Do you enjoy hearing the sounds of freedom? Not just the National Anthem or our Pledge of Allegiance, but the scream of America’s military aircraft shredding the silent skies?

The F-15 Strike Eagles from Seymour Johnson Air Force Base often fly over our house, bank across Bullhead Mountain, and drop into the valley. If I sprint to the road as the first one passes, I can watch his wingman heading past Mahoghany Rock and toward Air Bellows Gap.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Eagles, here are some interesting details: The first plane’s flight was in 1972. Two years later the interceptors were in full production. Around here, they’re practically loafing along at about 570 miles per hour. At 30,000 feet, they can hit three times that speed (more than twice the speed of sound). These interceptors weigh 27,000 pounds empty, but can carry nearly that much weight in weapons and extra fuel. Eagles are the ones you didn’t see, followed by the sharp roar you can’t miss. If you look a mile or so ahead of the sound, their swept-back wings and tall twin tails, called “vertical stabilizers” or “stabs,” will give them away in a second.

Several other planes also zip through this area. The most common is the A-10, known as the Thunderbolt II, or “Wart Hog.” Its military mission is typically air support for our troops on the ground. They’re more easily watched, since their cruising speed is around 400 mph. The T-Bolt’s two engines are mounted high on the plane’s body and slightly ahead of the shorter twin “stabs.”

Occasionally, an A-6 will fly over Sparta, either from a land base or aircraft carrier. This quick, versatile little plane was developed through the 60s, and featured in the Vietnam-era movie, “Flight of the Intruder.”

On occasion you may have seen a large cargo plane slipping over our mountaintops. That would be the C-17, a state of the art turbofan-powered transport that’s remarkably quiet. You’ll recognize it by the stubby, cigar-like body and wings that seem too short to handle the load. Its upturned wingtips improve flight control.

A plane-wise relative remembers seeing a vertical-takeoff Harrier and a NATO Vulcan in this area, but neither has returned to Alleghany airspace.

Leon Clark, the father of Alleghany resident, Dale Clark, told of an unusual incident that happened to him as a Navy fighter pilot in World War II.

When the F-4U Corsairs reached 10,000 feet, pilots held the control stick between their knees and pulled on their oxygen masks with both hands. As Clark’s wingman ducked his head into the mask’s straps, he accidentally nudged the control stick sideways. Suddenly, his plane slewed across the top of Clark’s, seriously damaging his tail section! No longer able to fly straight, the crippled fighter could manage only wide, horizontal circles. Since landing on the aircraft carrier was now impossible, Clark was ordered to get close to the ship and bail out. He throttled back, leveled off, and jumped. The parachute opened and he floated down to the sea. While waiting for the rescue boat to pick him up, he decided to keep the ‘chute as a souvenir, quickly gathering all he could into his arms. When the boat – running fast under power – came closer, Clark reached up to grab the loop that would flip him into the vessel. Unfortunately, the yards of parachute he hadn’t tucked away were full of seawater. The yank nearly tore off his arm before he could release his life-saving, but suddenly dangerous, souvenir.

During the early months of the Korean Conflict, our Navy pilots flew Corsairs against the nimble North Korean MiG-15 jets. Since the prop planes had no chance of outrunning their much faster enemies, pilots were told to attack the MiGs head-on while firing their guns. Surprisingly, several of the jets were shot down.

A very unusual situation happened over Vietnam when F-4 Phantoms carried bombs, but no other weapons. Two of our planes were on a bombing run when they were jumped by a pair of enemy fighters. As ordered, both jettisoned their bomb load and turned back. Suddenly one MiG exploded below them and the other began smoking as it headed toward the ground. The Phantoms’ cameras showed the ejected bombs falling toward both enemy planes.

During the 70s, our daughter and I were canoeing the New River when nature called her name. We beached the boat at the canoe-access park near Piney Creek and she headed for the privy. About the time she got settled, a Phantom shrieked down the river valley and over the outhouse. The “facility’s” door flew open and out came the startled young lady, arranging her clothes on the run.

“I thought the place had blown up!” she exclaimed, climbing quickly back into the canoe.