Veterans Blog

My F-86H Days

An old “Thud” driver just passed me this “good old story” to share titled “MY F-86H DAYS, written by Jim "Skinny" McLennan.  The story begins in the late fifties:

After pilot training and prior to my Sabre experience, I flew straight-winged Hogs (F-84Gs) at Luke Air Force Base, Arizona, and then checked out in F-94As upon my return to the Syracuse, New York Air National Guard in 1956.

We transitioned to the F-86H Sabre sometime in `58. A RAFSOB, on loan from the regular establishment, checked us out. He immediately impressed us by landing gear-up while demonstrating a tight "tiger" pattern!

In those days, Air Guard flying consisted of mainly getting 100+ hours per pilot each year. We had to call the squadron at least two hours prior to take off so they could notify maintenance to get a bird ready. Most sorties consisted of solo hunting for other unsuspecting fighters, bombers, transports, or even airliners! Believe it or not, I actually got into a scissors maneuver once with a Mohawk BAC 111!

The Sabre was the best fighter I ever flew. It had no restrictions on speed, altitude, attitude or visibility. The office was high and well forward of the wing, which offered excellent visibility around the clock. More than once I experienced a Sabre sliding backwards out of a hassle with smoke pouring out both ends! Recovery was easy; release back pressure, get the nose down, build up speed, and pull straight up and get back into the fight. The Sabre "H" was restricted to 7.33 positive g's clean, or 6 with external stores, but it could take a lot more. Marvin T. Glen, the originator and first winnerof a trophy in his name, put 14 g's once on one bird and it did not come unglued. The award was a duck whose head went up its rectum! Many others were over-g'd by aggressive pilots, but after a visual inspection by maintenance, few had any damage.

The "H", like all Sabres, would go supersonic, but only when rapidly descending, and then after a climb to above 40,000 feet, throttle to max, and split-s to straight down. The needle would cross Mach one by .01. If we were not supersonic by 30,000 feet, forget it! Also, we experienced considerable wing roll, but we could easily correct it with opposite stick The ailerons and elevators were boosted and very sensitive. Most pilots had to get used to this before they stopped wobbling all over the sky!

Cross-Country In F-86Hs With "Garbage Belly" ("GB") Miller Leading

From Syracuse we launched as a night of two for Willie Field near Phoenix Arizona with a refueling stop at Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Upon arrival at Scott, we were informed the field was closed to jet traffic due to repairs on the long runway. "GB" informed the tower we would take the short runway and land anyway. We did as "GB" said we would. In base Ops, we ran into our second obstacle, the Airdrome Officer, who informed us we were going nowhere as the base was closed for jet traffic. "GB" said, "We're in the Guard, but you can watch us take off". The AO did! Our climb to 41,000 feet, our best cross-country cruise altitude, took about 20 minutes. At this altitude we indicated 240 knots which gave us 470 knots true airspeed.

With 200 gallon external tanks, which we always carried, our maximum range in the F-86H was 1,000 miles, but we seldom planned for more than 800, depending upon the winds. The time enroute was usually an hour and thirty minutes to two hours. For anything more we really started to sweat the fuel. We navigated between radio beacons using ADF which was less than reliable, especially if thunderstorms were about. At each fix we gave a radio position report to that facility and estimated our arrival at the next fix. It was an done in our heads. We had no calculators, computers, or even an autopilot in the "H", so we used paper and pencil. In'61 it got a lot easier. We had TACAN installed, which was more reliable, and it not only gave us our heading but also our distance to or from a station.
So there we were, at 41,000 feet above an overcast with about 30 minutes of fuel left, when "GB" announced to Oklahoma City radio that, "We don't have enough gas to get to Willie." He took their suggestion and headed for Altus Air Force Base, not far away. We switched our frequency to Altus approach. They informed us that their weather was bad, they were recovering numerous B-47s, and that we would have to hold at the for for an hour before they could clear us for the approach. "GB" said, "No Problem!" Now I was really confused! How could we hold for an hour with less than 30 minutes of gas? So when we hit the fix, "GB" announced to Approach that we would cancel IFR and let down VFR instead. We rolled upside down, split-s'ed, changed to the tower frequency, plunged straight into the soup for our VFR descent, and with the altimeter unwinding at breakneck speed, I felt my g-suit inflating! As "GB" started his pullout, I hung on for dear life. Rain pelted my canopy as we broke out at 500 feet moving at over 575 knots. One mile from the end of the active runway, "GB" called, "Two Sabres on the break for fun stop landings!" That night at the O Club bar, "GB" told WII Mustang stories until they closed. You know, I believed all of them!

Training In The F-86H

Air-to-air gunnery was by far the most challenging of all fighter pilot sports, and it always started the same way. An F-86H with the call sign "Tugboat" would race down the runway with 3,000 feet of cable and a large rag attached at the end, and then pull sharply into a steep climb to get the target airborne before it ripped off. The shooters, four other Sabres, would follow. No one wanted towing duties as the only way for the Tugboat to terminate its mission was to rip the flag off. If this happened, the actions of the tow pilot were assumed to have caused the loss of the target and the end of an enjoyable mission for the shooters. When this occurred, often the tow pilot would be threatened with, "If you lose another flag, you will be target!"

Tugboat, however, usually got the rag to the restricted area where the fun began. The shooters would race by the tug on the spacer pass and start the intricate pattern of climbing to the perch (line abreast and above the tow ship), and then diving into firing position, a thousand feet from the target. This was not easy. First of all, when we rolled in on Tugboat, we had to miss the guy coming back to the perch, and then reverse the turn to get into firing position. Now, we were going faster than blazes while closing on a target that was going slower than syrup. The radar would not lock on, so we manually ranged the sight with our throttle hand and tried to track the rag with smooth stick movements. The sight was now swimming with movement from our control inputs. We tried desperately to track the rag as it got very big very fast. It was now collision time as we squeezed the trigger. The cannons blazed, our heart stopped, we rolled over the rag (missing by inches), raced by the tow ship, pulled back into a steep climb while aiming for the perch, missed the guy coming down who raced right at us as he reversed to fire. This went on, pass after pass, until we were wringing wet with sweat and out of ammo.
Sometimes the day was cloudy and Tugboat was not in the restricted area over Lake Ontario, and bullets ended up hitting the outhouse of a bar and grill on the south shore. But luck was with us, no one was in the place! The guilty pilot, however, was easily traced. Each pilot had his ammo dipped in color-coded paint to assist in scoring the target. Nasty break.

Sometimes we did not miss the target when we rolled over the top, and instead we flew right through it, hitting a large iron bar that could slice a wing off, ruining our whole day! "Baron" Von Thisen was lucky, however, when he brought the bar back home, embedded in his wing. Strong aircraft, that Sabre! The maintainers, ever resourceful, swapped the damaged wing for a good one located on a display Sabre at the local American Legion. It worked fine!

Speaking of bringing things back home, recovering the banner from Tugboat was not a piece of cake. The target was dropped at home plate and involved a lot of nail biting by the following players: The tower, who would broadcast over Guard frequency, "Everyone must exit the area. Tugboat is inbound for a target drop." Then by the pilot in mobile control who would call, "Drop target now." He often scored a bull's eye on the runway, tying up traffic for awhile! Finally by Tugboat, who was very, very low on fuel, and who once flew too low, dragging the target through the power lines, cutting electricity to northern New York. We needed the target back to score our hits. It took 17% to qualify, and it was not easy. I have been on missions where we all fired one color to qualify a squadron mate, but failed. Most of the time, though, we were successful (they never knew what we did for them!).
This all became a lot easier when we started firing on the dart. First, we only needed one hit, and we could usually see that happen. Second, the dart was not speed limited, so closure rates when tracking were a lot lower, which gave us much, more time to fire. Dart recovery however, was trickier, to say the least. When the dart was released. it sailed a long way and not always in a straight line. Once. 'TY' Costello was in the mobile control unit and called. "Drop target now." He scored a bull's-eye on a moving tractor!

We flew low level navigation through the beautiful Adirondack Mountains near the Canadian border to the air-to-ground gunnery range at Fort Drum in northern New York. In the winter. we deployed to Florida far several weeks. The usual bet was a beer per event with the losers paying the winner. In a flight of four doing, skip and dive bombing plus rockets and strafe, if one guy won them all, it could result in a good many free ones at the bar! This, however, seldom happened because competition was keen.

Skip bombing was the most fun, once we got over the fear of racing over the ground at 400 knots at 35 feet. The target was a large rectangular banner hung between telephone posts. A hit in the banner was a hit, but a hit in the base of the banner was what we all aimed for. The secret was to go low without getting fouled by the range officer, another pilot doing detestable duty. Once Ron Lang was lining up on the target and pressing hard when he flew through a tree. Always a resourceful fighter pilot, he claimed a bird strike. After landing, however, the Ops officer (our boss) found bark embedded in his wing. He then announced that, "The bird must have been sitting in a tree!"

Once when we were in Libya, North Africa in 1962, John "The Baron" Von Thisen set his switches wrong and dropped both external tanks on the skip target. His comment then was, "Well, was it a skip hit or a hit on the fly?" In his defense, switchology was a problem with the '86 due to the location of the armament panel.

Dive bombing was the most challenging of all air-to-ground events. At first our dive angle was 60 degrees, which seemed like straight down. For this we used idle thrust and speed brakes. Later we went to a less thrilling 30 degrees, which was also less accurate.
We had no computers to tell us when to release the bombs to get a hit; it was all Kentucky windage and pressing as low as we could go without getting fouled by the range officer. If he was a good guy and we bribed him with enough drinks he would call us for pressing as a warning before fouling us on our next pass. If we got one foul. we lost the event and our bomb was calculated as a 300 foot miss from the target (a gross error). If we were fouled twice on the same mission, the range officer would throw us off the range, and this meant big trouble from the Ops officer when we landed. To qualify in high-angle bombing, the average of all bombs dropped had to be 140 feet or less from the bulls-eye. To win the event and collect the beers. our score would probably have to be 50 feet or less.
The rocket event offered the gratification of seeing a white streak leap out in front of our aircraft and race to the target. It had a hypnotic effect, however, on the shooter which could cause a delay in the aircraft's recovery while watching the rocket impact the target. Needless to say, this would upset the range officer, and the shooter would hear the dreaded word, "foul". We fired the 2.75-inch folding fin jobs. They had fair ballistics, except when one of the four fins would not extend. The rocket could and would go anywhere, even at the range tower inhabited by the range officer who saw no humor in it at all. This was a very bad break for the shooter!

Switchology was also a real problem in this event. The armament panel was behind the pilot's left elbow, and it had to he set after each shot as a safety precaution. During this procedure, Cal Fearon once fired two rockets, just missing his leader. His comment was, "Sorry about that!"

Strafe was the last event, and it always separated the men from the boys in our squadron. We fired only two of our four 20mm cannons, which were relatively accurate when compared to the ballistics of the old.50 caliber mounted on other Sabre variants. 25% was qualifying, but to take the beers our score had to be well over 50%. We rolled in on the strafe panels from 3,000 feet in a rectangular pattern, accelerating to above 350 knots. Pipper placement was everything, and it required a lot of concentration and coordination to get it right. Initially the pipper was well in front of the panel. As we accelerated to 350 knots and closed on the target. we allowed the pipper to slowly work its way to the panel stopping the dipper on the target and firing a burst just prior to reaching the dreaded foul line. Then it was yank the nose above the horizon and bank in the direction of traffic and do it again and again. until we called 'Winchester (ammo gone-generally 100 rounds).
Being a range officer was a learning experience. I caught G. William Gregory cracking his speed brakes on final to stabilize the aircraft before he fired. This must have helped because he usually won the event. I was the range officer when Major Freddy Helderfine gave me the scare of my career I watched him pass the foul line, then fire and yank the stick, just missing the target with his tailpipe. The panel was blown over by his jet wash! My shaky brown bar comment was, "You're pressing, Lead".

After the last pass, some flight leaders would request a "rack check" from the range officer to be sure all bombs were expended. This was nothing but a legalized buzz job over the range tower to scare everyone there, and we did!

Active Duty In 1961

We were called to active duty for the Berlin Crisis. Deploying to Phalsbourg. France, we island-hopped with about 70 F-86Hs via Canada. Greenland, Iceland and the United Kingdom, led by our wing commander. Charlie Sweeney who dropped the second atomic bomb on Japan during World War Two.

Flying in Europe was something else. In simulated air-to-air combat, the Sabre could beat the Century Series Fighters if they would stay and fight. We cruised at 41,000feet. Few of the others, if any, could do that. The '86 was not a solid instrument aircraft. It always wanted to turn, at least in my hands. But in those days, we were "dayfighter pilots", leaving the night and bad weather flying to the '86 Dogs or '94s. Instrument approaches were emergency procedures, although in Europe we did a lot of them
The only threat to an '86 was another '86. Most notably, those Canadian Sabre Mark 6 drivers from Grostenquin (GT)or Solingen Air Bases. Even though the '86H had the most power of all the Sabre variants, the Mark 6 had a slightly better thrust-to-weight ratio and lower wing loading. I used to "trap" them at my 6 o'clock on a regular basis. It went something like this: takeoff, suck up the gear and flaps, into the soup to on top, check the mirror, break into the Mark 6s for 30 minutes of bank, yank and near-collisions; then back into the soup for a minimum fuel GCA to home plate.

On occasion, when the Canadians were grounded with bad weather and "Eli" Culbertson was in the lead, we would cruise over to GT. Eli would request a practice GCA low approach for a flight of four Sabres. As we turned onto final, radar would ask, "What will be your airspeed on final?" Eli would respond, "400 knots. "Without missing a beat, radar would answer, "Your rate of descent on final will be 1,754 feet per minute". We now knew we were in for another ride of our lives as Eli ordered a 'diamond formation", and we hurled down the glide slope! The controller was calm as he gave commands to our leader, such as. "You're high, you're low, you're left, or you're right." We would break out, screaming along at less than 100 feet, with rain beating on our canopies and Eli would bank and yank to buzz the 431st Squadron's hangar as we three wingies hung on for dear life! Then it was back up into the clag for a quiet return to base. Man. it was fun! What did I know.' I was a young captain with these WWII types as my leaders. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it'

"Sabre Night" occurred on May 18. 1962. It was a party, and we hosted for all F86 drivers in Europe. We packed our speed brakes with thousands of flyers and delivered them via air mail to Sabre bases all over France and Germany. General Adolph Gallard, the chief of German lighters in World War Two, was our guest speaker. He flew his own private aircraft to Phalsbourg, escorted by Sabres from the German Air Force. Canadian, German and American Sabre pilots had a night to remember. I wish I could tell you about it, but I can't recall any more!

Back In The States

In the mid-Sixties, I transferred to the Ohio Air National Guard and flew F-I00Cs at Columbus. I was never really comfortable in the Hun. The "C" had no flaps, so takeoffs and landings were very fast, such as at 190 knots. If we lost our drag chute on landing, we were going to roll two miles, and then engage a barrier at the far end of the runway> In afterburner the Hun would go supersonic at a tremendous cost in fuel, but the major problem was its lack of maneuverability as compared to the Sabre. Good grief, but it could and would depart controlled flight.

In the late Sixties, it was back to "The Boys from Syracuse" and the F-86H. Our brother unit at Niagara Falls by now had F-100s, and much of our time was spent in the skies of western New York trolling for those much hated Huns. One of my squadron mates, TJ Costello, was on a test hop, climbing to altitude when a flight of F-100s from Niagara called Syracuse tower for a "low pass over the Air Guard ramp." TJ immediately appointed himself the "Defender of Squadron Honor' and plunged his Sabre at the hated Huns, beating all in a real hairy low altitude dogfight. The leader of the Huns was the active duty Air Force advisor to the Niagara unit, and he was mad as all get out. It was a nasty break for TJ who spent the next month trying to avoid a flying evaluation board which if convened would have cost his wings and commission! In the bar, however, TJ and his Sabre were heroes!
Some of us went on temporary duty to Saudi Arabia to ferry F-86Fs to Portugal. It was scary. The Arabs had washed these birds for years in salt water! The "F" felt underpowered as compared to the "H". Indeed, the "H" had 50% more thrust.

Our winter deployments were to MacDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida to practice our gunnery skills and terrorize nearby Phantom drivers and their assistants. The call would be heard! "Phantom over point X-ray, come out of burner. You're melting my canopy!" An Eastern Airlines captain who viewed an encounter reported to the FAA that we were doing aerobatics on the airway! The FAA took a dim view of the encroachment.

Another deployment to sunny Puerto Rico to conduct air strikes in a joint military training exercise culminated in a "D-Day" type airborne and amphibious assault involving thousands of troops.

Our squadron was activated again in 1968 after the Pueblo Crisis, and we deployed to Cannon Air Force Base in New Mexico which was an F-100 base. So it was back to chasing Huns, but this time in the skies of the southwest. We returned by 1969.

My Sabre affair ended in 1970 with out transition into the A-37B and later the A-l0A.   After 30 years of flying fighters, my last operational night was on a deployment to Germany in the A-10A in 1984, with my last bomb being scored a bulls-eye. But nothing ever quite compared to my 1,500 hours in Sabres. Occasionally I return to visit my squadron and gaze out from the Officers Club over a fight line of F-16s. But also visible from that window is one remaining F-86H on gate guardian duty. Below that Sabre's canopy is stenciled, "Pilot: Jim "Skinny" McLennan."

What a ride!  Thanks Jim, and Thank you for your service to your country!

F16 CAS (combat air strike)

More War Stories:

This is a video from a F16 doing CAS (combat air strike) during fighting in Fallujah, Iraq. We have been bombing insurgent "safe houses" with some success recently. This F16 was on such a mission, to hit a building with an LGB (laser guided bomb). After the weapon had been launched 30 + insurgents left the building en masse to hurry to a nearby engagement with US Marines. The fighting had been going on for hours.

The pilot communicates with the FAC (forward air controller) either in the air or on the ground, and changes the flight path of the bomb while it is en route to the target. You can clearly see the "L" flashing in the MFD (multi-function display), and TGP (terminally guided projectile) is selected. It is the pilot who says "I got numerous individuals on the road, do you want me to take those out?" The FAC says "Take em out!"

Now, to put this in focus for you so you can get a glimpse into the complexities of the modern battlefield and the flexibilities of the modern U.S. war fighter: You have a supersonic high performance aircraft being driven by a single pilot who, under the tactical control of a FAC, launches a PGM (precision guided munition) at a designated structure (building).The pilot uses the aircraft's laser guidance video display to guide the weapon to the target (precision).  Remember, he is also flying the aircraft.

The pilot sees the video on his heads-up display and notices a bunch of combatants leaving the targeted building, turning the corner and heading down the street towards an active firefight. The pilot advises the FAC of the change in the status of the target requesting to target the combatants en route to the firefight rather than hitting an empty building.

I wonder how many Marines were saved by “eliminating” those enroute to engage them?  "Oh...Dude!"

A happy ending makes my day

More war stories...

In July of 1971, I returned to Southeast Asia for my second tour.  My first tour had been as a pilot assigned to the 12th Tactical Fighter Squadron of the 18th Tactical Fighter Wing on Okinawa.  From early 1965 until the end of 1966, my flying had been either with the 12th TFS on a squadron deployment to Korat Air Base Thailand or on an individual temporary duty assignment to the 388 TFW at Korat.  Both wings were flying the F-105 aircraft and our mission was to take the war to North Vietnam mostly in an interdiction role.  In 1967 I rotated back to the States and spent 4 years at Headquarters Tactical Air Command at Langley AFB.

In 1971 I went back to Bien Hoa Air Base in South Vietnam as a member of the 8th Special Operation Squadron to fly the A-37 Dragonfly in a close air support role.  The 8th SOS used two call signs to identify the squadron,  "Rap" was the call sign for the daily missions that came down from 7th Air Force and "Hawk" was the standing call sign for the  aircraft sitting in Alert Pad revetments out by the runway in a "ready to go" configuration.  The alert aircraft were in an "On Call" posture to respond to immediate emergencies, most often at the request of a Forward Air Controller.

Typically, eight aircraft were assigned to the alert pad and they were load with pre-designated weapons configurations.  When scrambled they launched in pairs.  Hawk 1, 3, 5, and 7 were designated as the flight leader while 2, 4, 6, and 8 were assigned the respective wingman’s position.  On one particular day in the summer of 1971, I was Hawk 4.  The pre-designated ordnance load for Hawk 3 was four 500 pound general purpose bombs, 2 pods of 2.75 rockets and  the 7.62 mm Gatlin Gun. Hawk 4’s load consisted of four 500 pound cans of napalm, 2 pods of rockets and the 7.62 mm gun.

When the launch (scramble) order is given the goal is to be airborne and on the way to the target in five minutes or less.  There is no time to grab your parachute, helmet or any other equipment needed for the flight; therefore, those items are already in the cockpit.  Mission procedures are pre-briefed and etched in your mind.  Pre-takeoff checks have already been accomplished and all switches are preset to the correct position.  All the pilot has to do basically is get in the cockpit, engage the starters and start moving as soon as the engines have sufficient power.  Fastening shoulder harness and latching the seatbelts are done in the interval between pressing the starter buttons and the time the air plane starts moving out of the revetment.  Contact with the control tower is made on the roll.  All other ground traffic is directed to clear to the side to make way for the scrambling aircraft.  There is no stopping on the runway to line up, you simply close and lock the canopy while turning the corner with the throttles already moving to takeoff power and away you go.

The scalp tingling sound of the field telephone was followed by the Alert Pad Duty Officer, shouting, "Scramble Hawk 3".  About 4 minutes later, the two A-37’s of Hawk 3 flight were airborne and receiving instruction from the Combat Operation Center at 7th AF which directed us toward the junction of the Mekong and Tonle Sap Rivers just North of Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia.  Ten minutes or so later we were speaking with the Forward Air Controller (FAC), in his O-2 aircraft, who had requested our assistance.  For the next ten minutes or so, as we flew toward the FAC’s position, he described the target to us, its nature and the scenario.  He also informed us that the Cambodian ground forces were in contact with his back seat observer, an English speaking Cambodian officer in touch with them via FM radio.  He passed on their FM frequency to us and we tuned it in to monitor what might be said.  There was some conversation but mostly in the Cambodian language, which we did not understand, but we kept it tuned in anyway.

It seems that a patrol of friendly Cambodian forces, perhaps 12 or so in number, were making their way up the Tonle Sap in a small patrol boat to investigate reported movement in that area when they came under fire from the west end of a building that was oriented in an east west direction at the north end of a rubber tree farm on the east side of the river.  The friendlies had beached their boat and were taking cover in some marsh grass and bamboo growths some 500 meters west of the building.  The enemy forces inside the structure had sprayed the area in which the friendlies were located with sporadic fire.  Since most of their weapons were in the boat, they were unable to offer resistance or return fire.  Additionally each time they attempted any type of movement, the gunfire from the building intensified. 

Some 25 minutes after engine start, we had the FAC in sight and the target was confirmed.  The objective was to destroy the building and all things inside it or at least keep the enemy occupied long enough for the friendly forces to withdraw to their boat and make a safe escape to get out of gunfire range. 

Hawk 3 and I made a wide sweeping circle around the building to determine our best approach.  As we made our circle, I noted that a frequently traveled road, more like a dirt trail, ran east and west at the north end of the farm.  Located just to the east of the center of the building and north of the road was a very large tree.  About 50 yards or so to the southwest of the tree a path branched off the dirt road and went some 100 yards up to the center of the building to two large doors that opened from the middle.  I figured that they must be used to bring some of the farm equipment inside the building for storage and maintenance. 

My estimate was that the building was about the size of a football field.  Some rather thick jungle was on the north side of and almost immediately adjacent to the building so a low level approach required for a "napalm" delivery was not possible since the height of the trees obscured the building.  My only option was to make the approach from the south.  Although I did not see any thing that I could identify as an anti-aircraft threat around the building that did not mean that one was not present.  My thought was that if I flew about 5 miles to the south and used the large tree as a reference, I could drop down to just above the tops of the rubber trees and use the tree as a shield until the last moment.

It was normal procedure for the aircraft with the bombs on board to make the first attack on the target from a dive  The explosion and shock from his bombs would confuse and generally disorient the enemy forces and to keep their focus away from the aircraft making the low level attack.  The dive bomb attack heading is generally perpendicular to the path of the bird with the napalm.   I informed Hawk 3 of my planned approach and since his attack would start from around 8,000 feet with a dive angle of some 45 degrees, the jungle would not obscure his view of the target.  He informed me that he would be making a diving attack from the northeast to the southwest.  That was great for me because I would be able to see his entire approach and recovery.

A critical factor was that my low level attack must be timed so that debris from the explosion of his bombs, which would top out at around 3,000 feet, would have time to settle back down to earth before my low level pass over the target.  Although there are no published intervals, I felt comfortable with 90 seconds.

I was starting a left descending 180 degree turn to final approach about 5 miles south of the target when I heard Hawk 3 call out that he had released his bombs.  I glanced back over my left shoulder and saw the explosion from his bombs.  One hit on the edge of the jungle just behind the east end of the building and the other hit about 50 feet from the end, extremely accurate for a manual delivery.  The timing was right on, because by the time I completed my turn to final approach and made a 5 mile run to the target at 350 knots (approximately 600 feet per second) I was well within my 90 second window.  I leveled my wings and dropped down to about 50 feet above the tree tops, and said to Hawk 3, "Good work buddy, that should keep their cages rattling for a while."

I could not see the building initially as I lined up on the large tree at the north end of the farm, so about 15 seconds away I made a quick jog the left and then almost immediately corrected back to the right.  I had increased my altitude to approximately 300 feet.  When I rolled wings level after the right turn, the building was directly in front of me and the double doors looked almost large enough to fly through.  I had just enough time to hit the bomb release button two times in rapid succession to release two cans of napalm and make a 5 g pull up into about a 60 degree climbing right turn to avoid the trees on the edge of the jungle.  At around 2500 feet I made a sharp turn back to the left and dropped the nose of the aircraft and looked quickly back over my left shoulder to see what damage had been done. 

My heart sank, although I had dropped two cans, I could only see one explosion and it was in the edge of the jungle about 50 feet from the north side of the building.  I remember cursing the lowest bidder and inflicting some non-complimentary words on my self about my accuracy.  One of the cans had obviously been a dud and the other had totally missed the building.  Now I have to go out there and repeat that approach again and this time I would not have any element of surprise and I would have to expose myself to a hornets nest because I could not afford to hide behind the tree.  I would have to keep the building in sight for the entire run and they would be expecting me.

I was setting up for a second pass and Hawk 3 was getting into position for his second dive bomb run on the target, and the target structure had disappeared behind my left wing when all hell broke loose on the FM frequency.  It sounded to me like the cheering at a soccer match after the favorite team had scored a goal and I heard someone with a foreign accent yell "Sheet Hot".  That was followed by the FAC coming back with "Sierra Hotel, take a look at that."  I made a quick turn back toward the target and saw the entire building being blown to bits from secondary explosions.  It seems that the can of napalm that I thought was a dud had gone directly through the double doors and exploded on the inside.  The building was being used as a logistics support station and for ammunition storage.  The time was about 1045 and subsequent reports stated that secondary explosions continued until well past noon.

We still had half our weapons load, so the FAC directed us to a secondary target about 20 miles away on the west side of the Mekong and some 10 miles north of the Mekong/Tonle Sap junction.  That was no problem since it was on our way back to Bien Hoa.  Just as I was joining up with Hawk 3, the Cambodian Observer in the FAC aircraft asked us if we could make a flyby over the troops that had been pinned down by the fire coming from the building that was no more.  Who could resist such an invitation? 

We made a north to south run down the east side of the Tonle Sap at about 100 feet.  We could see the troops standing waving their arms and giving us high signs.  We rocked our wings back and forth as we passed them to acknowledge their presence and pulled up into a slight climb and did three or four aileron rolls as we departed.  They were still cheering and yelling "Sheet Hot" when we turned off our FM radios and headed for our secondary target. 

We landed back at Bien Hoa at around 1130.  It was the third mission since 0600 for Hawk 3 and me.  Seventh AF regulations prevented us from flying anymore that day.  It was just as well because our sweaty flying suits were beginning to smell like goat skins.  We debriefed and went back to our quarters where we cleaned up and had lunch.  Later back in the Rap lounge, we refreshed our selves with a couple of Mai Tai’s and rehashed the events of the day.  We talked about how our team effort had worked with precision and recalled how happy those guys looked standing up in the marsh grass.

Tomorrow would be another day at the office, but for the moment 'some things really make you feel good'.

JC
"Thud 241"

Epilogue: Battle Damage Assessment (BDA) from ground forces stated that the building was completely burned to the ground and several armored vehicles were destroyed as well.  It was estimated that the enemy forces in the building numbered around 25.

Just Another Day at the Office...!

Another war story submission to the Veteran's blog...I like this one!

On April 17, 2006 I was on the artillery mission in Ar Ramadi, Iraq as the cannon crew gunner.  Gun 1-1.  We are a Paladin M109A6 155mm howitzer.

Our guns received a emergency mission from an infantry troop (501st infantry)in contact about 15 km out from us.  The convoy was taking direct fire.  Our two guns were given each a 6 round mission, and because of the range we used rocket assisted rounds or "RAP rounds" with a "charge 7 red bag".

As we began the fire mission, the other gun (number 1-3) had a malfunction with the firing mechanism while they had a round in the breech!  They could not continue the mission in support of the convoy.  With the help of our supply sergeant and our "smoke" (SFC E-7) their rounds were shuttled to our gun.  Things became very hectic as we three finished off all our rounds, and then started preparing the remaining five round from Gun 1-3 and fired them.  Needless to say our tube was hot from firing eleven rounds as fast as we could to Support Our Troops when they needed it most!

We are "Charlie" Battery 222nd FA from Utah, and the pride of America's Field Artillery.

Wcr

Wcr and Charlie Battery...Thank you for your service!

B-52 Flight Without a Tail! ...Oh Boy!

This is the latest in a series of articles what we in the military commonly refer to as “war stories”.  I’m encouraging other veterans to send us any stories or blasts from the past that you would like to share on the blog. Most of us fondly remember the camaraderie and life adventures we all experienced ...so tells us about it!

The following is true and has been a part of B-52 (BUFF) History for sometime:

January 10, 1964, started out as a typical day for the flight test group at Boeing's Wichita plant. Pilot Chuck Fisher took off in a B-52H with a three-man Boeing crew, flying a low-level profile to obtain structural data. Over Colorado, cruising 500 feet above the mountainous terrain, the B-52 encountered some turbulence. Fisher climbed to 14,300 feet looking for smoother air. At this point the typical day ended. The bomber flew into clear-air turbulence. It felt as if the plane had been placed in a giant high-speed elevator, shoved up and down, and hit by a heavy blow on its right side.

Fisher told the crew to prepare to abandon the plane. He slowed the aircraft and dropped to about 5,000 feet to make it easier to bail out. But then Fisher regained some control. He climbed slowly to 16,000 feet to put some safety room between the plane and the ground. He informed Wichita about what was happening . Although control was difficult, Fisher said he believed he could get the plane back in one piece.  Response to the situation at Wichita , and elsewhere, was immediate. An emergency control center was set up in the office of Wichita 's director of flight test. Key Boeing engineers and other specialists were summoned to provide their expertise. Federal Aviation Administration air traffic control centers at Denver and Kansas City cleared the air around the troubled plane. A Strategic Air Command B-52 in the area maintained radio contact with the crew of the Wichita B-52.

As Fisher got closer to Wichita , a Boeing chase plane flew up to meet him and to visually report the damage. When Dale Felix, flying an F-100 fighter, came alongside Fisher's B-52, he couldn't believe what he saw: The B-52's vertical tail was gone.

Felix broke the news to Fisher and those gathered in the control center.There was no panic. Everyone on the plane and in the control center knew they could be called upon at any time for just such a situation.  In the emergency control center, the engineers began making calculations and suggesting the best way to get the plane down safely.  The Air Force was
also lending assistance. A B-52, just taking off for a routine flight, was used to test the various flight configurations suggested by the specialists before Fisher had to try them.

As high gusty winds rolled into Wichita, the decision was made to divert the B-52 to Blytheville Air Force Base in Northeastern Arkansas. Boeing specialists from the emergency control center took off in a KC-135 and accompanied Fisher to Blytheville, serving as an airborne control center.

Six hours after the incident first occurred, Fisher and his crew brought in the damaged B-52 for a safe landing. "I'm very proud of this crew and this airplane," Fisher said. "Also we had
a lot people helping us, and we're very thankful for that." The B-52, Fisher said, "Is the finest airplane I ever flew."

Taking fire north of Saigon

ASMBA Blogger R.C. contributed the following post. 

I was privileged to fly with A/101 Aviation from April 1965 through April 1966.  I flew gun-ships my entire tour, my call-sign was Thunderbird 3.  What follows is my most memorable experience during this tour.

Life for members of A/101 Aviation  Company was fairly routine after we finished our in-country indoctrination by other elements of the 13th Aviation Battalion.  We had flown in the Delta area south of Saigon since our arrival on 1 May 1965 and felt fairly comfortable operating in this area.  We had a few operations which resulted in several aircraft being hit by ground fire but nothing really serious.  We all had a certain fear deep in the pit of our stomach about flying north of Saigon (the area about where we had heard many war stories, all of them were bad) 

This was the atmosphere that existed when early one morning in June, we received word that we would be participating in an air assault in the city of Dong Xoai.  This was one of those areas north of Saigon that we had heard many war stories about.  We were excited and yet filled with a certain amount of fear at the same time as we prepared for the flight to the air strip at Phuoc Vinh.  We were not by ourselves.  There were over 70 helicopters at the air strip getting ready for the assault into the city of Dong Xoai. We had the misfortune of being the last lift element in the assault.  As such we were able to monitor the radios of the other aircraft as they flew into Dong Xoai.  This raised my pucker factor to an all time high.  They were calling out about the fifty caliber fire and the air was filled with calls of aircraft taking hits, going down and about wounded aboard. 

I recall that as we started our descent into the LZ, I saw an aircraft go in inverted without a rotor system.  The pilot made a very calm, control call that he was going in inverted.  There were no more calls as he exploded in a huge ball of fire as he went into the jungle.  I found out later that he was an old friend I had last seen at Ft Benning, Ga, just before I left the Division enroute to Ft Campbell to join A/101st Aviation Company. These crewmembers were carried on the Missing-in-Action rolls for seven years after this. This did not do much to calm my nerves, frankly I was scared Shitless. 

My Co-pilot, J.D., who had been in country longer than I had been appeared as calm as if he was just taking a normal milk-run flight.  I was very envious of him.  I knew from past experience that he was as fine a pilot as I could hope to fly with and never seemed to let anything interfere with what he was doing at the time.  He did not utter one word during the descent (except to reply to my statements about taking fire) into the LZ (thank God that I did not have to land in the LZ, it was literally covered with bodies and the slicks were landing on the bodies.  Gun ships did not have to land, we only had to cover our slicks as they flew into and out of the LZ).  We began taking fire immediately and I could actually feel some of the fifty bullets hit the aircraft (Normally you cannot hear small arms fire hit the aircraft, you just hear the bullets passing through the air or see the holes suddenly appear in the aircraft).  I saw several little holes appear at several places in the aircraft but I could feel the fifty caliber rounds as they hit the aircraft. 

During this time, I was very routinely firing my rockets at targets below and to the right of our in-bound slicks, while J.D. was placing fire from our machine guns on any target that presented itself.  He was quite good at this and was instrumental in our getting through this incident alive.  As I felt the aircraft jerk after each fifty hit, I called out to the crew that we were taking fifty hits.  J.D. very calmly replied each time "we're not taking any hits".  I said this after my right skid received one that nearly cut it in two, after his door was nearly blown off with one of the hits and when I felt one hit the main rotor blade (This was when I really nearly crapped in my pants.  I was really scared as it didn't seem like we would ever get out of this situation).

We finally got our slicks on the ground and out pf the LZ.  On the climb-out with a left hand turn back to Phouc Vinh, J.D. looked over at me and said "Man, we took a lot of hits in there".  I couldn’t believe it.  He had steadily denied for about seven terrifying minutes that we were taking hits and now it was like he had just awakened from a bad dream.  That was his way of dealing with the situation.  We all had our own way with dealing with fear.  He just denied it until it was over.  I was yelling all the time about the fire and hits.  I think our other crew members thought we were both nuts, but we brought them all home safe and sound. 

This was one of my most memorable moments in Viet Nam.  There were many more and not all of them ended as well as this one.  This one let me know that we all have fears about the unknown, but our training and dedication to duty usually allowed us to complete out missions satisfactorily.  There were numerous casualties that day, both to the enemy and friendly forces but A/101 did not suffer any casualties.   Every member of our unit was proud of the way we conducted ourselves.  We had participated in a major battle with several units that had already been tested in battle and exited this battle with our heads held high.

There is an old saying from another old soldier who said "We have met the enemy and he is ours".  This is the way we felt this day.  No longer would other units be able to say that A/101 could not carry its weight.  Most of our gun-ships had extensive battle damage but were ready for action the following day.  Some of our slicks did take a few hits but no major damage and were also ready for what the next day brought.  The most important part of this story is that our unit did not sustain any wounded.  I believe that ours was the only unit that did not have any casualties that day.

For our actions that day, our unit was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation.  As far as I was concerned, each and every crew-member should have received the Distinguished Flying Cross.  Not one crewmember failed to do his duty in an outstanding manner which permitted our unit to demonstrate to the rest of the aviation units that there was another "Bad boy" in Viet Nam.

The Differential Theory of US Armed Forces (Snake Model)

Upon encountering a "snake" in the Area of Operations (AO)...
   
01. Infantry: Snake smells them, leaves area.
02. Airborne: Lands on and kills the snake.
03. Armor: Drives over snake, laughs, and looks for more snakes.
04. Aviation: Has 12-digit grid coordinates of snake from GPS. FAC gives steer to target. Can't find snake. Returns to base for refuel, crew rest and manicure.
05. Ranger: Plays with snake, then eats it.
06. Field Artillery: Kills snake with massive Time On Target barrage with three Forward Artillery Brigades in support. Kills several hundred civilians as unavoidable collateral damage. Mission is considered a success and all participants (inc. cooks, mechanics and clerks) are awarded Silver Stars.
07. Special Forces: Makes contact with snake, ignores all State Department directives and Theater Commander Rules of Engagement by building rapport with snake and winning its heart and mind. Trains it to kill other snakes. Files enormous claim for travel pay settlement upon return.
08. Combat Engineer: Studies snake. Prepares in-depth doctrinal thesis in obscure 5 series Field Manual about how to defeat snake using counter mobility assets. Complains that maneuver forces don't understand how to properly conduct doctrinal counter-snake ops.
09. Navy SEAL: Expends all ammunition and calls for naval gunfire support in failed attempt to kill snake. Snake bites SEAL and retreats to safety. Hollywood makes fantasy film in which SEALS kill myriad extremist snakes.
10. Navy  SWO : Fires off 50 cruise missiles from various types of ships, Kills snake and makes presentation to Senate Appropriations Committee on how Naval forces are the most cost-effective means of anti-snake force projection.
11. Marine: Kills snake by accident while looking for souvenirs. Local civilians demand removal of all US forces from Area of Operations.
12. Marine Recon: Follows snake, gets lost.
13. Combat Controllers: Guides snake elsewhere.
14. Para-Rescue Jumper: Wounds snake in initial encounter, then works feverishly to save snake's life.
15. Supply: (NOTICE Your anti-snake equipment is back ordered.)
16. Transport pilot: Air-drops expired snakebite kits two grid squares away on roof of children's hospital.
17. F-15 pilot: Misidentifies snake as enemy Mi-24 Hind helicopter and engages with missiles. Crew chief paints snake kill on aircraft fuselage.
18. F-16 pilot: Finds snake, drops two CBU-87 cluster bombs, misses snake target, demolishes embassy 4 km east of snake due to weather.
Cites inclement weather (Too Hot, Too Cold, Clear but overcast, Too dry with Rain, Unlimited ceiling with low cloud cover etc.) Suggests procurement of million-dollar, air-to-ground anti-snake bomb.
19. AH-64 Apache pilot: Unable to locate snake, cold-blooded snakes don't show well on infrared. Infrared only operable in desert Aos without power lines or SAMs.
20. UH-60 Blackhawk pilot: Finds snake on fourth pass after snake builds bonfire, pops smoke, lays out VS-17 to mark Landing Zone. Rotor wash blows snake into fire.
21. B-52 pilot: Pulls ARCLIGHT mission on snake, kills snake and every other living thing within two miles of target.
22. Missile crew: Lays in target coordinates to snake in 20 seconds, but can't receive authorization from National Command Authority to use weapons.
23. Intelligence officer: Snake? What snake? Only four of 35 indicators of snake activity are currently active. We assess the potential for snake activity as LOW.
24. Judge Advocate General (JAG): Snake declines to bite, citing grounds of professional courtesy.

Classification:  UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: NONE

Sam W and Carter H…Thanks for this blast of humor!  I especially like the “Intelligence officer” assessment on the subject!  Enjoy!

Alert duty: "Just another tour"

During the late seventies and early eighties I stood nuclear alert duty approximately 10 days a month.  For those of you too young to remember or not yet born, a portion of the nuclear bomber forces of the United States were always on 24-hour alert during what was called the Cold War.  Our mission (briefly) was to strike the enemies homeland should they attempt to strike first. The idea being one of deterrence...and it worked! 

The bomber forces were controlled by the Commander of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) sometimes referred to as CINCSAC  who was a four-star general.

Sometime in 1981, I was on alert and advised that others and myself would be having lunch with the CINSAC and his entourage, which consisted of a three-star general, Commander of 15th Air Force; a two-star, who was the SAC Deputy Commander for Operations; and a staff member who was one-star general.  On that day, I emerged from my sleeping quarters (commonly referred to as caves) and came upstairs for my grip-and-grin with our visitors (the brass)!  Well as I approached the door to the chow hall about 1120, I noticed a line had formed outside in the corridor by the door waiting for the chow hall to open, which would signify that the lunch line was finally ready.  Well to my chagrin, I notice four general officers (a 4 star, a 3 star, a 2 star, and a 1 star) standing in line with ordinary crewmembers (commonly referred to by the brass as crew dogs).  Well, I thought, this is interesting!  Better yet, where was the wing commander?  Shortly there after, my question was answered as he came around the corner as a horrible look overcame his usually composed persona. I theorized that he had dropped off his visitors at the door and they indicated to him that they could find their way to the chow hall as he parked the staff car and checked in with command post. It was now around 1125 and the chow hall would open as usual in about 5 minutes.  The generals were perfectly willing to wait but the wing commander started hyperventilating as he profusely apologized for the delay and slowly saw his "star" fading in the distance for this lack of protocol and attention to detail.  I was immediately reminded of a TV commercial that was circulating about that time featuring a drill sergeant with the punch line of: "Get in line you idiots!"  Well...when you are/were in the military you thought nothing about standing around in line.  It must have been a culture thing I guess?

Anyway, the wing commander recovered nicely and the rest of lunch was spent engaged in small talk with the CINC and his colleagues involving discussions on how best to support the troops on alert.  Following lunch, we retreated to the alert pad briefing room to hear the CINC discuss a variety of issues affecting SAC and its crew members.  Well, I had a front row seat for this event and I along with my fellow 59 crew dogs anxiously awaited the CINCs' remarks.  As it so happened, I gazed in front of me and noticed behind the lectern a large children’s stuffed "pink pig" (Yes, a pink pig!) with a "noose" around its neck dangling from the dropped ceiling holding a sign which read, "Just Another Tour!"  The pink pig was a gift left by a departing crew member who was getting out of the service and back into civilian life to start a new career.  He commented at the time that it was his way of leaving a little of himself behind in a place that harbored so many fine memories.  He was kidding of course!

Well, I looked to my left side and I could tell that another aircraft commander saw the same thing I did.  Too late. The CINC was about to enter the briefing room and their was nothing I or the person along side could do to stop him from seeing the "pink pig" hanging from the ceiling.  "Room aa...tten…hut!"  The room snapped to attention!  I guess in the back of my mind and others we were going to try and show the CINC and our visitors that we could at least do something right!  Well the CINC climbed up on the short briefing platform and said instinctively, "Take your seats gentlemen!"  Hmmm...so far so good, I guess he didn't notice our friend hanging from the ceiling behind him.  Before the general uttered another word, he stopped and wheeled around and looked up at that "pink pig," then he looked back around at us and started to laugh!  He regained his composer nicely and delivered his remarks in style while never mentioning that "pink pig."  About this time, I’m sure the wing commander was wondering what he had done wrong to deserve the sequence of events that took place in the last hour.  He was really a good commanding officer, and didn't deserve the embarrassment I'm sure he felt. 

Shortly afterwards, the CINC left the alert pad and that "pink pig" disappeared! I never saw it again!  I suspect the wing commander had something to do with his dismissal from the alert pad and eventual disposal in the nearest dumpster!  Or, maybe...just maybe, the CINC took it with him...nah!

Well, looking back, there was one nice thing about alert you could always count on besides the camaraderie, group TV, OK food, plenty of coffee, and afternoon cat naps!  Characters were always welcome because, after all, it was "just another tour!"

More war stories: It's fun to be the fastest

From an email of unknown origin that has been passed around the Internet:

There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was  fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real  missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plan in the past ten months.

Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was  beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real  missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at  many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground  speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna,  or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and  distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that... and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just  moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed. Ah, Twin Beach. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed."

Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.

Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.

"Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check."

Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I  got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.

And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:

"Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done  - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost.  That Hornet must die, and die now.

I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.

Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew  Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter  spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if was an everyday request.

"Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I  knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:

"Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, "Roger that Aspen, your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short,  memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more  importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work.

We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

Memorable war quotes

Thoughts passed on to me by someone older and wiser:

"One negotiates with his enemy with a knee to chest, and knife to throat.  I was there during all of the 11 days of the bombing of Hanoi during Linebacker II.  We let them off the hook!" 

"During the last day(s) of Desert Storm when our enemy was fleeing up the 'Road of Death' back to Baghdad, we quit before destroying them completely and have spent the last 12+ years paying for that decision."

John M.

Listen to an expert's opinion of American transience..."What we still don't understand is why you Americans stopped the bombing of Hanoi.  You had us on the ropes.  If you had pressed us a little harder, just for another day or two, we were ready to surrender!  It was the same at the battles of TET.  You defeated us!  We knew it, and we thought you knew it.  But we were elated to notice your media were definitely helping us (underlining: jd). They were causing more disruption in America than we could in the battlefields.  We were ready to surrender.  You had won!"

General Giap, North Vietnam (memoirs)

My personal favorite...

"Do not fear the enemy, for they can take only your life.
Fear far more the media. They will destroy your honor."

(Probably a misquoted politician or general/flag officer)

Sometimes I just like injecting a little humor into the mix...Thanks John for forwarding these quotes....Thank You for your service to your country!