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planes

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

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

Capt. Folmar remembered the sequence of events:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

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

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

written by Till Daisd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

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

by Till Daisd September 30, 2021

written by Till Daisd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 30, 2021 0 comment

History

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

by Till Daisd September 29, 2021

written by Till Daisd

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

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

The Wolf Pack hero shares these verbal images:

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

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

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

Far from it.

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

They nestle under her belly and cling to her wings.

She is ready to go.

But so am I.

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

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

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

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

And we are ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 29, 2021 0 comment

History

“The Bastard,” the only SR-71C ever built

by Till Daisd September 23, 2021

written by Till Daisd

Because it was a hybrid made of the first YF-12A’s rear fuselage and a functional engineering mockup of an SR-71A forward fuselage created for static testing, SR-71C S/N 61-7981 was known as “The Bastard.”

The intriguing video in this post was recorded at Hill Air Force Base (AFB) in June 2016, and it features SR-71C, “The Bastard,” S/N 61-7981, the final SR-71 to be produced and the only C model Blackbird ever made. Its hybrid construction, which combined the rear fuselage of the first YF-12A (S/N 60-6934) with a functioning engineering model of an SR-71A forward fuselage made for static testing, earned it the moniker “The Bastard”.

After the second of the two B-model trainers crashed on January 11, 1968, a new plane was constructed to take its place. On March 14, 1969, the C model took off for the first time from the Lockheed facility in Palmdale, California, with Lockheed test pilot Steve Belgeau serving as the reconnaissance systems officer and Blackbird Chief Project Pilot Robert J. Gilliland at the controls. On September 3, 1970, it was handed over to the 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale AFB, California, following flight testing.

The aircraft only had 556.4 flight hours, not counting the 180.9 hours accumulated when it was still registered as YF-12A S/N 60-6934, when it made its final flight on April 11, 1976, and was taken out of service on June 24, 1976. At the Lockheed facility in Palmdale, California, it was subsequently processed for long-term storage.

The aircraft was given to the Hill Aerospace Museum by the Air Force in April 1990 after Utah Senator Orrin G. Hatch’s intervention, and the museum immediately started organizing its transfer from Beale AFB to Hill AFB.

In order to establish the best approach to disassembling, packaging, and transporting the aircraft, representatives from the museum, the Air Force Heritage Foundation of Utah, the 67th Aerial Port Squadron, and the 405th Combat Logistics Support Squadron (CLSS) flew to California in July 1990.

Then, in August 1990, a sixteen-person crew from the 405th CLSS traveled to California and disassembled the plane into three main parts and other minor parts, including a J58 engine and start cart, palletizing them all for transportation on a C-5 Galaxy cargo plane. However, no cargo aircraft was immediately available to bring the disassembled parts back to the base after the operation was over. All activities would have to wait.

The majority of the palletized components were retrieved from Beale AFB by officials from the 67th Aerial Port Squadron and the 405th CLSS in the spring of 1991, leaving only the larger portions that needed to be transported by cargo aircraft. One year after the dismantling process started, in August 1991, air transport was ultimately organized using a C-5 from Travis AFB.

The airplane parts were assembled in a sizable hangar owned by the 405th CLSS for reassembly and restoration once all the pieces had finally arrived on base. The challenging two-month process of putting the aircraft back together involves volunteers, Air Force Reservists, and numerous active-duty personnel. The finished airplane was transported to the museum and shown there on October 16, 1991.

Source: U.S. Air Force

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 23, 2021 0 comment

History

When North Korea attacked an SR-71 Blackbird with SA-2 SAMs.

by Till Daisd September 23, 2021

written by Till Daisd

Maj. Maury Rosenberg, the SR-71 pilot, and Maj. E. D. McKim, the RSO, were heading southwest on their final pass over the DMZ when North Korea launched two Soviet SA-2 SAMs at their aircraft

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

It streaked across hostile skies, gathering intelligence in a couple of seconds because of its extraordinary speed. It could survey 100,000 square miles of the Earth’s surface per hour from an altitude of 80,000 feet.

A hostile action has never resulted in the loss or damage of an SR-71. It was quite challenging for enemy radars to locate the aircraft. The leading edges and vertical rudders of the SR-71 were made of composite material and used the original stealth technology. Asbestos and epoxy were used to give high-temperature resistance and radar-absorbent properties that decreased the radar cross-section (RCS).

The RCS was further decreased by the use of an antiradar coating made of iron ferrites on the leading edges, as explained by former Blackbird pilot Col. Richard H. Graham, USAF (Ret.), in his book The Complete Book of the SR-71 Blackbird: The Illustrated Profile of Every Aircraft, Crew, and Breakthrough of the World’s Fastest Stealth Jet.

The SR-71 effectively became the first stealth aircraft. According to Ben Rich, who led Lockheed Skunk Works from 1975 to 1991, the SR-71’s design reduces the RCS by 65%, and the iron ferrite radar-absorbing coating reduces it by an additional 35%. The RCS of the SR-71 depicted a target that was less than 10 square meters in size at cruising speed and altitude. For purposes of reference, the RCS of an F-15 fighter is around 100 square meters. Even if the SR-71 could be located on radar, the time it took for a missile to lock onto it and make a successful kill wasn’t simply enough.

That time an RA-5C Vigilante took a picture of a SA-2 surface to air missile passing just 104 feet from its belly — SA-2 Surface-to-Air Missile on display in the Southeast Asia War Gallery at the National Museum of the United States Air Force.

On Wednesday, August 26, 1981, a single missile shot at an SR-71 was publicly acknowledged by the US government. Maj. Maury Rosenberg, the pilot of the SR-71, and Maj. E. D. McKim, the RSO, were heading southwest on their final pass over the DMZ when North Korea launched two Soviet SA-2 surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) at their aircraft.

Major McKim was the first to detect something unusual thanks to his DEF system, which immediately jammed the missile’s guidance system and lit up his cockpit displays. DEF devices were carried in SR-71’s chine bays and were designed to jam or spoof any radar or SAM system as appropriate. After informing Major Rosenberg of his DEF indicators, he quickly glanced to the right to catch a glimpse of the approaching missiles. As a result of the incident, crews are much more cautious when crossing the Korean DMZ in the future.

North Korea, at that time, denied American accusations that its military had fired SAMs at the SR-71.

On August 29, 1981, Henry Scott Stokes reported for the New York Times, “North Korea said nothing about whether such an attack had been made in what it defines as its own airspace. Issuing its first direct statement on the incident, the official North Korean press agency charged that the SR-71 had violated ‘the territorial air of the northern half of our republic,’ meaning North Korea […].

“Since 1977, however, North Korea has maintained that its military borders extend 50 miles to sea from its eastern and western coasts. It describes its territorial limit as 12 miles from shore. The United States officially recognizes a limit of only 3 miles.

“The North Korean statement charged that the SR-71 mission was part of ‘maneuvers to aggravate tension and start a new war in Korea.’ It accused the United States of fabricating a story about a missile attack and of ‘groundlessly slandering’ North Korea.

Stokes continues: “North Korea’s denial came in a sentence in which the Pentagon’s term ‘international airspace’ was rendered as ‘above high seas.’ ‘According to foreign reports,’ the statement said, ‘the U.S. Defense Department announced on Aug. 26 that the high-altitude reconnaissance plane of the U.S. Air Force, SR-71, seemed to be attacked by a North Korean missile above high seas, groundlessly slandering us.’ “

“The Pentagon announcement on Wednesday did not directly accuse the North Koreans of shooting at the plane as it flew in ‘South Korean and international airspace.’ It said, ‘If a missile was launched, it could have originated from any one of a number of missile sites in North Korea.’

“But Dean Fischer, the State Department spokesman, said yesterday that the United States had been able to confirm that North Korean forces ‘fired a missile at a U.S. Air Force plane flying in South Korean and international airspace’ in a routine mission similar to those conducted in the region for years.

“On Aug. 14, North Korea complained that SR-71s had intruded into North Korean airspace eight times this month. ‘The flight patterns are only over South Korea and international airspace,’ an American military official said at the time. ‘They don’t go over North Korea.’

“A United States military spokesman said in Seoul today that North Korea had objected to an American proposal for a special meeting of the Korean Military Armistice Commission at Panmunjom tomorrow to discuss the plane incident. He said North Korea had proposed that it be held Sept. 5.”

Stokes concludes: “The incident came a week after two American F-14’s shot down two Soviet-built Libyan Su-22s during maneuvers in the Gulf of Sidra off Libya. That case also involved disputed territorial limits.”

That time North Korea fired SA-2 SAMs at SR-71 Blackbird

Remarkably, although there have been stories of over a thousand SAMs being fired at the SR-71, Rich claims that the actual number is closer to one hundred in his book. Graham claims that this number is more accurate.

Photo by U.S. Air Force

September 23, 2021 0 comment

History

Remembering the retirement of the F-117 Nighthawk with Martians, Bandits, and UFOs

by Till Daisd September 22, 2021

written by Till Daisd

The F-117 Nighthawk was so covert that it was referred to it as a UFO in Nevada legend

The F-117 Nighthawk, a highly classified aircraft that Nevadan folklore referred to be a UFO, has been retired for ten years.

The Nighthawk pilots were referred to by the call sign “Bandit,” and each pilot earned their number after their first solo flight, according to Tech. Sgt. Robert Barnett, Secretary of the Air Force Public Affairs, in the article Remembering the F-117 Nighthawk. According to Wayne Paddock, a former F-117 maintainer currently based at Holloman Air Force Base in New Mexico, some of the maintainers were also given a call sign.

“The people who maintained the coatings on the aircraft, radar absorbent material were classified as material application and repair specialists (MARS). MARS morphed into Martians,” Paddock said, “MARS was a shred out from the structural repair/corrosion control career field.”

UFOs, Bandits and Martians: remembering the F-117 Nighthawk retirement — Retired Air Force Col. Jack Forsythe in front of the flag F-117 at Tonopah Air Force Base, Nev., after the last mission on Apr. 22, 2008. Forsythe led the four-ship formation that flew the Nighthawk to its resting place.

The F-117’s technology was created in the 1970s to allow for the attack of valuable targets while avoiding adversary radar detection. It could reach a top speed of 684 mph and had two engines and up to 5,000 pounds of various internal storage.

According to Yancy Mailes, director of the history and museums program for Air Force Materiel Command at Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio, and a former F-117 maintainer, it was the first aircraft created as a low-observable, steady, and hence precise platform.

“It was the marriage of the GBU-27 to the F-117 that had a laser designator in its nose that made it such a precise, deadly platform,” Mailes said. “It was best demonstrated during Operation Desert Storm when pilots snuck into Iraq and dropped weapons down the elevator shaft of a central communications building in Iraq.”

On June 18, 1981, the first Nighthawk took to the skies, and the 4450th Tactical Group, the first F-117A unit (later renamed the 37th Tactical Fighter Wing in October 1989), reached initial operating capability in October 1983.

When two F-117s from the 37th TFW targeted military targets in Panama during Operation Just Cause in 1989, the Nighthawk was first used in combat. The aircraft was used in Operation Desert Shield as well.

Retired Col. Jack Forsythe recalls being thrilled to fly a Nighthawk for the first time when stationed at Holloman AFB in 1995.

“It was a unique experience,” he said. “It’s probably the same feeling that a lot of our (single seat) F-22 (Raptor) and F-35 (Lightning II) pilots feel today.”

On April 22, 2008, the Nighthawk entered retirement after 25 years of service. The four-ship formation was led by Forsythe to Palmdale, California, where Lockheed Martin employees bid their goodbyes.

“We lowered the bomb doors of each aircraft and people signed their names to the doors,” Forsythe said. “It was really just kind of neat; they had designed it, built it, and maintained it for these 25 years, so it really hit home – the industry and Air Force partnership that made the Nighthawk great. I think the four of us were just really struck by that and have some really great memories of that flight.”

To honor American airpower, the maintainers painted the American flag across the whole underside of his F-117.

“I think we all recognized that this was something historic,” he said. “We retired an airplane that people still reference today. We really understood that so it was a sentimental flight, to say the least. It was a great weapon system, very stable, and easy to fly. It’s still a memorable experience.”

Photo by Staff Sgt. Jason Colbert and Senior Master Sgt. Kim Frey / U.S. Air Force

September 22, 2021 0 comment

History

To honor those who took part in the Battle of Britain, a pilot draws a Spitfire over England

by Till Daisd September 18, 2021

written by Till Daisd

As 2018 marked the 100th anniversary of the RAF, the purpose of that flight was to honor “The Few” (the pilots), as well as the many (ground crew, fabricators), and especially the forgotten people who took part in the Battle of Britain.

As the Royal Air Force (RAF) celebrated its centenary, a ton of fantastic events were happening all around the United Kingdom. Here’s a brave flyer who flew a Spitfire-shaped route over the nation to honor the service’s fallen aviators.

Andy McKee sought to reproduce a Spitfire outline in the plane he made in his garage after being inspired by Boeing’s 787 outline stunt in August of last year. It was difficult to map out the route because of the crowded airspace around London and the fact that Andy would be flying manually the entire time without the aid of an autopilot.

The purpose of this flight, according to a Royal Air Force news release, is to remember “The Few” (the pilots), as well as the many (ground crew, fabricators), and in particular, the forgotten people from outside the UK who were involved in the Battle of Britain, 2018 marked the 100th anniversary of the RAF.

About 1 in 5 of the participating pilots came from nations other than the United Kingdom. With 135 participants, New Zealand fielded the second-highest number of pilots. (Andy McKee was born in New Zealand but has spent the previous 18 years residing in the UK.)

According to Lord Tedder, Chief of the Air Staff, Sir Keith Park, a New Zealander, was the commander of the number 11 Group during the Battle of Britain.

“If anyone man won the Battle of Britain, he did. I do not believe it is realized how much that one man, with his leadership, his calm judgment, and his skill, did to save, not only this country but the world.”

Andy McKee, a resident of Bedfordshire, is 46 years old. Since 2004 he has become a pilot. He flew in a home-built plane called the “Silence Twister.” Over the course of 5.5 years, Andy spent more than 3,000 workshop hours building it from a kit.

In his Twister, Andy set off on an “epic” journey last year, flying from Canada to the U.S. and back via the North Atlantic, Iceland, Greenland, and other locations.

Here is a video that demonstrates McKee shaping a Spitfire.

Photo by Crown Copyright

September 18, 2021 0 comment

History

The first RAF Hurricane Ace, RAF air ace of WWII, and the first to get the Distinguished Flying Cross was ‘Cobber’ Kain

by Till Daisd September 17, 2021

written by Till Daisd

“‘Cobber’ Kain was 73 Squadron’s most split-arse pilot. He often led a section 40 miles or more into Germany, regardless of the fact that it was against orders to cross the frontier,” Paul Richey, Hurricane ace

In the early years of World War II, the extraordinary Hawker Hurricane, which was developed and produced to counter the Axis powers’ growing fighter capability, gained its reputation in aerial engagements over Britain and France. The Hurricane soon established itself as the pillar of the Royal Air Force (RAF), earning more victories in the Battle of Britain than the more glamorous Spitfire thanks to its steady firing platform and reputation as a rugged survivor.

By claiming five or more air-to-air wins over hostile aircraft while flying the Hurricane, many pilots attained the rank of ace. Edgar James “Cobber” Kain was the first RAF air ace of the war, the first ace of the RAF’s Hurricanes, and the first person to be awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

A vivid description of Kain’s exploits is given by Paul E. Eden in the book Hurricane: “The last three Hurricanes gently bumped down on the grass strip at Rouvres, its pilot throttling back and rolling out in the direction of his dispersal. Watching from their cockpits, a further trio of No. 73 Squadron pilots continued their preparations for the next patrol over the Franco-German border.

“Word quickly filtered through to them that the returned section had engaged the enemy, with some success. This hastened the heartbeat and moistened the palms of two of the pilots, who were yet to encounter the Luftwaffe. Fortunately for them, however, their section leader had already left his mark on the enemy, destroying two Do 17 bombers and a single Bf 109E in previous skirmishes. Despite their junior age, Flying Officer Edgar James ‘Cobber’ Kain was the squadron’s best and most combat-experienced pilot.

“Keen to see if more German aircraft were aloft in the vicinity of the Saar River (barely 30 miles from Rouvres), New Zealander Kain signaled to his groundcrew to switch on the starter trolley connected to his aircraft (possibly L1766). With electricity pouring into some power unit, Kain flicked on the main magneto switches and the starter magneto and the Merlin II turned over, the propeller spun and the engine fired into action. Within a minute, all three fighters had barked into life. After a quick confirmation by the section leader that his two pilots were happy with their aircraft, Kain waved the starter trolleys and wheel chocks away and led his charges out from the dispersal.

“Take-off was completed with little fuss, ‘B’ Flight’s Green Section closed up into the standard RAF fighter ‘vic’ formation and then climbed in an easterly direction towards the German border town of Saarbrücken. Their patrol height on this Tuesday afternoon was to be 20,000ft and the formation leveled off at this altitude barely eight minutes after departing Rouvres.

Remembering 'Cobber' Kain: the first RAF Hurricane Ace, the first RAF air ace of the WWII, and the first to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross — Hawker Hurricane Mk I in France, November 1939, showing original fabric-covered outer wing and two-bladed propeller

“Kain knew exactly where the German border was, having already gained a reputation among RAF fighter pilots within the AASF [Advanced Air Striking Force] for patrolling deep into enemy territory, as fellow AASF pilot and future Hurricane ace, Paul Richey, attested: ‘ ‘Cobber’ Kain was 73’s most split-arse pilot. He often led a section 40 miles or more into Germany, regardless of the fact that it was against orders to cross the frontier.’”

Eden continues: “On this occasion, Green Section had barely crossed the ‘Siegfried Line’ when Kain spotted nine III/JG 53 ‘Pik As’ Bf 109Es cruising in a wide vic at 26,000ft. Despite being outnumbered, the Kiwi pilot skilfully maneuvered his flight into an advantageous position then made his move. Initially, only two enemy fighters responded to the attack, Kain’s gunsight quickly filling with the grey-green shape of the leading ‘Emil’. He pressed the gun button on his spade-grip control column at a range of fewer than 250 yards, and the Hurricane shuddered as all eight.303in Brownings spewed forth a deadly hail of bullets. The tracer rounds arced across the sky and hit their target with telling effect.

“The Bf 109E fell away trailing smoke and flame, and Kain wheeled around in search of further targets. Following their leader into the fray, Flying Officer J.C. ‘Tub’ Perry (who was killed in a landing accident just three days later) and Sergeant T.B.G. ‘Titch’ Pyne (lost on 14 May 1940, one of three No. 73 Squadron pilots killed in combat with Bf 109Es that day) had also chosen targets on this opening pass as more enemy fighters committed to the engagement. Both pilots quickly expended all their ammunition in the excitement of their first combat, Perry later being credited with a Bf 109E destroyed, while Pyne’s claim was rated as only a probable.

“A second ‘Pik As’ Schwarm (comprising four aircraft) of Emils then entered the fray from a higher altitude, much to Kain’s consternation – he had thought the battle was over. As the only pilot left with any ammunition in his magazines, Kain immediately latched onto one of the overshooting Bf 109Es and fired a burst into it. Having been surprised by the second enemy formation, he had not been best placed from a tactical standpoint when it came to engaging these ‘latecomers’. As Kain attempted to maneuver ‘up sun’ of the fleeing Messerschmitts, a well-aimed burst of cannon fire blew his Hurricane’s canopy clean off.

“Feldwebel Weigelt had been flying towards the rear of the second Schwarm and had shadowed the solitary Hurricane as its pilot attempted to achieve a better angle of deflection on the Bf 109Es ahead of him. He pumped further rounds into Kain’s mortally wounded fighter, which erupted in flames when the tracer ignited spilled fuel from the punctured reserve or gravity tank ahead of the cockpit. The German pilot could see his RAF counterpart hunched down in the now exposed cockpit, which was all but engulfed by the conflagration. Dazed, Kain fumbled around blindly to his left in an attempt to shut off the fuel cock, and thus hopefully stop the fire.

“At this point, Weigelt hit the Hurricane with a third burst, which drove no less than 21 shell splinters into Kain’s left calf. Realizing he was fighting a lost cause and in some paint from both shrapnel wounds and burns to his right hand, the Kiwi pilot gingerly undid his straps, rolled his blazing Hurricane onto its back, and fell away from the stricken machine. He quickly pulled the ripcord of his parachute upon entering a cloud, before passing out from physical exhaustion. Kain came minutes later in the cloud and landed in a field near the small French border village of Ritzing, just half a mile west of Germany.

“His two colleagues returned to Rouvres unscathed and quickly reported their engagement to No. 73 Squadron’s adjutant, Pilot Officer ‘Henry’ Hall. A search party was sent out to retrieve ‘Cobber’ Kain and he was soon located and conveyed back to his unit in a French army staff car. The wounded pilot was debriefed from his bed, and his two claims for Bf 109Es destroyed officially recorded – post-war Luftwaffe records for 26 March 1940 note the force-landing of three Bf 109Es at Trier airfield in the aftermath of this action.

“As the first RAF ace of World War II, the tall, rangy 21. year-old New Zealander celebrated ‘acedom’ that evening in true air force fashion – horizontally, on a stretcher in the sergeant’s mess!”

Kain made 17 confirmed “kills” in the Battle of France in May/June 1940, according to NZ History.

Given his combat background, Kain’s death was horribly ironic. He chose to perform an aerobatic performance over the aerodrome in Echimenes, France, on June 7, 1940, after taking a break from operations. When the aircraft crashed onto the airfield and he was thrown from it, he had already done two low-level rolls and was attempting a third. He was a man of age, 21.

Kain was buried in a cemetery in Troyes. His remains were transferred to the Allied part of the Choloy war cemetery following the conflict.

Photo by Pinterest, Arpingstone via Wikipedia, Imperial War Museum

September 17, 2021 0 comment

History

How the demise of the F-111B led to the development of the legendary F-14 Tomcat

by Till Daisd September 15, 2021

written by Till Daisd

The F-14 was shown to be much better than the F-111B and a few other aircraft in a comparison study between the F-14 (at the time, Grumman’s design of a new fighter), the F-111B, and other aircraft

The General Dynamics F-111B, for which Grumman served as the prime contractor, failed to satisfy the U.S. Navy’s demand for a long-range carrier-based interceptor aircraft, giving birth to the Grumman F-14, one of the best fighters ever constructed.

However, it is necessary to discuss how the F-111B was created and why it failed to fulfill the service requirement to understand why the Tomcat was created.

Robert McNamara, who was the secretary of defense at the time, believed that the U.S. Air Force (USAF) and the U.S. Navy should have worked together to create a multi-role combat aircraft in the 1960s. The Tactical Fighter Experimental (TFX) program came next, and it planned to provide the two services with two variations of the General Dynamics F-111’s variable swing-wing aircraft. For the U.S. Air Force, the F-111A was a land-based low-level bomber, while for the U.S. Navy, the F-111B was an interceptor outfitted with six AIM-54A Phoenix missiles.

On May 18, 1966, the F-111B made its maiden flight. Right away, there were issues, with weight being the main one. The desired weight for the F-111B, according to the Navy, was roughly 60,000 pounds; nevertheless, the actual weight of the aircraft was more than 70,000 pounds. Due to the angle of attack and reflection generated by the angled windshield, pilots also complained about poor visibility during carrier approaches.

The F-111B was also so underpowered that it was unable to approach the ship with the specified military power acceleration. McNamara decided that the top executives of the companies involved should meet twice a month to discuss the flaws of the machine. Vice-Admiral Tom Connolly, one of the Navy representatives, understood that the F-111B project should have been abandoned, but the Secretary of Defense insisted on moving forward with it.

Connolly flew the F-111B with an Air Force pilot in Fort Worth to better understand the issues with the aircraft. They both concluded that while the F-111A was the ideal bomber for the USAF, the F-111B could never be a fighter, and it could not operate off an aircraft carrier. In addition, a comparison study between the F-14 (at the time, Grumman’s concept for a new fighter), the F-111B, and a few other aircraft revealed that the F-14 was a far superior aircraft than any of the others. At this point, Admiral Tom Moorer, who was the Chief of Naval Operations, started to push for the cancellation of the program. However, McNamara persisted in pushing for the F-111B.

To find out why he shouldn’t be required to authorize the $200 million for the F-111B, a Senate Hearing was called at this point, as is detailed in Terry Treadwell’s book The Ironworks: Grumman’s Fighting Aeroplanes. Additionally, Admiral Tom Moorer, Vice Admiral Tom Connolly, and the new Secretary of the Navy, Paul Ignatius, were introduced to them. After a six-hour hearing, Stennis questioned Connolly about whether he would have contributed the extra funds to the program. Connolly responded, “No, Sir, I would not.”

When Stennis followed up by asking Connolly if he would have changed his mind if the plane had new engines, Connolly responded with a statement that would remain in aviation history: “Mr. Chairman, there isn’t enough thrust in all Christendom to make a Navy fighter out of that airplane.”

That effectively put an end to the F-111B as well as Tom Connolly’s aspirations of becoming a four-star admiral.

Instead, the F-14 Tomcat was created on that day, making its first flight on December 21, 1970, and serving on US Navy aircraft carriers until 2006.

You can watch the F-111B carrier testing in the video below, which took place before the plane was replaced by the F-14 Tomcat.

However, according to what a user (gort8203) commented, “the lessons of the TFX program are commonly misinterpreted”.

“The idea that one basic airframe could fulfill two different roles was not a dumb idea at all. History is full of examples of aircraft that were versatile enough to fly for different services and even perform different missions. The original requirements presented by the Navy and USAF were not incompatible, but the requirements changed. Initially, the TFX program was reasonable because the USAF and USN were both asking for a large aircraft that could lift a heavy load of fuel and weapons, with long-range or long loiter, plus high-speed dash or intercept. Twin engines and an innovative variable geometry wing were called for, and DOD logically assessed that it would be wasteful to develop two very expensive advanced airframes when a single one with some variations could do both jobs. The reason one basic airframe could do both jobs was because the original USN specification was for a fleet defense fighter, not an air superiority fighter. It was not originally intended to be what later became the F-14, but to perform the role meant for the Douglas F6D Missileer, with the addition of supersonic dash interception capability. It was never meant to be a dogfighter. The biggest difference between the airframe requirements of the two services was that the USAF wanted a tandem cockpit and the USN wanted side-by-side seating. Boeing tried to make both services happy, but MacNamara’s DOD thought USAF could suck it up and have the crew sit side by side. This is ironic considering that when the Navy canceled its version, the USAF was stuck with the cockpit it didn’t want, which also ironically contributed to the airplane being too ungainly for a dogfighter. If the Navy had wanted a dogfighter, it would not have insisted on the side-by-side cockpit over the objection of the Air Force. The F-111 cockpit was suitable for a radar interceptor but not for an air superiority fighter. The original idea wasn’t dumb; what happened was that it needed to be changed. USN revised its specifications for the TFX as a result of combat experience in Vietnam and realized they also needed an air superiority fighter to replace the F-8 and F-4 but couldn’t afford that in addition to a dedicated fleet defense aircraft. Thus, the TFX would now have to be able to dogfight as well as be a missile interceptor. The F-111B could have worked as a missileer, but it was too fat and underpowered to compete as an air superiority fighter. It was proper for the Navy to recognize that its needs had evolved. This was perhaps the beginning of the Navy realizing that budgets and hangar decks did not have room for so many specialized aircraft. The USAF desperately needed the F-111 to replace the F-105, so they sucked it up and accepted the heavy airframe caused by the loveseat cockpit they never wanted.”

Photo by U.S. Navy

September 15, 2021 0 comment

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