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An ex-SR-71 pilot describes how to use the toilet while piloting the Blackbird

by Till Daisd June 20, 2023

“How about solid waste? We just had to control any urges. There was occasional incidents; no names mentioned here!” Richard H. Graham, SR-71 pilot

In the following story, which appears in Col. Richard H. Graham’s book Flying the SR-71 Blackbird, Graham explains how you could have a bathroom break while flying the legendary Habu.

Bathroom Breaks

The most frequently asked question about the pressure suit (from guys mostly) was, “How did you guys go to the bathroom?” This was accomplished by a condom-like device called the urinary collection device (UCD). During training, the pilot and RSO were scheduled by PSD [physiological support division] to be fitted for their pressure suits and UCD. The last time I wore anything like a condom was back in high school, and now I had to be fitted with a similar device with the UCD size recorded; talk about embarrassing! We all claimed X-large!

Crews threw their pressure suit underwear into a bin after each flight, and PSD washed and put the crew members’ clothes back in their lockers thereafter. Each Habu was in charge of maintaining his own UCD. Two or three pairs of our cotton long-john tops, bottoms, underwear, socks, and UCD were kept in each locker. The lockers were never closed in between flights, since there was no issue with theft. There were times when an extra-large (or small) UCD would appear magically in your locker with a sweet message that read, “Hi there BIG boy!”

The exterior of the UCD was made of a thick, bulky rubber condom that was sufficiently hard to maintain its shape. It contained a huge outer condom that was shaped like an airport windsock, with a thin-sheathed rubber condom tapering down as it moved farther within. As God didn’t build us all equally in that department, the PSD specialists explained to us how to modify the UCD to fit our individual penises. After giving us the scissors, they left the room.

The secret was to trim the windsock-tapered condom to your penis’s proper diameter so that it fits comfortably but not too tightly. Your underwear’s Velcro was used to secure the Velcro on the hard outer rubber condom. An exit tube from the UCD’s far end was linked to the pressure suit tubing. Black electrical tape was applied on the snap-on connection to add an extra layer of safety against the UCD connection coming undone during the flight.

The pressure suit contained all of the UCD tubing and connections, which made them inaccessible during flight. The UCD escape tube ran down the left leg and linked to an open/closed valve after being attached to a little rubber hose inside the pressure suit. The only object reachable from the outside of the pressure suit was the open/closed valve, which was concealed in a zipper pocket close to the left knee. A second tube emerged from the valve and went to the lower zipper pocket on the left leg. A plastic container with a very absorbent sponge to collect and retain urine was located within the pocket.

As you can tell so far, there’s ample room for error! To use the UCD properly, you had to inflate the suit slightly. When you opened and locked the open/closed valve, a positive pressure flow was created from inside the suit to the outside. You had some confidence that the valve would function as instructed if you felt a chilled draft running across your penis while it was open. The draft informed you that everything was at least set up to go properly. This explains bladder function, but how about solid waste? We just had to control any urges. There were occasional incidents; no names were mentioned here!

In my 765 hours in the Blackbird, I never had to use the UCD and drank minimal water in flight. I think I ended up paying for that later in life by passing two kidney stones four years apart!

Join this SR-71 Blackbird driver for a top secret recoinnassance mission over North Korea

Photo by Micheal Haggerty / U.S. Air Force

June 20, 2023 0 comment

Cold War

When the IAF was embarrassed by a Syrian Air Force MiG-23 pilot’s defection to Israel

by Till Daisd June 18, 2023

written by Till Daisd

While the IAF was pleased to acquire the MiG-23, they were pretty embarrassed that an enemy aircraft had crossed the boundary and landed without being challenged

The Israel Air Force (IAF) finally had the opportunity to conduct another thorough engineering examination of a front-line Arab fighter after a 23-year gap. Like the MiG-21, this MiG-23 was a defection, although one that caught Israel off guard. Major Adel Bassciii (also known as Basaam) of the Syrian Air Force flew his MiG-23MLD “Flogger-G” to Israel on October 11, 1989, and asked for political asylum. A two-ship training trip was led by Bassem, who was traveling in aircraft 2786.

The Major abruptly broke away and accelerated toward Israel while flying parallel to the Golan border. Despite IAF air defense radars following the Syrian plane, Bassem lowered to a height of 90–150 feet (25–45 meters), when radar tracking of his fighter was lost. He sped through the border at 550 kph while using the afterburner. He swiftly landed after spotting Megiddo’s northern airfield, which was at the time a civilian airport.

It took just seven minutes for the incident. Dissatisfaction with his position in Syria served as the driving force for Bassem’s activities. The Israel Air Force (IAF) was pleased to acquire the MiG, but they were a little ashamed that an enemy fighter had crossed the border and landed without being challenged, according to Bill Norton in his book Air War On The Edge: A History of the Israel Air Force and its Aircraft from 1947. The prize of the IAF was transferred to Tel Nof’s safety.

With the exception of a full load of cannon shells, the MiG-23 came unarmed. At the base of the tail, it had Syrian flare dispenser units mounted. Major Bassem assisted the IAF in starting its inspection but, regrettably, he only brought his checklist. On January 29, 1990, the aircraft ascended to the skies once more as the technicians, engineers, and test pilots of the IAF Flight Test Center finally felt secure enough to carry out the first of numerous evaluation flights. All future flights were conducted by Lieutenant Colonel Ofer Safra, the Flight Test Center’s commander and chief pilot.

How the defection to Israel of a Syrian Air Force MiG-23-pilot embarrassed the IAF — The Syrian Air Force MiG-23 that landed at Megiddo

The effectiveness of the aircraft and its technologies, as well as its vulnerabilities, were exposed through a comprehensive testing program. Drills in air combat against IAF front-line fighters were part of the trials. The MiG-23’s excessive thrust and acceleration pleased the Israelis. The avionics and jet were both simple to operate. Landings were a reasonably regular occurrence. On the downside, the cockpit layout required a lot of tweaking, and there was a poor rearward view and exhaustingly high stick forces during air combat maneuvers. A more sophisticated radar system separated the MiG from the F-4 Phantom in terms of overall performance.

Up until the early half of 1993, the IAF kept the MiG and flew it 12–18 times. Very likely, the Americans also had an opportunity to evaluate the machine. After that, it was lent to Israel Aircraft Industries (IAI) for use in creating prospective system upgrades. The upgraded products would subsequently be sold to Eastern Europe’s developing market. The MiG was moved to the IAF Museum in Hatzerim in the mid-1990s after IAI concluded working on it.

Above the Syrian roundels on the nose but outside of the roundels on the wings, the Israelis added their national markings. The finish and other markings were left untouched, with the exception of a few spots where paint needed to be touched up. The MANAT [# 109] and Unit 22 [# 123], the IAF’s Central Maintenance Unit, and stencils noting the IAF’s flights were placed on the jet when it was added to the collection of the IAF Museum.

Photo by Israeli Air Force and Oren Rozen via Wikipedia

June 18, 2023 0 comment

Cold War

The EA-7L, the SLUF variant that served as the enemy aircraft

by Till Daisd June 17, 2023

written by Till Daisd

The EA-7L was employed to mimic Soviet aircraft and was frequently equipped with various jamming and ECM pods

The A-7 Corsair II, built by LTV Aerospace Corporation (the same company that made the renowned F-8 Crusader), took the role of the A-4 Skyhawk as the primary light attack aircraft for Naval Aviation. The A-7 made its first flight in September 1965 and had many characteristics with the F-8 Crusader, particularly the single jet intake gaping beneath the nose.

The Corsair II, on the other hand, had a short, stubby profile that exuded toughness and made it clear that it was built to carry bombs. The Short, Little, Ugly, Fucker, or SLUF, as her aircrews dubbed the A-7, developed into perhaps the most effective tactical jet bomber of the Vietnam War.

Remembering the EA-7L, the SLUF variant that played the role of adversary aircraft — A U.S. Navy Vought EA-7L Corsair II aircraft from VAQ-34 on the ramp during the U.S. 3rd Fleet North Pacific Exercise (NORPACEX) at Elmendorf Air Force Base, Alaska (USA) on Nov. 8, 1987

The EA-7L variant’s distinctive ability to act as an enemy aircraft was something the SLUF was not designed to perform.

A total of eight TA-7Cs were converted into EA-7Ls due to a lack of TA-4 Skyhawks. These planes, which frequently carried a variety of jamming and ECM pods, were deployed by the Tactical Electronic Warfare Squadron 34 (VAQ-34) “Electric Horsemen” of the Fleet Electronic Warfare Support Group (FEWSG) to mimic Soviet aircraft.

In 1984, the EA-7Ls received an A-7E standard upgrade while keeping their twin seats. In 1991, the plane was retired. There are currently very few images of this long-forgotten variation of the powerful SLUF.

Photo by PH2 Bruce Trombecky / U.S. Navy and Sgt. W. Thornton / U.S. Air Force

June 17, 2023 0 comment

History

The Sopwith fighter was a powerful weapon in the proper hands, but unforgiving with students

by Till Daisd June 16, 2023

written by Till Daisd

For the Sopwith Camel, training fatalities (380) were almost equal to combat fatalities (420)

On December 22, 1916, the Camel—the most famous of the Sopwith fighters—made its debut. It was renowned for its sharp right turn and two Vickers machine guns that fired quickly and simultaneously into the propeller. According to Mark C. Wilkins in his book, British Fighter Aircraft in World War I, grouping all the weight on the CofG up front (guns, pilot, fuel, engine) combined with the gyroscopic effect of the rotary, enabled the Camel to make a very hard and fast right turn—which could also result in a spin rather quickly if the pilot wasn’t paying attention (this could also be useful in combat by the experienced pilot).

The Camel’s nose climbed when you turned left and dove when you turned right, just like the French Nieuports. The following is what future RAF Marshal Arthur Harris had to say: “If you wanted to go into a left turn you put on the full right rudder, and if you let go of the stick it looped!”

The Camel was a powerful weapon in the proper hands, yet it was harsh to unskilled or uninitiated users. Combat deaths (420) and training deaths (380) were nearly equal, making it crucial to complete training as soon and effectively as possible. This led to the insight that these fatalities may be much decreased if trainees could possibly learn the Camel with an accomplished instructor on the same aircraft.

Lt. Col. L. A. Strange, a member of the Central Flying School, wrote in Recollections of an Airman: “In spite of the care we took, Camels continually spun down out of control when flown by pupils on their solos. At length, with the assistance of Lt. Morgan, who managed our workshops, I took the main tank out of several Camels and replaced [them] with a smaller one, which enabled us to fit in [a] dual control.”

The guns were taken out, the oil and fuel tanks were combined into one, made smaller, and moved to a new location directly behind the firewall to provide for the weight of a second person. Training flights often lasted less than 30 minutes, thus a greater capacity tank was not required.

A smooth transition from a rich mixture, required for takeoff, to a progressively leaner mixture with higher altitude was the fatal flaw with inexperienced Camel pilots. Too frequently, a new pilot would fail to lean out the mixture at the proper moment, causing the engine to stall at a low altitude, which generally led to a serious or deadly crash. All the major flight schools received The “Training Camel,” as it became known, and it dramatically reduced training accidents.

American fighter pilot Elliott White Springs, who flew Camels with the 148th Aero Squadron, said the following of them:

“A tricky little biplane … they would do about 90 mph level but you couldn’t fly level because they would shake your teeth out in forty seconds by the clock. You had to climb or glide. But they could fly upside down and turn inside a stairwell. They would stall at 15,000 feet and lose 1,000 feet in a turn. But they were deadly below 5,000 feet if you could suck the Fokkers down to that level.

“… We picked up the castoff rebuilt Camels from Aire. No new Camels had been built since January [1918] when they became obsolete and were replaced by SEs, Dolphins, Bentleys, and Snipes. But that summer they were still the workhorses below 15,000 feet. Camel … [was at a] disadvantage … where speed and height were paramount, but in a dogfight down low nothing could get away from it … a Camel could make a monkey out of an SE or a Fokker at treetop level but it couldn’t zoom and it couldn’t dive. The Dolphin was worthless because the motors were too unreliable and the Bentleys [engines] and Snipes didn’t get to the front until too late.”

British Fighter Aircraft in World War I is published by Casemate Publishing and is available to order here.

Camel pilots explain why the iconic Sopwith fighter was a formidable weapon in the right hands but unforgiving with students — Lt. Elliott W. Springs of Lancaster, SC 148th American Aero Squadron and his wrecked plane.

Photo by Airwolfhound from Hertfordshire, UK via Wikipedia and U.S. DoD

June 16, 2023 0 comment

History

The F4U Corsair’s arrival in the South Pacific and the story of Ken Walsh, the first “Corsair ace”

by Till Daisd June 15, 2023

written by Till Daisd

The US Navy created the F4U Corsair as a carrier-based fighter, but there was no immediate plan to give it to the Marines

Nothing more represented Marine fighter aviation during World War II than the Vought F4U-1 Corsair, which would eventually replace the F4F Wildcat as the preferred aircraft of Marine fighting squadrons.

According to Bill Yenne’s narrative in America’s Few, Marine Aces of the South Pacific, Corsair’s entry into the South Pacific Area (SOPAC) did not follow a meticulous plan but rather happened practically by accident. The Marines were not meant to be the first to engage in combat with the remarkable new Corsair, just as they were not meant to be the first line of air defense in the South Pacific in the first place.

The US Navy created the aircraft as a carrier-based fighter with no imminent plans to give it to the Marines.

On aircraft carriers, Corsair’s enlarged nose made takeoff and landing difficult because it reduced forward visibility. The Corsair’s plans drastically shifted at this point. The Corsair, which was the most promising aircraft in every other way, was given to the Marines after the US Navy made the decision late in 1942 to limit the aircraft to land-based operations while techniques for carrier operations were developed.

The later F4U-1A and F4U-1D Corsair versions, which replaced the original F4U-1’s faceted “birdcage” canopy with a one-piece “blown Plexiglas” bubble canopy that had significantly improved view, eventually addressed the previous Corsairs’ poor visibility.

The Bent-Wing Bird proved to be the appropriate aircraft at the appropriate time when serving with the Marines in the Solomons. It was fast; the second American fighter (after the USAAF’s P-38 Lightning) to be capable of traveling at speeds higher than 400 mph, it was about 100 mph faster than the Wildcat and about twice as fast as a Zero.

Moreover, it possessed a range that was twice as big as the Wildcat, considerably increasing the operational range of Marine aviators in the Solomons. The Corsair, in contrast to the Wildcat, had the range to conduct combat missions all the way to Bougainville to engage the Zeros there at the top of the Slot.

Major William Gise commanded the VMF-124, the first active Corsair squadron. On February 12, 1943, they arrived at Kukum Field (“Fighter 2”) inside the Henderson Field complex, and the same day, they flew their first mission, escorting a search and rescue PBY. The Corsairs and VMF-124 faced their baptism of fire over the course of the following two days, but things did not go as planned. They were involved in the “St. Valentine’s Day Massacre,” which became famous in the records of SOPAC air operations.

The “accidental” arrival of the legendary F4U Corsair in the South Pacific and the story of Ken Walsh, the first man to become a “Corsair ace” — The first U.S. Marine Corps Vought F4U-1 Corsair of Marine Fighting Squadron VMF-124 Whistling Death on Guadalcanal, Feb. 13, 1943. It had arrived on Guadalcanal on the morning of Feb. 12 led by their commanding officer, Major William Gise. VMF-124 flew its first mission before lunch that day, with twelve F4Us escorting a PBY Catalina on a 350 km mission to pick up two downed pilots at Sandfly Bay, Vella Lavella.

Japanese losses were minimal, maybe as low as two, compared to American losses of 15 aircraft, including two Corsairs, during the sorties of February 13 and 14. Although the enemy may have left Guadalcanal, they were still a formidable force in the Solomons. VMF-124 gradually assessed how to take advantage of Corsair’s advantages in combat with the Zeros.

The Marine aviators on Guadalcanal had frustratingly little contact with the enemy up until April 1st. Air-to-air combat possibilities were less frequent during operations from the spring of 1943 compared to the almost daily contacts that occurred in the fall of 1942.

The first “Corsair ace,” Kenneth Ambrose Walsh of VMF-124, achieved his first aerial victories on April 1. The Imperial Japanese Navy Air Force (IJNAF) returned to the offensive in a major way on this day. The operation known as I-Go Sakusen, a two-week air onslaught against Allied positions from New Guinea to Guadalcanal, was started by Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, commander of the IJN Combined Fleet and the man responsible for the attack on Pearl Harbor.

On April 1st, Ken Walsh was in the air commanding a VMF-124 flight on a combat air patrol mission over the Russell Islands, prepared to halt an approaching IJNAF strike force.

Zeros attacked a flight of USAAF P-38s because they were blind to the VMF-124 Corsairs flying over them. Walsh directed his flight in a diving attack that brought down two adversary fighters. On May 13, he added three more in a subsequent round of battle, making the one-time “flying private” the first Corsair ace. These were only the first chapters of amazing tales for both Walsh and the Corsair.

America’s Few, Marine Aces of the South Pacific is published by Osprey Publishing and is available to order here.

Photo by U.S. Navy and U.S. Marine Corps

June 15, 2023 0 comment

Cold War

When traveling at Mach 1.5, an SR-71 Blackbird lost its drag chute

by Till Daisd June 14, 2023

written by Till Daisd

“With no drag chute doors, the drag chute had departed the aircraft and was lost at sea. We were grateful to the Lockheed engineers for designing the drag chute to lock to the aircraft only when the drag chute handle was pulled. One can only imagine the effect of the chute deploying in-flight at Mach 1.5!” Former SR-71 RSO Lt. Col. Curt Osterheld

The SR-71’s drag chute system was employed to assist the plane in stopping while it was rolling out for landing. The drag chute compartment was between the two rudders, on the top of the rear fuselage. The drag chute compartment doors opened and several chutes started to deploy when the pilot pulled on the drag chute T-handle on the instrument panel.

The “pilot chute” was the first chute to eject (forty-two-inch diameter). Its task was to draw out the “extraction chute,” which had a ten-foot diameter and produced aerodynamic lift when it touched the air stream. These two chutes both descended to the runway.

When the extraction chute hit the air stream, it pulled the safety pin holding the main chute in place. As the safety pin was taken out, the main chute, which had a forty-foot diameter and was attached to the aircraft, could now open and slow the sixty-thousand-pound (plus fuel) SR-71. The landing rollout caused the chute to be launched into the runway at a speed of 55 knots.

RSO Lt. Col. Curt Osterheld (Ret) explains that the drag chute doors occasionally opened accidentally at high Mach, causing issues, in Col. Richard H. Graham’s book The Complete Book of the SR-71 Blackbird:

“In January 1984, Joe [Pilot Lt. Col. Joe Matthews] and I were on our first operational tour at Det 1, Kadena AB, Okinawa, Japan. The mission profile took us west on an ELINT collection over the South China Sea and then east across the DMZ in Korea. We were in acceleration after our initial refueling. At about Mach 1.5, we felt a sharp jolt that shook the aircraft violently. We both passed it off as clear air turbulence and pressed on. After a while, Joe remarked that the trim didn’t look right so I calculated a manual CG (Center of Gravity) and confirmed that for our fuel indications, it was correct, although the CG seemed to be moving all over the place.

By now we noticed we were about three thousand pounds low on the fuel curve and rapidly getting farther behind. The autopilot kept kicking off. The aircraft would not stay trimmed. At last, we were so far down the fuel curve that there was no alternative but to abort back to Kadena. The descent gave us plenty of unstarts as I broadcast the appropriate HF message, admitting our failure to the whole world. The new guy’s paranoia crept in as we wondered what we had screwed up. The approach to runway 05R was uneventful, and Joe made a perfect landing. Then, as we both spouted expletives, we realized there was no reassuring tug from the drag chute — it had failed, or so we thought. Some judicious braking and rapid-fire discussion over the radio about arming/disarming the barrier, and the SR was brought to a safe stop. As we taxied into the hangar, a lot of ashen-faced maintenance folks were pointing at our jet.

Read the story of the SR-71 crew that landed their Blackbird in zero visibility

The jolt we had felt earlier on the acceleration was caused by the right drag chute door popping up into the slipstream and ripping loose from the aircraft. As the drag chute door departed, it acted like a can opener on fuel tank 6 and cut a ten-inch gash that allowed fuel to siphon out. The fuel leak caused our trim and CG transients that even the autopilot couldn’t keep up with. With no drag chute doors, the drag chute had departed the aircraft and was lost at sea. We were grateful to the Lockheed engineers for designing the drag chute to lock to the aircraft only when the drag chute handle was pulled. One can only imagine the effect of the chute deploying in-flight at Mach 1.5!”

Photo by Lockheed Martin and U.S. Air Force

June 14, 2023 0 comment

Cold War

The SR-71 Blackbird’s mission, which lasted 7 hours flying from Kadena to the Persian Gulf and back

by Till Daisd June 13, 2023

written by Till Daisd

“Like every other crew, we wanted this mission. It was special, it was a first, it would cover territory that the jet had never been in, and it would provide the test of skill and “stuff” that every aviator/adventurer requires from time to time,” former SR-71 pilot Lt. Col. Mike Smith

In the following post, which appears in Col. Richard H. Graham’s book The Complete Book of the SR-71 Blackbird, former SR-71 pilot Lt. Col. Mike Smith (Ret) tells the story of a very special Blackbird mission.

A Very Tiring Mission

Major Doug Soifer and I were still pretty new at the game when the first oil tanker convoys were to be escorted into the Persian Gulf past the Iranian threats of a blockade. We were at Kadena as a younger senior crew when tasking came down for an SR-71 mission into the Persian Gulf to locate “Silkworm” anti-ship missiles.

In higher headquarters, there had been a lot of debate over which Det should fly the mission. Plans were made and remade, maps drawn and redrawn, problems studied and restudied until the powers that be finally decided that an SR-71 would fly from Kadena to the Persian Gulf and back, one of the longest missions ever flown in the SR-71. It would be a real test for both individuals and technology. We desired this mission, just like every other team. It was unique, it was a first, it would travel over unknown terrain for this jet, and it would offer the occasional test of ability and “stuff” that every aviator and adventurer needs.

Det 1 was led by Colonel Tom Alison, who spent what felt like weeks planning, thinking about, and studying the mission. There were occasions when it appeared that the slow-moving convoys might enter the gulf before the SR-71 due to minor changes in targets or routing. Of course, the 975 was the best jet and should be used as the primary jet, with the 967 (our preference) serving as the airborne spare. Tankers and aircrews were completely overrun in Kadena.

The intended mission required a flight period of more than eleven hours, five refuelings, thousands of miles between viable emergency runways, and a target area so narrow that we would need to reduce our speed just to maintain course due to the SR-71’s huge turn radius at high speeds. The staff was well prepared. On the morning of our mission, on July 22, 1987, a beautiful day on a tropical island, twenty-seven tankers would depart in order to transport our lone black jet to the Persian Gulf and back.

We began the routine: normal crew brief, suit-up, and then [we] got the word of a slight delay. The ANS wasn’t quite right. We elected to go out to the jet and wait for the fix, and in a few minutes, we were told that they were finishing up. No sooner had we stood up than Colonel Alison rushed up to tell us that maintenance had dropped apart under the ejection seat and we would be taking the spare-967, our jet.

Takeoff was a heavyweight [sixty-five thousand pounds of fuel] right to supersonic cruise—we were exhilarated. Our only shortage was our oxygen—which we used at a very high rate for the first hour—but after tightening up our helmet face seals a little, our oxygen use slowed to normal. We would laugh later that it had been our heavy breathing that was using up the oxygen. After the first refueling, the jet settled into its rhythm and flew perfectly for the entire flight. The crew in the airborne spare was right behind us, ready to take over if we developed problems.

We flew over places that were new to us. I saw inlet temperatures climb seventy degrees in less than a minute in level flight above seventy thousand feet and clouds so high and so white they seemed to glow over the Indian Ocean. Finally, we arrived in the target area and flew through the Strait of Hormuz, right over the convoys. We had to slow to about Mach 2.5 to make the turn inside the Gulf and were listening to the E-3 airborne warning and control system make threat calls in addition to watching our own equipment. Fortunately, we were busy and finished so quickly that the threats didn’t have time to become dangerous.

The incredible story of the SR-71 Blackbird that flew an eleven-hour-long mission from Kadena to the Persian Gulf and back

We had both been confident that we would get to the target. Now came the tough part. We had to get home. Unfortunately, the weather moved into our last refueling area. When we finally found the tankers, one had a bad refueling boom and the other had no director lights. The refueling was OK. After one last supersonic leg, 11.2 hours after we left Kadena, we landed in the dark with no liquid nitrogen remaining. The maintenance and operations support guys were ecstatic; 967 had run flawlessly—no writeups for the entire mission. It was the greatest feeling of my life!

Photo by NASA and U.S. Air Force

June 13, 2023 0 comment

History

The Ki-43 Hayabusa pilot who claimed the downing of four USAAF P-38 Lightning in a fight never happened

by Till Daisd June 12, 2023

written by Till Daisd

In Japan, Warrant Officer Shiromoto Nauharu Hayabusa’s alleged exploits as a pilot over the Solomon Islands on January 31, 1943, have become legendary.

The Japanese started constructing an airfield at Munda, nearly midway between Guadalcanal and Rabaul, in late 1942, nearing the end of the Guadalcanal campaign. On Kolombangara Island, which is only fifteen miles from Munda and is immediately recognizable by its unusual 5,000-foot conical volcanic mountain, a smaller emergency strip at Vila was built. About 10,000 Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) and Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) personnel would eventually occupy these two locations, which they were told to defend to the death, as detailed by Michael John Claringbould in his book Pacific Adversaries Volume One.

On January 31, 1943, a coordinated fighter sweep over the region was started from Guadalcanal at midday by the US Army Air Forces (USAAF), US Navy (USN), and US Marine Corps (USMC). Such coordinated efforts were not uncommon, and on this particular day, they included eight 67th FS P-39s, four 44th FS Warhawks, two 339th FS P-38 Lightnings, and Grumman F4F Wildcats from VMF-112 and VMO-251 in addition to these other aircraft: a truly unusual combination of airpower even for this theater!

At a height of around 20,000 feet and with excellent sight, the American formation descended toward the conspicuous Kolombangara feature. Their objective was to shoot down any hostile aircraft they came across near Munda or Vila. The fighters flew over Vila and were met by AAA, but there was no aerial opposition. They moved toward Munda since the small grassy airfield appeared to be deserted.

A lone “Nagoya-type Zero” was spotted at 13,000 feet approximately east of Munda at 14:15 hours. On this lone foe, a pair of Airacobras made an overhead pass before it banked and hid between cumulus clouds to avoid battle. It turned out to be a 1st Sentai Mark I Hayabusa (Nakajima Ki-43, Allied reporting name: Oscar), piloted by Warrant Officer Shiromoto Nauharu, assigned to Captain Kanaya Yoshihiro’s No. 3 chutai, which had just recently moved into a temporary residence at Munda from its new base at Ballale Island.

A whole chutai of Hayabusas led by Captain Fujita Juro, chutaicho of the No. 3 chutai of the 11th Sentai, had joined Kanaya’s fliers on January 29, 1943. To familiarize the unit’s less experienced pilots with the Solomons area, Fujita had brought a dispersed group of eleven Buka Hayabusa. Also, they would relieve Kanaya’s chutai, who would soon return to Ballale.

The runway at the Munda airfield was rather short and had little room for dispersal. The two Hayabusa units and a dozen Ki-48 Sokei light bombers of the 45th Sentai were housed in the same little area. The Ki-48s hurried to evacuate Munda after alerting them to the approaching Americans. Only one Hayabusa was able to take off in the chaos on the little, dusty runway: Shiromoto.

Shiromoto was one of the youngest pilots to take part in the Nomonhan Incident against the Soviets in 1939 at the age of 25. Together with the remainder of the 1st Sentai, he had also battled for Malaya and Singapore before arriving in Rabaul on January 9, 1943. Shiromoto subsequently reported that he pursued a large enemy formation of twenty aircraft, attacked it, shot down two Lightings, and brought to the collision of another pair.

Only two Lightnings, though, flew over Munda that day, and neither of them even saw a Japanese fighter, much less engaged one. Shiromoto’s distant aerial behavior briefly diverted other US pilots before they passed overhead of Munda. Unfortunately, a low cloud blocked their view, making it impossible for them to see the about twenty Hayabusa scattered throughout the airfield. The Americans left for Guadalcanal in order to avoid being subjected to AAA fire from an ostensibly empty field and the lack of any aviation threats.

Once the Americans had departed, a gloating Shiromoto returned to Munda and wowed his friends with how his aerial prowess had thwarted a significant American fighter assault. Even today, Japanese tradition honors Shiromoto for his alleged bravery and inventiveness despite the absence of any Japanese witnesses.

In the meantime, the retreating Sokei bombers left Munda and arrived at Kahili airfield on the southern edge of Bougainville. They arrived back in Munda a little while later, and Australian Coastwatcher John Keenan witnessed them travel across the Vella Gulf around 1730 hours with binoculars. The twin-engine bombers were described by him as “transport planes bound for Vila.” In one respect, Keenan was right; the Sokei had made use of their time in Kahili to collect supplies.

Shiromoto finished a tough war in New Guinea with the 11th Sentai after his imagined exploits on January 31, 1943, and he arrived back in Japan in September of that same year. He was arrested by Russians in Korea in 1945, and they punished him for his involvement in Nomonhan by imprisoning him in Siberia until 1947.

Pacific Adversaries Volume One is published by Casemate Publishing and is available to order here.

Photo by Jack Fellows via Warfare History Network and Stumanusa own work via Wikipedia

The Story of the Ki-43 Hayabusa pilot that claimed the shooting down of four USAAF P-38 Lightnings in an air battle that never was

June 12, 2023 0 comment

Cold War

Stricken F-4D returned to base safely without his backseater

by Till Daisd June 11, 2023

written by Till Daisd

“My sensation was that the aircraft as out of control and I ordered Kenny to eject which he did. Instinctively, I took the stick and throttles in hand, and to my amazement, the aircraft was flyable,” Ray Battle, F-4D pilot

An F-4D #66-0249 belonging to the 433rd TFS, Ubon RTAB, Thailand, was hit by a 37mm anti-aircraft fire on November 18, 1968, rendering the Phantom uncontrollable. Pilot Major Ben “Ray” Battle ordered 1Lt. Robert “Kenny” Boone, the WSO, to eject from the aircraft. The plane was able to be controlled after the ejection, and Major Boone performed a gear-up landing at Ubon. Battle survived the landing and Boone was rescued unhurt from the Laotian jungle. Ray Battle recalls.

“Kenny Boone and I were flying a fast-mover FAC mission along the Ho Chi Min trail in Laos. It was an orientation ride for Kenny as he was newly assigned to my unit. We were at 4000 feet and Kenny was flying the airplane when I heard an explosion, the aircraft shuddered and the front windscreen was covered in what turned out to be hydraulic fluid. My sensation was that the aircraft was out of control and I ordered Kenny to eject which he did. Instinctively, I took the stick and throttles in hand, and to my amazement, the aircraft was flyable. I called for help for Kenny and headed back to Thailand where we were stationed. I was given the option of ejecting or landing gear up as the landing gear would not come down. I elected to land gear up and catch the runway wire with my tailhook. I have 150 aircraft carrier landings and thought I could easily make an arrested landing on the runway. I pulled the power off just as I touched down and the aircraft settled onto the wire cutting it. The aircraft slid down the runway and veered off to the right before fish-hooking to the right and stop. It caught on fire and I jumped out safely. As you know Kenny was recovered after spending a nervous night hanging in a tree in Laos. In retrospect, my ordering Kenny to eject was a mistake that I have always regretted. I felt at the time I was saving his life and I intended to eject him after he did. We both survived the incident for which I am grateful.”

Here's why the pilot of this stricken F-4D returned to base safely without his backseater

As reported by Sierra Hotel Aeronautics, F-4D #66-0249 was eventually repaired, needing a new nose cone, some paint, and a new seat for the guy in the back. She returned to service two years later in February of 1970 and went on to enjoy a long career. Sadly Ol’ #249 saw her end with a plunge in the Florida Gulf, flying out of Tyndall AFB in 1985.

The F-4D #66-0249 was finally fixed, according to Sierra Hotel Aeronautics; it required a new nose cone, some paint, and a new seat for the passenger in the back. She went back to work in February 1970, two years later, and continued to have a successful career. Tragically, Ol’ #249 met her demise in 1985 after taking off from Tyndall AFB and plunging into the Florida Gulf.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

June 11, 2023 0 comment

History

The Air Warrior Combat Memorial, honoring ace pilot Robin Olds and air power, unveiled by the USAF Academy.

by Till Daisd June 10, 2023

written by Till Daisd

As commander of cadets from 1967 to 1970, Robin Olds was a “triple ace” with 17 victories in both World War II and the Vietnam War. He served in the military for 30 years before retiring from the Air Force in 1973.

At the US Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado, a $1.4 million memorial commemorating the first 100 years of aerial combat was inaugurated on October 1, 2021.

According to Ray Bowden, U.S. Air Force Academy Public Affairs, in the article “Academy honors air power, ace pilot Robin Olds with the memorial,” the Air Warrior Combat Memorial, which is located close to North Gate and Stadium Boulevards, includes a bronze statue of Brig. Gen. Robin Olds, a former commandant of cadets and pilot, as well as a model of an F-4 Phantom aircraft and displays highlighting the development of air power since World War I.

According to Greg Knedler, vice president of the class and constituent development for the school’s fundraising arm, the Academy Foundation, 368 donors together covered the full cost of the memorial, with the class of ’71 contributing 90% of it.

USAF Academy unveils Air Warrior Combat Memorial honoring ace pilot Robin Olds and air power — Above: The $1.4 million Air Warrior Combat Memorial was unveiled with a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the U.S. Air Force Academy, on Oct. 1, 2021. The memorial, near North Gate and Stadium boulevards at the base, features a statue of the former commandant of cadets and ace pilot, Brig. Gen. Robin Olds, an F4 Phanton aircraft model and displays highlighting the advances of air power since World War I. Top image: United States Air Force Academy graduates, family members, and staff tour the just-unveiled Air Warrior Combat memorial at the Academy, Oct. 1, 2021. The $1.4 million memorial features a model of the F4 Phantom aircraft and a statue of ace pilot and former Academy commandant of cadets, Brig. Gen. Robin Olds.

The memorial is the culmination of an 11-year fundraising and design effort organized by the Class of ’71, according to retired Col. Frank Morgan, a 1971 Academy graduate and project chair.

After the class’s 40th reunion in 2011, “We were eating pizza and having a beer,” he said. “That’s how this started. We all knew we needed to do something.”

Morgan claimed that graduates from the Academy’s classes of ’63 and ’69 as well as private contributors all helped to the fundraising campaign. The Academy’s commandant of cadets and fighter pilot, Brigadier General Paul Moga, graduated from the institution in 1995. He claimed that Olds is the prototype for air power. Beside his office are pictures of each Academy commandant, but Olds’ picture is the one the commandant focuses on the most.

He chuckled, “I feel his eyes tracking me. According to Moga, Olds set a positive example for all Airmen and cadets with his “deep commitment to the Air Force, air power, and Airmen.” He claimed that the memorial serves as an illustration of the “grit, discipline, innovation, and courage” cadets must possess in order to succeed as warfighters.

Olds served as the commander of cadets from 1967 to 1970 and was a “triple ace” with 17 victories in World War II and the Vietnam War. He served in the military for 30 years before retiring from the Air Force in 1973.

Because his father served as a World War I pursuit pilot, a personal assistant to Brig. Gen. Billy Mitchell, and the commander of the first B-17 squadron, Robin Olds grew up surrounded by military aviators and airplanes. At West Point, where he studied, Robin Olds’ innate fearlessness helped him succeed on the football field; in 1942, he was chosen as an All-American tackle. Olds completed his studies in 1943, then he attended aviation training before flying the P-38 in Europe.

As a risk-taking pilot and natural leader, Olds distinguished out. He became the 479th Fighter Group’s first ace within a few months after downing five hostile aircraft. He received a major promotion and 434th Fighter Squadron command while he was just 22 years old. As the unit switched to P-51s, Olds continued his success, and he concluded the war with 12 victories.

Olds assumed control of the 8th TFW at Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base in the fall of 1966. Because of Olds’ charisma and bravery, his people admired him, and the “Wolfpack” became the USAF’s most effective MiG-killing wing in Southeast Asia under his command. The Red River Valley Fighter Pilots Association, which facilitated communication between USAF wings in Southeast Asia and developed into an enduring fraternal group, was also founded in large part thanks to Olds.

Robin Olds MiG Kill — Col. Robin Olds painting a victory star on the F-4 he was flying on May 4, 1967, when he shot down a MiG-21.

Olds took the initiative and flew on the most dangerous missions, sharing the risks with his aircrews. He was the first USAF pilot to use F-4s in Southeast Asia and achieve four combat wins. For his bravery in battle, he received numerous awards, including the Air Force Cross for a mission in August 1967 during which he led a strike force against North Vietnam’s fiercely guarded Paul Doumer Bridge.

Olds’ greatest accomplishment was organizing and directing Operation Bolo, which forced North Vietnamese MiG-21 pilots into an unfavorable air battle. Public access to the Air Warrior Battle Memorial is available during base visiting hours.

Photo by Trevor Cokley / U.S. Air Force

June 10, 2023 0 comment

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