A few years ago, while visiting Air Force Global Strike Command in Louisiana, I crashed a B-52 bomber. I was attempting a low-level bombing run and fought the controls as the big plane went down. Covered with sweat from the effort, I climbed out of the pilot’s seat and exited the hyperrealistic training module to the instructors’ knowing smiles. My brief attempt to experience what it is like to be a part of the United States’ nuclear guardians bolstered my respect for their difficult effort—even as most of the country long ago forgot the mission that once defined the Cold War.
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