C5

“Fascinated, I watched this process that produced an airborne spiral staircase of circling and descending planes below me. Soon, however, disputes arose. Most of the aircraft had flown from all parts of the world to land in Germany and some did not have much fuel left…” Jay Lacklen, former C-5 pilot

Jay Lacklen is an ex-C-5 pilot with 12,500 flying hours and the author of two books, Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey and Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey Volume Two: Military Airlift Command. The following story comes from the last book of the trilogy: “Flying the Line, an Air Force Pilot’s Journey,” book three, “Air Mobility Command, 1993-2004,” in progress.”

Rudesheim Spiral Staircase

The one and only time I flew the short repositioning hop from Ramstein, Germany, to Frankfurt, I got a rude surprise. I thought it might be a simple tower-to-tower transaction and take about twenty minutes. Instead, I suffered one of the most intense air traffic control encounters of my career.

Two features complicated matters; it was 10 AM in Germany and, therefore, prime time for Frankfurt arrivals and departures. Also, the weather was bad with bands of rain clouds rolling over the field. As Ramstein’s departure handed me over to “Fritz” (my nickname for all Frankfurt controllers), the pace became frantic. Fritz tersely issued his directions to the flood of planes arriving while his tower counterparts tried to launch dozens of planes at this prime departure time.

“Reach, proceed to Rudesheim, and hold at Flight Level 8.0,” he ordered me. He was curt and direct as he ordered dozens of aircraft into the elaborate alignment designed to handle an airborne rush hour. I found myself on the top of a stack of large aircraft in the Rudesheim holding pattern. These elongated oval patterns aligned atop each other provided one-minute legs outbound and inbound to the RUD navigation beacon.

The rain shower cells became less numerous, and, as I circled the pattern, I began to see the aircraft alignment Fritz had choreographed. Looking down from my perch atop the stack, I saw many large planes, most B-747s, circling below me in different positions in their holding patterns at thousand-foot increments. This alignment allowed the lowest aircraft, at 3,000, to gain clearance for an approach to the field. As that plane left its orbit, Fritz would clear the plane at 4,000 to descend to 3,000. He would work us all down 1,000 feet once the previous plane had called level at its new altitude.

Fascinated, I watched this process, that produced an airborne spiral staircase of circling and descending planes below me. Soon, however, disputes arose. Most of the aircraft had flown from all parts of the world to land in Germany and some did not have much fuel left. These pilots began demanding priority. Fritz started polling each of the cockpits for how much fuel they had. Once, in another situation, Fritz asked a MAC airplane for his situation by saying, “Say your fuel, MAC, and do not lie!” (Screw you, Fritz!)

I was “fat” on fuel, as we say, because I had just taken off from Ramstein and could have orbited for an hour or so. Fritz broke two or three planes out of the holding pattern for vectors to final ahead of the rest of us for their low fuel status.

Eventually, Fritz brought us into the field from the “staircase,” all was well, and a frothy German beer awaited. For once I was fresh and rested and could head for the Basler Eck restaurant in Frankfurt or spend an evening in the university section downtown to have a scrumptious Indian curry.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

To find out who the hell tried to tear the roof off Senator Biden’s house with a C-5, a call to the Pentagon was followed by calls to the MAC headquarters at Scott AFB and the Dover wing commander

Author of two books and a former C-5 pilot with 12,500 hours of flight time, Jay Lacklen, Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey and Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey Volume Two: Military Airlift Command. He is currently working on the trilogy’s last volume.

Wilmington Air Show

One of my first stateside missions took me just up the road to Wilmington, DE as a copilot on an airshow crew. The C-5 aircraft commander, “Johnny Smooth,” had a high-powered job in Washington, DC, that paid very well. His work only allowed him to complete brief missions, and this would be one of them.

Air shows are the most dangerous missions crews will experience, excluding combat sorties. The risk increases not because of difficult flying, but rather because the crew is less cautious. With their guard down, the unit and crew run the risk of incurring the wrath of the command for terrible, embarrassing procedure violations. The crew believes in error that no one is looking because it is on vacation. Everyone is observing, including retired military personnel who collectively keep a careful eye on those that are now on duty.

Some retirees believe they handled things properly, whilst others believe the present force has laxed in terms of discipline and order as compared to the veterans. They’ll keep a tight eye on the crew’s behavior and report any inconsistencies they see as supporting their pessimistic assessment of the current state of military operations.

Old-timers unconsciously attempt to attract attention to their former accomplishments by criticizing current crew members for lack of discipline while the crew prances around to the admiration of the audience.

Johnny would provide a spectacular example of this air show syndrome before we even landed and would pay an embarrassing price for doing so. Years later, I would be a similarly hapless victim of the syndrome, but this day belonged to Johnny.

I had no inkling the syndrome was about to break out as we flew the fifteen minutes or so from Dover to Wilmington IAP about 40 miles north of the base. We canceled our IFR clearance and contacted Wilmington Tower for our VFR (visual flight rules) arrival. Johnny made the call to the tower himself.

“Tower, MAC 4017, request high-speed pass down the runway for a 5,000-foot right closed pattern to a full stop.” Tower cleared him as requested. I should have suspected trouble when he asked for 5,000-foot clearance for the closed pattern, but I did not.

About eight miles out on the final, Johnny pushed up the throttles and our speed rapidly increased from our 220-knot cruise speed. I thought he would stop accelerating at the 250-knot speed limit for flights below 10,000 feet, but he did not. Since neither he nor the tower had defined high speed, he defined it himself. As we descended toward the trees surrounding the airport our airspeed climbed to 300 knots. I looked down at tree-lined neighborhoods flying by in a blur with barely enough time for me to mentally register them before they were gone.

Low-altitude flying at high speed can be problematic. The pilot’s actions can make over-controlling pitch commands a problem, leading to a porpoise motion that is made worse by the pilot’s attempts to control it. The airflow across the control surfaces is significantly more than typical or expected. Fortunately, we did not experience this problem, but it should have been considered prior to accelerating to 300 knots. One misstep at that speed descending toward the ground could have been catastrophic.

Johnny pulled the throttles back as we approached 300 knots, mercifully, and we smoked down the runway at 200 feet in relative silence. The silence came to an end when Johnny accelerated the throttles to almost full power, raised the nose to 15 degrees, and made a right turn toward our 5,000-foot closed pattern. He set the throttles to idle after reaching 3,000 feet in order to slow the plane down for the last 2,000 feet of the climb. From there we made a normal landing. Afterward, he stated that he intended to offer an advertisement for the air show the next day.

With one exception, Johnny probably would have gotten away with this maneuver using the considerable latitude he had given himself. When he launched the large power burst from the runway’s departure end, he did so over the home of Joseph Biden, a recently elected congressman, and potential vice president.

Senator Biden was not impressed. To find out who the hell tried to tear the roof off Senator Biden’s house with a C-5, someone called the Pentagon, then the MAC headquarters at Scott AFB, IL, and finally the Dover wing commander. Before we turned off the engines, the base operations’ phone started ringing.

Johnny’s punishment for the incident was inspired by a Chinese Communist confessional, in which the offender is forced to publicly and harshly criticize himself for his mistake. The following month, Johnny addressed the audience that had gathered for drill weekend, including the wing staff, to explain how he could have been such an idiot to have done such things.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

“Sandy, the pretty one, and Penny, the interesting one, hunched over the scope on the navigators’ station behind the pilot. Their voices rose in volume and their tone turned argumentative and aggressive,” Jay Lacklen, former C-5 pilot

Jay Lacklen is a former C-5 pilot with 12,500 flying hours and the author of two books, Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey and Flying the Line: An Air Force Pilot’s Journey Volume Two: Military Airlift Command. He’s working on the last book of the trilogy.

Women Enter The Cockpit, 1982

A significant change in Air Force culture began for me in 1982 when women entered the cockpit, in this case, as C-5 navigators. It began curiously for me.

On an early mission in my C-5 career as a copilot, two female navigators showed up on the flight. I’m not sure why we had two, but it caused problems on the segment coming out of Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, en route to Frankfurt, Germany.

I know this was early in my C-5 experience because we still had the band weather radar that wasn’t worth a damn. It showed dim spokes on its fished-out screen as it scanned the sky ahead and showed returns as ghostly, imprecise shadows with no color gradations to show intensity.

At this time, navigators were losing their mission. Inertial Navigation Systems (INS) had severely encroached on the navigator’s space on the crew and would soon eliminate them as Flight Management Systems (FMS) provided almost all the information navigators had previously provided to the pilots.

But in the early 1980s, navigators controlled the weather radar and processed information from the triple (INS) setup. This trek across the northern portion of the Saudi peninsula, of all the hundred times I made it, had the worst weather I ever saw over this terrain. Thunderstorms were everywhere, some visible, some not when we flew into a cloud deck. This is when near-fisticuffs broke out between the two female navigators.

Sandy and Penny, both first lieutenants, seemed to be getting along well up to this point, but interpreting the K-band returns under pressure progressively led to a raging argument about which way we should turn the aircraft to avoid storm cells.

Sandy, the pretty one, and Penny, the interesting one, hunched over the scope on the navigators’ station behind the pilot. Their voices rose in volume and their tone turned argumentative and aggressive.

We pilots grew frustrated with the argument; we just needed someone to tell us which way to turn. We were flying blind as the argument behind us grew in intensity. Being of equal rank and crew qualification, neither seemed to be in charge. Finally, one of the women stalked to the back to check her forms to see who held the earliest date of rank between them. That finally settled who would call the shots. I can’t remember which one it was, but we finally got information in a timely manner. Not an auspicious introduction to women in the cockpit as a catfight erupts on my first mission with the fairer sex.

Another indicator that things had changed in the crew force happened as we checked into our rooms at the Rhein-Main hotel. Sandy and I shared the same bathroom that joined our two rooms, early shades of a unisex privy. True, each of us could lock the other’s entry door, but doing so, noisily, announced that any of the various performances were about to begin. After a long flight, one of those would probably be one neither would want to share with the other but would have to.

Unfortunately, while we were diligent in locking the door in such situations to avoid a potentially unfortunate face-to-face in the bathroom, were less diligent about unlocking the other’s door when we left. This could prove catastrophic in the middle of the night when you arose in dire need of relief only to find your bathroom door locked. You could pound on the door or get semi-dressed and go out into the hallway to the other’s room entry do and knock on that, dancing in the hallway trying to hold it (and don’t for your key!).

The true catastrophe arrived when the other person had locked your bathroom door and left their room. Now you were truly screwed and would have to use the public bathroom in the lobby or find a housekeeper to enter their room and unlock your door.

And then, lascivious possibilities would arise in the mind. Such as, instead of locking the bathroom door, one of us would open it and step through instead—a rare possibility, I admit, but who knows what fantasy might lurk in Sandy’s libido? Since she was married, that limited the possibility even further, and she did not. But I had a string of such “limited possibilities” that actually happened to me previously with Air Force wives, so who knows?

And, besides, Penny was the more interesting of the two, so if I got to choose, I’d have selected her. But as with 99% of such fantasies, none of these happened except in my mind. Just as well.

Photo by Senior Airman Zachary Cacicia and Brett Snow / U.S. Air Force