Tag:

aviationwings

When a USAF EC-121 Warning Star nearly touched down on an American Navy aircraft carrier

by Till Daisd October 10, 2021

“The landing signal officer was frantically trying to wave us off as if he honestly thought that we were serious about trying to land a ‘Connie’ on his carrier. I really don’t know where he got that idea because I’m sure he could see that we didn’t even carry a tailhook,” Don E. Born, former EC-121 crew member

The U.S. Air Force’s C-121 passenger aircraft was converted into the radar-picket EC-121, which was formerly known as the RC-121. By using the electronic equipment in the enormous radomes above and below its fuselage to track and detect enemy aircraft, the EC-121 Warning Star was able to provide early warning.

By keeping an eye on North Vietnamese MiGs in the air and directing USAF fighters to intercept them, EC-121s played a crucial part. The EC-121 crews used the aircraft’s radar and enemy radio transmissions to locate and identify MiGs in North Vietnamese airspace while they were safely orbiting beyond the border. Big Eye, later known as College Eye and Disco, was the code name for these activities, which started in the spring of 1965 and went on well after the Vietnam War was over.

Another EC-121D pilot of the Big Eye Task Force (BETF), Don E. Born, described a typical Big Eye mission in the book Beyond the Horizon by Ian Shaw and Sergio Santana. The History of AEW&C Aircraft:

“During my first tour in Vietnam, in 1966, we flew our missions at 50ft [15m] above the water. This was for several reasons: we would be below the enemy radar; we would be below the SAM envelope, and it would give a little added protection from the high-flying MiGs. It also had many disadvantages, however: at 200kt [370km] a twitch of the hand, a hiccup, or a gust of wind, could dump you into the drink before you could say ‘which way is up’. Therefore when we would set up on station at 50ft, both pilots would have to remain in their seats at all times. The plane was flown on autopilot because it was more reliable and steady and it could hold altitude better than its human pilots. It also had a quicker reaction time, especially in rough air. Even though we flew on autopilot, one pilot had to rest both hands on the control wheel with his forefinger covering the autopilot cut-off switch in case malfunctioned.

“Another disadvantage was that the Gulf was full of Navy ships and when flying at 50ft, we literally had to climb to get over them. Many times I felt like we were making a broadside torpedo run on them. I would imagine that a good many sailors hid the scare of their lives seeing this monster of an airplane coming straight for them and flying below their bridge. It was one thing to pop up and over a ship in clear weather, but the Gulf was always filled with rain squalls, and trying to maintain 50ft of altitude and ‘looking-up’ for ships in the pouring rain is something else. Not only did we fly over Navy ships, but we also flew over foreign freighters and fleets of fishing junks. I’m sure that we probably even capsized a few junks with our prop wash at our low altitude.

That time a USAF EC-121 Warning Star almost landed on a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier

“Flying these missions was very strenuous because we were confined to our seats for periods of 10-16 hours. We did not dare leave our seats even for a restroom break and the temperature in the cockpit would climb to over 100° Fahrenheit [38° C Celsius]. By the time we pulled off the station, we could literally wring water (of one type or another) out of our flight suits.

“These low-altitude missions were also very hard on the maintenance crews. The aircraft would return from a mission completely caked with salt residue and would have to be washed down from nose to tail. The salt spray was not only corrosive to the fuselage, but it was even worse on the big Wright R-3350 engines.

“During the break between the morning bombing sorties and the afternoon bombing sorties, we would fly down to Da Nang to refuel. This was always a welcome break in the action and a chance to stretch our legs. We were on the ground only long enough to refuel and back on station to be ready for the afternoon fireworks.

“I remember several times either coming into or leaving Da Nang, and the guys at the Monkey Mountain radar site would ask us to make a low pass and give them ‘Bubble Check’. Monkey Mountain was our most northern land radar site, but its range was not sufficient to give adequate coverage to the Hanoi and Haiphong Harbour area, or to the Chinese border. This was one of the main reasons why the EC-121D was given its particular mission. It was after one of these refueling stops and on our way back up to the station, that we nearly landed on one of the 7th Fleet carriers.

“During another sortie, we were cruising north up the Gulf at 8,000ft [2,438m] and began our descent to station altitude. There were broken clouds that day with build-ups from our altitude down to about 1,500ft [457m] . As typical, the Navy and the Air Force did not recognize the existence of one another and therefore we normally had no radio contact with Navy ships nor did we even know where they would be on any given day. Well, on this given day as we let down through the clouds end broke out on the bottom, right there in front of us, right there on centreline and glideslope, was the biggest 7th Fleet carrier I had ever seen. We could not have made a better approach if we would have tried intentionally. We were honestly surprised and by the time we regained our composure, we were approaching the threshold. The landing signal officer was frantically trying to wave us off as if he honestly thought that we were serious about trying to land a ‘Connie’ on his carrier. I really don’t know where he got that idea because I’m sure he could see that we didn’t even carry a tailhook.

“With superior skill and ability, we initiated a go-around and managed to clear the bridge by several feet. It was shortly after this incident that we started to receive Navy shipboard frequencies and positioning reports during our morning briefings. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if this aborted carrier landing didn’t have something to do with the Navy and the Air Force finally beginning to speak with one another!”

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

October 10, 2021 0 comment

History

“Operation Credible Sport” YMC-130H going to Empire State Aerosciences Museum

by Till Daisd October 8, 2021

written by Till Daisd

Three Lockheed Hercules aircraft were converted to YMC-130H transport planes as part of Top Secret “Operation Credible Sport,” the second attempt to rescue Iranian hostages

The Empire State Aerosciences Museum in New York received one of the three YMC-130H cargo planes that were adapted for the Iran hostage crisis, according to the Tampa Bay Times.

The fuselage departed the Georgian Robins Air Force Base and was put together at the museum in September.

Three Lockheed Hercules aircraft were modified as part of Top Secret “Operation Credible Sport,” which was the second attempt to rescue hostages in Iran.

A scheme to create a “Super STOL” aircraft, to be piloted by Combat Talon personnel, that would use a soccer stadium nearby the U.S. Embassy as an improvised landing field was one of the options discussed for a second hostage rescue effort in Iran. The project, known as Credible Sport, bought three C-130H from an airlift unit in late August 1980—one for a testbed and two for the mission—and converted them quickly.

The aircraft, known as the XFC-130H, was modified by the addition of 30 rockets in five sets, eight of which fire forward to stop the aircraft, eight of which fire downward to slow its rate of descent, eight of which fire rearward to assist with takeoff, four of which are mounted on the wings to stabilize them during takeoff transition, and two of which are mounted at the back of the tail to prevent it from hitting the ground due to over-rotation. The Combat Talon avionics included a TF/TA radar, a defensive countermeasures suite, and a Doppler radar/GPS tie-in to the aircraft’s inertial navigation system. Other STOL features included a dorsal and two ventral fins on the rear fuselage, double-slotted flaps and extended ailerons, a new radome, a tailhook for landing aboard an aircraft carrier, and a new radome.

Only one of the three aircraft had a complete modification. On October 29, 1980, the program abruptly came to a stop when it crashed while being tested. Shortly after, global events made a second rescue effort pointless. The planned rescue was put on hold until a deal to release the hostages was made in January 1981.

The YMC-130H crashes in the ensuing well-known video while conducting flight tests.

Photo by US Dept. of Defense

October 8, 2021 0 comment

History

The CF-104 Starfighter flown by Bud White that set the Canadian Aircraft Altitude Record

by Till Daisd October 4, 2021

written by Till Daisd

‘On December 14, 1967, when I managed to reach 100,110 feet and authenticate it, we wisely decided to call it a day. Interestingly, that record still stands today as a Canadian national altitude record,’ Bud White, RCAF CF-104 pilot who set the Canadian Aircraft Altitude Record

The F-104 Starfighter, a supersonic air superiority fighter, was a technological marvel when it first flew in the 1950s.

It was armed with a six-barrel M-61 20mm Vulcan cannon and performed the roles of a tactical fighter and a day-and-night interceptor when coupled with heat-seeking Sidewinder missiles.

The first XF-104 made its first flight in 1954, after which the F-104’s development started in 1952.

About 300 one- and two-seat Starfighters were bought by the U.S. Air Force (USAF). Additionally, 1,700 F-104s were produced in the US and abroad as part of the military aid program for several countries, including West Germany, Canada, Italy, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, Denmark, Greece, Turkey, Spain, Taiwan, and Japan.

Many records were set by the F-104, including the world altitude record of 103,395 feet (set by an F-104C on December 14, 1959) and the world speed record of 1,404.19 mph (set by an F-104A on May 18, 1958). The Starfighter was also the first aircraft to hold the official world records for speed, altitude, and time-to-climb at the same time.

All notable aviation records, especially the World Absolute Speed and Altitude Records of the International Aviation Federation (Federation Aeronautique Internationale, FAI), were fiercely challenged by the United States and the Soviet Union during the Cold War. According to Patrick Martin’s explanation in his book Canadian Starfighter, The CF-104 and CF-104D in Canadian Service from 1961-1986. In 1959, the Russians, the U.S. Navy, and finally USAF Captain Joe Jordan held the world’s absolute altitude record after reaching 103,395.5 feet in a modified F-104C. Col. Georgi Mosolov set a new Russian record in 1961 by reaching 113,892 feet in an E-66A MiG-21 that had been rocket-boosted.

Remembering the Canadian Aircraft Altitude Record set by Bud White's CF-104 Starfighter

In order to fit Reaction Control System “beepers” for roll, pitch, and yaw “attitude” control for the low dynamic pressures (‘q’) of inner space, the USAF then modified three F-104As to a Zoom Aerospace Trainer NF-104A, configuration with 5,250 lbs thrust, a canted throttleable liquid fuel rocket at the base of the vertical stabilizer, two-foot wing extension panels, and nose exhaust ports.

Robert Smith, the USAF’s top test pilot, had completed 41 Cat 1 test flights and another dozen operational and zoom flights by the time Col. Chuck Yeager took control of the program and helped him reclaim the World Record after reaching an unofficial altitude of 120,600 feet. Yeager’s NF-104 was destroyed on December 10, 1963, when he lost control during a Zoom flight, went into a flat spin, and ejected. Although about 50 more fruitful flights in NF-104As were performed, the program was “shackled,” and the USAF was prohibited from making any other attempts to reclaim the world altitude record.

Wing Commander R.A. (Bud) White, who on December 14, 1967, used a CF-104 aircraft to break the Canadian Aircraft Altitude Record, recalled:

‘On December 14, 1966, at our RCAF’s Aerospace Engineering Test Establishment in Ottawa, my USAF Exchange Test Pilot Jim Reed came to me with an exciting idea: beat the Russians, capture the Absolute World’s Altitude Record, and do it in Canada’s Centennial Year. Jim proposed we use our CF-104 12700 lighten and modify it; take advantage of the Jet stream; and improve the zoom profile. As our studies progressed into 1967, Air Material Command and Orenda readied three upgraded J79 engines for us; Lockheed helped with extended inlet nose cones; the National Research Council (NRC) and National Aeronautical Establishment (NAE) began the development of an extremely sensitive vane to measure the angle of attack (alpha); a detailed jet stream survey was undertaken; and major changes were made in the electronics bay and pressurization system of the 12700. We also had to design/develop lightweight alpha/beta vanes (with the NRC Flight Research Section) to go on our existing plastic nose cone & pitot boom. A major threat was the ‘flat spin mode’, but the Chief of the Defense Staff, General Allard, and the Minister of Defense provided strong support, and the project moved into high gear by midsummer as a highly classified military project.

Physiological training and two Gemini full-pressure suits were obtained through the Institute of Aviation Medicine and the USAF Surgeon General when Ron Hayman and I flew down to Tyndall Air Force Base. Later, we obtained valuable assistance flying the ‘zoom’ simulator at Edwards Air Force Base, and I was able to fly some F-104 ‘Zoom’ flights on their phototheodolite instrumented range.

We finally got airborne in October, quickly worked up the speed to Mach 2.3 while confirming engine performance, and worked out a method to find the core of jet streams. We created absolute silence when we briefed Transport Canada and explained how we planned to fly our ‘zooms’ through the Toronto/Ottawa/Montreal triangle with a ‘block’ airspace through their most densely traveled airspace in Canada. But remarkably, within days, dozens of air traffic controllers were vectoring hundreds of commercial flights around our Zoom flights without any explanation to the commercial carriers.

Authentication was a major problem with the FAI 1% accuracy requirement, and with most of our flights above the cloud until the NRC Defense Research Telecommunications Establishment nearby, Shirley’s Bay came up with a concept to use their 30-foot microwave tracking dish. Eventually, we installed 4GHz ‘beacons’ and a switching arrangement in 12700, tracked them in azimuth and elevation with the 30-ft. dish, tied their measurements to an atomic clock, and obtained distance from a 1GHz beacon and a modified IFF/SIF transponder in the aircraft. Unable to use phototheodolites, this turned out to be the World’s ‘first’ non-visual authentication before the FAI!

In all, we flew 42 flights in 12700, 25 of them zooms, and twelve of those safely above 95,000 ft. But on these later flights, our hoped-for benefit from the strong jet winds dropped off, and I was running out of control authority going over the top. There, stick nose-down pitching moments at low produced strong left yaw (due to gyroscopic coupling) and needed a full right rudder. On December 14, 1967, when I managed to reach 100,110 feet and authenticate it, we wisely decided to call it a day. Interestingly, that record still stands today as a Canadian national altitude record.’

Photo by aeroprints.com via Wikipedia, San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives, René Francillon Photo Archive via Wikipedia, U.S. Navy

October 4, 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

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

Newer Posts

Older Posts