I heard that way "back in the day", A7 IP's chased a lot of FRP's on "sandblowers" out that way...
Memories of my final flight in the East Coast A-7 Rag: Planned high-low-high special weapons delivery to Pinecastle Target in Florida.
Take the runway, chase pilot/IP to my right. INS goes tango uniform. Inform IP ("Foot") who replies "If the bubble just went up, what would you do?" OK, here goes. Brake release, start the clock. Take off, high level out over Atlantic north towards Georgia. Drop down off the coast to go feet dry at 200' for the first checkpoint, a river inlet south of Savanna. That was the LAST checkpoint I actually saw. The rest of the low level was flown time/distance/heading. Most of the checkpoints were road intersections nestled in the pine trees and swamp of Georgia, Alabama, and Florida, kind of tough to see at 200' and 360 kts unless you hit them perfectly (which I didn't). The route actually went feet wet again over the Gulf of Mexico before coasting in along the west coast of Florida. Got to where the IP should have been time-wise (another intersection) but only crossed one road, not an intersection. At this point I figured I was destined to receive a down and be scheduled for a re-fly. Oh what the hell, here goes. I accelerated to 420 kts and dropped down to tree-top level looking for the pole-mounted radar reflectors that I knew would be sticking up above the tree tops at the bullseye of the nuke target. We've now been airborne approaching 2 hours and the clock is ticking closer to my target time. I double-check the proper station selected on the armament panel and the proper manual mil setting on the HUD. I'm really sweating now when off to my left 9:30 I spot the reflectors barely poking above the tree tops. I start what would equate to a break turn to the left, selecting master arm and going to MRT to counter the break turn. I'm pulling for all I'm worth. The trees clear away and there is the bull. I roll wings level, the pipper is on the target, and I pickle off the Mk106. I'm almost 180 degrees off of the planned delivery course. I figure I'm screwed. I start my climb out towards Cecil Field and "Foot" joins up in parade, mask off with a huge grin on his face. He must be laughing his ass off at that performance, I think. Nothing is said the rest of the flight. We land and I go to the debrief expecting the worst. "Foot" walks in grinning and says my hit was 5 meters and within 10 seconds of my planned time. He proceeds to tell me that was exactly what would have needed to be done if it were real.
Yep, I'd rather be lucky than good any day.