by G. E. Nolly
“I'm really looking forward to flying it.”
We were just starting to catch up with each other, when someone shouted, “Room, atten-hut!”
The DO had arrived. Colonel West was a big man with a shaved head and a stern look about him. A dead ringer for the actor Telly Savalas. When Colonel West talked, everyone listened.
“Gentlemen, welcome to Homestead. You're fortunate to be attending the best RTU in Tactical Air Command.”
“I'll tell you why it's the best,” he continued, “It's the best because we have the highest standards, and the highest wash-out rate, in TAC. We will demand the best you can give us, and for some of you, it just won't be good enough. But for those of you who graduate, you'll be some of the best new fighter pilots in the Air Force.”
“Now before I tell you what I consider the most important quality of a fighter pilot, and this goes for you WSOs also, I'm going to tell you a story.”
“During Operation Rolling Thunder, an F-105 flight lead was in an extended engagement with a MiG. He was performing repeated high-speed yoyos, gaining on the MiG with each yoyo. One more yoyo and he would be in a firing position.”
The Colonel paused and looked around the room. We were all transfixed in rapt attention.
“Just as he was about to get a firing solution, his wingman called Bingo.”
Bingo meant that the fuel had reached the predetermined quantity where the flight must Return To Base.
“What do you think Lead did?”
Colonel West made eye contact with each of us. I was hoping he wasn't expecting any of us to answer.
“Lead did what he was supposed to do,” he continued, “he disengaged by doing a quarter roll and zoom, and he RTB'd. And I'll tell you why he did it. He did it because he had flight discipline. And he had trust. He trusted that his wingman wouldn't call Bingo unless he was really at Bingo fuel. And he, the Flight Lead, had established that Bingo. He gave up his MiG because he had discipline. If he had taken one more slice, done one more yoyo, he could have had that MiG. But he would have put his wingman in jeopardy. He did the right thing. He had discipline.”
“I expect, I demand, that all my pilots exhibit discipline. I don't expect anyone to be perfect in his flying. You're going to make mistakes, and you're going to learn from your mistakes. But I do expect everyone to have perfect discipline. If anyone in the flight calls Bingo, you RTB, whether you've accomplished your training or not. If anyone calls Knock It Off, you discontinue the maneuver. And if you find yourself out of control below 10,000 feet, you eject.”
“Does anyone have any questions?”
Nobody uttered a word.
“Gentlemen, I wish you well in your training.”
With that, the Colonel walked to the door. Someone shouted, “Room, atten-hut!” and we all snapped to attention as the Colonel exited.
There was no doubt in anyone's mind what our priorities would be.
26
August 2, 1971
We were all anxious to get into the airplanes and get flying. When we saw the training syllabus, we were shocked – we wouldn't be in the airplanes for weeks. The closest we would get was the simulator, and that wouldn't even happen for another two weeks.
We did get to got up close and personal to an F-4 early into our academics, when we were studying aircraft systems. After spending an hour teaching us about the Utility Hydraulic System, our instructor surprised us.
“Get your ear plugs and follow me. We're going outside. No hats.”
We followed him to the flight line and waited. The flight line was the one place on base where hats were not worn, since they posed a serious FOD – Foreign Object Damage – hazard if they were ingested into engine intakes.
After a few minutes of waiting, we saw an F-4 taxi up near us, and then observed the Auxiliary Air Doors in operation. They were small doors in the belly of the airplane, and they opened up just as the airplane taxied to the parking area. It was unbelievably noisy with the engines running, and we could barely hear what the instructor was saying.
“The Aux Air Doors operate through the Utility Hydraulic System,” he yelled, barely audible above the engine noise, “If the Aux Air Doors don't open when you're on the ground, the engines will auto-accelerate to 100 percent.”
We all gave him a blank look. He appeared disappointed.
“Okay, re-read your Dash One, page 7-1.”
We all nodded.
When I got back to my room I looked at page 7-1. My eyes started to glaze over as I read about T2 Cutback, T2 Reset, T5 Reset and Auto Acceleration. And that was just on one page. I could see I was in a deep, deep pond, and would have to tread water, really hard, to not drown. This F-4 was one complex airplane, and I really would need to hit the books big time to have a handle on aircraft systems.
The Flight Manual, Tech Order 1-F-4E-1, was just short of 500 pages. We would need to master every page. And we weren't going to get our hands on an airplane until we had proven, through interminable written tests and simulator evaluations, that we were ready.
The Dash One contained hundreds of WARNINGs, CAUTIONs, and NOTEs. A WARNING was, “Operating procedures, techniques, etc., which will result in personal injury or loss of life if not carefully followed”. A CAUTION was, “Operating procedures, techniques, etc., which will result in damage to equipment if not carefully followed”. A NOTE was, “An operating procedure, technique, etc., which is considered essential to emphasize”. There were hundreds of them, and we had to prove we knew them all before we could get anywhere near the airplane.
Finally, after two weeks of ground school, we progressed to the simulator phase of training. In the simulator, we would learn our way around the cockpit and practice normal and emergency procedures.
The cockpit itself had the usual suite of flight instruments, which was dwarfed by the number of switches, controls and indicators for the systems we would use for tactical employment. Most of the switches had unique shapes, so that the pilot would know what switch he was operating without looking at it. The really important switches were on the stick grip and throttles, so the pilot could do everything he needed to do in combat without taking his hands off the throttles or stick. It was called HOTAS – Hands On Throttles And Stick.
During our simulator training we were given a Blindfold Cockpit Check. We had to close our eyes and identify every switch, control and indicator, by touch, without looking. There would come a time, our instructor told us, when we would need to keep our eyes on a target and select, arm and employ one of the many types of weapons the F-4 carries. Our lives may depend on us doing it correctly.
The ground school and simulator instructors were not the same as our instructors for flight training. Speedbrake, my buddy from DaNang, was my assigned IP for flight training. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I would get my first flight in the F-4.
27
September 9, 1971
This was going to be my “Dollar Ride”, my basic introduction to the airplane. Even though we were only going to fly for a little over an hour, and simply perform normal procedures, we briefed for two hours before we went out to the airplane.
Just strapping into the airplane was a cumbersome process that required assistance from the Crew Chief. There were Leg Restraining garters that had to be attached to upper and lower legs, to prevent the legs from flailing in the event of an ejection. There was the parachute harness that needed to be attached to the parachute, which was integrated into the ejection seat. No matter how flexible you were, you couldn't attach the parachute without assistance. Once fully strapped in, it was time to pull the pins on the ejection seat. Now the seat was “hot”.
The ejection sequence could be initiated in one of several ways. There was an ejection handle at the front of the seat, right between the pilot's legs. Pull the handle, and you're ejecting. The other ejection handle was at the top of the ejection seat, right over the pilot's head. Pull down the handle and extend the face curtain to initiate t
he ejection. The third way for the pilot to eject was by having the WSO initiate the ejection by selecting the Open position on the Command Selector Valve and then ejecting. If the WSO ejected, after a very short delay the pilot would be automatically ejected, ready or not.
Emergency ground egress was a BOLD FACE emergency procedure we had memorized to the point that we could do it in our sleep. It was important to perform all of the steps in the correct order to ensure we wouldn't get hung up in the cockpit, or inadvertently actuate the ejection seat.
LOWER GUARD – UP
SHOULDER HARNESS – RELESASE
INSIDE HANDLE – ROTATE AFT
OUTSIDE HANDLE – LOCK UP
There were aspects of flying the F-4 that were different from the other airplanes I had flown. Before every takeoff, we would advance the throttles, one at a time, to check the engine instruments and exhaust nozzles. We checked them one at a time because the General Electric J79 engines produced so much thrust, 4000 pounds each, that the airplane would start sliding if we pushed both up at the same time, even if we were holding the brakes.
And if the pilot didn't want the airplane to move, he had to hold the brakes manually, since there was no parking brake. Because the engines produced so much thrust, even at Idle, we had to constantly put pressure on the brakes every time we were stopped. After any kind of extended ground operations, we would be physically drained before we even took off.
The takeoff procedure was to taxi into position on the runway, run each engine up separately and pull the throttle back to Idle, extend the flaps to the Takeoff position, pull the stick all the way back, and release the brakes while advancing both throttles to MIL and then pushing them outboard to the Afterburner detent and advance them all the way forward. The stick stayed all the way back until the nose came up to the takeoff attitude, early in the takeoff roll.
The acceleration was really amazing. Much greater than anything I had experienced up to this point. More than the T-38. Things happened pretty quickly, and as soon as the nose came up, I released back pressure and over-controlled a bit. I could feel Speedbrake on the controls with me.
Lift off, gear up, flaps up, accelerate on schedule. I had practiced it so much in the simulator, and in my head, that everything seemed to happen almost automatically. Then we practiced climbing on schedule, 10 degrees of pitch to reach 350 knots, maintaining 350 knots until reaching .90 mach, then climb at .90 mach, just shy of supersonic.
We entered the practice area, out over Biscayne Bay, at about 25,000 feet, and practiced performing turns with varying amounts of G-loading. During ground school the instructor had emphasized how we would need to keep the stick centered during high-G turns, but I wasn't a real believer until I experienced adverse yaw up close and personal.
“Let's go into a 3-G turn, and then increase the bank by another 10 degrees,” Speedbrake instructed.
I rolled into a 70-degree bank to the right, stabilized, then moved the stick to the right, to get us up to a 6-G, 80-degree turn. BAM! The nose of the airplane snapped over to the left and the airplane was absolutely, totally, out of control. The horizon was moving in a manner I had never seen before, and I heard Speedbrake chuckling on hot mike.
“I have the airplane,” he said.
I released the controls and watched the stick go full forward. Speedbrake was performing the Out-Of-Control Recovery Procedure, a procedure I had seen demonstrated in the instructional movie Unload For Control.
After some additional gyrations, and some uncomfortable negative Gs, the airplane recovered. We were at 15,000 feet. We had lost 10,000 feet faster than I could have imagined. Even though I thought I had a good sense of up and down, from my time as a gymnast at the Academy, I had been totally disoriented. I hadn't been able to read my altimeter during the gyrations, and if we had descended below 10,000 feet and still out of control, we would have been required to eject. It was a good thing Speedbrake was with me.
“I'm really glad that happened, Hamfist. We can talk about adverse yaw all day long, but when you experience it in person, you really learn about it.”
We climbed up to 25,000 feet again, while Speedbrake explained how to increase bank when in high-G conditions.
“Whenever you're at high G-loading, you keep the stick centered, totally centered. You fly only with your feet. Now let's try it again.”
We practiced again, and again, and again. The first few times, I got a little wing wiggle as soon as I inadvertently had any aileron in the turn. After a few attempts, I got the feel for keeping the stick centered.
“You're not such a hamfist after all, Hamfist!”
28
September 9, 1971
We spent more time practicing maneuvers, then it was time to return for landing. Speedbrake briefed me pretty much nonstop as we entered the pattern.
We flew down Initial at 300 knots and pitched out into a 2-G turn. Abeam the touchdown point, gear down, maintain 250 knots. Slats and flaps down. Downwind until reaching the “perch”, then 180 knots in the base turn. Halfway through the turn pick up the Indexer lights and fly AOA the rest of the way down to a firm landing.
Other than flying down Initial, which I had done at UPT, this was all new to me. The Indexer lights were visual Angle Of Attack – AOA – indicators located on each side of the windshield, right above the instrument panel. Having originated as a Navy plane, the F-4 flew approach using AOA. In addition to the Indexer lights, there was an aural AOA tone indication in our headsets. Above 15 units AOA, a 400 Hertz tone would sound in our headsets, beeping a little faster than once a second. As the AOA increased, the tone would beep faster and faster, with a shorter interval between beeps until, at approach AOA, it was as solid tone. When the AOA got higher than approach AOA, a 1600 Hertz tone would sound.
The tone took getting used to, but after a while it became second nature. During inflight maneuvering, I could be looking behind my aircraft and still know exactly what my AOA was all the time. Really neat.
The tone stopped as soon as the airplane landed. If you had an unbelievably smooth landing, you would know you were on the ground by the tone stopping.
But you weren't supposed to have smooth landings. Landings were supposed to be firm.
“This airplane was designed to land on aircraft carriers,” Speedbrake explained, “When you land firmly, you instantly dissipate 20 knots of airspeed or more. Remember, no grease jobs.”
29
October 1, 1971
On the fifth flight Speedbrake cleared me solo, and I flew with Deacon. During the time I had been getting my first few Transition flights with Speedbrake, Deacon had been receiving simulator training, learning to operate the Inertial Navigation System, the radar, and the weapons systems that were operated from the back seat. Deacon had one flight with Speedbrake to get the feel of flying in the F-4 before we flew together on our solo flight.
We flew a total of four Transition flights and nine Instrument flights, then I received a Transition check ride. Although it was called a Transition check, it was actually a combination Transition and Instrument check.
Learning to take off, fly instrument approaches and land the airplane was just the smallest part of our training. Now that the Transition check was out of the way, it was time to learn how to employ the airplane. There was a lot to learn.
The airplane was a multi-mission fighter-bomber, which meant that it could do pretty much everything, other than carrying passengers. It could fly unlimited distances with aerial refueling. It could drop conventional bombs. It could fire missiles. It could fire a 20 millimeter Vulcan cannon. It could drop nuclear weapons. And we had to become proficient in performing all of those missions.
I would have preferred that we concentrate our training only on the things I would be doing in Vietnam. It was unlikely I'd be performing a nuclear weapons loft over there. But the syllabus had us learning everything, because not everyone in my class was headed to Vietnam. Most, in fact, were headed to Europe.
&nbs
p; There were F-4 bases all over Europe, and most of them had a role in the Cold War, that nuclear standoff with the Soviet Union. We had airplanes on nuclear alert all of the time, and jocks were constantly waiting for the Russian hordes to stream over the Fulda Gap, the trip wire that would start World War Three. I was glad I was headed back to Vietnam.
30
November 15, 1971
Once basic Transition and Instrument work were out of the way, it was time to re-learn how to fly formation. In this regard, the guys right out of UPT had a leg up on the rest of us. The T-38 was a much lighter airplane than the F-4, and was much touchier in pitch. As a consequence, the UPT guys had developed fine-tuned formation flying skills.
The rest of us hadn't flown formation for several years, and we were all pretty rough initially. It took three Formation rides for me to be cleared solo, which was right in line with the course syllabus.
Formation flying was the bread-and-butter of fighter flying. We flew in formation for everything we did. Depending on our munitions load and gross weight, we would either take off in formation or take off individually and then rejoin, but for the remainder of each mission we flew in formation.
We had to learn to employ the aircraft through the entire operating envelope. That meant high speed as well as low speed. Part of that training was to take the airplane to mach 2.0, twice the speed of sound. Intuitively, I thought that all I would need to do to go mach 2 was point the airplane down and advance the throttles. If I started from high enough, I should be able to reach mach 2.
Wrong. If you go too fast at low altitude, where the air is dense, you will exceed the maximum dynamic pressure limit of the windscreen, the windshield. This was called the Q Limit. To minimize dynamic pressure, the aircraft had to be accelerated where the air was less dense, at higher altitude. So to get to mach 2, we had to descend to pick up speed, then trade some of that speed for altitude while climbing to where the air was thinner and colder, and the speed of sound would be lower. So going mach 2 would be at a slower speed, and at less dynamic pressure, than at sea level.
