scrubbed post-flight—often unfold like something out of a sci-fi flick.

*USAF Capt. Farr 60th Air Mobility Wing Chief. A B-2 spirit bomber assigned to the 509th Bomb Wing from Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri, approaches a KC-10 Extender*

TOP SECRET MISSIONS

Lt. Col. Ethridge was a wellspring of jaw-dropping stories, each more bizarre and captivating than the last, itching to spill out onto my notepad. His voice animated with the thrill of a clandestine adventure as he recalled a top-secret briefing from back in the mid-80s. “They were gearing up for air refueling test missions with the Air Force’s undisclosed F-117A Nighthawk ‘stealth fighters,’ operating out of two shadowy bases in the California desert that ‘don’t exist,’” Ethridge said during our phone call with a hint of sarcasm.

“They used fake flight plans pretending to be A-7s, and it was all black money,” he chuckled softly. “Super secret spy squirrel stuff. It was just four of us on our crew dragging secret black jets around the desert in the middle of the night.” I leaned back into my leather sofa, hanging on his every word. This was the kind of operation that felt ripped from the pages of a Cold War thriller, and I was getting the inside scoop. Then came the night when they were tasked to fly around the United States. “We flew a single KC-10 down towards Texas, over to Cuba and Key West, then up the East Coast to Norfolk and Langley,” he recounted. They were testing several military radar sites, seeing if anyone could catch a glimpse of the stealthy Nighthawks flying alongside them.

“We’re talking ATC the whole time because we are on a flight plan,” he continued, “but they don’t know we have black jets with us.” As they navigated the skies, the air traffic controllers grew curious. “The ATC kept saying, ‘What are you guys doing out there?’” Ethridge chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. “And we’d respond, ‘We’re building up flight time to go to the airlines,’” he finished; laughter bubbling up as he reveled in the clever ruse. At that moment, you could almost feel the thrill of the chase—the thrill of flying under the radar, quite literally, weaving through a world of secrecy and subterfuge, all while keeping a poker face.

“Nobody had any idea what we were doing,” Ethridge revealed, a mischievous grin creeping across his face as he recalled the wild nights at Sailer Creek. Under the cloak of darkness, they’d drag the black jets up to the range at Mount Holm and unleash a torrent of smart bombs that sent shockwaves through the night, leaving everyone scratching their heads in confusion. “It freaked everyone out!”

*USAF photo by Staff Sgt. Jerry Morrison. A U.S. Air Force KC-10A Extender aircraft approaches a KC-135R Stratotanker, not shown, to take on fuel over Afghanistan.*

Then came the moment that would etch itself into the annals of aviation history. “Once the Air Force came out into the ‘grey’ with the jets, I was on the first mission of nine KC-10s out of March AFB,” he said proudly. Nine KC-10s were tasked with deploying eighteen black jets to a secret base in southern Saudi Arabia for the Gulf War, a mission steeped in secrecy and adrenaline. “We left fully loaded, radio silent, on a moonless night across the Atlantic.” The imagery was electric—dark silhouettes slicing through the night sky, the weight of their cargo a reminder of the stakes at hand. “You had to have your A-game that night,” he emphasized.

Initially, the plan had been to use the C-5 along with the KC-135 to carry cargo and execute the secret missions overseas. But somewhere along the line, clarity struck like a lightning bolt. “Somebody eventually realized the KC-10 could handle the entire deployment.” It was a revelation that would change the course of their operations, solidifying the KC-10 as a titan of the skies, ready to shoulder the burden of a conflict that was just beginning to unfold.

“The KC-10 guys from Barksdale and Seymour had never seen the F-117s at that time,” Boom Degen told me, reminiscing about that historic first mission. “They came up to refuel us in the KC-10, and they were like, ‘Now what are we seeing here?’ I said, ‘Yeah, these are the ‘Wobbly Gobbins,’—a term the F-117 pilots coined themselves because of the strange way their jets flew. “They were always wobbling when they were low and slow.”

RENDEZVOUS WITH THE “SLED”

The KC-10 was designed to utilize her fuel tanks to carry specialized fuel like JP-7—famously used for the SR-71 spy plane's need for speed and extreme altitude. “I was selected to fly the SR-71 operation missions,” Ethridge told me. The KC-135 had a special model known as the Q model, that could isolate its fuel tanks for maximum efficiency. “The ‘10’ had six tanks, and you could isolate all of them and carry a lot more fuel,” he explained. One cool fact about the KC-10 and the SR-71 is that it could mix and burn any unused JP-7 fuel still in its tanks. “It wasn’t the best fuel for us, very gelatinous but we could burn it,” Ethridge finished explaining.

*USAF - A KC-10 refuels an SR-71 spy plane*

When the SR-71s took off, they weren’t fully loaded; they’d refuel almost immediately, preparing for their high-altitude leap into the stratosphere. “We did a 23-hour mission with them once, taking off from Okinawa and eventually landing in Diego Garcia,” Ethridge told me. The stakes were monumental during a time when the US military was filming Iran’s Silkworm missile sites. He continued, “Nine KC-10s were on that entire mission, supporting one ‘Sled,’”—referencing the nickname for the SR-71 given by its pilots.

As they soared through the atmosphere, the SR-71 would descend three times for refueling. “It sucked a lot of gas when it gets down into normal air,” Ethridge recounted, the urgency of the operation hanging in the air. “You had to do it in a hurry, or they would have to abort and divert, which could be a big problem.” It was a high-stakes ballet in the sky, one that required precision and extreme skill.

“They had to find you, get on the boom, then get the heck out of Dodge, Ethridge finished saying.” When the KC-10 would first lock onto the SR-71, things got wild. “They were doing Mach 3,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief at the sheer velocity. The KC-10s TACAN would be “smoking” as it counted down, the adrenaline surging as they prepared to meet the legendary Blackbird beak to beak. It was a scene straight out of an action movie, a testament to the audacity of the men and machines that dance on the razor’s edge.

*USAF - A KC-10 refuels an SR-71 Blackbird “Sled.”*

Rendezvousing on a “Sled” was no ordinary affair; it was a high-octane ballet of precision and adrenaline. “We get to a point called an air refueling control point, and you’d have your air-to-air TACAN,” Ethridge explained, his voice laced with excitement. They had the frequency prearranged, a secret handshake of the skies that would ignite the operation. Once the signal was given, the needle would start pointing, and shortly after, they’d pick up their DNE from the KC-10.

Unlike the KC-135, which offered a mere number, the KC-10 was an airborne TACAN station. “Which is kind of cool,” he said. “We knew exactly where they were, and they were pointing at us, sending out the same signal.” Imagine the scene: A black SR-71 with its lights off barreling straight at the KC-10 at Mach 3,300 miles apart.

The plan was to cut in front of the SR-71 as it slammed the brakes, slowing to 320 knots, keeping a three-mile lead to avoid any wild maneuvers. Visibility in those “sleds” was notoriously poor; sometimes, the pilots couldn’t even see the tankers as they closed in. “So every once in a while, we had to hit the fuel pump switch,” Ethridge continued, painting a vivid picture. “You’d have this white vapor as we dumped fuel that shot out, and anybody could see that.” Like a smoke signal in the sky.

As they hooked up at 320 knots at a stepper nose-high attitude during the aerial refueling. Ethridge said they would “just let it accelerate because we would be getting lighter and they would be getting heavier.” The goal was to wrap up the fuel transfer before hitting 350 knots. After guzzling down about 100,000 pounds of fuel, the SR-71 would peel off to the right side and begin its steep climb, hitting supersonic speeds soon after. “Watching those engines was amazing,” Ethridge marveled.

C-5 SUPER GALAXY

Let’s rewind the clock a bit, shall we? After fueling up those sleek F-15 fighter jets earlier over Big Sur, we were now gearing up for a rejoin with the titan of the skies—the Air Force’s largest, the C-5M Super Galaxy. This gargantuan cargo plane dwarfed our KC-10, making it look like just a mere regional airliner. For several minutes, we engaged in an aerial ballet that would make Tchaikovsky weep. The C-5’s massive nose, an outrageous, bulbous extension of the fuselage, hovered just outside our window, like a giant blue whale peering through an aquarium, delicately sipping fuel from our boom. These "heavies," as they're called, demand a different approach—a more lumbering dance.

*Alan de Herrera - A USAF C-5M approaches a USAF KC-10 during an aerial refueling mission over the California coast.*

“What was cool about the KC-10 is that it is so big and heavy that nobody pushed us around,” said Baer. “We were stable no matter what anybody did back there. One exception. The C-5. That dude is just another world. The only time the KC-10 got pushed around was when one of those guys came around. When setting up a rejoin with a heavy, you need to nail it the first time," Baer explained, motioning with his hands as he described the rendezvous. "If you mess it up, it takes forever to get them back in sync, to close the gap."

Precision timing for the heavies is crucial. The aircrew calculates down to the second to get one mile ahead. "We want to affect an efficient rendezvous. If I'm going one way and he's chasing me, I'm not helping him at all. That’s not Gucci. I call it the ‘negotiation’ when the C-5 gets to about 30 feet behind us,” he continued. “That’s when these two giant airplanes are gonna start interacting with each other and his bow wave is going to lift my tail forcing my nose down.”

*Alan de Herrera - A KC-10 refuels a C-5M Super Gallaxy*

USAF photo by Kenneth Abbate. Senior Airman Tyler Marg, 9th Air Refueling Squadron boom operator, controls the boom on a KC-10 Extender during a C-5M Super Gallaxy air refueling mission over California.

Senior Airman Tyler Marg was now sitting next to me in the boom operator’s seat, getting his final booms in before retiring. "She's like a flying apartment complex creeping up on you," he said as he started to maneuver the boom, eyes locked on the C-5's massive nose. The C-5 pilots call her "FRED"—a fitting acronym for F—ing Ridiculous Economic and Environmental Disaster. The kind of gas-chugging machine that makes environmentalists wake up in the middle of the night screaming.

Patting the control stick with almost maternal affection, Marg noted, "We communicate with the pilots up front how fast they are coming up on the boom so they can be ready to make incremental adjustments on the trim to hold position." He then noted that the C-5 is infamous for sending the much smaller KC-135 tankers into a wild porpoising dance through the sky when it barrels in unexpectedly fast.

On the phone with retired Lieutenant Colonel Gerald Ward, callsign “Shotgun,” we discussed the challenges of tanking behind a KC-10. Shotgun, a former Air Force pilot, once pulled off a legendary high-g, 55-degree snap-roll in a C-5 over Egypt to unexpectedly dodge a KC-10 dragging Vipers—that’s a wild story for another day.

“Refueling the C-5 was challenging with the KC-10,” Shotgun told me, “especially with that number two tail engine and our long, towering t-tail. The C-5’s elevator would snag right into the wake of the KC-10’s tail engine jet wash. You’d start to slowly come up underneath the airplane, just shy of grabbing the boom, and bam! A ton of jet wash would hit you like a brick wall. You’d be flying backward, buffeted by the turbulence. It was a rumbling, vibrating mess. We had to crank up the power more to get back into the envelope and make the contact.”

*Alan de Herrera - A USAF C-5M flies over California’s Central Coast after completing an aerial refueling mission on the KC-10*

TRAVIS AFB - GUCCI LAND

After a mind-bending five-hour flight on Excalibur, I now found myself in the presence of Colonel Jay Johnson, the Travis Air Force Base's 60th Air Mobility Wing Commander and former KC-10 pilot. "The KC-10 is integral to what we do here at 60th AMW," he told me. Sitting in his executive office for a one-on-one chat about this incredible piece of machinery and the people behind it, he extolled the KC-10's virtues with pride in every word. "We're the ‘Gateway to the Pacific.’ The PACOM region's vast distances demand tankers like the KC-10—multi-role, versatile, with long legs. It played a vital role here at Travis and now we are passing the torch to the newer KC-46 Pegasus."

Learning about the Colonel’s prior KC-10 missions in the Middle East, I asked if he could share some memorable stories while serving in theater. Cracking a grin as he looked up toward the ceiling, Johnson recalled a harrowing night in 2004. "Pitch-black at 20,000 feet south of Baghdad," he began as I eased into my chair, pen at the ready. "We were joining up with F-16s when 57mm tracer rounds started coming up between us and our receivers. That was my first and only time getting shot at in an aircraft and something I'll never forget."

"One cool thing about the KC-10," Johnson said excitingly, "is its speed. We'd cruise around the world at Mach .82 which is really fast for its size. I can tell you that night it went much faster than that. We maxed it out to its operational limit near .88—nearly supersonic, and got the hell out of there."

“Nobody kicks ass without tanker gas," the saying goes. It's a simple truth that encapsulates the lifeblood of every mission. "The fighters can't go far on their own," Johnson boasted. "It's the tanker that makes them an offensive weapon. During a mission set, over the water, you are their lifeline—mothership to a flock of fighters clinging to our wings like eager chicks," Johnson explained. "'Chicks n' tow' we call it. We lead them through the skies.” The tanker is the tip of the spear, fueling the fight and feeding the frenzy. "When those jets hit full afterburner, they guzzle a lot of fuel, and we're there to keep them in the battle."

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 Extender nicknamed “Excalibur” - Travis Air Force Base.*

Johnson’s next story helped sum up the importance of their work and how it affects the boots on the ground. "Afghanistan 2007," he started. "We get the call. A-10s orbiting over a high-value target while conducting a classic ‘yo-yo’ maneuver on their KC-135 tanker.” A technique that involves two fighter jets taking turns refueling, with one jet climbing straight up to get gas and then shooting back down, like a yo-yo, while the other waits or stays on target.

"But the KC-135 on station was running out of fuel. We were in the south of the country and they were hundreds of miles north. So here we go—.88 across the country to get there before they have to come off that target."

"That's our job,” he continued. “Protecting those folks that are on the ground. We tell them we're gonna point at you and get there as fast as we can. You pick me up on radar and turn on me. They know the ‘10’ is going to be there on time. It's more than a working relationship. It's a bond based on trust. She's more than a tanker," Johnson said patting his hand softly on the table as if he was touching the jet. "She's a lifeline. Any fighter pilot running on fumes over hostile territory late into the night, the sight of the KC-10 approaching is better than Christmas morning."

The public affairs liaisons leaned in, murmuring in the Colonel’s right ear—a sly reminder that the visiting General had just arrived for his 11 a.m. meeting, tapping into the invisible clock of military urgency. Johnson rose from his chair, reached out to clasp my hand, looked me in the eye, and thanked me for dropping by. I returned the shake, feeling the camaraderie. But just as he began to walk away, he pivoted to his left, stopping suddenly, a spark igniting in his eyes as he spun me one more yarn.

“I’ve got one more quick story,” he beamed. “A B-1 pulled up behind us one night, heavy with armament,” he began, still standing. “We got through half of their refuel, then suddenly, they were called to make a strike and immediately disconnected, way too heavy to back out. They departed underneath us and roared forward, lighting all four of their afterburners, making a dramatic impression against the night sky. Then made a hard U-turn and dropped everything they had," Johnson recounted, eyes wide with the memory. "Massive explosions lit up the ground as we watched, and then they came right back for more fuel. You could hear the adrenaline over the intercom.”

*USAF photo by Senior Airman Jerreht Harris - A U.S. Air Force KC-10 Extender and B-1B Lancer connect for aerial refueling.*

9TH AIR REFUELING SQUADRON

As I made my way toward the Base Operations building for the 9th Air Refueling Squadron, fresh off a chat with Colonel Johnson, the gravity of his stories and the sheer courage he exuded in the face of chaos seeped into my bones. I had an interview with Lt. Col. Baer lined up after our flight, and I knew better than to keep him waiting. In the world of the Gucci pride, time is king—and a late rendezvous with Baer would be decidedly “un-Gucci.”

And then I saw her. There, suspended in the main entrance like some smooth grey archangel, hung a massive KC-10 model beneath a skylight that seemed to beam down God's spotlight. The beast was frozen in mid-flight, gear and boom tucked up. They had draped an American flag above her, hanging vertically and pristine like some patriotic battle standard.

*Alan de Herrera - A large KC-10 model hangs from a skylight at the Base Operations building for the 9th Air Refueling Squadron at Travis Air Force Base.*

You could feel the pride emanating from the walls, mixing with that distinct aroma of floor wax and dedication that permeates every Air Force installation from here to Ramstein. These people didn't just respect their aircraft; they worshipped at its altar with a devotion that would make a tent revival preacher blush.

The 9th opened its doors on January 19th, 1942 and they are one of the only squadrons that has flown every single tanker the Air Force has fielded. Nobody warned me about Baer's style of quick pre-flight briefs the morning before my flight—they were like trying to drink from a fire hose of aviation wisdom, detailed planning, puns, and obscure dry humor, all delivered in an impactful leadership speech. The man could squeeze three jokes into a single sentence and still have time to brief you on a complex tactical mission.

"Welcome to the 9th," Baer said, greeting me with a firm handshake, exuding the kind of confidence only a seasoned pilot with hundreds of combat missions could muster. His poker face betrayed nothing at first until a mischievous grin started tugging at the corners—hinting at his more charming side. “There was never a doubt since childhood that airplanes was where I wanted to be,” Baer said. Then showing me a grainy photo of the moment he was selected to fly the KC-10, he said “I looked like a Stanley Cup hockey player that just scored the winning goal.”

I asked him about the first time he saw the KC-10 knowing that he wanted to fly a “heavy” jet. “There was a career day when I was in pilot training and all sorts of Air Force planes were on display. “Alan, it was like the lightning struck and the clouds parted. I looked around the corner there was a KC-10 from McGuire. It was so big, so magnificent. I said to myself, ‘That’s for me.’”

*Alan de Herrera - Travis Air Force Base’s 9th Air Refueling Squadron patch.*

He walked me around his office which was less a workspace and more a shrine to the KC-10 and Gucci legacy. It was a testament to the storied escapades of the 9th ARS, their tales stretching across the globe. "We've been in business for 80 years," Baer declared, gesturing to a sprawling wall crammed with photos and artwork that wove the epic saga of their contributions into the fabric of Air Force legend. A world tour of sorts—global adventures, each photograph a continent, each story a conflict, tales of high-altitude drama and desert deployments—missions accomplished.

Behind his desk hung a sledgehammer of absurd proportions, gleaming ominously from the window glare, whispering KC-10 tales I couldn't wait to unravel. He pointed to a photo from Christchurch, New Zealand in 2024. "We sent out a great crew that took her on an around-the-world mission one last time, visiting seven historic AMC operating locations," he said as if referring to a dear friend. “But even at the end, nine months away from divesting it, we were still training and operating that airplane professionally until the bitter end. We were not on a victory lap, though so many people came out to see the KC-10 one last time. That made me proud.”

They call themselves the "Gucci Pride - World Wide." A nickname that stuck back in the '80s when the KC-10 was the new “hotness,” the “Cadillac of the tanker world.” It's more than a name today; it's a mindset, a legacy. And they wore it with unyielding pride. "That was Gucci," they'd say after a successful mission—a phrase that became both their motto and their standard. A testament to excellence that transcends the aircraft itself.

*USAF photo by Master Sgt. Mark C. Olsen. A U.S Air Force KC-10 Extender with the 76th Air Refueling Squadron refueling off another KC-10.*

I asked him what the heck this "Gucci" swagger thing was all about. "'Gucci Pride' is legendary and undated," Baer stated with pride gleaming. "The 9th adopted the catchphrase 'Gucci' when the jet was brand new. Nobody quite knows where it started," he said with a mischievous grin. "Some say it began with old crew members in the early ‘80s, the "Gucci Boys" with their mythical black leather flight bags, supposedly made by Gucci for the jet. Can't confirm or deny that one. Others point to a framed Gucci rug next door in the 79 ARS, Baer says. " I don't know its origin but it's been around forever.”

"Gucci means getting the job done, showing up on time, and being reliable," he continued. We carry more gas and deliver it more accurately. We are simply a step above—doing our job exceptionally well and looking cool doing it. And honestly, I don't even think 'Gucci' is really just the 9th. “It’s the whole entire enterprise— the community of KC-10 operators, maintainers, and supporters.”

He then asked me, "Did you hear the Skywest pilot radio in on our flight?" I shook my head realizing, I had missed something special. “He asked, 'Which way is Gucci heading? We'd like to get a look.' Baer smiles. "Happens all the time. People know who we are and what we are doing up there. And they love it! It's not just a callsign; it’s a mindset—a swagger, Alan. We're the best knowing, we’re flying one of the most iconic and revered tankers ever built. Flying transpacific or transatlantic. People get out of the way when they know a KC-10 is coming through."

"Now, let's talk KC-10 community for a second, and why it's so special," Baer started. "In August 1990, the KC-10s deployed with F-15s into the U.S. Central Command's AOR, in the Middle East. They didn't return until October 2023. We threw a huge party after being deployed continuously while doing operations in CENTCOM during those 33 years.

*USAF SSgt Shaun Emery. Tech. Sgt. Christopher Thompson, 660th Aircraft Maintenance Squadron, hydraulically opens the engine cowlings of the No. 2 engine of a KC-10 Extender. Travis AFB*

USAF photo by Airman 1st Class Azaria E. Foster. 305th Maintenance Squadron, aircraft structural maintenance, U.S. Air Force, 305th AMW, Air Mobility Command, 305th MXS, 305th Air Mobility Wing, McGuire AFB,.

Instead of the 9 and 6 ARS picking up and going to the desert, we established a squadron out there to mold all KC-10 bases into one single unit," Baer stated proudly. "We all knew each other and worked together closely. The KC-135 is a venerable aircraft —and a giant fleet with hundreds of planes and tons of bases. Its community is so big it's almost impersonal. We are small but a tight-knit community."

Baer walked me through what it’s like being a KC-10 tanker pilot in theater when things get crazy. "It gets interesting when you got different types of planes at different speeds all joining up on us at the same time," Baer tells me. I've had an A-10 Thunderbolt, he's not a fast airplane. Then F-16s that are screaming fast and I'm trying to rejoin on both of them," he tells me while moving his hands at different angles. "I did hundreds of missions in Afghanistan. Maybe I got a C-130 and they're all stacked up. That's where it gets interesting and where a tanker pilot makes their money. I got a guy on the boom. I got a guy calling to rejoin. I got one ten minutes out and wanted to know where I was and how I was going to get to him. Then everything changes when somebody pops up needing emergency fuel and cuts the line to the front."

Baer also told me about a 24-hour combat sortie somewhere over a place he can’t disclose—"A day on the jet," is how he explained it. "One of those nights unexpectedly out there. We launched not knowing this was going to be a 24 hour ride. But then the tankers just kept showing up and refueling us,” Baer laughed. “We crushed our job. Did our mission. Constant alert for 24 straight hours. We don't just set the autopilot and relax. We are working. We're a tanker nonstop with customers coming up constantly to take fuel. The idea is to make it Gucci. I want them on the boom, fueled up and off that boom.”

I asked if there was going to be some traditional celebration at the boneyard when Excalibur made her final landing. Baer looked me straight in the eye and said bluntly, "You know when a funeral ends, and there are a couple of guys with shovels waiting for everyone to leave so they can bury your loved one? That's just how it goes. They want you off the jet so they can then take her away. No fanfare. No water cannons. You just park it, take a minute to say thank you for the long history of safe missions, and walk away."

USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Jason Robertson. U.S. Air Force Senior Airman Jacob O'Heron and Airman 1st Class Kenzaburo Nagahama, 380th Expeditionary Aircraft Maintenance Squadron aircraft electrician and crew chief, respectively, lower an engine panel on a KC-10 Extender advanced aerial tanker and cargo aircraft prior to a mission.

Traditions ran deep in Gucci land, like the ceremonial Jack Daniels whiskey shots taken each time they divested a KC-10. Baer showed me the three near-empty bottles on his guest table. "You'll notice they're running pretty low at this point. One bottle represents the officers of the squadron, typically the pilots. One for the enlisted crew members—booms and engineers. And the third bottle is really fun. We call it the celebrity guest drinker. We try to bring someone in who's supported the KC-10 over time.”

The night before they lost their last tail a few weeks later, the atmosphere buzzed with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia. “General Selva, the very first 9 ARS commander when the KC-10s came to Travis in the early ‘90s, was going to take the last shot with us, and the bottles would then go dry,” Baer recalled in a phone call with me recently—his voice tinged with reverence. But fate had other plans; the general ran into some logistical issues and would arrive too late to join the ceremonial send-off.

Baer then filled me in on the audacious plan that emerged in Selva’s absence, a final rendezvous with Jack Daniels and his crew dogs that would seal their legacy. “It was really important to me when we found out the General wasn’t going to make it. We wanted to have one of each crew position assembled to form a crew if you will,” he explained, the weight of responsibility palpable in his tone.

USAF photo by Senior Airman Jacob Cabanero. U.S. Air Force Airman 1st Class Brendan Price, 908th Expeditionary Air Refueling Squadron in-flight refueling specialist, visually inspects the exterior of a KC-10 Extender.

Baer represented the pilots, but they weren’t alone. Alongside him, a former 9 ARS Chief Master Sergeant named Justin Brundage and a former Chief Master Sergeant Reservist named Matt McCoy stood ready to share in the moment. “So we had a pilot, engineer, and boom operator, ready to share the last shot,” he said, the camaraderie evident in his voice. These were ‘crew dogs’ through and through, men who had grown up with the jet, who loved it like a faithful steed. They embodied active duty and reservists, standing united in an emotional farewell.

It was a wild, bittersweet toast to a storied chapter—a chaotic celebration of shared history and those hulking machines that had ferried them safely through countless missions. Big Sexy, that iron beast, proved her worth time and again, never faltering, never letting her crews down, even under the most hellish conditions.

On that night, as the bottles went dry, they raised their glasses not just to the KC-10, but to a legacy that would linger in the skies long after the last KC-10 tail was lost.

On the way out Baer slapped a little squadron gift into my open palm like some kind of military communion. An official KC-10 "Gucci Driver" patch. For aviation journalists, it’s that holy grail of aerial brotherhood—emblazoned with a red, white, and blue animated KC-10 jet with Disney eyes and a happy smile. A title inspired by the legendary F-15 community that coined the phrase “Eagle Driver.”

A Gucci Driver patch given to journalist Alan de Herrera by 9th Air Refueling Squadron Commander and KC-10 pilot, Lt. Col. Andy Baer. Alan flew with the 9ARS and 70th Reserve ARS's last remaining KC-10 Extender nicknamed “Excalibur.”

*USAF - A KC-10-Extender, tail number 0036, receives a traditional water cannon ceremony upon its final flight.*

KC-10 BOOMS & ENGINEERS

In the frenetic chaos of aerial warfare, it’s the engineers and boom operators—the unsung legends of the tanker world—who help keep the Gucci show flying between all the madness.

“The KC-10 has very rudimentary computers built in 1979,” Lt. Col. Baer told me. “The engineer is like a human computer. He manages every system onboard including the fuel system, hydraulics, electrics, and even the air we breathe. The airplane has three massive generators to power all that equipment, and he’s got an electrical grid that looks like a Christmas tree all lit up.”

“Whenever the airplane malfunctions, the engineer leads the crew through the reaction procedures on an iPad, or in the earlier days, from a book, then walks the aircrew through it,” Baer continued. “He knows everything we’re doing and has the perspective to see the bigger picture, especially if we become task-saturated. The Systems Engineer is often the one who can grasp what’s happening. That dude is the heart and soul of the airplane.”

The “Booms,” as they’re affectionately called, spend most of their time on the jet hunkered down in the back of the aircraft, nestled into their stations like surgeons preparing for a delicate operation. They peer through the largest military aircraft window ever constructed, offering a panoramic view that would quicken anyone's pulse. But don’t be fooled, these operators are not just passive passengers; they bear the weight of responsibility for everything behind the cockpit door.

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 Extender number two engine and flying boom. Travis Air Force Base*

Their duties are as unique as they are crucial. They oversee cargo, meticulously calculating weight and balance like a high-stakes game of Tetris in the sky. When they’re not busy orchestrating aerial refueling tasks, you’ll find the booms up front in the cockpit, adrenaline-pumping. They’re the safety hawks, glued to the air traffic control chatter, scanning the skies for visual traffic. These booms are the eyes and ears of the operation, a critical lifeline ensuring the mission doesn’t just survive but thrives. They’re the safety net ensuring the mission is a success.

Operating the flying boom and drogue system; it's a dance of precision, sharp focus, and timing—a game of inches, a ballet of metal in the sky where miscalculations can lead to disaster. Good communication between the boom operators and the pilots is critical. It's a relationship built on trust and camaraderie, forged in the fires of high-pressure situations.

“Some of the ‘Booms’ were so young,” Baer says. “They went to high school prom, graduated and here they are. Basic training, basic boom and they are boom operators on a KC-10 crew in the Middle East flying combat. Some of them weren’t even old enough to have a beer but they all knew they hit the jackpot when they got selected to the KC-10,” Baer continued. “There’s a joke we like to say: ‘The pilots drive everyone to work, the engineer turns on the pumps, and booms do the magic.”

*USAF - Staff Sgt Adam Sigman, 2nd Aerial Refueling Squadron KC-10 Extender boom operator from Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, N.J.*

*USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Daniel Peterson. U.S. Air Force Master Sgt. Daniel Fortier, 70th Air Refueling Squadron boom operator.*

After seeing Baer, I walked down the hall to meet the rest of Excalibur’s aircrew having their post-flight debrief—engaged in the sacred ritual of the "debrief beer"—in what they reverently call the 'Breakaway Lounge.' The walls were a fever dream tapestry of former crew patches, KC-10 glamour shots, squadron logos and high-top tables and stools—a shrine to Travis AFB’s air refueling squadrons and Gucci culture. They'd even managed to score a framed Blue Angels lithograph, signed after some wild aerial tango in 2024.

It's here where pilots and aircrew, lubricated by hops and barley, spin increasingly outrageous tales of long flights through bad weather, close calls, and vivid memories from combat zones. A crew member graciously handed me a cold one from the double-door fridge—a ceremonial gesture to celebrate surviving another day of playing gas station attendant at 25,000 feet. The sharp bite of jalapeño popcorn hung in the air like incense in a temple. "Cheers dude," he said, flipping the bottle cap and catching it with his right hand in one smooth motion—a Gucci move if I'd ever seen one.

Engaging with the gas-guzzling receivers is an art form—a wild, adrenaline-fueled tango over the battlefield, where booms masterfully juggle explosive precision and composed customer service in a world gone mad. Perched on the boom, they swap jokes with their receiver pilots diving into everything from favorite pizza toppings to cracking the latest crossword puzzle mid-air. These casual conversations peel back the layers of machinery and protocols to reveal the human side of war.

*USAF photo by 2nd Lt. Sarah Johnson. A KC-10 Extender from Travis Air Force Base, California, refuels a C-17 Globemaster III over the Pacific during Exercise Ultimate Reach.*

Colonel Johnson told me, "Banter, that's our safe place. A secure com network where pilots can talk and decompress. And we want to know how we are contributing down there—a moment of connection when an aircraft attaches to the boom, it is a secure, hardwired system. It's a shared moment, a surge of pride. That's the business end of the airplane," he continued. "The best boom operators are part psychologists, ready to listen when younger pilots come rattled, needing an ear." Boom Tom Degen also described the times when fighters would rejoin on them “screaming for fuel to get back into the fight. They’d say ‘pump us as fast as you can — we got ordinance left!’ The fighters wanted us to be on station all the time.”

On a lighter note, Degen told me that during long fighter drags he loved to offer up a game of Trivial Pursuit —pitting the tanker crews against the fighters they were dragging. “Sometimes we’d play for hours,” he told me laughing out loud. “I would keep score.” Asking him who usually won those games, he said, “The Gucci Boys, of course!”

"There was the time I had four F-35s on our wing," Boom Tyler Marg chimed in with a funny story. "The first guy comes up and he was rock solid. He says the other three fighters are his students and this is their first time seeing a tanker. ‘I was like, oh God, this is going to be fun.' The first student comes up to the boom and maybe gets a few feet away from where I need him and parks it there. I'm telling him to come forward a bit and he's not budging. All of a sudden he puts in way too much power and the next thing I see is my boom between his vertical stabilizers," he finishes with a laugh. "I flew the boom as high as it would go and had to call an emergency breakaway so we could get clear of him."

*USAF photo by Staff Sgt. Daniel Snider - A heavily-dented U.S. Air Force A-10 Thunderbolt II receives fuel from a U.S. Air Force KC-10.*

I had read that A-10s were the bane of Booms. "Oh, by far," Marg said. "The A-10 and B-1 refueling receptacles are right on the nose, making it a maddening game of cat and mouse. We're trying to maneuver the boom to make contact, while the fighters are also chasing the boom. That's no good. If you look at almost any A-10 nose or receptacle, you'll see a ton of dents. It can be frustrating; we're fighting each other to achieve the same goal."

Marg recounted a memorable birthday flight one late night over Iraq. “There we were, refueling a pair of French Rafales off the drogue at like 2 am. It was eerily silent until all of a sudden the radio came on with a thick French accent, singing 'Happy Birthday.' We all had a good laugh." Marg continued now talking about the birthday gift. "After I walked back up to the cockpit to watch them depart, they go full afterburner and leave it in for at least 45 seconds—pulling straight ahead of us, then rolling away and dove down. That made my night."

Former Boom Jack Lemons then strolled in, and the stories kept flowing like jet fuel. With over 8,000 hours on the KC-10—after switching from the KC-135 back in 1990—he told me the move was "like going from a Pinto to a Porsche. The worst thing about this airplane is that it can fly for a long time. Just when you think you're about to turn around and go home, somebody comes over and gives you gas and you're still sitting out there getting tossed around in the weather. A 'force extension' we call it. My longest flight was 20 hours and 22 minutes."

*USAF - A USMC AV-8B Harrier recevives gas from a USAF KC-10 Extender.*

Lemons then told me about one mission dragging Harriers out of Singapore. "Four of them, two on each wing. Dragging Harriers across the sky is no small feat. Those beasts guzzle gas like it's going out of style." Lemons knew it well; he'd been in the thick of it. "If you're on a drag with them, you're going to be filling up the whole way."

Continuing he then said, "We were climbing up to about 11,000 feet then all hell broke loose. One minute, everything was routine. Then without warning, flames erupted from the tail of one of the Harriers on our wing. His wingman yelled, ‘You're on fire!’ Seconds later the pilot yelled ‘I'm out of here’ and ejected out of the jet. ‘I'm like, 'Holy shit!,’” Lemons yelled out. Motioning his arm high and his hand pointing down towards the carpet, he finished by saying, "I watched his plane spiral down into a Malaysian village. Insane!"

Degen shared a similar harrowing tale with me. He was on a routine KC-10 four-ship drag over the Pacific refueling A-4s off the drogue. The number two receiver came in and plugged the basket, creating a sine wave in the hose,” he described. “It’s like snapping a towel. If the rewind system doesn’t take it up fast enough, you get slack in the hose, and the sine wave comes up and then immediately goes back down. Usually, it just shears the basket off, and the fighter takes it home with him.”

But this wasn’t just another day at the office for Degen. “Well, this time it didn’t just shear it off; it tore the hose apart,” he laughed, reveling in the madness of it all. “Raw fuel was pouring out of the hose, drenching the fighter jet. Behind his canopy, the air-cooling duct for all the black boxes started gulping fuel—and suddenly, he’s on fire.”

*USAF - A US Navy F/A-18 Hornet from the Blue Angels Flight Demonstration Squadron receives fuel from the KC-10’s drogue.*

“I called an emergency breakaway as he started pulling his power back, but he’s still coming towards us—Degen said, laughing in disbelief. “I yell at him ‘You’re one fire, punch out!” Degen watched the A-4 pilot quickly run his visor down and synch up his harness. “He then turned the jet on its side and punched! I watched his chute deploy, then his plane blowing up on the way down— there was nothing left.” Then came the climax of absurdity. “I came over the inter-phone shouting, ‘Receiver just ejected!’ And my Commander yells back, ‘He did what!?’

"Sometimes you can hear them breathing hard,” Lemons continued talking about the boom and receiver relationship. “He's racked up with all his weapons and trying to think way ahead of the game because he's got a target time.” To help put them at ease, Lemons told me he would try to keep his voice calm as he eased them in. “Stabilize and hold it steady. I'll come get you,” he would say, like a father speaking to his young child. "Let's get this gas and get you out of here. See you on the return back and you better have an empty rack."

Lemon's last story was a nail-biter describing the KC-10 this time as the desperate receiver in need of fuel. "It was the second night of Iraqi Freedom," Lemons began, his eyes wide with excitement. "We were scheduled to refuel airplanes from the carrier that night using our drogue system. The AWACS called to ask if we had extra gas for some F-15s that were running low."

"While we were refueling those jets, we received a request for two more Air Force and two Navy receivers that also needed fuel, which we didn't have available. AWACS radioed us back, instructing us to keep refueling our receivers with our remaining fuel and head due north. They promised to find us a tanker before our jet ran out of gas,” he continued.

“When we peeled those guys off and finally got behind the KC-135 tanker, they were already refueling F-16s. Our pilot yelled out over the radio, 'Get those F-16s out of the way!; we need to get on the boom immediately!' Back in the cockpit, I then looked over at our fuel totalizer, which showed we only had 8,000 pounds left until we were empty!" Leaning towards me with a serious look, Lemons finished saying, "We burn 20,000 pounds per hour!"

*USAF - A KC-10 prepares to take fuel from another KC-10.*

"They gave us their last 45,000 pounds, and we climbed to altitude to take it home—still low on fuel. I asked my aircraft commander, 'Where are we going to divert?' He replied, 'We don't have a divert. If we lose it, we're going into the desert.'

Former Boom Rob Tabor had one gem for me from years past. As he began to speak, a spark of pride ignited in his words as he launched into a tale that perfectly encapsulated the beast that was the KC-10. “The ‘10’ was a marvel—dual role capability. We could go into a fighter base, scoop up their cargo, support personnel, and planes—take off and get it all done. And the 10’ did that exceedingly well.”

“So there we were, dragging some F-16s back from Singapore to Alaska,” his story began. “The 18th Fighter Squadron was involved. We landed in Misawa, ready to take off at dawn. But then—bam!—a huge blizzard hit northern Japan. Snow was pouring down—just relentless.” Tabor’s voice rose with the excitement of the impending challenge. “We scrambled to reload sensitive cargo, racing against the storm. It was dark—3 AM dark—and the plows were out, battling the tarmac. We buttoned everything up; the fighters were ready to roll, but the snow wouldn’t let up.”

The KC-10 started the takeoff roll, eventually hitting V1 speed—the point of no return. At that moment, all they could see were the centerline lights; everything else was swallowed by the storm. “Committed, we rotated and clawed our way through the heavy clouds. It was one of the wildest takeoffs I’ve ever experienced in a KC-10.”

Now, here’s the kicker: a KC-135 was supposed to take off right behind them for the first fighter refueling, then give the KC-10 their remaining gas and head back. “But as we climbed, we heard them abort—‘visibility zero’; they couldn’t do it!”

USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Ned T. Johnston. The United States Air Force Air Demonstration Squadron “Thunderbirds” aerial refuel via a KC-10 Extender en route to Washington D.C. for a nation's capital flyover.

Tabor’s excitement then surged again. “So our engineer started crunching numbers.” The air delivery guy in the tower? “We told him, ‘Forget the 135—we’ve got the gas,” he said. “We can drag the fighters and press on. We didn’t need a force extension that night. We got those F-16s, their cargo, everything, all the way from Misawa to Alaska without a hitch. That day, the KC-10 proved it was unstoppable.”

In this high-octane world, every second counts, and every drop of fuel is a ticket back to the fight—or a ticket home. In the military, there's a saying: "You train like you fight, and you fight like you train." This mantra resonates through every base, carrying the weight of experience and the gravity of preparation.

Even during our training flight on Excalibur over Big Sur, the intensity and precision on the aviators' faces mirrored the heat of battle. Every movement was deliberate, every command purposeful—as if war clouds loomed just beyond the horizon.

KC- 46 PEGASUS

The KC-10's esteemed legacy has now been replaced by the Boeing KC-46, known as the Pegasus. Travis AFB has seven new KC-46s parked on the tarmac next to the last three KC-10s, like new cars waiting to be driven off the lot—sleek and modern. This new aircraft promises greater automation and efficiency, though it lacks the fuel capacity and analog soul that the KC-10 was famous for.

*Alan de Herrera - A KC-10 Extender pulls into the KC-46’s aerial refueling envelope ready to take on fuel.*

Gone is the large rear boom window—the KC-46 doesn't even have a boom operator’s pod—replaced by a state-of-the-art, camera system, and virtual reality technology. The boom pod is now fully digital, with the boom operator using VR glasses and computer screens as part of the Remote Vision System from the cockpit.

It sits on the tarmac, brimming with advanced technology but lacking the battle-scarred character of the Extender. "The KC-46 is a technological marvel," Colonel Johnson said. "But the KC-10... that was a warrior."

The KC-46 represents the future—A digital marvel replacing an analog machine. Needle gauges give way to glass cockpits that resemble the Starship Enterprise. The role of the Flight Engineer has been rendered obsolete by automation and the KC-46 is equipped with communication systems that can connect it to the modern battlefield. "This is especially crucial in the Pacific," Baer explained. "It has IR capabilities to perform tasks we haven't been able to accomplish before. And the engines—now just two—are far more efficient."

ONE LAST FLIGHT ON “EXCALIBUR”

I thought I had seen the last of the KC-10 when I left Travis AFB the day after my flight, but something about that plane and the whole Gucci vibe had gotten under my skin and seeped into my bloodstream. Three weeks later, I found myself back at Travis AFB for Excalibur’s retirement ceremony, like a moth drawn to a jet-fueled flame. I had to see her one last time before she was sent to the 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base—better known as the “boneyard.” There, she would be mothballed for long-term storage in the dry Arizona desert—reuniting with her 55 sisters for one last epic rendezvous.

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 Farewell Ceremony on September 26th, 2024 at Travis Air Force Base.*

By the time I entered the massive Hanger 46, it was standing room only for the ceremony. Thousands had gathered—current aircrews, retired aviators, booms and engineers, and grease-stained mechanics who had kept these aircraft airborne through decades of service. It was time to say goodbye to the last active KC-10 in the inventory.

At the podium, someone recounted the numbers that told part of Excalibur’s extraordinary story: she was 43 years old, having been delivered in July 1982, and had accumulated 36,824 total flight hours along with 125,000 refueling transfers to American and coalition forces across six continents. "She's done it all in both friendly and hostile skies," a guest speaker noted.

Generals and Colonels then cycled through the podium, each eager to share their piece of the KC-10 saga. With every speech, they unleashed a passionate barrage of anecdotes and accolades, celebrating the aircraft's indomitable spirit that had become a symbol of resilience in the skies. They declared that "Big Sexy would never be forgotten."

Colonel Johnson added with fervor, "It's not just about the statistics; it's about the people behind this airplane and the shared sense of purpose." General Brown Jr. waxed poetic: "There are few better sights I've seen from the cockpit than the silhouette of a KC-10 on the horizon with its boom extended." General Lamontagne put it simply: “There are tankers,” he said, lifting one hand to eye level with a casual shrug, “and then there are KC-10s,” thrusting the other hand high above his head as if reaching for the roof. He wasn’t just explaining—he was preaching. Keynote speaker and former KC-10 pilot, retired General Paul Selva, summed it up passionately: "We have worked miracles with that machine."

*USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Daniel Peterson. Retired U.S. Air Force Gen. Paul Selva gives the keynote address during the KC-10 Farewell Ceremony at Travis Air Force Base, California, Sept. 26, 2024.*

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 Extender “Excalibur” tail number 1948. The final Extender in the inventory, with its original artwork after it was delivered in 1982, was retired on September 26th, 2024.*

But it was the pilots, engineers, and boom operators who delivered the emotional gut punch as I wandered through the crowd, catching snippets of memories from those who'd spent their careers intimately connected to these magnificent beasts.

Lt. Col. Ethridge laughed as he recounted a wild moment from the past: “We used to pull close at 45 degrees of bank because the plane had the same roll rate as an F-4.” He recalled how, until SAC caught on the crew was exceeding the 30-degree bank limit in the pattern. “They had a small cow when they found out, saying it was ‘aerobatics!’”

Col. Hurd spun a wild tale from '92 about a harrowing four-ship KC-10 training flight that danced with disaster. "We were on the way back to base when the weather turned vicious—thunderstorms and low visibility," he recounted.

"In the middle of the descent, my co-pilot noticed the Number 3 plane was heading right towards us,” Hurd continued. “I raised my wing and looked; the red flashing anti-collision light underneath filled the windscreen. I realized I needed to do an emergency maneuver or we were going to hit.” Hurd then yelled to the other pilot, “Number three, stop your descent!” as he broke out from the formation. “That was the closest I ever came to hitting another aircraft in my Air Force career."

*USAF photo by Senior Airman Emily Farnsworth - 9 Air Refueling Squadron patch.*

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10, “Excalibur” tail number 1948—the last remaining KC-10 in the inventory on September 26, 2024.*

Ethridge also mentioned it was the people he missed the most about flying the KC-10. “I flew with the best of the best and trusted every one of them. You bet we were the Gucci Boys,” Ethridge exclaimed. “We loved that airplane. She was the ‘Perfect Ten.’”

Boom Degen laughed as he recounted a few drogues he had “lost to the fighters” and a “nozzle on the end of the boom that flew off with a C-5.” He then shared a memorable experience testing the boom on a NASA 747 that was piggybacking the Space Shuttle out of Edwards Air Force Base. “I almost got to touch the Shuttle,” he recalled, his eyes wide with excitement. “At the time, they were testing the idea of adding a receptacle to the Shuttle with a pipe extending down into the 747. It was a wild concept that never panned out.”

And there she sat—the last KC-10, tail number 1948, outside the massive hangar, backlit by warm California sunshine like some retired warrior queen. Her nose art displayed a silver knight and green charging dragon above the inscription "Excalibur," paying homage to her original artwork after she rolled off the assembly line as the ninth Extender of the legendary sixty.

*Alan de Herrera - Excalibur taxis out to the runway for its final departure.*

Lt. Col. Baer shared a little gem about Excalibur that most people at the event didn’t know. “We have a procedure to prepare the jet for alert during contingency operations, which requires an extensive pre-flight check to ensure the airplane is ready to fly. We call it ‘cocking the jet.’ We then shut off the power and seal the door with speed tape signing it to prove that it has been applied and that no one has entered the airplane. We had a 9 ARS crew out late the night before, and they sent me a photo of the seal applied, saying, ‘Sir, the jet is cocked and ready.’ That hit me hard, knowing it was done one last time.”

Then came the moment everyone had been eagerly anticipating. The KC-10's three engines spooled u and roared to life. Those unmistakable General Electric CF6 turbofans howling with 52,000 pounds of thrust each, creating a stunning harmonic convergence that echoed across the flight line. As they taxied out with Lieutenant Colonel Gary Sain at the helm, someone in the crowd shouted, “Gucci Pride!” while military members stood proudly, saluting the American flag emblazoned on Excalibur's tail.

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 “Excalibur” makes a low fly-by over the Travis AFB runway, flanked by two legacy F-15Cs from the 144th Fighter Squadron.*

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10 “Excalibur” and the Eagle fighters pull nose-up 30 degrees in a dramatic climb away from Travis AFB on her way to Davis-Monthan AFB, better known as the “boneyard.”*

As Excalibur rolled across the flight line on her way to the runway, I couldn't help but think about Hunter S. Thompson's words about the death of the American dream. But I guess this wasn't death—it was evolution, progress, and the inevitable march of technology. Yet something was being lost. Something that couldn't be replaced with touchscreens or automated systems.

As they slowly rolled down the flight line toward the runway, I made a beeline down the tarmac, adrenaline surging, and sprinted up the staircase to Travis AFB’s control tower. The wind was softly blowing out of the southwest as I reached the balcony. It was a perfect day to fly. Camera poised, I stood ready to capture the KC-10's final hurrah. From 160 feet above the ground, the whole world seemed to hold its breath—a front-row seat to the end of an aviation era.

The take-off was smooth; because of course it was. This was Big Sexy's last performance. As she circled the base for one final low pass at 500 feet, a fitting rendezvous unfolded. Two legacy McDonnell Douglas F-15Cs from the National Guard out of Fresno, also built in 1978, swooped in to join her, creating a stunning display of partnership. Having been teammates for over 40 years, the legacy Eagles served as a proper escort, and the three-ship formation made a slow, graceful pass in front of the crowd, showcasing nearly perfect symmetry.

Then, in a move straight out of the Gucci playbook, Excalibur roared into a full-throttle climb, her nose thrusting 30 degrees skyward. The finale was a wild symphony of the KC-10’s raw power and effortless grace—“California free-styling” one last time. This term, born in the '80s, captured the swagger of KC-10 crews from March AFB as they made their legendary "MAC cargo runs" to places like Hawaii, Japan, or the Philippines. Invited to air shows nationwide, they performed like aviation rockstars to adoring fans, leaving other KC-10 squadrons gawking in disbelief.

SAYING GOODBYE

“My co-pilot Major Mark Stewart and I joked the whole way to the boneyard about what he was going to say on the radio when we landed,” Baer told me. “At the end, Mark was cool—so Gucci. He radioed, ‘Gucci-Zero-Nine full stop, last time.’ It was slick! A standard KC-10 landing in the zone. Just like I’ve done a thousand times. It was so easy to let my hands do the job and bring it in one more time—and so wild for me to know we would never push those throttles up again.”

*Alan de Herrera - KC-10’s three-engine throttle levers.*

The final landing on September 26, 2024 was a subdued affair—a quiet salute to a job well done against the backdrop of the sun-baked desert. To their surprise, a crowd of over 200 people had gathered to witness the landing, ready to greet Excalibur’s aircrew. “They were awesome,” Baer told me. “A bunch of old retirees and people I hadn’t seen in twenty years.”

“We spent about thirty minutes saying goodbye to the jet and that was it,” Baer recalled, the weight of the farewell lingering in the air. In true aviation tradition, Excalibur’s crew dogs signed the nose gear door, with Baer boldly penning, “LT COL A. Baer 9 ARS/CC” and beneath it, “GUCCI” in all caps, underlined like a final flourish on this bittersweet chapter.

“Then they came to take her away,” Baer told me, his voice heavy with sadness. The caretakers of the boneyard had their grim task ahead. “We watched her unceremoniously be pulled off to the desert,” he finished saying, the image seared into his mind.

The Gucci bird—grounded and laid to rest though still in her prime. A steel giant clipped in mid-flight, trading her sky-high swagger for a dusty desert slumber amongst the graveyard of retired warriors.

USAF photo by Senior Airman Lauren Jacoby. U.S. Air Force Airmen stand together with the last KC-10 Extender after its retirement flight to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Arizona, Sept. 26, 2024. As the final base to operate the KC-10, Travis AFB had the honor of bidding farewell to tail number 1948 “Excalibur.”

Boom Marg told me after that final flight, "It felt like losing a family member." He recounted how he walked to the back of the plane, sat in the boom chair one last time, and took it all in—a poignant farewell and tribute to his time dedicated to the KC-10’s mission. Pulling up his sleeve, he showed me a recent tattoo on his left forearm, depicting the KC-10's lead-in lines etched in black ink. "The jet will always be a part of me.”

“When we got on board the retrieval ship, a C-17 to return home, they hung a 10-foot poster that said ‘Job Well Done KC-10 Family - Mission Complete,’” Baer said with pride in his voice. It was a triumphant banner for a team that had poured their hearts into every flight, a testament to their many journeys—a bittersweet reminder that while the mission was complete, the memories would linger like the fading roar of the KC-10’s engines against the warm desert sky.

Baer, introspective, then told me, “How do you say goodbye to a legend?” His voice was tinged with reverence. He then said, “We’re the last in a long line of truly meritorious service, wonderful people who have cared for and operated this jet with resolve and tremendous appreciation for 44 years.”

At that moment, Lt. Col. Baer didn’t just speak of the aircrews encased in Big Sexy’s sheet metal and rivets; he painted a vivid tapestry of an exceptional ‘10’ community—a band of mechanics turning wrenches and making repairs under the glaring sun, all while sharing laughter and camaraderie. Back shop gurus, crew supporters, administrators, and maintainers who "Keep 'em flying" formed the backbone of the ‘10’ legacy, ensuring these birds stayed in the air where they belonged.

*Alan de Herrera - The sun rises behind a silhouetted KC-10 Extender, tail number 1948, sitting on the Travis Air Force Base flight line.*

Saying goodbye wasn’t just to an airplane; it was to a family forged in the fires of service and dedication.

The KC-10 was more than just a tanker; she was a bridge between combat and support, a lifeline that kept the flames of freedom burning bright. She stands as a testament to the teamwork and dedication of the Air Force community, leaving behind a legacy that captures a piece of aviation's soul—a relic of bold design and unmatched purpose.

"Buy the ticket, take the ride," Thompson said. The KC-10—“Big Sexy”—had one hell of a ride. "Gucci Pride - World Wide!" Godspeed!

USAF KC-10 EXTENDER