For a long time, air force officers have had the image of being:

Heroic, dashing, incredibly cool, but without the severity and caution of the ordinary military man. Free-spending, fun-loving--the chosen few of the military.

Chang Fu, Third Bureau Director in the Office of the President, recalls what it was like 40 years ago: "At that time our most fashionable get-up was to put on a spit-and-polish military uniform, don a pair of trendy dark sunglasses and go cruising on our bicycles, which often got the attention of the girls."

Another pilot, who grew up in a military dependents' village and is now a major, recalls, "The pilots in the village always looked cool and lived better than most other people. That was when I decided I wanted to become an airman."

Behind the dashing exterior: The other side of the story is this:

Ordinarily, flying duties at the base begin early (when the sun is just six degrees above the horizon) and go on until after dark (when the sun falls six degrees below the horizon). If you add in night flying, a pilot's responsibilities are even heavier.

"Each flight lasts an hour, and if you add in the hour of preparation beforehand and the hour of rest afterward, each mission takes at least three hours to complete," says one member of the Thunder Tigers Squadron. One day he had four separate missions and went 12 hours without changing his flight suit.

The air force's flight duty system, which is based on U. S. training methods, tries to maximize practical flying experience. Some pilots can log as much as 1500 hours in the air in just five years.

Because of the intensity and danger of the work and the high degree of stress, pilots take recreation seriously. They do anything they can to work off energy and reinvigorate themselves. That's why outsiders often have the impression that guys in the air force are dashing fellows who make good dancers and like to sing. "In fact, this is an essential way to let off steam," says Chia Ssu-tsung, former vice commander of the air force.

Cheng Fu, a former Thunder Tiger Squadron leader, recalls that in the 1950s his salary was only US$ 12 a month. Because there was nothing to buy on base, they wound up spending all their money in just three days of leave. "Most people assumed we were really rich. In fact, we were spending way over our heads."

In the past, the salaries of pilots were definitely better than those of most civil servants, but with the economic takeoff and the rise in national income the salaries of pilots today are not necessarily enough to attract young people to join the ranks. "Unless you're really crazy about flying, young people who are used to freedom would find it impossible to adapt to the strict life of the military," says Capt. Li of the Chih Hang Air Force Base.

Can't beat the feeling of flying: Then what irresistible attraction does flying hold to make people forget the danger and be willing to endure the strict life of the military?

Lt. Col. Hsu Teh-ying, who lost his left leg in an air accident and now works at a desk job, states that it is hard to describe why he loves flying so passionately. "Only people who have done it can really understand what flying is like."

The first time he flew solo he felt the control stick vibrate. He thought for a moment that there was an instructor in the back seat operating it before he figured out it was caused by air currents. He tried letting go of the stick and the plane still flew forward. Then he got bolder and shook the cockpit with both hands, but the plane wasn't affected and still kept smoothly to its course. "I felt deeply the weakness of human strength and the insignificance of mankind." Every time he completed a mission, he felt as though he had successfully challenged the universe.

Chia Ssu-tsung, in his seventies, says that when he flies over the earth and sees views that no ordinary person ever can, he feels the joy of seeing right through nature. For example, most people know there is a Kuei Lake on Nanhu Mt. in the Central Mountain Range, but they will never be able to take it in all at once. Only those who have flown over it realize that "Kuei Lake is actually made up of three bodies of water," he says with satisfaction.

"Flying is the most intense form of exercise there is," says a pilot with the rank of major. When manipulating the controls of a fighter aircraft, the stress on the body is enormous and when a pilot steps out of the cockpit, his whole body is soaked with sweat. "It's like just having climbed out of the swimming pool" is the way he puts it.

Another pilot in the Thunder Tiger Squadron says, "Some special maneuvers cause tunnel vision, where the field of vision is extremely narrow. That kind of extreme challenge to physical strength is something that cannot be experienced in any other form of physical activity."

Fatal attraction: Flying a fighter is an experience that "money can't buy," but the attraction of flying can sometimes be fatal.

Generally speaking, a fighter aircraft flies at about 450 knots. Out of control, it becomes just like a plate of iron falling from 10,000 meters up. Needless to say, the risk is great.

Practically every pilot has had a near-death experience at some time in his career. Liang Lung, formerly a squadron leader in the Thunder Tigers and now director of the Bureau of Standards in the Civil Aviation Administration, has many chilling tales.

On the morning of April 16, 1963, nine planes of the Thunder Tigers were training. Just as they were beginning a tightly grouped perpendicular maneuver, four F-86 fighters from another squadron came from the opposite direction flying straight at them. There wasn't enough time to change direction, and luckily the other planes flew by, missing them by a hair. Just as they regained their composure, the nine planes of the Thunder Tigers, losing speed, began to level off, when suddenly Liang felt his plane brush up against another. With fortune smiling, the two planes only suffered wing damage and avoided disaster.

Thirty years later, when asked what his feelings were at that moment, he only says quietly that he was not afraid. On the contrary, he loves flying. Wu Tsai-hsi, who was in the squadron the same day, recorded in his diary, "As soon as I lost speed, I felt the presence of God, and God saved us."

Overconfidence goes before a fall: Although there is no doubt that about the risks of flying, most pilots have a philosophical way of looking at it.

Capt. Li of Chih Hang Air Force Base says that each fighter plane is maintained by more than 100 people on average, and there are countless regularly scheduled inspections. To put it another way, "more than 5,000 people a year die in auto accidents. It's a lot safer to be flying up in the sky than to be driving a car on the streets of Taipei!"

According to U.S. Air Force statistics, the loss rate is greatest among pilots with 500 to 800 hours' flying time, and the situation is similar in our air force. Some people contend that this is connected to the fact that pilots at that stage are overconfident. One squadron leader analyzes that ordinarily pilots who have flown 600 hours or so can qualify as a wing leader. At this time, when their flying skills are just maturing, they often try to undertake maneuvers where their confidence exceeds their ability or where their ability exceeds the structural tolerance of the plane.

Hsu Teh-ying had an experience like that. In a dogfight training maneuver, he moved in so closely on the "enemy" plane in front of him that he "nipped" its tail and then did a violent turning maneuver, pushing the tolerance of the plane to the utter limits. "It's really lucky that the plane didn't disintegrate!" Hsu admits it was an act of youthful foolhardiness, and he would never dare to do it again.

If you don't get 100, you flunk: "Flying requires 100 percent precision," Capt. Li says, explaining that in the air there are only two grades: 100 and 0. If you can't get a full grade, you end up an eagle with broken wings.

Usually, whenever there is an accident at an air base, the base carries out a "safe-skies drill" by grounding the planes for inspection. The purpose of this, on the one hand, is found out the cause of the accident and avoid a repetition. On the other, it is designed to calm the nerves of the other pilots and prevent psychological barriers that would affect flying safety.

The camaraderie among pilots is something they talk about as little as possible. Although pain at the loss of a friend is hard to avoid, "we have been rained right from the start to have the knack of putting it behind us once we step in the cockpit. That's the only way you can be sure that something won't also happen to you," says a pilot named Lee at Chih Hang Air Force Base.

Senior pilots, who have been baptized under fire, look at life and death even more clearly. Cheng Sung-heng, now 80 and formerly head of the Air Force School for Youth, says that he saw no fewer than 100 planes shot down during the War Against Japan. He long ago learned to view his own life philosophically.

Chang Fu has one memory deeply etched in his mind. On the morning of Chiang Kai-shek's birthday in 1971, he was leading the Thunder Tigers in a special maneuver over the Chung Hsing Bridge in Taipei. One of his comrades, Luo Hung-hsin, hit a high-tension power line and was killed. Having seen his friend die with his own eyes, Chiang was grief stricken, but that very afternoon he still had to fly over the presidential offices and form a perfect "60" in the blue sky to celebrate the country's 60th anniversary.

Parting for life is hard: Pilots understand the danger of their work and have learned to accept the misfortune of others. But it is hard for loved ones that have been left behind. On July 11, 1968, while flying his F-86F fighter in a simulated dogfight over the sea near Hualien, Tsai Kun-i lost control of the plane and plunged into the sea. Because both the pilot and the plane were lost, his family refused to accept the fact that he was dead. Today, 20 years later, there is still no ancestral tablet for him at his old home in Hengchun, and family members are still waiting for a miracle.

First Lt. An Chieh-min, whose F-5F crashed in 1983, has been dead nearly 10 years, but the pain of his death still lingers. Every week, his parents go to Pitan to visit their son's resting place. Every time someone asks how they feel, his mother replies sadly, "I'd rather not say. The last 10 years I've cried so much I have no more tears left to shed."

The loss of a son is hard enough for a mother and father to bear, but for a wife--the person nearest and dearest to him--it is even more difficult to find peace.

Pilots generally are in the habit of marrying early, and within a year or two after graduating from the academy nearly everyone rushes to leave the single life behind.

The heart of the wife is also up in the air: "We're under a lot of stress, and early marriage can help us settle down a bit," says Capt. Li of Chih Hang Air Force Base.

Although the husband might settle down a bit, his young wife has mixed emotions.

Many pilots' wives will ask their husbands to call home to report that they are safe and sound as soon as they have finished their mission. A wife of one air warrior relates that once she heard from the TV that a plane had crashed at her husband's air force base. She was so frightened, she was shaking and really wanted to know what had happened but didn't have the courage to call. After a time, the phone rang, "And I just sat there blankly with the phone ringing away. I was really afraid and didn't dare answer it," she says, still shaken, adding "it was only after quite a while that I got up the nerve to grab the receiver. As soon as I heard his voice I started to cry."

In 1967 Hu Shih-lin shot down a Chinese Communist MiG fighter over the Taiwan Strait. That day, the whole country saw him as a hero, but his wife, Tung Hsiu-ching, couldn't stop crying after she got the news that he had safely returned. "Air combat is so dangerous..." she says, still agitated.

Although concerned, most pilots' wives try to keep up a healthy and open attitude in facing life.

After Hsu Teh-ying was injured in an air accident, his wife's support was critical in enabling him to face life again. Back when his wife, Sheng Ta-min, was about to marry him, many friends warned, "Are you sure you're not making mistake? All the residents of the air force military village are widows!" But she wasn't frightened off by the warnings of her friends, and even when she first went out with Hsu, they would sometimes go to the air force cemetery to "visit" friends there. She has a respect for the air force similar to that of Hsu himself.

Where have all the nameless heroes gone? In the Air Battle over the Taiwan Strait in 1967, Lt. Col. Yang Ching-tsung, like Hu Chih-shuang, went up to meet the Chinese Communist MiG-19's. Even as the whole country rejoiced at the news, Yang went down into the sea while flying back. At that time, to avoid affecting morale, the news of his death was not given out, and so it never entered the history books.

In fact, Yang Ching-tsung is not the only such nameless hero. It is only recently that the stories of legendary U-2 pilots like Chang Li-i and Yeh Chang-ti have come to light. Also, pilots like Chia Jen-pu and Cheng Wen-li, who were shot down delivering supplies deep into the mainland in 1949 and 1950, held as prisoners there and allowed to return to their homes only this year, are also heroes left nameless by the circumstances of the time.

Their spirit of sacrifice is truly admirable. But they have been unable to leave their name to history, just getting at most a square marker at the Pitan cemetery pointing skyward. They have disappeared without a trace, and their stories are buried at the bottom of the sea.

Chang Fu says that the reason he decided to join the air force and serve his country was he was attracted by the stories of heroism of such martyrs as Kao Chih-hang and Yen Hai-wen during the War Against Japan. Their heroic stories stirred patriotism among citizens at the time, and the stories of martyrs today should also be excellent instructional materials.

The flames of war: Although the shadow of death lingers in their mind, virtually every air warrior looks forward to having a go at the enemy. But for those who have really experienced combat, the scars will never be forgotten.

One former high-ranking air force officer reveals that he will never forget the time he flew a C-46 transport plane in 1946 and bombed a Communist base in Kiangsu: "After we dropped the incendiary bombs, the whole ground below became a sheet of fire and even the water was in flames," he says with a catch in his voice. "I don't know what we burned, but I know nothing could have survived. ..."

Today, 40 years later, as he describes that event, his face is covered with tears, and he says in a pained tone, "The best thing is for people never to go to war and to peacefully live together."

Peace is the common desire of mankind, but the irony is that people must sometimes make war to have peace. Thus we will always need a group of committed heroes who love the sky, desire to fly and love their country to realize the ideal of peace.

In the Pitan air force cemetery there are many graves marked "Died on a Special Mission," but the names of most of these martyrs have not been recorded. One retired air force commander points out that pilots who undertook special missions knew they were probably doomed to die when they took off. They likely went deep behind enemy lines without any intelligence data whatsoever in order to scout the military situation. The chances that they would return safely were very slim.

Forever a pilot: Stories of life and death continually play out, but flying becomes an eternal memory for anyone who has ever flown. Once he had received a prosthetic leg, Hsu Teh-ying couldn't wait to go back to the base to try out a simulator to prove to himself that he could still fly a plane. "Just give me a chance, and I'll still try to fly," he says with determination.

Cheng Teh-i, who became paralyzed from the waist down after his parachute failed to open when his F-86 went down in 1970, still drives his own specially rebuilt Chevy RV up to mountains or down to the sea from time to time. As soon as the Ali Mt. road was opened to traffic, he was so eager he was one of the first to drive up the mountain. Even more surprising is that after being disabled for 20 years, he flew a plane again--even though it was only a recreational light aircraft, which he feels are too tame and "not as exciting as a fighter."

It is only because Kao Chih-hang and Yen Hai-wen were willing to write a glorious page of history for the air force, and only because there are many Cheng Teh-i's and Hsu Teh-ying's and even Wu Tsai-hsi's and An Chieh-ming's, as well as countless nameless heroes who blazed their names across the sky, that the air force torch has can be passed along without being extinguished.

Wanting to fly--that has caused these heroic eagles to leave behind some painful records but it is also a memory that no money can buy. "Maybe I'll never have a chance to fly a fighter again, but I've done it before, and so I'll always be a pilot." That is the footnote that Cheng Teh-i leaves on behalf of airmen.

Air Force Medals for Combat Performance [Picture]

[Picture Caption]

Blue skies and a fighter are what turn on air warriors.

The Flight Medal signifies that one has officially become a pilot.

Though the photo is old, the passion for flying has not faded. (photo courtesy of Wu Tsai-yao)

Fighters get constant maintenance. Flying up in one isn't any more dangerous than driving in Taipei.

The Star Medal is awarded to someone who is credited with shooting down an enemy plane. A small star symbolizes having shot down one plane; a large star symbolizes five planes.

When pilots get together, the talk is still about aircraft.

(Above) 80-year-old Cheng Sung-ting repaints the grave of his son-in-law Wu Ko-chen, killed test-flying the IDF, on the anniversary of the accident.

(Below) Going to the Pitan cemetery to burn paper money at the graves of those who shared the dream but have gone before, it seems that these glittering pilots also have their share of burdens.

The Distinguished Service Medal is given to those who perform exceptionally well in reviews, training, research and development, or competitions.

An eagle watches over the souls of those who have given their lives to flying.

Although getting around is not easy, Cheng Teh-i drives his van with as much skill as he did his fighter plane.

The Exemplary Medal is given to those who meet the highest standards in equipment maintenance, following regulations, or devotion to their jobs.

Every time you fly, it represents training in life and unlimited hope.

The Flight Medal signifies that one has officially become a pilot.

Though the photo is old, the passion for flying has not faded. （photo courtesy of Wu Tsai-yao）

Fighters get constant maintenance. Flying up in one isn't any more dangerous than driving in Taipei.

The Star Medal is awarded to someone who is credited with shooting down an enemy plane. A small star symbolizes having shot down one plane; a large star symbolizes five planes.

When pilots get together, the talk is still about aircraft.

（Above） 80-year-old Cheng Sung-ting repaints the grave of his son-in-law Wu Ko-chen, killed test-flying the IDF, on the anniversary of the accident.

The Distinguished Service Medal is given to those who perform exceptionally well in reviews, training, research and development, or competitions.

（Below） Going to the Pitan cemetery to burn paper money at the graves of those who shared the dream but have gone before, it seems that these glittering pilots also have their share of burdens.

An eagle watches over the souls of those who have given their lives to flying.

Although getting around is not easy, Cheng Teh-i drives his van with as much skill as he did his fighter plane.

The Exemplary Medal is given to those who meet the highest standards in equipment maintenance, following regulations, or devotion to their jobs.

Every time you fly, it represents training in life and unlimited hope.