Silent Warriors, Incredible Courage

by Wolfgang W. E. Samuel

  “I learned that I was to be the project leader for the four modified aircraft going to Japan, and a Captain William Gafford was in charge of six more of these aircraft going to Europe. Needless to say, it was a busy summer for a young captain, but a lot of fun. I did everything I was told to do by Lieutenant Colonel Rhodarmer at the Air Staff—except make arrangements for transporting the aircraft to Japan on an aircraft carrier. The more I thought about that, the less I liked the idea. It seemed like such an inglorious way to send US Air Force aircraft to Japan. I got in touch with some Martin Aircraft Company performance engineers to figure out if the aircraft could be flown to Japan. The major obstacle was the first leg of some 2,300 nautical miles from California to Hawaii. Subsequent B-57B flights to Japan would have a 3,000-pound ferry tank in the bomb bay, but our modified ‘featherweight’ RB-57A-1s had the bomb bay removed and skinned over to reduce weight, and did not have the capability to carry such a tank. To my delight, the Martin engineers informed me that I could make it with 2,000 pounds of fuel remaining under conditions of no serious headwinds. So I took an aircraft and flew it 2,300 miles. Sure enough, I had 2,000 pounds of fuel remaining when I landed. Off I went to see Colonel Rhodarmer in the Pentagon. He was on leave, so I turned to his associate for advice, Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Steakley. I showed him the performance data and the results of the test flight. He told me to forget about the US Navy and plan on flying the aircraft to Japan. When Colonel Rhodarmer returned from leave, he was less than overjoyed about my decision, and let me know it.

  “The Military Air Transport Service, MATS, in later years renamed MAC, Military Airlift Command, renamed again as Air Mobility Command, its present name, was in charge of all long-distance ferry flights. Rhodarmer directed me to make arrangements with MATS at their headquarters at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. These people wanted no part of our deployment. After all, they had no aircraft that could get up to 50,000 feet and lead us across the Pacific. Besides, all we had in way of navigation gear was a radio compass, which was totally inadequate for long-distance flights such as ours. I went back to the good colonel for help, and he must have twisted some arms, because the Military Air Transport Service suddenly became agreeable to support our flight.

  Flying in a pressure suit is anything but fun—just getting the thing on took effort, and movement in it was restrictive. Many high-altitude flyers had to prebreathe 100 percent oxygen before flight. The Heart Throb pilots did not, but breathed pure oxygen inside the pressurized cockpit.

  “On August 25, 1955, I departed Hamilton Air Force Base, near San Francisco, with Lou Picciano on my left wing and Jim Bryant and ‘Pappy’ Hines on the right. Five hours and fifty minutes later we arrived at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. I had 1,800 pounds of fuel remaining and the aircraft with the least had 1,300 pounds. We proceeded across the Pacific stopping at Johnson Island, Kwajalein, and Guam, finally arriving at Yokota Air Base on September 4. Colonel Avery, the commander of the 6007th Reconnaissance Group, met us on arrival. He seemed glad to see us, at least until he learned that none of us had any reconnaissance experience. He immediately set up an in-house school, and we spent the next two months learning how to take pictures from aircraft. Our RB-57As were equipped with two K-38, 36-inch focal length cameras that shot diagonally across the aircraft, and a 6-inch focal length T-11 mapping camera that shot straight down. In addition, the aircraft had been equipped with a viewfinder that permitted the pilot to look down through the nose, which made positioning the aircraft much easier. In mid-November we were declared ‘as ready as we would ever be.’ Captain Bryant outranked me, but since I had done all the dog work getting the aircraft ready, he did not exercise his rank and graciously agreed to let me fly the first mission. The mission was planned to be flown from Chitose Air Base on the northernmost Japanese island of Hokkaido. Jim Bryant served as my backup, and only the two of us were briefed. This was standard operating procedure for all overflight missions. That way, if something untoward happened, you would know little about the overall program. We flew two days ahead of the mission to Chitose to make preparations for the flight, to be flown in total radio silence.

  “I was to fly north from Chitose along the eastern side of Sakhalin Island far enough out to sea and at a hundred feet altitude to avoid radar detection. I would then continue to a point abreast of the northern portion of Sakhalin, where I would jettison the tip tanks and initiate a climb to maximum attainable altitude. At some point of the climb I had to initiate a 180-degree turn so as to arrive over the northern tip of the island heading south at 55,000 feet. Then I would fly down the entire length of the island. Once I got over Hokkaido I was allowed to break radio silence to land at Chitose. There I would refuel, then take off again for Yokota, where the film would be downloaded and analyzed.

  “The day of the mission, November 26, 1955, the weather was excellent. We gathered early for the briefing. We had a controlled takeoff time, so it was imperative I got dressed and strapped into the aircraft in time. I went to the aircraft, did a walk-around inspection, then back inside to get suited up. That was quite a task. I put on a pressure suit, an air vent suit, a padded suit, a water survival suit, and a Mae West life preserver. I now resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy and moved with the dexterity and appearance of a robot. It made me wonder if I could still fly the aircraft. Worrying about making the takeoff time, I got dressed way too early. It did not take long for me to get very hot inside the pressure suit, so I stepped outside into the frigid Hokkaido air to cool off. Finally, it was time for me to go. With all the equipment I was wearing it took a technician to help stuff me into my seat. Then he spent some time getting my parachute buckled and everything hooked up before checking everything out thoroughly. For the first time in my life I wished I was somewhere else. But the feeling didn’t last long. As soon as I got the engines started I was raring to go. We had one of our own men in the control tower, and as soon as he saw I was ready to taxi he told the controller to issue taxi instructions. Two minutes before takeoff I was cleared on the runway, then cleared for takeoff. Exactly on time I rolled down the runway, lifted off, and took up my first heading.

  November 26, 1955, overflight of Sakhalin Island by Colonel, then Captain, Joseph A. Guthrie Jr. in an RB-57A-1.

  “I was soon over the ocean east of Sakhalin, flying 100 feet above the water. Before long I ran into some low clouds and found myself flying completely on instruments. I was flying at 350 knots indicated, making for a sporty ride over the ocean. I decided that a little more altitude was desirable before I ended up in the drink, so I climbed an additional 200 feet and held that altitude for the rest of the way north. I could not see anything and piloted completely by dead reckoning. At the appropriate time I punched off the tip tanks and initiated my climb to 55,000 feet.

  “I had worried that the mission would be a washout because of the weather. But as I gained altitude I could see that the entire island was completely cloud free. Everything looked great until I saw that I was too far east to photograph one of the airfields. Not knowing better, I made a 360-degree turn and picked it up. As a result, I got every target assigned. There were many targets on Sakhalin, and, as best as I could see through the viewfinder, there were plenty of MiG fighters on them. There also was no doubt that the Soviets knew I was there. We had a cockpit warning device that told us when we were being tracked by radar. I could discriminate between airborne and ground radars by the tone of the audio warning—a high piercing tone meant airborne radar, and trouble. I picked up airborne radar warnings, but when I looked around, changing headings when I could, I saw nothing. There wasn’t much I could do but head south. In frustration, I turned the warning device off. It was good to see Hokkaido Island slip under the nose, and I broke radio silence and called Chitose for landing instructions. I made an uneventful landing and logged four hours and forty minutes. After a quick turnaround and a change into a normal flight suit, I joined Captain Bryant on a return flight to Yokota, landing just before dark. T
he next day, Colonel Avery debriefed us. I got a lecture about all the bad things that can happen to a reconnaissance pilot making 360-degree turns. He told me in no uncertain terms that it was ‘one pass and haul ass.’ For penance, I was sent back to reconnaissance school for another week.

  “A day or two later, Colonel Avery told me that we had to go to Tokyo to brief General Lyman L. Lemnitzer, the commander in chief of the Far East Command. I thought Colonel Avery was going to give the briefing; he informed me that the general wanted the briefing given by the pilot who flew the mission. I practiced in front of the colonel and the group staff until I was sick of the mission. Finally, we left for Tokyo. I was a captain, and a new one at that, and had never seen so many stars assembled in my life. I kept thinking, how do I get out of this mess with my skin and captain’s bars still in place? General Lemnitzer soon put me at ease. I [was just getting] started when General [Roger Maxwell] Ramey interrupted me at least three times with questions. Finally, General Lemnitzer raised his hand and said, ‘General, why don’t we let the officer finish his briefing, and then you can ask all the questions you want.’ From then on it was a piece of cake. I remain eternally grateful to General Lemnitzer.

  “As far as the airborne threat was concerned, I do not believe anyone in our group had any serious concerns about fighters, or any trouble from ground-based defenses. The only serious in-flight problem occurred on one of our air aborts later in 1956. Jim Bryant was the pilot. He was to fly on the deck, as I did, then climb to altitude and get rid of the tip tanks. The right tank hung up, yawing the aircraft violently to the right with a subsequent snap and spin. Jim broke the spin, but in the recovery exceeded the Mach number and pitched up in a stall and violent spin. Again Jim recovered, but he had to shut down the right engine because of turbine damage. The generators from both engines quit working, and he had to rely on battery power. In addition, during all the thrashing around in the cockpit during the spins, Jim broke an armrest and started the ejection sequence. Despite all this, he brought the aircraft back and made a smooth single-engine landing. We secured the ejection seat so Jim could get out of the aircraft safely. The next morning, when Jim opened his front door, he found a case of scotch whiskey on the doorstep from the Martin Company with a note attached, ‘Thanks for a job well done!’ The RB-57A-1 Heart Throb operated in Asia for less than a year. During that time we flew four overflights before the SENSINT program ended in late 1956.”

  Captain Robert E. Hines Sr., nicknamed Pappy, was one of the pilots who flew Heart Throb with Joe Guthrie. “In June 1953 I was assigned to the 1738th Ferrying Squadron in Long Beach, California. At that time, the Martin Company built a version of the British Canberra aircraft, many of them needed to be ferried to Warner Robins Air Force Base near Macon, Georgia, for additional modifications—B-57A, -B and -C models. Although the three models of the B-57 were similar in many ways, there were important differences such as the larger canopy on the B-57A and the dive boards on the B-57B and C models. In early 1955 it was whispered around the Martin Company plant in Middle River, near Baltimore, Maryland, that a lightweight version of the RB-57A would be employed in a special US Air Force reconnaissance project. I volunteered for the Heart Throb program, and before I knew it I found myself at Edwards Air Force Base in California involved in the final engineering test flights of the RB-57A-1. The Heart Throb version of the RB-57A depended on a 10-pound charge of black powder to start rotation of the engine turbines, making engine start a commanding process. The huge pall of black smoke that resulted caused considerable comment. No one had ever seen so much smoke on the flight line except as a result of an aircraft accident or fire. With a 104-foot wingspan, and without any airspeed drag controls, tight formation flying in the RB-57A-1 was quite a bit more demanding than flying an F-86. Aside from the problem of trying to read the instruments while watching adjacent aircraft, the wing design added another problem. The A-model did not have dive boards like the later B and C models. Instead, it relied on 4-inch-long spoilers to provide airspeed control. Even in a gentle glide, activating the spoilers gave the same sensation as applying brakes while driving on an icy road. Another RB-57A anomaly was that the 104-foot wing had a wing root of about four feet which allowed extremely low wing loading. The wing was located high up on the fuselage, giving nearly uninterrupted airflow across the entire wing, which provided great stability. The high altitudes we flew at required wearing a partial pressure suit with a helmet anchored by a quarter inch of braided steel cable. Wearing all of this equipment added stress to a mission of up to seven hours in duration. We all had to adjust to the tender and touchy flying techniques of the RB-57A-1.

  “Finally the day arrived for us to depart for Yokota, Japan. After a close fighter formation takeoff from Hamilton Air Force Base, California, and a very long flight across the Pacific Ocean, Mauna Kea on the island of Hawaii came into view. Although we were still several hundred miles out, land was a welcome sight. Three days later we took off for Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands. The flight was uneventful until we neared Kwaj, where a huge thunderhead, which topped out at 45,000 feet, sat squarely over the entire island. My assigned position was on our lead’s right; I was number 4. The bouncing around during our descent through the fully developed thunderstorm caused me to suffer acute spatial disorientation. The sense of impending disaster affected my radio transmissions to the flight leader. His and my transmissions were of course monitored in flight operations at Kwajalein. Although we pilots did not find anything amusing about this episode, the ground control personnel, mostly navy types, seemed to have been greatly amused by our radio chatter and wanted to know who number 4 was. To this day I have nightmares of that flight and the disorientation I suffered.

  Typical B/RB-57 engine starting process. The 10-pound black powder charge made the aircraft appear to be on fire, and anyone not familiar with the aircraft and its peculiar starting mechanism would indeed be startled if witnessing the process for the first time.

  “We refueled and got ready for takeoff the following day. As I tried to start my number one engine—the starter blew. A blown starter required an engine change. It was the group’s consensus that the other three aircraft should continue, and I would remain behind to resolve my problem. It took three days to fly in a spare engine from Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii. Fortunately it came on its own hydraulic frame, which permitted precise placement in the engine nacelle. There was only one US Navy mechanic, a three-striper, on the island with limited training on reciprocating engines. The two of us lowered the damaged engine onto a GI mattress and had an aircraft tug pull it away. All of the aircraft TOs, technical orders, fortunately were on board my aircraft, so the two of us went by the numbers and did each task in proper sequence. In a few hours my US Navy mechanic and I had things ready for a test flight. I arbitrarily decided that an hour’s flight time over the island was sufficient. The flight to Yokota was uneventful, except for the beautiful coral reefs I could see below and a distant waterspout.

  Two RB-57A-1s over Japan in 1956, trying color schemes for camouflage. Joe Guthrie was one of the pilots. The black aircraft has two J65-7s installed, raising thrust from 7,200 to 7,800 pounds per engine.

  “There had been no time to develop a training course for Heart Throb pilots, so we developed our own. For the first couple of months we spent most of our time getting familiar with aircraft systems, especially our photographic suite. We also arranged for some F-86Ds stationed at Yokota to fly intercepts on our aircraft so we could correctly interpret our nose and tail radar warnings. After a period of concentrated training, we certified ourselves as mission ready. I only flew one mission over Manchuria. Over Vladivostok a MiG locked onto me, staying with me for about thirty-five miles out over the Sea of Japan. I thought this might be my final day on earth. Finally, my ‘hunter friend’ broke off his chase. I knew he couldn’t get up to my altitude, but certainly he could fire an air-to-air missile if he could stay locked on long enough. My mission did reveal the first MiG-1
9 aircraft deployed in the Vladivostok area. Shortly after this flight, the Strategic Air Command, in November 1956, deployed six RB-57D aircraft to Yokota. I was tasked to give a theater briefing to the newly arrived SAC pilots. At the end of my briefing, there was not one question. Unbelievable, I thought. We had so many questions when we arrived, it seemed unreal that these guys didn’t have one question for me. The CinC SAC, General LeMay, was at Yokota Air Base at the time, and after completion of the first SAC overflight mission in early December personally decorated each of his pilots with the Distinguished Flying Cross. Instead of flying solo missions, SAC launched all six aircraft at once. Three feigned a mission and turned around before crossing into Soviet territory; the other three penetrated, causing the Soviet air defense system to be activated. A serious behind-the-scenes diplomatic ruckus followed this SAC effort—there would be no more overflights. I was out of a job again.