“During my time in Korea as a recce pilot, between July 1952 and July 1953, I flew about fifty to sixty missions, a number of them across the Yalu River in the RF-86A and RF-80. We had a classic mission which Fifth Air Force called ‘Mission 2000,’ flying over Chinese airfields at Fen Cheng, Tatung Kao, and Antung, among other places. When I was there, the reconnaissance pilot on a 2000 overflight mission would lead a group of anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight F-86 Sabre Jets from the 4th Fighter Wing north to the Yalu River. These pilots allegedly flew as our escorts. As a rule, however, what they wanted to do was shoot down MiGs. The escorts used us for bait, because every time we went up there we would draw a hostile crowd. One time, in May 1953, flying across the Yalu near Mukden, we got into a heck of a dogfight. Jim Jabara shot down two MiGs while I was flying his wing, which was the standard procedure by a reconnaissance pilot if you got bounced. On a typical mission, we would go over to the 4th Fighter Wing and sit down for a recon briefing with perhaps a hundred eager fighter pilots. On a 2000 mission, we would have three fighters flying on our wing, and the rest of the escorts would patrol for MiGs up and down the Yalu River. Invariably our four aircraft would get jumped by about twenty-four to forty-eight MiGs, and there would be one heck of a dogfight. After one such mission I told my wing commander, ‘I’m not getting any pictures. The F-86 guys are getting all these kills at my expense.’ He said, ‘What do you suggest?’ I answered, ‘We ought to let the F-86s go up there and patrol up and down the river, get involved in a dogfight with the MiGs, then two of us, one wingman and myself, will penetrate and head up north.’ We started doing that and it worked like a charm.
“One of these missions was kind of humorous in retrospect. It was the longest mission I ever flew, March 1953, three hours and fifteen minutes. My escort, with more limited fuel capacity, had already returned and landed at Kimpo. I was up there all by myself but thinking I still had escorts loitering at the Yalu. I was approaching Mukden at 50,000 feet in my RF-86F-30 Haymaker, moving along at Mach 0.90, when I looked left, off my wing, there were four MiGs sitting there. I couldn’t believe it. Here I am 350 miles from home, low on fuel, and I’m surrounded by the enemy. But they did not attack. They just flew along and looked at me, and I looked at them. I did not move. I was just frozen at the stick. The next thing, the MiGs popped their speed brakes, descended right underneath me, and headed down to land at Mukden. About ten minutes later, just as I made my turn to overfly Mukden, I discovered about twenty-four friends on my tail. I was at 50,000 feet, and those MiGs were about 4,000 to 5,000 feet above and behind me. They cut me off in the turn, and I thought, ‘Boy, this is going to be a desperation act. You better come up with something quick.’ I rolled over, split-S in the RF-86, and, in the dive, got terminal velocity at about Mach 1.05. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw the MiGs were really out of control. They were all trying to hit Mach 0.95 and were fishtailing and firing cannons like crazy. The good thing about being in a dogfight with twenty-four airplanes is that only one of them can get on your tail at a time—and they were all behind me. I broke radio silence, yelling like a wounded eagle, screaming for help because I thought my friends patrolling the Yalu River would come and rescue me. I dove for the deck and flew across Antung Air Base at about 100 feet, right down a ramp. I zipped across south to the Yellow Sea, which was only a short distance away. I knew that was my only escape. If I had to punch out, the US Navy would rescue me. The MiGs dropped off as soon as we passed the coast. I climbed back up on fumes, called Kimpo airfield, and told them that I was flamed out. They said, ‘You are number six in the flameout pattern.’ I thought they were joking. Here we had a 6,000-foot runway, 100 feet wide, and all these F-86s are coming back from missions over North Korea ‘flamed out?’ Finally I got there and down safely.
RF-86 overflight Harbin/Mukden, People’s Republic of China, March 1953, by Mele Vojvodich.
“My wing commander, Russ Berg, met me when I landed. The first thing he asked was, ‘Where the heck have you been?’ I was overdue by forty-five minutes and had been reported shot down over the Yellow Sea. I said, ‘Colonel Berg, you won’t believe it. Let me show you.’ I laid the map out on the wing of the RF-86 and traced my altered flight path toward Harbin and vicinity, covering all these airfields. He turned white. He said, ‘I am going to get court-martialed; and so are you. Grab that film.’ They got the raw film out of the RF-86, put it in the colonel’s staff car, with me sitting in the back, to go to downtown Seoul. The colonel was driving, and he intended to brief Lieutenant General Glenn O. Barcus, the three-star commanding the 5th Air Force. I used to smoke a pipe in those days, knocking the ashes out in what I thought was an ashtray. But the car didn’t have an ashtray, and the red-hot embers were going into the back of the seat. About halfway to Seoul, smoke and heat started leaking out of the back of the seat. I said, ‘Sir, we’ve got a problem. Better pull over.’ He said, ‘Why?’ I said, ‘The car is on fire.’ There happened to be a Korean woman nearby, out in a rice paddy, with two honey buckets on her shoulders. I ran up to her, grabbed one of those honey buckets, and dumped it in the back seat. It was a heck of a mess, but finally the fire went out. Colonel Berg had just about had it with me at that stage, but we pressed on, only to have the fire start up again. We stopped in front of a Korean firehouse. They came running out with their machine guns at the ready as if they were going to fire on us. They finally put out the fire, and we arrived at 5th Air Force headquarters, smelly but with the film intact.
“General Barcus came into the room and said, ‘Show me what you did, captain.’ I said, ‘Well, sir, here is where I went—up here, here, and here. And I saw these airfields and I saw Il-28 Beagles.’ During the Korean War, we were really concerned that these aircraft could strike us as far as Japan. On these overflight missions, we were actually looking for these aircraft, not MiGs. We already knew there were lots of MiGs there. Colonel Berg was nervous as heck. I said, ‘Colonel, let me brief.’ General Barcus kept looking, then said, ‘Let’s go see what you did.’ The wet film was still coming off the processor. You could see all the MiG airfields, and the Il-28s. He turned around, took my hand, and said, ‘Congratulations captain.’ Long story short—I got a medal and Russ Berg made general.
“I was the first to fly that RF-86F-30, which was the precursor to the RF-86F that mounted the twin K-22 cameras vertically. Most of our overflight missions were in the RF-86A models, Ashtray aircraft. Then we got five or six RF-86F models by boat at Komaki, Japan, and we flew them to Tachikawa for modifications. We flight-tested these RF-86F-30 aircraft up and down Japan in late 1952 to 1953, before they were delivered to the 15th TRS in Korea. The F-86F models were modified with hard wings that supported four drop tanks. They were not at all like the RF-86A models, which had two drop tanks, and all of them were different. As the project officer, I was supposed to go down to Tachikawa and help modify them. We took out all of the guns except the two on top. In the later F models, they got rid of the guns completely, but then you had a ballast problem. If you took out all of the guns, you had to offset that weight somehow, or your center of gravity would shift aft too far. When I first arrived in 1952, the ten to fifteen reconnaissance pilots already flying were using previously modified F-86A Honey Bucket and Ashtray aircraft. The RF-86F-30 I modified had bulges on the side. We mounted one 36-inch camera horizontally, that shot through a mirror, and had a little window to cover it all. We had to take the radar out to make room for the guns and put a dicing camera in the radar dome in the nose. There is a famous picture of Suiho Dam on the Yalu River taken with a dicing camera, which was one of the most dangerous missions I ever flew. That picture was taken at low level, at 600 knots indicated air speed. The heavy flak looked just like it did in the movie The Bridges at Toko-Ri. The Chinese were lowering their 120mm guns and firing across the canyon at us. The dicing pass produced one of the most spectacular pictures of the entire war.
“In recognition of our service, in May 1953, we had a big par
ade at Kimpo Air Base, where I received a Distinguished Service Cross, second to the Medal of Honor, and a couple of other guys also received medals. It was a big surprise to me. Most of the pilots that flew the 2000 missions received an automatic Silver Star because it was pretty hairy going up there alone, or even with a couple of escorts. I flew probably ten or fifteen of the overflight missions, and I had been recommended for five Silver Stars. I learned later that General Barcus instructed his staff to ‘pick the best mission he flew, and the hairiest and upgrade this to a DSC.’ General Barcus came out and presented the medal to me in person in the first parade we’ve ever had at the base. I couldn’t believe it. I returned stateside that July. Some years later I took part in the development and flight testing of the YF-12/SR-71 aircraft in Nevada. And later still I served as the director of operations for my old outfit, the 67th Tactical Reconnaissance Wing at Bergstrom Air Force Base, Texas.” Mele Vojvodich, a true survivor, retired from the US Air Force in the rank of major general.
The F/RF-86 Sabre Jet was the airplane every pilot loved to fly. As the old saying goes, “If it looks good, it flies good.” The F-86 did all of that. The RF-86F-30 shown here had no guns but had a reinforced wing that allowed it to carry four external fuel tanks, which greatly extended its range.
During the Korean War years, the glory went to the F-86 fighter pilots, whose exploits could be and were widely publicized. The daring reconnaissance missions of RF-86 flyers over Communist China and the Soviet Union, whose aircraft carried no guns, fell into a black hole of national security and received zero publicity. In essence, the pilots were told just to forget they ever flew those missions—certainly talking about them would have had dire consequences, so they never did. LaVerne H. Griffin, like Mele Vojvodich, Samuel Dickens, and Larry Garrison, all assigned to the 15th TRS, was one of those flyers. Above all, they loved to fly the RF-86, which one of Griffin’s squadron mates referred to as a “dynamic ship—the hottest our country had in regular service.”
“One thing that I remember,” Colonel Griffin noted at the Early Cold War Overflights Symposium, “it was just before the ceasefire, when Vice President Richard M. Nixon visited our unit, the 15th TRS. I am sure he was sent over by President Eisenhower to see what was going on, because Ike had pledged during the presidential campaign that if elected he would go to Korea with the intention of ending the war. It was my job to brief the vice president on the capabilities of the RF-86. One of his questions was, ‘Son, what do you need this airplane for?’ This was a fair question, since the rest of the 67th TRW flew straight-wing RF-80As. I replied, ‘Well, if we get caught up there in MiG Alley, we can get away from anything they have because the RF-86 is faster.’ Nixon must have told President Eisenhower about the aircraft’s capabilities, because after the Korean armistice we had a significant number of missions laid on. My first overflight was as the wingman of Lieutenant Tom Gargan flying the RF-80 over Shantung Peninsula, just across the Yellow Sea from North Korea. All we could see over the target area were a few rice paddies. We aborted the flight and returned to K-14, Kimpo. Tom Gargan was one of the best pilots around and received several medals during the war. He had so many medals and decorations that we got a little device to throw over his shoulder on his back just to balance the weight of all of those medals hanging on the front of him.
“My second overflight took place on July 27, 1953, the last day of the war. My targets were installations at Kirin and Harbin in Manchuria. My F-86 wingman was from the 4th Fighter Wing who already had four MiGs to his credit. During our briefing, he tried to reassure me about the MiGs we might encounter, saying, ‘If we get into a problem up there, I’ll take care of you.’ I replied, ‘If we get into trouble I’ll get the hell out of there because those guns on my aircraft are only painted on.’ We took off from Kimpo, climbing out through a low overcast. Radio silence was maintained, and navigation was strictly time and distance—hold the course, and pray that the forecast winds were accurate. We dropped our external fuel tanks before crossing the Yalu River; the weather began to clear. I remember the impressive sight of the Great Wall of China, which extended as far as the eye could see. I obtained photos of Kirin, then proceeded on to Harbin, picking up the airfield at Harbin. I banked 90 degrees to the right so that I could see half the airfield, then 90 degrees to the left so that I could see the other half—then I knew the airfield was directly below my line of flight and I turned on the cameras. On the way home, we flew over Mukden, where I photographed more airfields.
“About the time we crossed the Yalu I discovered I couldn’t breathe. A quick glance at the oxygen regulator confirmed that the tank was empty. We were at 47,000 feet and did not dare to descend because we would not have enough fuel to reach home base. I was wobbling all over trying to extract my bailout bottle when my wingman, noting my erratic flying, broke radio silence to ask me if I had a problem. I told him that I did but thought I could handle it. We had no autopilot in the RF-86. I hooked up my bailout bottle, giving me about ten minutes of oxygen. We were at 47,000 feet, the cockpit was pressurized at 28,000 feet, so I figured if I let down at about 2,500 feet a minute for ten minutes I’d be at 22,000 feet and that would bring down the cockpit pressure to about 15,000 feet—where I could make the rest of the flight without supplemental oxygen. My plan worked. The best compliment I received from the fighter pilot was when he said, ‘Did you get the pictures?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ He replied, ‘I didn’t know where we were from the time we took off until we got back.’ I was put in for the Silver Star for this mission, and my fighter pilot escort got some sort of a medal as well. But being the last day of the war, the awards and decorations officer soon transferred out, and the paperwork got lost in the shuffle.
March 22, 1954, overflight route by LaVerne H. Griffin’s RF-86 aircraft, launching from Osan Air Base, South Korea, and recovering at Misawa Air Base, Japan.
“A decision was made at the highest level after the Korean armistice that we would be launched on top-secret overflight missions—Vladivostok, Port Arthur, Dairen, Shanghai, Mukden, and Khabarovsk. As the squadron operations officer, I was selected to select pilots and plan for these missions. We flew practice missions locally, using the same distances we would be required to cover on the actual flights. North American Tech Reps installed titanium inserts, called Rats and Mice, in the engine exhaust to increase the tailpipe temperature to maintain 640 degrees at 40,000 feet. On March 21, 1954, six RF-86 Sabers departed Komaki Air Base, Japan, for Osan, South Korea. The next morning was beautiful and clear; we checked out the en route weather and winds and briefed for the mission. The aircraft were towed out of the hangar, and fuel was added to the drop tanks until they overflowed. We cranked up the engines and taxied to the runway, using a green light from the tower for clearance. The climb to altitude was uneventful, and we successfully jettisoned our 200-gallon tanks when empty over the Sea of Japan. At this point the two spares returned to Komaki Air Base in Japan. Four of us pressed on. We climbed to 42,000 feet, our cruising altitude to the target area. As we approached Vladivostok we split up into two flights, heading for our respective targets. It was shortly after this I heard the transmission, Alabama, the code word of our companion element for pulling contrails—a dead giveaway revealing our presence. Our codeword was California. I looked over at my wingman, and he wasn’t pulling any contrails. I continued to press on over the Vladivostok area, nervously I might add. I did not know this at the time, but the other element, pulling contrails, had aborted their mission and headed back for Misawa. We flew over the airfields at Vladivostok, proceeding as far north as Artem. My wingman’s cameras had failed, so I was the only one out of four on this mission to bring back any pictures. We had no airborne aircraft sightings to worry about, and we proceeded to exit the area out over the Sea of Japan, toward Misawa. At Misawa, a C-47 met us and flew us to Tokyo. Someone else picked up our aircraft. We were not allowed to view the film, but it must have been successful. The next morning we were summoned to the office
of the commander of the Far East Air Forces, General Otto P. Weyland, who pinned the Distinguished Flying Cross on the four of us. His exact words were, ‘Boys, I’ll take care of the paperwork later, but here is a little something for a job well done.’ We would have done just about anything for General Weyland because of the time he took for that impromptu ceremony.”
Griffin continued, “I was the leader for the next two missions in the same general area. Vladivostok on April 3, 1954, and another on April 21. We refueled as before at Misawa but flew the film down to Tokyo ourselves. I selected different pilots for these flights to ensure that all the qualified RF-86 pilots had a chance to get a mission and a Distinguished Flying Cross for their efforts. My wingman on April 3 was Lieutenant Sam Dickens, and on the April 21 mission Lieutenant Frank Halstead. On the last mission, we sighted two airborne MiGs about 5,000 feet below us as we were exiting the area, and I managed to take pictures of them. Upon examining the film, the photo interpreter rushed out of the lab and exclaimed, ‘Do you know what you got on this film?’ I said, ‘You mean the MiG-15s that flew below us?’ ‘That is not a MiG-15,’ he said; ‘it is a MiG-17, and we didn’t know that they were deployed east of the Urals.’ I rotated back to Shaw Air Force Base in May 1954. At Shaw, I received two more Distinguished Flying Crosses for the last two missions I’d flown in April 1954. What was probably the highlight of a twenty-eight-year air force career I could not talk about for forty-six years. I am glad that this forgotten overflight reconnaissance is finally being documented and will take its rightful place in our military history.” LaVerne H. Griffin retired from the US Air Force in the rank of colonel and was a presenter at the February 23, 2001, Early Cold War Overflights Symposium at the Defense Intelligence Agency in Washington, DC.
Silent Warriors, Incredible Courage Page 10
