The Phantom weren't the only jet fighter with a piece of the action in that fracas, though you'd never know it by listening to a bunch of Phantom pilots. There was the F-105 Thunderchief; most of us called it a Thud, but never with an ounce of disrespect. Why there's enough pure, raw courage in one Thud pilot to make heroes out of an entire bomber squadron. I've watched those F-105 drivers baby that monstrous bucket of bolts into place the devil himself wouldn't go. They'd come roaring in, peel off in a screaming dive, point that thing at the ground, and pray I'd reckon. You see, the Thunderchief don't carry but one pilot. And I used to wonder just how lonesome it got for those guys. Nobody to talk to like in the Phantom, except the Lord maybe. One engine, one seat, one set of eyeballs, and one pilot. Yep, among fighter planes the Thud was sort of the last of the red hot mamas. Now it's true that to a Wolfpack fighter pilot there ain't a plane anywhere that can hold a candle to a Phantom, but I'll give you a little tip: don't ever badmouth a Thud or a Thud pilot where a Phantom driver can hear you. It might cost you a few teeth

I'm a Thud pilot, and I love my plane

It is my body, I am its brain

My Thunderchief loves me, and I love her too

But I get the creeps, with only one seat and one engine too

She's faster than lightning it says on her dials

To get a Thud airborne takes only two miles

She's packed with transistors, black boxes, diodes

But stay alert, 'cause you might get hurt when she explodes

She totes more bombs than a B-17

My F-105 has a gun and she's mean

But there is one thing that curdles my blood

It's lonesome up there, alone in the air in my single seat Thud

I love my Thud and she loves me too

She soaks up flak like a magnet can do

If I get my hundred and I'm still alive

I'll have no grief, goodbye Thunderchief, My F-105!