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aircraft

Why USAF killed the SR-71 program

by Till Daisd October 3, 2021

“The termination of the SR-71 Blackbird was a grave mistake and could place our nation at a serious disadvantage in the event of a future crisis,” Senator John Glenn

The Lockheed A-12 and YF-12A aircraft were used to create the long-range, cutting-edge strategic reconnaissance aircraft known as the SR-71, also known as the Blackbird. The first SR-71 to enter service was delivered to the 4200th (later 9th) Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale Air Force Base, California, in January 1966. The SR-71’s first flight took place on December 22, 1964.

No SR-71 has ever been lost or damaged as a result of hostile action because of its remarkable speed, which allowed it to acquire intelligence while slicing through hostile skies in a matter of seconds. It could survey 100,000 square miles of the Earth’s surface per hour from an altitude of 80,000 feet.

'The Blackbird can't fire a gun and doesn't carry a bomb, and I don't want it:' why USAF killed the SR-71 program

The U.S. Air Force (USAF) retired its fleet of SR-71s on January 26, 1990, despite the aircraft’s remarkable flight characteristics, due to a decreasing defense budget, high operating costs, and the availability of advanced spy satellites.

“General Larry Welch, the Air Force chief of staff, staged a one-man campaign on Capitol Hill to kill the program entirely,” Ben Rich wrote in his book Skunk Works: A Personal Memoir of My Years of Lockheed. “General Welch thought sophisticated spy satellites made the SR-71 a disposable luxury. Welch had headed the Strategic Air Command and was partial to its priorities. He wanted to use SR-71 refurbishment funding for the development of the B-2 bomber. He was quoted by columnist Rowland Evans as saying, ‘The Blackbird can’t fire a gun and doesn’t carry a bomb, and I don’t want it.’ Then the general went on the Hill and claimed to certain powerful committee chairmen that he could operate a wing of fifteen to twenty [F-15E] fighter-bombers for what it cost him to fly a single SR-71. That claim was bogus. So it was claimed by SAC generals that the SR-71 cost $400 million annually to run. The actual cost was about $260 million.”

The SR-71 was retired as a result of testimony before Congress from both Welch and SAC commander General John Chain.

As Rich so aptly reflected, “A general would always prefer commanding a large fleet of conventional fighters or bombers that provides high visibility and glory. By contrast, buying into Blackbird would mean deep secrecy, small numbers, and no limelight.”

With the exception of training flights, Blackbird operations were officially discontinued in November 1989 after being cut from the Defense Department’s FY1990 budget.

One Blackbird is famous for breaking several speed records during its “retirement flight” on March 6, 1990. The Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum (NASM) Udvar-Hazy Center at Dulles Airport received the SR-71 with the tail number 64-17972 after it was flown from California. In the process, it achieved a coast-to-coast speed record for the National Aeronautic Association of 2,086 miles in one hour and seven minutes, or an average speed of 2,124.5 mph. With an average speed of 2,176.08 mph, it completed the 311-mile St. Louis-to-Cincinnati leg in under nine minutes.

Within a few months of this widely publicized flight, Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi army had occupied Kuwait, and the United States was taking part in the Desert Shield buildup, which culminated in Operation Desert Storm in January and February 1991. This information is provided by Bill Yenne in his book Area 51 Black Jets. Many military commanders, including General Norman Schwarzkopf, lamented the lack of quick reconnaissance that the SR-71 might have provided during that combat.

The Middle East and North Korea are among the global spots, and growing worries about these scenarios prompted Congress to reevaluate the SR-71’s activation. Admiral Richard Macke, the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s director of joint staff, informed Congress in 1993 that “from the operator’s perspective, what I need is something that will not give me just a spot in time but will give me a track of what is happening. When we are trying to find out if the Serbs are taking arms, moving tanks, or artillery into Bosnia, we can get a picture of them stacked up on the Serbian side of the bridge. We do not know whether they then went on to move across that bridge. We need the [reconnaissance information] that a tactical, an SR-71, a U-2, or an unmanned vehicle of some sort will give us, in addition to, not in replacement of, the ability of the satellites to go around and check not only that spot but a lot of other spots around the world for us. It is the integration of strategic and tactical.”

Congress approved a resumption of money in its FY1994 appropriations to allow for the reactivation of a portion of the SR-71 fleet. Many of the twenty SR-71s that were still flying at the time were being prepared for museum exhibits, but at least a dozen were being stored at Palmdale or participating in NASA research missions.

Because the USAF moved too slowly toward reactivating the SR-71, President Bill Clinton vetoed the money in October 1997. Only two Blackbirds remained at NASA’s Dryden Flight Research Center at Edwards AFB when the US Air Force ordered the aircraft permanently grounded in 1998.

The Linear Aerospike SR-71 Experiment (LASRE) series, carried out in 1997 and 1998, was one of the final NASA missions for the SR-71. The goal was to investigate how lifting bodies and aerospike engines performed in terms of aerodynamics. This was done using the Lockheed Martin Skunk Works X-33, a prototype for the VentureStar single-stage-to-orbit reusable spaceplane. After NASA ended the latter program in 2001, Lockheed Martin continued to work on it.

The last words that Americans heard when discussing the Blackbird’s fate are those that Senator John Glenn said on the Senate floor the day following the 1990 “retirement flight.”

The development of the iconic SR-71 Blackbird: how the world's fastest plane was conceived

Said the former astronaut, “The termination of the SR-71 was a grave mistake and could place our nation at a serious disadvantage in the event of a future crisis. Yesterday’s historic transcontinental flight was a sad memorial to our shortsighted policy in strategic aerial reconnaissance.”

Photo by Lockheed Martin, U.S. Air Force, and NASA

October 3, 2021 0 comment

History

F4U Vs MiG-15: when the WWII Corsair became a MiG Killer

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“When his parachute opened, I could see his “G” suit burning from head to foot. I glanced down and saw the flaming MiG hit the water vertically,” Capt. Jesse Folmar, VMA-312 F4U Corsair pilot

Some U.S. Navy and Marine Corps F4U Corsairs were sent up against the night raiders that North Korea sortied over UN lines after dark during the Korean War, despite being outclassed by the new generation of jet fighters and primarily used in the close air support role. It was in an F4U-5N night fighter that Lt. Guy Bordelon became the U.S. Navy’s lone ace of the conflict.

Nevertheless, on September 10, 1952, Capt. Jesse Folmar, flying a Corsair from VMA-312, was able to shoot down one of the two MiG-15s that had bounced him and his wingman, according to Warren Thompson in his book F4U Corsair Units of the Korean War.

The light carrier Sicily supported attacks into North Korea by F4U units VMF-214 (1950), VMF-323 (1951), and VMA-312, which operated from the ship between September 4 and October 19, 1952, and between August 1950 and December 1952.

On September 10, 1952, the ship launched a significant number of the “Checkerboards” F4U-4Bs in order to put out the most effort possible for interdiction and close air support operations. A historic encounter with some aggressive MiG-15s would occur throughout the course of the operation between Capt. Jesse G. Folmar, who was commanding one division, and his wingman Lt. Walter E. Daniels. They were instructed to strike a troop concentration on the south side of the Taedong River, close to Chinnampo, and they took off at 16:10.

Capt. Folmar remembered the sequence of events:

“As we crossed the coast and headed into enemy territory, we begged to execute a tactical weave at 10,000 ft. Arriving over the target area, we observed no activity, so we continued to fly reconnaissance in the area of the Taejon estuary. As we started to bank over a small island off the coast, I caught a glimpse of two MiG-15s in the early stages of setting up for a firing pass on us. They were in loose section formation, so I steepened the angle of my banking turns into them while at the same time increasing power. I jettisoned all external ordnance and fuel tanks and then switched to the guard channel to report that we were being attacked by MiGs. I told Lt. Daniels to fly a much tighter weave and not to let the communist lees out of his sight.

F4U Vs MiG-15: the story of how the WWII Corsair became a MiG Killer

“Seconds later, I spotted two more of them closing rapidly from my ‘eight o’clock’. I turned hard to the left, trying to bring my guns to bear before they could open fire, but due to their rapid closure, I was unable to do so. Their tracers were overshooting us, so I reversed my bank to the right and turned inside one of the MiGs as he started a climbing left turn. I pulled up and got him squarely in my gunsights, giving him about 20 mils’ lead. I then triggered off a long, five-second burst with my four 20 mm cannons.

“I could tell that I had him boresighted by the blinking flashes along the left side of his fuselage. A grey trail of fuel vapor began to stream from the MiG, and this quickly turned into billowing black smoke. He nosed over slightly and seemed to lose acceleration. Seconds later, the pilot ejected, and he tumbled through the air in what appeared to be a ball of smoke. When his parachute opened, I could see his “G” suit burning from head to foot. I glanced down and saw the flaming MiG hit the water vertically.”

Folmar and Daniels both began their defensive weave, and soon four more MiGs—arranged loosely in a column of two sections—joined the battle. The Corsair couple’s chances were suddenly considerably worse against them. Folmar made the decision to leave and head home, ordering a hard break to the left and downward.

“I had just started picking up good diving speed when I saw balls of tracer passing on my left. At that instant, I felt a severe jolt and explosion in my left wing. My aircraft began to shudder as if in a high-speed stall. I glanced over and saw that my left aileron and about four feet of my left wing were gone. Also, the top of the left wing was gutted to the inboard side of my inboard 20 mm gun. My damaged aeroplane was trying to roll to the left, although the control column was placed in a full right position. This led to my decision that it would be too hazardous to attempt a landing back on Sicily, so I decided to bail out.”

Before preparing to bail out, Folmar sent out a distress signal for search and rescue and reiterated his location. Another MiG made a firing pass at him while he was doing this, but its shells missed. He dropped clear after rolling out of the right side of the cockpit at a height of 3000 feet.

He heard an ear-splitting noise as he pulled the D-ring on his parachute, and as he looked up, he saw another MiG shooting at his downed Corsair. Seven MiG-15s were still in the area, but they took off as soon as Folmar touched down in the sea. He calculated that he was in the water for around eight minutes until an SA-16 Albatross “Dumbo” came to his aid.

Photo by Bzuk via Wikipedia, U.S. Air Force, and U.S. Navy

F4U Corsair Units of the Korean War is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

An ex-B-52 pilot describes a terrifying bomb run during the Vietnam War

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“Then the bomb run began in the early morning darkness over an Asian jungle. Our three-abreast, triangular-shaped formation banked steeply, ominously, onto the bomb run heading…,” Jay Lacklen, former B-52 pilot

At Columbus Air Force Base (AFB), Mississippi, former Air Force Reserve Lt. Col. Jay Lacklen instructs pilot training simulators for the Air Force. He has 12,500 flying hours. He logged 9,500 hours in the C-5 Galaxy transport, 2000 hours in the B-52 bomber, and 330 hours in the C-7 Caribou, in addition to pilot training planes. From the Vietnam War until the Iraq War in 2003, he participated in every significant military operation. Lacklen puts you on board his B-52D for a terrifying bomb fly over Cambodia during the Vietnam War in the following excerpt from the first book of a trilogy, “Flying the Line, An Air Force Pilot’s Journey, Pilot Training, Vietnam, SAC.”

When asked if I killed anyone during the Vietnam War, I have to answer that I don’t know. I may have, and probably did, since my B-52 bomber crew dropped many thousand pounds of bombs on the Cambodian jungle, but I will never actually know.

Former B-52D pilot tells the story of a scary bomb run during the Vietnam War — B-52 on takeoff with bombs

I only flew two live bombing runs in August 1973, before President Nixon’s final bombing halt before the negotiations that ended our involvement in the war a few months later. But the first mission captured all the terror, anticipation, wonder, and angst of flying into a war.

The mission began after dark at Andersen AFB, Guam, in the western Pacific Ocean. The crew bus dropped us at the hot loading zone on a far corner of a field, a remote location that would provide some protection for the base if something went wrong while loading over fifty thousand pounds of bombs in the bomb bay and on wing pylons of our B-52D.

A full moon painted the bristling black warbird in a ghostly light, a formidable metal dragon that would righteously drop explosive mayhem onto America’s enemies, or so I thought at the time. I paused and slowly put down my flight bag to stare in awe. Was I really a part of this? What was I about to do?

Six hours after takeoff, we approached the target area over the Parrot’s Beak region of Cambodia as one of a half-dozen three-ship bomber formations. Each cell was named after a tree. We were Oak Flight; others were Pine, Maple, and Birch.

As the lead aircraft copilot for my cell (for some unknown reason, I got to be lead on my first mission), I had to announce the impending bomb drop on “Guard,” the international radio frequency all-aircraft monitor. This would allow aircraft in the vicinity to vacate the area and avoid the “rain” of our falling bombs. (As an aside, this is the same rain referenced in the Creedence Clearwater Revival song “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”)

I had been warned to switch my radio toggle from the interplane frequency to the Guard channel before transmitting the warning. Being a raw rookie, however, I gave the entire two-minute spiel on interplane, to the great amusement of the other copilots. “Hey, lead, want to try that on Guard?” they snickered on the interplane frequency.

Then the bomb run began in the early morning darkness over an Asian jungle. Our three-abreast, triangular-shaped formation banked steeply, ominously, onto the bomb run heading. The radar navigator, who would throw the switch to drop the bombs, informed the crew we were approaching the IP, or Initial Point, to begin the run.

Just as we passed the IP, a male Asian voice began transmitting in Cambodian on our radios. He sounded as if he were babbling in an opium den, and his voice disturbed and frightened me. I feared he might be an apparition warning us of our task, a voice of doom giving us a last opportunity to save ourselves, or a soon-to-be victim in the target zone making his last hopeless statement to his slayers. He continued talking as if relating a story to a fellow opium smoker, while our formation approached the target. No matter what I did to my radio controls, I couldn’t make the voice stop.

In the near distance, 33,000 feet below us, the ground glowed red, eerily, from explosions from preceding bomber formations. A mist hung over the terrain, giving the area the look of a graveyard in a horror movie.

The radar navigator began the countdown: “Ten… nine… eight.”—the apparitional voice continued his drunken soliloquy on the radio—“Three… two… one… bombs away!”

The aircraft shuddered lightly as the bombs unhooked from the wings and dropped from the bomb bays of our three aircraft in a ten-second release sequence that would obliterate an area equal to three football fields and unleash a shock wave that would kill any unshielded creature within half a mile. North Vietnamese soldier and author Bao Ninh later wrote that the immediate aftermath of such a strike resulted in “a rain of arms and legs dropping before him on the grass.

We waited as the radar navigator counted down to detonation, about fifty seconds for the bombs to fall 33,000 feet, “Three… two… one… impact!” The thin clouds around our aircraft reflected hundreds of small bursts of light from below. It was done.

The radar navigator announced the closing of the bomb bay doors. We flew on in the darkness in silence as I pondered what we had done. I ponder it still.”

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

Scott O’Grady describes how his F-16 was shot down over Bosnia

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“The missile had blindsided me, coming up through cloud cover be-low. It had struck the plane’s underbelly, hitting one of the fuel tanks and cutting my F-16 in two,” Capt. Scott O’Grady

To maintain peace in Bosnia, USAF F-16 pilot Scott O’Grady (callsign Basher Five-Two) and Bob “Wilbur” Wright (callsign Basher Five-One) were flying a regular “two-ship” formation on June 2, 1995.

From Aviano Air Base (AB), in northeastern Italy, both pilots were assigned to the 555th Fighter Squadron (FS), also known as the “Triple Nickel,” of the 31st Fighter Wing (FW).

They were conducting yet another conventional combat air patrol over northwest Bosnia while flying an oval pattern. There were known fixed missile positions throughout much of the path, as Capt. O’Grady himself explains this in his book Basher Five-Two: The True Story of F-16 Fighter Pilot Captain Scott O’Grady. “We knew to stay far away from the Bosnian Serb’s SAM rings to the north and to the east. SAMs—surface-to-air missiles—were a definite threat to an F-16, even with our high-tech defense systems.”

F-16 down: Scott O'Grady explains how he was shot down over Bosnia — F-16C of the 555th Fighter Squadron based at Aviano Air Base, Italy

But there was a mobile site that the intelligence units had missed.

O’Grady recalls: “‘Basher Five-One, mud six, bearing zero-nine-zero,’ Wilbur radioed to me on our open frequency. He wanted me to know there was possibly a threat radar to the east. ‘Basher Five-Two naked,’ I shot back. That told him my threat warning system hadn’t picked up anything. On the same open radio frequency, I listened for Magic, NATO’s nearby airborne command center. Equipped with special Intel electronics, the airborne center served to help pilots as an early warning system. In touch with spy satellites and U-2 spy planes, Magic could tell Wilbur and me if there was active radar from the SAM rings to the north and to the east as well as in any other location. If the radar was coming from the north and the east, we didn’t have to worry because we were out of their missiles’ range. The blip on Wilbur’s threat warning system would have been a false alarm. It took Magic only seconds to get back to us. ‘Basher Five One,’ a calm voice called over our radios, ‘your mud six reports is uncorrelated.’

“Magic was saying that they couldn’t really confirm where the radar was coming from. Cautiously, Wilbur and I continued to fly our ovals. At exactly 3:03 P.M., Aviano time, my threat warning system showed a bright blip. I stared at my console in disbelief. At the same time, an alarm shrilled over my headset. I had been spiked by threat radar. Forget any threat from the north. This was coming from due east, just like the one Wilbur had picked up. Could it really be a second false alarm? My stomach did a flip. ‘Basher Five-Two, mud six, bearing zero-nine-zero,’ I said into my radio. ‘Basher Five-One naked,’ Wilbur reported back. Our roles had been reversed. It was now my turn to be hunted. I knew I had to prepare myself for the worst.”

Without the aid of radar, the mobile SAM launcher 2K12 Kub (NATO reporting name SA-6 Gainful) fired two missiles (so the Serbs could avoid being detected). When the missiles were within seconds away from O’Grady and Wright’s jets, the Serbs activated the radar.

O’Grady continues: “Through my canopy, I scanned the skies for any evidence of a missile. The actual rocket that fires a SAM leaves a trail of white smoke. That smoke is a pilot’s only chance to make a visual identification. Once the rocket turns off, the smoke stops. Then the missile sails on toward its target, silent and deadly, at a speed almost twice as fast as my F-16. Seeing nothing in the sky, my eyes swam back to the video display on my threat warning system. The bright blip had not gone away, which meant I was still being spiked. A moment later, a second alarm blared over my headset. My glance jumped back to my screen. A new warning was there, brighter than the one before. This was all happening in seconds. Split seconds. But it was long enough for me to understand I had just been locked up by a target-tracking radar. This was the type that guided a missile to its target. While I didn’t know it, Magic had received information from a spy satellite that there were missiles right below Wilbur and me, but because of garbled radio communication, we never got the message. It hardly mattered. My instrument panel had already delivered the bad news. I was in somebody’s deadly sight. As I thought out the meaning of those words, I realized a missile might already have been launched. I was angry that we had all been outsmarted by the enemy, but I tried to stay calm. This was what our years of training had prepared us for, and I was ready. A programmed voice from the plane’s computer system rang out over my headset. ‘Counter, counter.’ A second later, a brilliant red flash lit up the sky between Wilbur and me. A missile had passed between us, just missing us both. My heart sped up. I knew that SAMs were usually launched in packages of two. The chances were likely that another missile was already in the air, coming straight at me.

“As the adrenaline pumped through my veins, my thumb traveled down to the button that would release my chaff and flares. At the same time, I thought about pushing my aircraft into a series of steep climbs and dives to avoid the missile. I had time to do neither. What happened in the next tick of a second, I’m not sure. Wilbur would later tell me that he had screamed over the radio, ‘Missiles in the air!’ I never heard him. What I did hear was a thunderous roar that almost shattered my eardrums. Then came a blow like nothing I had ever felt. It was like getting rear-ended by an 18-wheeler with a rocket tied to its front grill. The missile had found its mark. A burst of flames and intense heat spread through my cockpit. I began to pitch and roll wildly. It felt as if a giant hand had reached down, grabbed me with brute force, and shaken me in a frenzy. What was left of my plane was like a straw in the wind, totally out of control. For all its space-age electronics, its supersonic speed, and its defensive powers, the F-16 is not perfect. In the blink of an eye, it can be turned from the prince of the skies into a burning scrap heap of wire and twisted metal. The missile had blindsided me, coming up through the cloud cover below. It had struck the plane’s underbelly, hitting one of the fuel tanks and cutting my F-16 in two. It took me another moment to understand. The nose and cockpit had broken away—and I was now in a free fall to Earth. As I spun out of control, I worried about blacking out from the sudden and unexpected G forces.

“I watched my console break and twist apart before me. My mind was outracing my ability to react. Flames from the exploding gas tank had found a crack between my oxygen mask and visor. They had also reached the back of my neck. Part of me was waiting for the cockpit to explode. Somehow, the heat and the pain, and the insanity of the moment focused my thoughts. Dear God, I prayed, please don’t let me die now—don’t let me die from this. I gazed down, through the flames, and saw a fat yellow handle attached to my seat. The handle pushed up between my legs, bigger than life, staring at me like the miracle I took it to be. The beautiful words stamped across the top were impossible to miss, even in the fire and smoke: PULL TO EJECT. I had no idea how much time had passed since the missile had struck. In reality, it had been only seconds. It felt like an eternity. I knew I wasn’t waiting much longer. For another microsecond, I worried that my damaged canopy wouldn’t open, or if it did, that the seat wouldn’t eject. But I really didn’t have time to worry. My left hand dropped down to the handle, and I pulled with all my might.”

His white, brown, green, and orange chute would be a trackable target since it would take him more than 25 minutes to descend into a clearing just south of a highway, according to CNN. O’Grady could see paramilitary forces pursuing as he plummeted. Fortunately, no one was firing at him, since he was unable to steer his chute.

His face and neck were injured by the blast, exacerbating his predicament. O’Grady fell to the ground as the soldiers pressed in, pulled off his chute, gathered some of his survival supplies, and ran for the woods.

He avoided the Serbian paramilitary soldiers that were out to kill him for almost a week.

The enemy was frequently nearby. He could clearly see the faces of the Serbian pilots during the first two days since the helicopter was so close. Men standing on the ground were firing at moving targets.

He moved at night, periodically trying to call for assistance on his radio. He struggled against hunger, thirst, and the gloomy weather. Until the water in his emergency pack ran out on the fourth day, he survived on ants, plants, and water from his emergency pack. The rain increased the amount of water but also saturated him. He was in the cold water for so long that he got trench foot.

Using the call sign Basher Five-Two, he communicated with Capt. T. O. Hanford, a squadron member who was flying with severely low fuel, on the sixth night, and within minutes, four U.S. Marine Corps (USMC) helicopters were flying more than 80 miles into a hostile area. A total of 40 more aircraft kept vigil nearby in case the Serbs learned about the rescue effort.

On the morning of June 8, 1995, they discovered him running out of the woods and into a small opening while holding a 9mm pistol in case of enemy fire.

He was protected by a group of Marines as he boarded one of the two CH-53E Super Stallions. In case enemy fire on the way out became a problem, two AH-1W Super Cobra helicopter gunships flew close by.

The heroes were those Marines, O’Grady said. “I was just doing my job,” he concluded.

Photo by SRA TANA R. HAMILTON, Master Sgt. John E. Lasky / U.S. Air Force and Srđan Popović via Wikipedia

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

The poem Robin Olds wrote for his F-4 Phantom II.

by Till Daisd September 29, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“It’s an unusual pilot… who does not give his bird a private touch of loving gratitude before he leaves her nest,” Col. Robin Olds, 8th TFW Commander at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base

This short piece of prose was phrased by the legendary USAF triple ace Robin Olds, commander of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing (TFW) at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base from where he flew over 100 F-4 combat missions against North Vietnam, and appeared on Richard Pike book Phantom Boys Volume 2.

The Wolf Pack hero shares these verbal images:

Like a . . brooding hen . . she squats . . half asleep . . above her egg clutch.

Her tail feathers droop . . beak juts forward belligerently . . back looks humped . . and wingtips splay upward.

Sitting there . . she’s not . . a thing of beauty.

Far from it.

But she is my F-4, and her nest is a steel revetment—her eggs six [6] M-117, 750-pound bombs. This avian has fangs—very unbirdlike.

They nestle under her belly and cling to her wings.

She is ready to go.

But so am I.

She receives me and my back-seater, and we become a part of her as we attach ourselves to her with straps and hoses and plugs and connectors.

Read the ode Robin Olds wrote to the F-4 Phantom II

A surge of juice and a blast of compressed air and she comes alive. We are as one—tied together—the machine an extension of the man—her hydraulics my muscles—her sensors my eyes—her mighty engines my power.

She screams and complains as we move through shimmering heat waves along an endless expanse of concrete. Final checks . . then her nose pointed down nearly 2 miles of runway.

And we are ready.

Throttles forward, then outboard—THUMP, THUMP—the afterburners kick in. Now my bird roars and accelerates rapidly toward her release from mother earth, leaving a thunder behind that rattles windows and shakes the insides of those who watch.

I look over at my wingmen as we climb effortlessly toward a rendezvous with our tanker. All is well with them, and I marvel again at the transformation of our ugly duckling into a thing of graceful beauty—yet she’s businesslike… menacing… thrusting forward and upward with deadly purpose. Refueling done, we drop off and lunge forward, gathering speed for this day’s task.

We hurtle across the Black, then the Red Rivers, pushing our Phantoms to the limit of power without using afterburners, weaving and undulating so as not to present a steady target for the gunners below.

Then a roil of dust down to our left, and the evil white speck of a surface-to-air missile rises to meet us. We wait and watch. That missile is steady on an intercept course, and we know we are the target. Then, on signal .. we start down.

The missile follows—and now HARD DOWN—stick full forward—the negative G forces hanging us in our straps.

The missile dives to follow, and at a precise moment we PULL, PULL—as hard as we can—the positive Gs now slamming us into our seats with crushing force. Our heavy bird with its load of bombs responds with a prolonged shudder, and we are free for the moment, the missile passing harmlessly below . . unable to follow our maneuver.

On to the target—weaving, moving up and down, leaving the bursts of heavy flak off to the side or down below. The F-4 is solid . . responsive, heeding my every demand quickly and smoothly. We reach the roll-in point, and go inverted, pulling her nose down, centering the target in the combining glass as we roll into our 70-degree dive toward the release point.

My Phantom plunges toward the earth through an almost solid wall of bursting flak. Then “PICKLE!” And the bird leaps as her heavy load separates and we pull with all our force around to our egress heading.

There are MiGs about, and my F-4 becomes a brutal beast… slamming this way, then that – snarling with rage… turning, rolling, diving, hurtling skyward like an arrow, plunging down with savage force.

The melee over, the rivers crossed and headed for our post-strike refueling, and my bird is once again a docile, responsive lady, taking me home… letting my heartbeat slow… giving me comfort in having survived . . once again.

The flock gathered close by, and we slowly circle each other—top, bottom, and each side, looking for flak rips, leaks, and . . jagged holes.

None found… we press on to meet our re-fueling ticket home and gratefully take on fuel from our tanker friends.

A bit of follow-the-leader up and over the beautiful mountains of dazzling white nimbus, just to relax—to enjoy the special privilege given us in flying this magnificent bird—and the home runway lies ahead there near the little town of Ubon-ratchitani.

Landing done, post-flight checks finished, engines shut down, and my F-4 vents its tanks with a prolonged sigh.

It’s speaking for both of us… glad it’s over… anticipating a brief respite before the next day’s work.

It’s an unusual pilot… who does not give his bird a private touch of loving gratitude before he leaves her nest.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 29, 2021 0 comment

History

F-16 vs. MiG-29: the first time in dogfighting

by Till Daisd September 28, 2021

written by Till Daisd

For the American pilots, the Fulcrum’s low-speed maneuverability and helmet-mounted sight system were its most striking performance characteristics

The MiG-29 was a severe threat to Western pilots since it was made in reaction to a new generation of American fighters, such as the F-15 and F-16.

East Germany was one of the nations that purchased the Fulcrum. After German unification, Luftwaffe (German Air Force) MiG-29s remained in service and were employed not only for national Quick Reaction Alert (QRA) service but also as enemy aircraft during NATO air drills, demonstrating the MiG-29’s incredible air-to-air capabilities.

The 510th Fighter Squadron (“Buzzards”) of the 31st Fighter Wing (FW) from Aviano Air Base in northern Italy, which flew against Luftwaffe Jagdgeschwader 73 (JG 73) MiG-29s in May 1995 during a German Fulcrum deployment to Decimomannu Air Base, was the first western fighter unit to have the opportunity to face the Fulcrum in mock air combats. According to David Sarvai’s in-depth article “Schlemming with the Fulcrum” for Code One Magazine, which was also posted on www.510fs.org, the location was on the southern edge of Sardinia.

F-16 Vs MiG-29: when the mighty Viper dogfighted with the Fulcrum for the first time

Although the helmet-mounted sight system might prove to be a severe threat, McCoy argued that it was not an insurmountable one. “In a low-speed fight, fighting the Fulcrum is similar to fighting an F-18 Hornet, but the Fulcrum has a thrust advantage over the Hornet. An F-18 can really crank its nose around if you get into a slow-speed fight, but it has to lose altitude to regain the energy, which allows us to get on top of it. The MiG has about the same nose authority at slow speeds, but it can regain energy much faster. Plus, the MiG pilots have that 45-degree cone in front of them into which they can fire an Archer and eat you up.”

But as McCoy explained, even if the helmet-mounted sight system proved to be a formidable threat, it was not an insurmountable one. “Some of their capabilities were more wicked than we originally thought; we had to respect the helmet-mounted sight, which made our decisions to anchor more difficult. In other words, when I got close in, I had to consider that helmet-mounted sight. Every time I got near a Fulcrum’s nose, I was releasing flares to defeat an Archer coming off his rail.” An impression was also confirmed by Lt. Col. Gary West, another Viper pilot and back then Commander of the 510th. “Before coming here, some of our pilots may have thought of the MiG’s helmet-mounted sight as an end-all to a BFM fight. We have found that it is not as lethal as we had expected. We encountered some positions—particularly in an across-the-circle shot or a high-low shot and in a slow-speed fight—where a Fulcrum pilot can look up 45 degrees and take a shot while his nose is still off. That capability has changed some of the pilots’ ideas on how they should approach a MiG-29 in a neutral fight. Below 200 knots, the MiG-29 has incredible nose-pointing capability down to below 100 knots. The F-16, however, enjoys an advantage in the 200-knot-plus regime. At higher speeds, we can power above them to go vertical. And our turn rate is significantly better. By being patient and by keeping airspeed up around 325 knots, an F-16 can bring the MiG-29 to its nose. But the pilot must still be careful of the across-the-circle shot with that helmet-mounted display.”

McCoy and the other two USAF pilots had the chance to fly in German Fulcrums, and they explained some of the several limitations of the MiG-29. “Their visibility is not that good; their disadvantage is a real advantage for us. F-16 pilots sit high in the cockpit. All the MiG-29 pilots who sat in our cockpit wanted to look around with the canopy closed. They were impressed that they could turn around, look at the tail, and even see the engine. Besides visibility, I expected better turning performance; the MiG-29 is not a continuous nine-g machine like the F-16.”

A claim that was backed up by Capt. Michael Raubbach, who was the JG 73’s Fulcrum pilot at the time. “Our visibility is not as good as an F-16 or even an F-15. We can’t see directly behind us. We have to look out the side slightly to see behind us, which doesn’t allow us to maintain visual contact and an optimum lift vector at the same time. This shortcoming can be a real problem, especially when flying against an aircraft as small as the F-16.”

Instead, Capt. Oliver Prunk, then-JG 73 operations officer, said that the Fulcrum’s inability to sustain nine g was related to the nature of the specification that gave rise to the MiG-29. “The aircraft was not built for close-in dogfighting, though it is aerodynamically capable of it, the East Germans flew it as a point defense interceptor, like a MiG-21. They were not allowed to max perform the airplane, explore its capabilities, or their own capabilities. Sorties lasted about thirty minutes. The airplane was designed to scramble, jettison the tank, go supersonic, shoot its missiles, and go home.”

Other restrictions were the fighter’s inability to fly supersonically with the tank connected, a situation that also restricted the MiG-29 to four g’s when the tank had fuel left, and the centerline fuel tank was carried by aircraft.

According to McCoy, the Fulcrum was nonetheless a strong foe to face off against despite these flaws. “The experience confirmed what I knew about the MiG-29’s ability to turn and fight in the phone booth. It is an awesome airplane in this regime. The awe, though, fades away after that first turn-in. The biggest adrenaline rush was getting to that point. After that, I started evaluating it as a weapon.” McCoy was echoed by West who said that the glamour of the Fulcrum could distract the pilots when they saw the MiG-29 for the first time. “When Western pilots merge with a MiG for the first time, they tend to stare at it in awe, instead of flying their jets and fighting, they are enamored by this Soviet-built aircraft that they have spent their lives learning about. Pilots lose this sense of wonder after a first encounter. It is no longer a potential distraction. They are going to know what type of fight to fight and exactly where they may be in trouble. No one can learn these things by reading reports. Air-to-air fighting is a perishable skill. But the lessons we learned here won’t be forgotten. These pilots will know at the merge exactly what they are up against. They will have more confidence. And they know they are flying an aircraft that is superior in maneuverability, power, and avionics.”

West concludes: “When our pilots first arrived here, they almost tripped over themselves because their eyes were glued to the ramp and those MiG-29s. After a few days, though, those MiGs became just like any other aircraft. And that’s the way it should be.”

Photo by SrA Tana R. Hamilton / U.S. Air Force

September 28, 2021 0 comment

History

The VNAF Chinook’s pilot that jumped out of his CH-47A

by Till Daisd September 27, 2021

written by Till Daisd

Maj. Ba Van Nguyen managed to disembark his passengers. He then distanced himself and jumped out of the cockpit of his CH-47A Chinook

South Vietnam was taken over by the North Vietnamese in April 1975. As the long-running Vietnam War came to an end, many South Vietnamese desperately tried to flee the nation before it was seized by North Vietnam.

In Operation Frequent Wind, the largest helicopter evacuation in history, the U.S. Navy was actively collaborating with South Vietnamese forces, as we just explained. The last stage of the evacuation of American and Vietnamese citizens from Saigon, South Vietnam, was called Operation Frequent Wind.

This VNAF Chinook's pilot jumped out of his CH-47A after having saved his family. And he made it out alive.

Although the U.S. managed the activities during Frequent Wind, some South Vietnamese pilots decided to flee on their own in a large number of helicopters and aircraft.

Maj. Ba Van Nguyen, of the 237th Helicopter Squadron of the Vietnamese Air Force (also known as the South Vietnamese Air Force or VNAF), landed his CH-47A Chinook helicopter in front of his parents’ Saigon residence on April 29, 1975, at about 10:30 a.m. Nguyen hurriedly boarded the aircraft with his family. He made a second stop a half-hour away, according to Dignity Memorial, to grab supplies and meet up with other squadron members.

He had intended to leave the intense combat in the city by flying to a distant island. Nguyen could hear English conversation bantering on his radio as he was sailing out to sea. At that moment, he realized a U.S. Navy ship might be in the distance, and it could be able to assist everyone on the Chinook. As soon as he saw a ship, he gently and cautiously started to move in that direction. The Huey helicopter, which was smaller, could land on numerous ships, but the Chinook was too large to do so.

Here is an excerpt from NPR’s story from 2010 – “35 Years on, Vietnam Heroes Reunited, Decorated”: “Among all the Hueys on that first day, a crowded Vietnamese CH-47 (a twin-rotor “Chinook,” the heaviest helicopter in the Vietnamese inventory) also attempted to land but was frantically waved off. The aircraft was much too large for USS Kirk’s flight deck, so the pilot hovered low over the fantail and unloaded his precious cargo of men, women, children, and infants—and his aircrew—into the waiting arms of Kirk crewmen below. Then, flying his behemoth helicopter all alone, the pilot moved a short distance off Kirk’s starboard quarter, hovering within inches of the sea. He slowly rolled the Chinook on its right side, escaping the spectacular crash unharmed by diving out the left door in mid-roll. Both main rotors disintegrated on impact and shattered shards of the blades flew across Kirk, splashing into the sea well to port. The crew of Kirk’s motor whaleboat was standing by and rescued the pilot in short order. All crewmen and family members were reunited unharmed on the USS Kirk that day.”

“There was only one CH-47 that came to the USS Kirk FF-1087 in 1975. Your father hovered the helo over the fantail of the Kirk, and his passengers jumped out into the arms of the Kirk crew. He then came to the right of Kirk, rolled the helo to the right, and jumped out on the left side. Your father was a very brave man, and he accomplished a remarkable and professional job to save his passengers and his family. There could hardly have been a more masterful bit of flying or a braver pilot that day,” said Captain Paul H. Jacobs, then USS Kirk (FF-1087) Commanding Officer, to Nguyen’s sons.

About 24 hours later, Nguyen and his family left the USS Kirk and boarded a few other ships that were sailing in the direction of the United States and freedom.

On June 17, 2013, Ba Van Nguyen passed away at the age of 73.

The following U.S. Navy video, called “The Lucky Few,” tells the nearly forgotten story of the incredible CH-47A Chinook mission flown by Maj. Ba Van Nguyen to save his family.

Photo by U.S. Navy

September 27, 2021 0 comment

History

After Iraq invaded Kuwait, this U.S. Naval Aviator helped rebuild and train the Kuwait Air Force

by Till Daisd September 27, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“There was a day we returned from an air strike and a Kuwaiti A-4KU pilot was as happy as he could be when he delivered a 500-pound bomb right to the front door of the headquarters office — until he realized that it was his old office,” Commander Robert E. Noziglia, Jr.

The United States and other coalition forces from the United Nations came together on January 17, 1991, to free Kuwait from Iraqi occupation.

Thousands of military personnel were impacted by Operation Desert Storm in terms of their lives and careers. One of these individuals, Commander Robert E. Noziglia, Jr., who was at the time the aircraft maintenance officer at the Naval Air Weapons Station in Point Mugu, California, played a distinctive role in Desert Storm.

On September 15, 1990, Noziglia was interviewed by Ambassador Edward W. Genhm, Jr., the U.S. representative to Kuwait, in Washington, D.C., Cdr. Noziglia was chosen to lead the reconstruction of the Kuwait Air Force, as stated by Vance Vasquez, then staff writer/photographer for The Missile, Naval Air Weapons Station, Point Mugu, California, in the article A Unique Role in Desert Storm that appeared in the July-August 1993 issue of Naval Aviation News. 86 contract technicians and their supplies were flown to Khamis Mushayt, Saudi Arabia, on a Kuwaiti 747 airplane. On September 16, 1990, they left Andrews AFB in Maryland and arrived in Saudi Arabia.

This U.S. Naval Aviator helped renconstruct and train the Kuwait Air Force after invasion of Kuwait by Iraq

“The technicians were retired Navy and Marine Corps personnel with A-4 Skyhawk experience,” said Noziglia.

Only a small section of the Kuwait Air Force was able to flee into Saudi Arabia when Iraq invaded and overran the little nation. Three L100-30 (C-130) transport planes, 15 Mirage F1 fighters, 18 A-4KUs, and two TA-4KU Skyhawk attack planes were all saved.

No equipment, tools, or aircraft manuals were available to the Kuwait Air Force when they arrived because they had been left behind in Kuwait. “The aircraft was unique. Since no other country operated A-4KU Skyhawks, we were able to assemble new manuals from information obtained from the United States,” said Noziglia.

The A-4KUs were relocated from Khamis Mushayt and were forward deployed to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia after the technicians arrived. Before the United Nations mandate for Iraq to depart Kuwait was ordered, the A-4KUs were stationed far from Iraq to avoid any potential airstrikes. Under a single command, the Royal Saudi Air Force and the Kuwaiti Air Force were combined.

Noziglia credited the Kuwait Air Force with helping to liberate their nation when Operation Desert Storm first began. “There was a day we returned from an airstrike and a Kuwaiti A-4KU pilot was as happy as he could be when he delivered a 500-pound bomb right to the front door of the headquarters office — until he realized that it was his old office,” recalled Noziglia.

“The Kuwaitis had ‘Free Kuwait’ painted on the sides of their A-4KUs, which became the national motto. The A-4KU flew from 18 to 24 sorties per day and only one A-4KU was lost to antiaircraft artillery fire during the war. The pilot became a prisoner of war,” Noziglia stated.

Cdr. Noziglia took part in Operation Desert Recovery after the war. He said that practically all of Kuwait’s military equipment, including the upgraded Hawk surface-to-air missile (SAM) systems, had been transferred back to Iraq by Iraqi forces.

It was thought that Iraqi pilots were shown the A-4KU flying procedures after hundreds of Kuwaiti flight officers were seized, enabling them to fly the A-4KUs left behind back to Iraq. Noziglia said that six of the stolen A-4KUs were flown back to Kuwait after technicians began working on them after discovering them on Iraqi airbases. “The aircraft had been sitting around for months,” he said.

Noziglia stayed in Kuwait to oversee the integration of the F/A-18C/D Hornets that McDonnell Douglas was building for Kuwait. The A-4KU and F-1 were both superseded by the F/A-18C/D. “They’re moving from 1960s-vintage airframes in the A-4KU into the year 2000 with their F/A-18C/D Hornets,” said Noziglia.

“Desert Storm was definitely a highlight of my career. I made a lot of good friends with the Kuwaitis, and we developed a good friendship,” Noziglia emphasized.

As a Kuwait security support officer and Navy liaison officer for his work during Operation Desert Storm, Noziglia was awarded the Joint Service Commendation and was also given a note of appreciation from Ambassador Genhm. The Kuwait Air Force’s Deputy Chief of Staff, Major General Jaber Khaled Al-Sabah, also gave him the Bronze Star Medal and a letter of recognition.

Photo by Robert E. Noziglia

September 27, 2021 0 comment

History

VF-111 Sundowners F-8 Crusader shot down by North Vietnam’s first ace

by Till Daisd September 25, 2021

written by Till Daisd

Capt. Wilfred K. Abbott pulled the black and yellow handle to launch himself out of the falling F-8 because the controls were non-responsive. Seven years of captivity followed his parachute landing

The F-8 Crusader, which was numerically the most prevalent fighter in the U.S. Navy at the start of America’s involvement in the Vietnam War in 1964 with 482 F-8C/D/Es outfitting 17 frontline units, was known to its pilots as the “last of the gunfighters” due to its quartet of Colt-Browning Mk12 20mm cannons (its great naval rival, the F-4 Phantom II, was armed exclusively with missiles).

During the Rolling Thunder campaign in 1965–1968, it had significant success against North Vietnamese MiG-17 and MiG-21 aircraft, downing 18 aircraft in total—officially representing 53 percent of all MiG claims made by Navy squadrons during this time.

However, on September 5, 1966, the Crusaders of the USS Oriskany suffered a rare F-8 air-to-air loss. On that day, the Sundowners of VF-111 provided four Target Combat Air Patrol (TarCAP) fighters during a strike on enemy transport targets close to Phy Ly. Lt. Cdr. Foster Teague led the first pair, and Capt. Wilfred K. Abbott, a USAF exchange pilot flying since 1958, led the second pair.

Teague took his wingman inward to protect the A-4 Skyhawks, leaving Abbott and Lt. Randy Rime to orbit offshore, as described by Barrett Tillman and Henk Van der Lugt in their book VF-11/111 “Sundowners” 1942-95. Teague egressed when he ran out of fuel, allowing Abbott to move in and continue guarding the A-4s. Situational awareness was compromised when Rime was forced to follow Abbott on a trail due to cloud cover. Abbott and Rime were startled to see two MiG-17s emerge from the clouds while they were circling at 6,000 feet.

Without being noticed, the “Red Bandits” maneuvered into gun range and fired 23 mm cannon rounds at Rime’s Crusader. Abbott took a shot from the stalkers at a 90-degree angle while covering Rime. The challenging gunnery challenge—a close-range, high-deflection shot—was where he put his faith. The USAF pilot had to deal with North Vietnamese opponents who could fire.

The unknown story of the first official American aerial victory of the Vietnam War

The Crusader was struck numerous times, all of which were fatal. Abbott’s instrument panel was broken, his canopy was damaged, and his helmet was knocked off. Abbott pulled the black and yellow handle to launch himself out of the destroyed Vought because the controls were non-responsive. The sole enemy jet loss for the “Sundowners,” he parachuted into seven years of captivity.

Randy Rime just about made it. He escaped his attackers despite being slightly hurt by glass shards from his canopy and just had enough fuel to limp back to the “0-Boat.” He missed the wave-off lights, caught a wire after it had already passed, and his starboard wheel came off. About 300 lbs of JP-5 were still in Rime’s possession, but not enough to make another pass at the deck.

Oriskany then double-checked with the controllers in charge of keeping an eye on enemy radio nets and locating hostile aircraft. It soon became clear that the two MiGs had mishandled an earlier attempt to hit the F-8s before being told to adjust their position for the successful bounce. Abbott and Rime had been refused access to this crucial information for unspecified reasons. Later, Abbott recalled:

How North Vietnam's first ace scored a rare victory over the iconic F-8 Crusader

‘On September 5, I was flying my F-8 Crusader in bright and sunny conditions when I was shot down over North Vietnam. In the ejection, my right leg was broken. After the leg was finally operated on, I was in a cast for about four months. It took about two years, with my roommates’ help, for me to achieve full use of the leg. It was my constant desire not to be a cripple so as to fly again someday. Other than my leg, the treatment and daily routine as a POW were similar to that described by most other veterans. The food was just enough to sustain life. A constant battle was to keep our minds active. In the early years, communication was extremely limited, but in the last couple of years, we were able to conduct our own educational programs — courses in everything from languages and mathematics to meat cutting, duplicate bridge, and Toastmasters.’

Nguyen Van Bay, North Vietnam’s first ace, who had already been involved in the downing of two Crusader aircraft—an RF-8A and an F-8E—off USS Hancock (CVA-19) on June 21, 1966, might have been the cause of Abbott’s demise. He claimed an F-105 and an A-4 later that month (both of which are not supported by U.S. records), adding four additional victories in April 1967. Van Bay was thus one of only four MiG-17 pilots from the Vietnamese People’s Air Force (VPAF) who likely took part in the downing of five or more American aircraft.

VF-11/111 ‘Sundowners’ 1942-95 is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

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

September 25, 2021 0 comment

History

The Blue on Blue incident, in which two USAF F-15s shot down two U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk

by Till Daisd September 25, 2021

written by Till Daisd

26 crew members and passengers aboard the two U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopters lost their lives in those few seconds, and the F-15 Eagle’s reputation was permanently damaged

On April 14, 1994, disaster struck when two F-15Cs piloted by Capt. Eric Wickson (lead) and Lt. Col. Randy W. May (wingman) shot down two U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters carrying 26 crew members and passengers over northern Iraq. May was now the CO of the 53rd Fighter Squadron (FS) and already had the controversial Mi-24 kill to his name from three years prior. The U.S. Air Force (USAF) blamed a series of mistakes that started with the general in charge of the Operation Provide Comfort Task Force and went all the way down.

The day began at 0635 hours with the launch of two F-15Cs, designated “Tiger 01” and “02,” on a sweep of the airspace north of the no-fly zone, before changing to a DCA/CAP mission in the region, as stated by Steve Davies in his book F-15C Eagle Units in Combat. The two UH-60s took off from Zakhu at 06:54 a.m. using the call sign “Eagle,” informing AWACS (call sign “Cougar”) of their departure location and their intended destination. At 0720 hours, Wickson, flying in “Tiger 01,” informed “Cougar” that he had entered northern Iraq. He then ordered his flight to conduct a sweep of the region in search of Iraqi aircraft.

The sad story of the Blue on Blue incident which resulted in the destruction of two U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters by two USAF F-15s — The F-15 pilots thought they were attacking a Mi-24 gunship. Indeed, the leader of Tiger flight went as far as to positively identify the helicopter as a ‘Hind’.

The AWACS controller failed to relay the necessary information to the F-15 pilots, who were unaware that a friendly helicopter flight was operating in the very same airspace it was supposed to “delouse” because the ATO did not contain any specific information about the “Eagle” flight.

Two minutes later, Wickson reported a radar contact on a slow-moving, low-flying aircraft that was 40 miles to the southeast of his own location and 52 miles from the southern limit of the no-fly zone. “Cougar” reacted with a “clean there” call, indicating that the AWACS controller’s scope had no targets. While planning an intercept to investigate, the F-15 pilots used IFF to check the contacts for a friendly electronic response.

By 0725 hours (about three minutes after “Tiger 01” had discovered the radar contacts), the distance had shrunk to 20 miles. Wickson again shouted the contacts out to “Cougar,” who reacted this time with “hits there,” indicating that he too had seen the radar contact. The IFF returns were being sent to “Cougar” via the IFF transponders on the “Eagle” aircraft; the AWACS was not picking them up on direct radar returns.

A minute later, Wickson’s reported contacts were still present in the area where the UH-60’s IFF returns were not only clearly visible but also identified as being. Despite this, AWACS still failed to alert the “Tiger” flight to the availability of IFF data in the target area. Each six-second attempt to elicit a response from the target via Wickson’s own IFF interrogations in the commercial and military (Mode IV) modes failed. Wickson then locked the target up. ‘Tiger 01′ and ’02’ moved in closer to make a visual identification.

At 7:27 a.m., Wickson approached within seven miles and called “Tiger 01” to confirm that there was just one helicopter in the area. Standby VID’. In order to avoid any forward-firing weaponry that an enemy gunship could have, he passed “Eagle 01″ at a height of 500 feet and 1000 feet to the left at 450 knots (giving an overtake of 320 knots—”Eagle” was at 130 knots). He then pulled off high and to the right over the top of the helicopter. He noticed that the helicopter was carrying sponsons that were equipped with weapons, but he was unable to identify any other distinctive markings on the green-camouflaged helicopter.

He radioed, ‘”Tiger 01″. VID “Hind” — no, “Hip”‘, at 0728 hrs, before referring to an in-flight silhouette guide to clarify his VID. Wickson then called, ‘”Tiger 01”, disregard “Hip”. VID “Hind”‘. With that he reversed course from the southeast to the northwest, before acquiring a visual on the second helicopter, trailing ‘Eagle 01’ by two miles. His call ‘”Tiger 01”. VID “Hind”, tally two, lead-trail’, prompted ‘Cougar’ to respond, ‘Copy “Hinds”‘. Wickson now sought confirmation of his VID from May in ‘Tiger 02’. “‘Tiger 02”, confirm “Hinds”‘. He later reported receiving the response, ‘Standby’.

The final series of errors started at this time when May flew 2000 feet to the right of the helicopter that was trailing and broadcast “Tiger 02,” tally two, claiming to have both helicopters’ insight. Although May just intended to say that he had the insight into the two helicopters, Wickson misunderstood this signal and believed that May had concurred with his ‘Hind’ VID.

After informing AWACS that two “Hinds” had been engaged, Wickson flew to a location ten miles to the northwest of the helicopters in a planned maneuver that gave the F-15 pilots enough time to launch a successful attack.

As he rolled back towards the helicopters, Wickson called, ‘”Tiger” arm hot, “Tiger 01” is hot’, telling May that he was cleared to fire provided that ROE was met. He then transmitted on the AUX radio, `We’re coming up behind them. There are two in lead-trail. “Tiger 01” is going first. I will shoot the trailer and then you will shoot the leader’. Wickson and May switched to AUTO ACQ mode to acquire their quarry and then attempted a final IFF interrogation, before visually acquiring their respective targets in their HUDs.

‘”TIGER 01″, fox. “TIGER 01”, splash one “Hind”. “Tiger 02”, you’re engaged with the second one. He’s off my nose two miles, right past the fireball. “02” call in. “01’s” off left’. Wickson had despatched the trailing UH-60 with an AIM-120 fired from about four miles out. May followed with an AIM-9 fired about 9000 ft away from ‘Eagle 01’. ‘”Tiger 02″ in hot. “Tiger 02”, splash second “Hind”‘. May reportedly ended the engagement with the words, ‘Stick a fork in him — he’s done!’

The 26 crew and passengers aboard the two U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopters lost their lives in those few seconds, and the F-15 Eagle’s reputation was permanently damaged. Numerous circumstances contributed to the catastrophe, as explained by Steve Davies and Doug Dildy in their book F-15 Eagle Engaged. The lack of awareness on the part of the AWACS controller resulted in a court-martial. The lack of information in the ATO and Special Instructions (“spins”) cost the career of a very talented, dedicated, and conscientious brigadier general heading the OPC operation. However, the USAF failed to place the blame on the perpetrators of the event.

The F-15 pilots failed in a fundamental fighter pilot responsibility — to be able to correctly visually identify an enemy aircraft from one in their own nation’s military — and miscommunicated the ID. While the squadron commander was the wingman (as was frequently the case in these typically dull and boring missions, the flight lead responsibilities were alternated to give the younger pilots more flight leadership experience), he set the tone in the squadron, failed to convey his true (if later testimony is accepted) appreciation for the situation, and, if he was truly unsure whether the targets were friendly or Iraqi, failed to call off the attack. The Black Hawks were still 40 miles away from the No-Fly Zone line and weren’t going there anyhow at 130 knots. There was certainly enough time, but none was used.

Even worse, the USAF handled the aftermath of the incident appallingly. Initial court-martial charges against the two pilots were withdrawn by the commanding general, reportedly due to a lack of evidence. This prevented the world, and in particular, the grieving loved ones of those who perished aboard the helicopters, from learning the merits of each participant’s conduct. The two aviators received typical, encouraging assignments for their next deployments up until CSAF General Ron Fogleman intervened and resolved the issue. Many people believe that the way the Air Force handled the case’s aftermath was almost as much of a black mark for its reputation as the unfortunate incident itself.

The negative blotch on the otherwise impeccable record of the 53rd FS “Tigers” prevented them from ever fully recovering. Closing the unit was the only way the USAF could end the problem and the suffering. On March 10, 1999, this was completed, leaving USAFE with just one Eagle squadron for the ensuing conflict in its theater.

F-15C Eagle Units in Combat is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

F-15 Eagle Engaged is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

Photo by Sgt. Janel Schroeder and MSGT STEVEN TURNER / U.S. Air Force, U.S. Department of Defense

September 25, 2021 0 comment

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