The most likely threat I would face was 23MM and 37MM Triple-A, which would be fired in streams of 25-50 rounds at a time. If the gunners were harassing you, they might fire only 25 rounds. If they were intent on you not destroying something of value (like themselves!), you could expect hundreds of rounds to be fired at you.
After busting a major milestone in their training (the initial solo or any of the three checkrides they had to pass in the T-38 syllabus), students would get one or two extra flights with an experienced IP. They would then fly an “Initial Progress” check with a squadron supervisor. If they passed that check, they continued with the program. Failing the Initial Progress check meant they got additional flights with another experienced IP and then flew a “Final Progress” check. If they failed that flight, they would be eliminated from the program.
It was an ‘exchange’ tour where the Navy flew a a two-ship to NKP with one of the aircraft a two-seat TA-4 and the pilot in that back seat would stay in my ‘rack’ at NKP. The two A-4s would return to the Hancock with me occupying that back seat and I would stay in his ‘rack’ aboard the carrier. It was supposed to be a three-day exchange with each of us getting to experience several missions in the other’s airplane.
Still wearing my flight suit as I walked about, I happened upon a large-scale model of a P-47 set in a WWII diorama. I instantly recognized it as Francis Stanley ‘Gabby’ Gabreski’s P-47 from when he commanded the 61st Fighter Squadron (the ‘Top Dawgs’). Gabby was the leading ace in the European Theater during WWII and is credited with destroying 34½ aircraft in aerial combat which made him one of only seven US combat pilots to become an ace in two wars.
I declared an emergency with the MacDill tower. I also cleared the two students to break away and head straight to the base and get on the ground ASAP; I didn’t want to close the runway with them still in the air. I directed the IP in #3 to ‘chase’ me, which meant he would be alongside to observe that my gear ‘blew down’, to back me up on the checklist, and to make sure I didn’t get ‘behind the aircraft’ as I handled this emergency.
Somewhere over Laos in late 1972, I was ‘sandbagging’ with another Nail FAC. Sandbagging consisted of riding in their backseat logging time, but also providing an extra set of eyes watching out for bad guys shooting at us as well as monitoring/answering the five radios that many times all came active at one time!
As Forward Air Controllers (FACs), we often supported supply convoys coming up the Mekong River to deliver food, fuel, and ammo to the people/defenders of Phnom Pehn (Papa-Papa), the capitol of Cambodia. The bad guys would lie in wait for the convoy and then attack it with heavy weapons.
I was excited to make my first (and only) ‘Trans-Lant’ (trans-Atlantic) flight. Primarily because of the jet stream, we planned to fly home via a southern route stopping in Spain, the Azores, and Bermuda. Join me now on that flight.
While waiting for the meeting to start, the CAF towed a Corsair out of their hangar and started it. Of course, all the Daedalians came outside to watch (and to listen to) this beautiful aircraft start up.
As the propeller slowed to one to two revolutions per second, I moved the condition lever to the ‘Feather’ position and #1 came to a full stop. And that’s when it happened – the #2 engine started winding down as well! I now saw the advantage to raising the guard on that start switch!
As a FAC in southeast Asia, it was important to always know where you were and how to expeditiously get the fighter aircraft carrying their bombs to join up with you. We used a lot of terrain features that were easily spotted and widely known by those who flew over that terrain for navigation. Pictured is Arrowhead Lake.
Hearing a loud ‘BOOM!’, my IP said, “Sounds like someone had an afterburner blowout!” We turned and watched as the two aircraft flew by and noted things were amiss. The lead aircraft was trailing a longer than normal, bright red/yellow afterburner flame which was not the normal afterburner pattern or color.
WAIT! I’m supposed to be flying, not sleeping! Where am I? Where am I going? I checked the instruments and saw I was now heading west at 10,500 feet. I glanced around and knew exactly where I was, so I turned back to a northerly heading.
From taxi to takeoff, to the aerobatics, stall and upset situation recoveries, the flight was outstanding. This young man was acing his checkride including the return to Vance AFB for the patterns and landings, but that’s where the “wheels came off.”
My most memorable missions occurred around Christmas of 1972, when I was a 23-year-old Forward Air Controller flying the OV-10 Broncos. Two days before Christmas, we received word that three of our former comrades had been shot down near Saravane in southern Laos. They were Raven FACs serving as part of covert CIA operations in Laos flying Cessna O-1 Bird Dogs and North American T-28 Trojans.
I imagine every aviator has a special place in their heart for their favorite airplane and may even have a name for it. In many cases, that name is prominently displayed somewhere on the beloved airplane. I have always been fascinated by WWII aircraft decorated with what is commonly called “nose art.” Among my favorites is Bud Anderson’s P-51 named Old Crow, perhaps because it reminds me of myself. However, in my case The Ancient Aviator would be more fitting.
Steve Mosier told us “Tales from the Doc Side” earlier this year. This is about my favorite flight surgeon. Her name was Karen and she graduated from the Air Force Academy in 1980, the first class to include women. She was an outstanding student and All-American swimmer for the Falcons; after graduating from the Academy and then Baylor College of Medicine, Karen became a flight surgeon.
Looking east across the Annamite Range that lies between North Vietnam (NVN) and northern Laos with the monsoon weather over NVN. On this particular mission, I stayed in Laos. A few weeks later, I flew down the “Fish’s Mouth” (at one point, the border between NVN and Laos looks like the mouth of a fish jumping out of the water, east to west, to catch a lure).
I quickly surmised that, as Shakespeare put it, “the game was afoot!” This fellow FAC was going to try and get on my tail and I had to do whatever was necessary to keep that from happening. I shoved my control levers into takeoff and land, putting my twin turboprop engines at max RPM while my throttles would control the pitch of the blades. I turned into him and we were quickly in what is called a “furball.”
I had my back to him, but spun around to see what caused this outburst and saw a large plume of dirt being spewed onto our only runway. The source of the plume was an F-16 off the side of the runway with a collapsed nose gear. Meanwhile, the engine was sucking up dirt and rocks and flinging debris all over the runway. Instead of repeating what the sergeant had said, I asked, “What happened?”