Humor

The F-86D Sabre Dog was equipped with an afterburning engine in the form of a General Electric J47-GE-17 turbojet

An intelligence warning in 1948 prompted the US Air Force (USAF) to hurriedly develop an all-weather interceptor. Starting with the basic airframe of its F-86A, North America incorporated two unprecedented concepts into the F-86D. First, a highly sophisticated electronic system replaced the second crewmember carried by other interceptors of the time. Second, the F-86D became the first production single-seat fighter in which air-to-air missiles replaced the classic gun armament.

With its air intake reshaped to make room for the enclosed radar, the F-86D — nicknamed “Sabre Dog” — presented a distinctive profile. The interception radar (from Hughes) and associated fire control computed the target’s position, guided the aircraft on an intercept course to within 500 yards of the target, lowered the retractable tray of 24 rockets, and fired the rockets automatically. The effect of these weapons would have been devastating to an enemy bomber because each 2.75-inch Mighty Mouse folding fin aerial rocket (FFAR) contained the power of a 75mm artillery shell.

The Sabre Dog was also equipped with an afterburning engine (in the form of a General Electric J47-GE-17 turbojet provided with an electronically- controlled fuel scheduling system which was designed to relieve the pilot of the tedious task of having to watch the engine behavior constantly).

David Ross, former F-86D Sabre Dog fighter pilot in the US Air Force, recalls on Quora.

“In the late fifties, while flying an F-86D, on cross-countries I would land at an intermediate base for fuel. As soon as the fuel truck left, I would preflight the plane, start the engine, and leave. As for letting the engine ‘warm-up’ there is no need for that.

“To illustrate this our alert hangars had doors front and back and on the floor was an iron ring to tie the aux-power cable to. This design was to enable a faster scramble time.

“One day I told my crew chief to tie the start cable to this ring and get the loose stuff cleared out of the hanger, because if we got a scramble I was going straight to afterburner on start.

“We did get a scramble and I started the engine and went to full throttle and afterburner right in the hangar.

“I was airborne just about the time I got to the runway, everything worked as it was designed to do. There was one problem though, the crew chief said I blew stuff out the back of the hangar, with the afterburner, that people didn’t even know was in the hangar.”

Ross concludes;

“We never tried that kind of scramble again.”

Photo by: U.S. Air Force

There were still a lot of hostilities at the time, so the pilots did what is called a falling leaf landing at Herat airport

‘First flight in Afghanistan, 2002. It was a UN plane, 16 seats, and two huge Danish pilots,’ says Sven Dirks former EW console in the Bréguet Atlantic, on Quora. ‘As a former soldier and part-time operator of an EW console in the Bréguet Atlantic as well as numerous (and I mean numerous) hours of being lugged to and from in the back of military aircraft, I was used to rather rough and uncomfortable flying.

‘My buddy next to me had had the same kind of experience. We sat in the back row, watching the other passengers. Two of them Europeans. For both of whom it was their second flight in their whole life, the first having been the one from Frankfurt to Kabul. They sat in front of us, as we were all going to the same place.

‘The others were UN personnel and locals of all descriptions.

‘We flew at about 18.000 ft from Kabul towards Herat.

‘There were still a lot of hostilities at the time, so the pilots did what is called a falling leaf landing at Herat airport. A falling leaf landing is basically done by taking a very tight turn and then literally spiraling downwards. Fast.

‘The two big Danes turned once, grinned, and then did their thing. The first stall warning came on, but they just ignored it, more or less falling out of the sky in a controlled manner.

‘Well, the two guys in front of us needed their little bags, as did some of the others, while my friend and I had great fun.

Dirks concludes;

‘Once we leveled out, we were right next to a huge, elongated pit, where the remains of Russian airplanes had been shoveled into.’

‘When passing the pit the pilot announced: “Well, Gentlemen, these are the ones that didn’t make it.”’

Photo: United Nations (Trans Capital Air) De Havilland Canada DHC-7-102 Dash 7 (UA-320 via Wikipedia)

In late January 1965, VMCJ 1 marked a single EF 10B Skyknight with some interesting graffiti that raised eyebrows both in the USSR and at home.

The Douglas F3D Skyknight was an early but effective attempt at combining new technologies together in a lethal package capable of shipboard operation. Whereas most fighters relied on speed and maneuverability, the portly, straight-winged F3D relied on three radars, four 20mm cannons, and – most importantly – darkness. Having first flown in March 1948, the Skyknight’s first taste of war came in September 1952, when Marine Night Fighter Squadron 513 [VMF(N)-513] deployed to Korea.

After the war, 35 Skyknights were converted into F3D-2Q electronic warfare (EW) aircraft.

As told by Joe Copalman in his book F3D/EF-10 Skyknight Units of the Korean and Vietnam Wars, although crews flying ‘Shark Fin’ missions [as Peacetime Aerial Reconnaissance Program (PARPRO) missions to collect intelligence on radar systems in China, North Korea, and the Soviet far east] remained in international airspace and relied on standoff receivers to collect intelligence, communist air arms from the nations being spied on routinely sent MiGs up to intercept and investigate the surveillance flights. In most cases, these intercepts involved MiGs harmlessly flying wings on an F3D-2Q before turning back. Recalling one such peaceful intercept, Skyknight pilot Chuck Houseman said;

‘The first time we were intercepted, they reported that we were taking pictures of them, as we were carrying 35 mm hand-held cameras. Normally, it would be on the pilot’s side where the interceptors were, and the ECMO would lean across and snap some pictures of them. And the Russians would report, “They’re taking pictures of us. What should we do?” One of the Russian controllers had a sense of humor and said “Smile”. Who would have thought the Russians had any sense of humor at all?’

As amicable as intercepts with Soviet MiG pilots could be, pilots from other communist nations in the region were decidedly humorless. In his book Top Secret, ECMO J T ‘Jerry’ O’Brien wrote;

‘One didn’t wave at the Chinese or North Koreans. We went to some lengths to avoid contact with the Koreans and the Chinese. On flights from Taiwan, we were usually covered by a flight of Chinese Nationalist F-86s.’

On Jun. 16, 1959, the North Korean People’s Air Force (NKPAF) MiG-17s attacked a US Navy P4M-1Q Mercator flying an electronic reconnaissance mission 50 miles off the east coast of Korea. While its crew managed to recover safely in Japan, despite the aircraft being heavily damaged (it was later declared a write-off) and the tail gunner being wounded, the attack – which occurred while US Marine Corps Skyknight crews were flying similar missions – drove home the serious turns these flights could take. Although the Marine Composite Reconnaissance Squadron (VMCJ) aircrews managed to avoid such unpleasantness, one particular PARPRO mission drew a fire of another sort from an unexpected source – the US National Security Agency (NSA).

In late January 1965, VMCJ-1 marked a single EF-10B with some interesting graffiti that raised eyebrows both in the USSR and at home. Chuck Houseman, who flew the marked-up aircraft on a ‘Shark Fin’ toward Vladivostok, recalled;

‘This was not authorized, but we thought we’d jazz up the situation a little bit, so we somehow or another were able to come up with the Russian language that said ‘JOIN THE U.S. MARINE CORPS’ and painted it on the side of the fuel tanks on the F-10s [the F3D-2Q had been redesignated the EF-10B in September 1962]. There was a conversation, and we learned later on when the interceptors came up – they got a little closer than usual and were reading it off to the ground controller. They reported it, and there was no response, so they reported it again, and there was still no response, so they dropped it.

‘The painting on the fuel tanks caused some big turmoil in the background in Washington, D.C., with the NSA wondering what the hell was going on. By the time the information rolled down to us, the second flight was up there with those same markings, and they didn’t want to turn him around when he was already on his way out, but they passed the word down, “Paint that damned thing over and get rid of it”.’

Judicious flying helped prevent MiG encounters, with pilots denying intercepts by beginning their turns back toward Japan before the relatively short-legged MiGs could close the distance on them. As EF-10B pilot then Capt Art Bloomer recalled from his 1961–62 tour with VMCJ-1;

‘I flew a lot of the “Shark Fin” missions out of Misawa, where we headed straight out towards Vladivostok, getting to within 20 miles of it. I never did get intercepted, as I was always turned before then, and we’d have MiGs on our tail. They followed us for 50–60 miles out to sea when we were headed back to Misawa, then they would break off and go somewhere else.’

F3D/EF-10 Skyknight Units of the Korean and Vietnam Wars is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

Photo by U.S. Navy and U.S. Air Force

One of the unwritten requirements to become an SR-71 Blackbird crew member/maintainer was to have an outrageous sense of humor.

The SR-71 Blackbird is still considered the world’s fastest aircraft, and still holds several speed and altitude records; record speed over a 15-mile course (2,193 MPH), maximum sustained height (85,069 feet), speed record from New York to London (one hour, 55 minutes), and London to Los Angeles (three hours, 47 minutes).

An SR-71 crew consists of a pilot and a reconnaissance systems officer (RSO).

One of the unwritten requirements to become an SR-71 crew member/maintainer was to have an outrageous sense of humor. This was displayed numerous times by flags, flunking inspections, silhouettes of U-2s on your driveway, etc.

Here’s another funny story by Danny C. Williams DS that appears on the SR71.com website.

“Drag Chute Deployed”

‘When the SR-71 lands, the Drag Chute is deployed to slow the aircraft down to taxi speeds. Then, a pickup truck races down the runway and picks up the Drag Chute, returning it to maintenance operations for repacking.

‘Once upon a time at a remote operating location, a few devious Crew Chiefs of the Blackbird banded together to frag a pilot. It seems this particular pilot (name withheld) was of mind and attitude of being quite superior to all lower-grade maintenance personnel, and he had this particular air about him that definitely was out of step with how other pilot’s treated Crew Chiefs.

‘The camaraderie between pilots (Habu’s) of the SR-71 and ground maintenance personnel was always first rate. The rapport was always without question one of a friendly relationship.

‘During the preflight and preparation for this pilot’s flight, the drag chute was loaded into the chute bay. A few nights earlier several Crew Chiefs had contacted the Women’s (WAF) barracks and requested some unmentionable items for a priority project concerning the Blackbird. Gleefully, the ladies knew that something was up and a quantity of items was secured for the project.

‘The Drag Chute was loaded into the SR-71 along with white pieces of clothing packed around the encased Drag Chute. Upon landing and subsequent pilot deployment of the chute (which is Orange), the chute deployed as normal, and also a quantity of White Items flew all over the runway. The Transient Alert person in the chase truck inquired to the pilot of the Blackbird if he wanted him to also pick up all the white items. His response was silence.

‘At debriefing the pilot inquired as to what the white items were deployed on the runway. “Ladies Underwear, Sir” was the response. Had it not been for some fast talking by the Maintenance Superintendent, some disciplinary action would have been taken against those involved. However, the message was clear: the pilot’s attitude adjusted and the Drag Chute compartment was never again packed with anything other than the Chute.

‘First-hand knowledge of this episode is denied by the author. The picture was not from the incident.’

Check out Habubrats‘s Facebook page for further Blackbird photos and stories.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

I have a semi-confirmed report from a woman who lives in the Philippines that one of the SR-71 #974 ejection seats is at the Mayor’s house!

On Apr. 21, 1989, SR-71 #61-7974, better known as Ichiban, departed Kadena Air Base (AB) on a mission.

I have written about the tragic crash of SR-71 #974 before. I have been looking for more information… I ran across the following YouTube video.

At the controls of SR-71 #974 were Pilot Lt. Col. Dan House, and RSO Blair Bozek. As #974 accelerated through three times the speed of sound, the left compressor bearing froze, causing the immediate disintegration of the port engine, and the resultant explosion from the catastrophic failure, sending shrapnel through critical hydraulic lines.

Lt. Col. House managed to slow #974, and even descend below 10 thousand feet. Both crews ejected safely over the ocean and were quickly rescued by local fishermen in the waters below.

It just happened to be that a Russian ship was patrolling the area at the exact time of the ejection of the two men. They were in their flight suits and in the ocean when, fortunately, native fishermen pulled up to the airmen and pulled them into their boat.

The fishermen were very excited about their unexpected guest SO… they just had to show the Mayor! With no time to alert Kadena that they were safe… they were whisked off to an impromptu party! After the party at the Mayor’s house, they were able to use their radios from a rice patty to confirm that they were safe.

The Russian ship was still prowling around. Search and rescue asked some of the fishermen “Do you know where the jet is?” “Sure,” they replied in perfect English, “We put three sticks in the sand here. We will show them to you the Blackbird’s wreckage is 2 miles out from the sticks.” The SR-71 was found in 120 feet of water.

Thanks to the US Navy’s assistance the wreckage was subsequently transported to the harbor and transferred to a waiting vessel.

I have a semi-confirmed report from a woman who lives in the Philippines that one of the ejection seats is at the Mayor’s house! What a story, what a party. Unfortunately, we lost a valuable SR-71, but both men are safe and that’s what really matters.

Check out Habubrats‘s Facebook page for further Blackbird photos and stories.

Photo by Tony Landis / U.S. Air Photo and U.S. Navy

‘I looked out the left window and saw a French Mirage III sitting ten feet off my left wing. He came up on our frequency and asked us for our Diplomatic Clearance Number. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I told him to stand by…,’ Lt. Colonel William Burk Jr., former SR-71 pilot.

The SR-71 reconnaissance aircraft was the world’s fastest jet-propelled aircraft and the most advanced member of the Blackbird family developed by Lockheed Aircraft Corporation’s clandestine “Skunk Works” division. Throughout its nearly 24-year career, the SR-71 remained the world’s highest-flying operational aircraft. From 80,000 feet, it could survey 100,000 square miles of Earth’s surface per hour. The aircraft was designed to fly deep into hostile territory, avoiding interception with its tremendous speed and high altitude.

During its operational lifetime, the SR-71 provided intelligence about the Yom Kippur War in 1973, the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982, the US raid on Libya in 1986, and the revelation of Iranian Silkworm missile batteries in 1987. The USAF ceased SR-71 operations in January 1990.

One of the most entertaining stories about flying the Blackbird comes from Lt. Colonel William Burk Jr., who shares about a particular mission he flew [according to SR-71 pilot Stormy Boudreaux, Tom Henichek was Burk’s RSO for that mission] over Lebanon back in 1982 in the book Skunk Works by Ben Rich.

‘In the fall of ’82, I flew from Mildenhall on a mission over Lebanon in response to the Marine barracks bombing. President Reagan ordered photo coverage of all the terrorist bases in the region. The French refused to allow us to overfly, so our mission profile was to refuel off the south coast of England, a Mach 3 cruise leg down the coast of Portugal and Spain, left turn through the Straits of Gibraltar, refuel in the Western Mediterranean, right turn into Lebanon and fly right down main street Beirut, exit along the southern Mediterranean with another refueling over Malta, supersonic back out the straits, and return to England.

‘Because Syria had a Soviet SA-5 missile system just west of Damascus that we would be penetrating (we were unsure of Syria’s intentions in this conflict), we programmed to fly above 80,000 feet and at Mach 3 plus to be on the safe side, knowing that this advanced missile had the range and speed to nail us.

‘As we entered Lebanon’s airspace my Recon Systems Officer in the rear cockpit informed me that our defensive systems display showed we were being tracked by that SA-5. About 15 seconds later we got a warning of active guidance signals from the SA-5 site. We couldn’t tell whether there was an actual launch or the missile was still on the rails, but they were actively tracking us. We didn’t waste any time wondering, but climbed and pushed that throttle, and said a couple of “Hail Kellys.”

‘We completed our pass over Beirut and turned toward Malta when I got a warning low-oil-pressure light on my right engine.  Even though the engine was running fine I slowed down and lowered our altitude and made a direct line for England. We decided to cross France without clearance instead of going the roundabout way.

‘We made it almost across when I looked out the left window and saw a French Mirage III sitting ten feet off my left wing. He came up on our frequency and asked us for our Diplomatic Clearance Number. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I told him to stand by. I asked my backseater, who said, “Don’t worry about it. I just gave it to him.” What he had given him was “the bird” with his middle finger: I lit the afterburners and left that Mirage standing still. Two minutes later, we were crossing the Channel.’

Photo by U.S. Air Force and French Air Force Via FAST Museum Twitter Account

Thanks to Linda Sheffield Miller from Habubrats Facebook Page for helping with this article

There were plenty of shiny USAF fighters but I knew exactly what he meant. They didn’t count because they were test articles and hadn’t been dirtied up or bloodied.

Chuck Yeager… fighter pilot: “The first time I ever saw a jet, I shot it down.”

Yeager… test pilot: “You don’t concentrate on risks. You concentrate on results. No risk is too great to prevent the necessary job from getting done.”

I had a chance to get a glimpse of Yeager the man: Early in my career, just after my first deployment, I was asked to take one of our brand new F-14Ds to Edwards Air Force Base for their annual air show. I was eager to go. I couldn’t wait to see Edwards and show off the Navy’s newest and baddest machine.

Unfortunately, our “brand new” Super Tomcat had just returned from six months at sea and was horribly splotched with anti-corrosion treatments and 6 months of grease that was embedded in the porous paint. It was leaking hydraulic fluid and fuel and if you looked closely enough, you could find a little rust. It was a machine of war, not for decoration, and it looked it.

Well, when we got to the air show flight line, we were relegated to the very last spot, well away from all the high-gloss USAF test aircraft and their air show birds. We were at least two hundred yards away from the air show proper and the crowds. As we were committed to staying by our machine to answer questions, it looked like it was going to be kind of a quiet day for us.

Chuck Yeager used to open the Edwards show with a sonic boom. That day, he was in an F-16 and kicked off the show with a very nice pass. A few minutes later, General Yeager was in a golf cart being driven down the flight line waving to the crowd. We were a long way away, too far away to see or be seen, but just as they were going out of sight, I thought I saw Yeager look in our direction, elbow the driver, and point at us.

The friggin’ golf cart suddenly turns towards our filthy machine. He cut through the crowd and continued looking our way. I had a distinct “oh crap” moment and wished so badly I could have washed the jet before we came. We were the only Navy jet there, and while more capable than anything on the field, we hardly looked it. He drove by shiny jet after shiny jet, each one with USAF aircrew standing out in front, ignoring each one, driving straight for us. He pulled up in front, got out with a HUGE smile, and asked me how I like my new hotrod. He asked a few questions about our deployment and how it performed over Iraq and asked about me and my RIO, and where we were from, all while looking around the Super Tom. He marveled at the size of our hook, (they all do), was fascinated by our long-wave IR search and track system, and generally ignored our fighter’s poor material condition. Toward the end of our brief visit, I wanted to apologize for my machine’s appearance, and was about to say something when he looked me straight in the eye and said,

“Thanks for bringing a real fighter to the show, Jungle. You’re the only one here.”

There were plenty of shiny USAF fighters, but I knew exactly what he meant. They didn’t count because they were test articles and hadn’t been dirtied up or bloodied. At first, I thought our encounter was because he was being some kind of gracious host, wanting us to feel welcome. But I quickly realized as I watched him drive away that even after all the fame and success he enjoyed as a test pilot, he was really just a fighter pilot who missed being in the fight.

God Speed, Chuck.

Photo by Robert Jones, U.S. Air Force and U.S. Navy

No, it’s not a joke: the photos in this post feature a Russian Mi-24V (NATO reporting name: Hind-E) attack helicopter in US Coast Guard (USCG) colors.

No, it’s not a joke: the photos in this post feature a Russian Mi-24V (NATO reporting name: Hind-E) attack helicopter in US Coast Guard (USCG) colors.

The Hind in fact was painted in USCG colors to play the role of an American Search and Rescue (or maybe Search and Destroy) helicopter in the Russian movie “Charged with Death” (original title Zarjazhennye smertyu).

Loaded with Death is a 1991 (filmed 1990) action movie directed by Vladimir Plotnikov. A group of escaped criminals hijacks a Russian fishing vessel “Udachlivy” (“Lucky”) in the waters of North Pacific. A Soviet Border Guard patrol ship “Yuri Andropov” and US Coast Guard helicopter make a joint operation to release the vessel. What neither criminals, nor border guards know is that the fisherman is loaded with smuggled drugs, and the American drug lord goes on his fast boat to get the drugs from “Udachlivy”.

The Mi-24V appears as a USCG helicopter (most likely used due to play the role of the then newly introduced Sikorsky MH-60 Jayhawk). It is piloted by Jerry Ranklin (Vladimir Antonik) and Ray (Anatoly Vedyonkin).

Still, the Hind looks cool in its Coastie colors.

Variously referred to by American media as “The Stab in the Back-yard”, “The Fishbed Flap” “The Redhawk Incident” or more ominously “The Canuck Invasion Crisis”, the Redhawk Program brought Canadian-American relations to the breaking point.

The following story originally appeared on the Vintage Wings of Canada website.

October 31st, 2002, right-wing blabbermouth and two-time Republican presidential nominee hopeful, Pat Buchanan misguided by a knee-jerk notion that Canada was a cesspool of anti-American “sentiment” referred to our country as Soviet Canuckistan. Half the country was quietly infuriated as Canadians are wont to be, while the other half was amused in an elitist sort of way.  From that point on, the snarky sobriquet has been attributed to Buchanan by nearly all news agencies, but he in fact was not its originator.  

Buchanan was in fact quoting his old boss – Richard Nixon, for whom he was a senior political advisor during his years as president. However, it was not President Nixon who was so angry with Canada, but rather Vice President Nixon back in 1960 at the height of the Cold War, and though Canadians were incensed then, I have to admit… he had a point. Buchanan would remember the nasty spell of hemispherical winter that fell upon Canadian-American relations at the beginning of that decade for he was a Journalism student at Columbia University at the time. In fact, he would be so outraged by the incident that, in 1962, he would write his Masters’ thesis on the expanding trade between Canada and Cuba.

The political maelstrom that set Canada against America back in 1960 lasted not much more than one year but it took nearly a decade for heads to cool off and for relations to return to normal. Variously referred to by American media as “The Stab in the Back-yard”, “The Fishbed Flap” “The Redhawk Incident” or more ominously “The Canuck Invasion Crisis”, the events of that year brought Canadian-American relations to the breaking point. There were members of Congress in Washington who were ready to sanction Canada and there were commanders of the United States Air Force who were ready to go toe to toe with the RCAF. The commander of the Strategic Air Command, General Curtis Lemay took it even further when he offered “My solution to the problem would be to tell those frozen Canucknbastards frankly that they’ve got to draw in their horns and stop their aggression or we’re going to bomb them into the stone age.”

In the early Fall of 1960, like a ferocious Arctic front, news that the Royal Canadian Air Force had made a secret purchase of 30 state-of-the-Soviet-art MiG-21 fighters to replace what would have been a deployment of the production model Avro Arrow interceptor swept across America. Americans from coast to coast were stunned and feared that Communist influence had spread to their northern border was rampant. Across America, anti-Canadian rhetoric was boiling over and people began to cut down maple trees in protest from Maine to Wisconsin. In one act of retaliation, three beavers were executed by pistol on the lawn outside the State Legislature in Frankfurt, Kentucky.

Most Americans and indeed many Canadians wondered what possibly could have motivated the Government of Canada and the Royal Canadian Air Force to so obviously challenge the here-to-for sleeping giant that was the United States of America. To understand the complexities and emotions surrounding the purchase (which became known as the Redhawk Program we have to go back to 1953 and the beginnings of a national dream called the Avro Arrow.

The Avro Canada CF-105 Arrow was a delta-winged interceptor aircraft, designed and built by AvronAircraft Limited (Canada) in Malton, Ontario, Canada, as the culmination of a design study that began in 1953. It was bold, elegant, gorgeous in a post-war sort of way and oh-so-Canadian. Considered to be both an advanced technical and aerodynamic achievement for the Canadian aviation industry, the CF-105 held the promise of Mach 2 speeds at altitudes exceeding 50,000 ft (15,000 m), and was intended to serve as the Royal Canadian Air Force’s primary interceptor in the 1960s and beyond.

Not long after the 1958 start of its flight test program, the development of the Arrow (including its Orenda Iroquois jet engines) was abruptly and controversially halted before the project review had taken place, sparking a long and bitter political debate that still simmers today in web forums and dark chat rooms.

The controversy engendered by the cancellation and subsequent vandalistic destruction of the aircraft in production, remains antopic for debate among historians, political observers, industry pundits and maple-flavoured crackpots. This action effectively put Avro out of business in a heartbeat and scattered its highly skilled engineering and production personnel across engineeringdom.  The incident was a traumatic one… and to this day, many mourn, nay weep for the loss of the Arrow.

Though surely the Avro employees and support workers suffered the greatest catastrophic implosion of their dreams and most alacritous evaporation of their livelihoods, the pain of failure and urge to strike-out at someone responsible impacted the officers and senior bureaucrats at the Department of National Defence’s Directorate of Systems Procurement in Ottawa with equal force. It was here, on the creaking wooden floors of DND’s Hunter Building on O’Connor Street that the idea of an all Canadian, all-weather, long-range fighter interceptor was put forward. The men who worked on the fourth floor directorate became known as the “Hunter Boys” –  to a man were air force veterans of the Second World War – pilots, navigators, intelligence men.

The “Hunter Boys” looked upon the Arrow program as parents would look upon a child – albeit an overweight, underperforming child who spent his inheritance like King Farouk on a bender.  When the program was canceled, it was to the “Hunter Boys” like the death of baby Charles was to the Lindberghs – devastating, final and buried before they knew what hit them. Like the Lindbergh Baby case, culprits were sought to hang the blame on. Some believed it was Prime Minister Diefenbaker’s personal decision,na few in the inner circle believed that then Minister of National Defence, George Pearkes, was being blackmailed by an East German Mata Hari and cabinet courtesan by the name of Gerda Munsinger (this would be proven completely wrong in Munsinger’s later autobiography “My Life Under the Tories”), but the “Hunter Boys” had their own culprit – the American military industrial complex (as it would become to be known after Eisenhower’s farewell speech).

The Americans were not fearful of the Arrow’s promised abilities (in fact they laughed at a reporter’s suggestion they might consider buying Canadian) for they had aircraft of equal or better performance. What the Americas wanted was not Canadian technology, but the Canadian market for military aircraft. Canada had at the time one of the largest air forces in thenworld with scores of large bases from Newfoundland to Vancouver Island and hundreds of fighter aircraft and hundreds more utility and transport aircraft. If Canada took to building its own airplanes to replace the aging Sabres and then got it into its thick northern head to build aircraft of all types, billions of 1950s dollars would go into the Canadian economy and not the one south of the border.

It was their certainty that the promise of the Arrow was slain by corporate decree and that the defiling of her beautiful white corpse can been carried out at the insistence of malevolent corporate and political captains in Washington, that led the “Hunter Boys” to seek a form of revenge so daring, so complete that it would touch every American. They would set in motion a plan to purchase replacement fighters, not from the United States, not from Western Europe, but from the Eastern Bloc. Led by the aptly named Air Commodore Frederick Roe, DFC, the “Hunter Boys” met secretly in late March in the darkened tap room of the Bytown Inn just across O’Connor Street from the Hunter Building. These meetings came to be known as the “Labatts Conspiracy.”

In a matter of a couple of weeks, they had set in motion a plan to engage key members of the Soviet regime. Low-, mid- and high level talks and meetings were sought with RCAF brass and then Soviet leaders and by June of 1959, the procurement team had made entreaties to diplomats and party officials at the Embassy of the Soviet Union in Ottawa’s Sandy Hill.

In late August of 1959, a large team of Canadian officials including A/C Roe, top RCAF brass, test pilots, aeronautical engineering experts from the Paul Kissmann Institute flew by RCAF Northstar to West Berlin. From here they were secreted through checkpoints and to the East German Air Force base at Holzdorf in Schleswig-Holstein. There, they were given unprecedented access to the heretofore secret MiG-21F (NATO codeword Fishbed-B) with a full demonstration by an up and coming Soviet test pilot by the name of Yuri Gagarin. Though the progenitor of the Fishbed-B, the Ye-4 (for Yedinitsa – a Russian word meaning “One-off” or single prototype) had made its first public appearance during the Soviet Aviation Day display at Moscow’s Tushino airfield in July 1956, little if anything was known about the type. The Canadians were concerned about the MiG’s short range but were very impressed with its Mach-2 top end, and it acceleration to the mach. Interpreters for the delegation translated Gagarin’s grinning comment after the show as “MiG-21 is lightning bolt across Mother Russia. MiG-21 runs like a scalded dog on Nevsky Prospekt.”

The flying display led in turn to the highest level talks yet – between First Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Soviet Union, Anastas Mikoyan (no less than brother of the Artem Mikoyan, one of the USSR’s greatest aircraft designers) and Prime Minister John George Diefenbaker of Canada.  Though the meetings were secret in every way, it was deemed a good idea to hold them in plain sight and so the high level meeting took place on the main floor of the New technologies, New World Showcase – a trade fair held that November in West Berlin. Though Diefenbaker lacked the natural charm and ease of Mikoyan, both men were born in farming country far from their nations’ capitals and they connected on a personal level. That day, at the Soviet Union’s vast Gallery of Progress and Household Joys, amidst the 400lb 9″ colour TVs, steam powered lawn mowers, atomic ovens and toasters the size of tombstones, a deal was struck.

Canada would receive 30 brand spanking new, state-of-the-Soviet-art, all-weather MiG-21 interceptors straight off the assembly line as well as spares, technical assistance and training, tools, jigs, support equipment and a whole lot of secrecy. It was the largest Soviet-Canadian weapons deal since the Lend-Lease program sent Canadian-built Hawker Hurricane XIIs to Russia in the 1940s. It has never been clear what the Soviets were to receive in payment, but in 2012, the “top secret” status of the files will be removed and the figures will no doubt be made public. It was rumoured at the time, that the Soviets were pushing for bases in Yukon and Labrador, but these were never granted. The Canadians needed aircraft and revenge, but not Soviet allies. 441 Squadron was selected for the Redhawk Program for the high quality and experience of its pilots.

And so, like the inevitable conflict that follows an arms race, the agreement ratified that day set in motion a series of steps that would strain Canadian-American relations for decades. The speed at which all this happened was fueled on Canada’s end by Air Commodore Roe’s revenge-lust and on the Soviet side by unbridled and unfounded glee at the prospect of extending their influence to the 49th parallel. The Reds had somehow convinced themselves that the Canadians were turning socialist – bolstered by their willingness to shop the Soviet weapons market and the fact that Canada was in the throws of socializing their entire national health care system. They embraced this delusion like a crackhead leaps for joy at a police bait car. How wrong they were!

Over the next three months, 30 shiny new MiGs were selected from the line at the Mikoyan OKB plant outside Moscow, disassembled, crated and shipped by rail car to the White Sea port of Severodvinsk. Throughout the months of February and March of 1960, a series of rusty Russian freighters were loaded with anywhere from one to 6 crated aircraft under the cover of darkness (not a hard thing to achieve at that latitude in February). One by one, the weighed anchor, and shaped a course north and then west over the top of Scandanavia and out to the open sea, bound for the east coast of Canada and the Bay of Chaleur. Each ship was secretly shadowed by a Russian submarine all the way.

Off-loading by night at the port of Bathurst, New Brunswick, each ship disgorged its crated mysteries onto CNR flatcars under the supervision of Air Force MPs. The shrouded cars were then coupled with a locomotive and sent on a two hour overland journey south to RCAF Station Chatham – the base for the fighter OTU for Canadian Sabres. Here under airtight security, Mikoyan technical representatives supervised the re-assembly of the fighters as they arrived, and a team of four pilots from the Luftstreitkrafte der NVA (East German Air Force) carried out night-time flight training with pilots of 441 Squadron who had come home from Marville, France where they had been stationed. Most Anglo and Franco pilots had been dispersed to other units and the roster was filled out by Canadians of Slavic, Balkan and even Greek ancestry. This was done because the hastily purchased MiGs had instruments that were calibrated in metric units and displayed in the Cyrillic alphabet. It was thought that those who had grown up around this alphabet would have an easier time adapting.

Over the next two to three months, flight training proceeded apace and by late June 1960, crews were ready for a ferry flight to their eventual home base of Cold Lake, Alberta. But first they had to pick a name for their new fighter aircraft, which the RCAF was calling the CF-121. At this time, the RCAF aerobatic demonstration team, the Golden Hawks were stationed at the other side of the base. The Squadron Commander, S/L Stefan Swillka, inspired by the Hawks, named the new type the Redhawk.  More creative squadron pilots nicknamed it the “Stratocaster” or “Strat”, a name that paralleled their German instructors who called it the “Balalaika”.

Before dawn on June 23rd 1960, 9 pairs of CF-121 Redhawk fighters spooled up on the flightline at RCAF Station Chatham. (8 fighters would remain in storage for until needed and the last two had not yet arrived by sea). Though ramp lights were kept off for secrecy, ground crew could see for the first time the freshly applied 441 Silver Fox Squadron checkerboard tail markings, aircraft numerals, RCAF titles and roundels. Great rivers of superheated exhaust billowing from their shrieking Tumanskii turbojets turned the mid-summer pre-dawn ramp into a noisy inferno. Led by S/L Swillka, each gleaming fighter lurched forward in turn, wheeled left, and taxied in line to the end of runway 25. There, in pairs, Red Fox 1, Red Fox 2, Red Fox 3 and the rest pushed the throttles past the detents, lit the burners and thundered down the runway to lift off into history.  They would transit from Chatham direct to RCAF Station St. Hubert near Montreal. Unable and unwilling to fly over or even near Maine, the ferry flight would sorely test even the ferry range of the heavy, gas-sucking fighter. Their course would take them north to Trois Pistoles on the south shore then southwest following the mighty Fleuve St. Laurent south of its shoreline. Radio silence was to be kept the entire way.

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