With the new pressure suits finished, we were sent to a high altitude pressure chamber at Abilene AFB, Texas for testing. The test was to determine the effects of rapid decompression for the pilots and the suits. We went to this chamber because it would be the one used by my future unit's pilots for required high altitude qualification. Once we were inside the test chamber, technicians evacuated the air until the chamber was the equivalent pressure altitude of 75,000 feet. The pressure suits and pilots passed the test.
Volunteers now knew another piece of the puzzle about the aircraft we would be flying; it flew at extremely high altitudes. The highest I had ever flown up to that time was 49,000 feet in an F-86F in Korea. It seemed inconceivable to me to fly at 75,000 feet. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I would be flying the same plane in a sister program to the one that Louis Setter, Frank Grace, Barry Baker and Jim Barnes had joined eight months earlier. There were other rumors that I associated with those four comrades-in-arms, such as the one about civilians seen taking off in this weird airplane that went practically straight up from US air bases in Germany, Japan and Turkey.
Those of us scheduled to become part of the Dragon Lady program formed a bond that is still firm to this day. We were filled with anticipation of our future flying a new high altitude aircraft and our relocation to Del Rio. The men and women of the 407th Strategic Bomber Wing one by one departed Malmstrom AFB for their new assignments.
My cousin, Colonel Harvey Hertz, was the Flight Surgeon of the 4080th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing. I contacted him and told him I was being assigned to the Wing there. He invited Patty and me to stay with him and his mother (my great aunt) while we looked for a house to rent. Much of the usual anxiety of our new assignment and finding a place to live was relieved by my cousin's generosity.
I reported to the 4028th Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron the first week of August 1957. On that first day at Laughlin AFB, I saw the U-2 for the first time. I was mesmerized by the sleek appearance. For me, it represented a dream come true. It was love at first sight!
What did I feel when I first saw the U-2? It was total, unbridled excitement and I could not wait to get in it and fly. What was it like to take off and climb above 70,000 feet? It was like everything I ever wanted and hoped it would be. It was total euphoria; I was thrilled to the core with absolute and complete focus on what I was doing and making the plane perform. I couldn't get enough of flying this airplane. When I left the U-2 outfit for a staff job after seven years, it caused me real physical and psychological pain to realize I would probably never fly the bird again. Would you believe I still feel that way?
Charles B. Stratton
9 Mile Falls, Washington
Wife: Ann
My First U-2 Flight
There may be some that don't remember their first flight in the U-2, but I sure do. I had flown the F-80A and C, the F-84G and F, the B-57C and the RB-57D. Moving over to the U-2 didn't seem like any big deal. I decided that after checking out in the miserable F-80A that anything else would be a walk in the park. So I was miserable again until my first attempt at landing the U-2.
After the usual ground school, simulated landings in a U-3A, cockpit procedures, briefings, etc., it was time for the first flight. My Instructor Pilot (IP) was Ed Dixon, a really cool, calm confidence-instilling pilot. He briefed me on what to expect in flight and repeatedly emphasized the fact that the bird would not land unless it was held off the runway until it stalled and “dropped” to the runway. Dixon drove home to me the fact that if I touched down above stall, I would be airborne again and “bullfrogging” down the runway. This seemed in conflict with his previous admonition to NEVER, EVER STALL THE U-2! I thought to myself, “Okay, okay, enough already. Let's get on with it. What the hell can be so tough about landing this bird?” I had watched several U-2 landings from the Mobile Control chase car and they seemed normal enough. What I failed to realize was that those landings were by experienced U-2 pilots, and not the new guy on the block that I was.
Charles B. Stratton leaning on the unit's modern speedy Dodge wagon, which served as the mobile control and chase vehicle at Bien Hoa AB, Vietnam, March 1964.
The takeoff and inflight maneuvers were pretty straightforward without surprises, if anything in the U-2 could be called straightforward. When I had completed my prelanding familiarization flight maneuvers to get the feel of the U-2, I radioed my IP that I had completed that phase and was ready to enter the landing pattern. Ed instructed me to enter the pattern and reminded me of pattern altitudes. He rechecked my pattern speeds with me and computed my remaining fuel load. My downwind, base, and final approach airspeeds were right on. As I approached the runway, I saw Ed initiating a pursuit curve on me with the chase vehicle.
I passed Ed and he started calling out my altitude above the runway: “10 feet, 8 feet, 5 feet, 3 feet, 2 feet, hold it off, hold it off, HOLD IT OFF!” I held off until it started to shudder and I instinctively released some back pressure, touched the runway and bounced back up. Again I hit the runway and bounced back up. I didn't want to get into a “porpoise,” so I added power and took it around. Wow, I got out of that one by the skin of my teeth.
Now, I can guarantee you that the first attempt to land an airplane in a “controlled crash” is a sobering experience. The next approach was similar to the first one, and so was my attempt to land when the bird started to shudder. Again, I couldn't help myself and released some back pressure. There I was “galloping” down the runway. On the next go-around with some one-sided discussion with Ed, I decided to hold that sucker off, even if it crashed. On the next approach, as Ed called off “3, 2, 1 foot, hold it off, hold it off,” I kept sucking back on the yoke. The bird started to shudder, so I kept coming back and it “flopped” to the runway. I figured this was a disaster and then Ed called out, “Nice landing!”
My next four or five touch and go's went good, but they still seemed like controlled crashes to me. As all U-2 pilots know, after a few landings, you don't even notice the shudder just before the “crash.” After that flight, I really knew the meaning of the pilot cliché, “Well, I walked away from another one!”
Commentary on the First Flights of Republic of China Pilots
by Anthony Martinez
Charles Stratton's account of his first flight brought to mind the critiques I attended as Squadron Operations Officer when the Republic of China pilots were training at Laughlin AFB. The IP was Eddie Dunagan. Fellow pilots knew Eddie sometimes slipped into South of the Mason-Dixon Line lingo when he got real excited.
This particular time, his Chinese student was listening intently to Eddie's explanation of the identical procedure that Stratton described when the bird is one foot above asphalt. Eddie said, “I don't want you to start “crow hopping” from main gear to tail wheel or you're going to be in real trouble. Do you understand?” The ROC pilot answered with a puzzled look, “What do you mean, ‘crow hop’?” I not know what is ‘crow hop’.” Then Eddie proceeded to demonstrate with his hand bouncing up and down on the table. We all looked at each other and had a good laugh. The ROC pilots had learned much of their flying talk from the one and only “Muddy” Waters. He and his wife, Marty, really made those young ROC pilots feel at home while they were with us.
Carmine Vito
(Deceased August 27, 2003)
Widow: Barbara
The following is summarized from the Austin American Statesman, Saturday, August 30, 2003.
For decades, the world knew nothing of Carmine Vito and his covert U-2 missions over the Soviet Union. That changed in 1998 when the Central Intelligence Agency declassified the details of the spy flights and their contributions to the Cold War.
“I want to say a special thanks to the pilots, from Carmine Vito, to the U-2 pilots of today,” CIA Director George Tenent said at a 1998 symposium on the U-2, the high-flying surveillance plane that debuted in 1956.
“The courage that Carmine and his colleagues showed made an enormou
s difference to the security of our country,” Tenent said. “These men allowed generations of Americans to live in peace and prosperity.”
Vito, who flew 65 spying missions for the CIA, was the only American pilot to fly a U-2 reconnaissance mission directly over Moscow. That flight, on July 5, 1956, collected critical information about the Soviet military capacity. Vito's U-2 hangs from the ceiling of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington, along with the Tutti-Frutti gum that he left beneath the canopy.
The CIA flew 24 missions over Russia between 1956 and 1960, when the loss of Francis Gary Powers’ U-2 plane halted the flights.
Glen Dunaway, also an Austin resident, was one of the first group of six pilots, along with Vito, to operate the U-2. Dunaway remembers Vito as an ebullient and thoughtful man who was always ready to fly. “It was a huge deal, and everybody knew it,” Dunaway said of their missions. “They also knew the dangers of a mission when you fly in somebody else's back yard and they don't like it. You have to treat it with maximum respect and professionalism.”
The photos taken from the U-2 provided the first verifiable data about the Soviet Union's military capacity and was used to debunk rumors that the Russians were much stronger than they turned out to be.
“It was the beginning of a program that allowed the US to have a much better understanding of what was going on in the Soviet interior,” said Jeffrey Richelson, a senior fellow with the National Security Archive at George Washington University. “Accurate information about the Soviet military laid the groundwork for future arms treaties,” Richelson said.
Vito met Barbara at CIA Headquarters where she was an administrative assistant. They married in 1960 and had four children. Vito spent the remainder of his career in the Air Force, retiring as a Colonel.
Tightly wrapped U-2 is unloaded from a C-124. The U-2 was partially disassembled for transport and then reassembled at the destination. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
Pilot is being prepared for a mission. The houdah or portable canopy is used to temporarily protect the pilot and cockpit from the elements prior to takeoff. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
Flying with the Lady
“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward for there you have been and there you long to return.”
Leonardo da Vinci
Julian Anderson
Vashon, Washington
My crew was flying our last B-29 training mission the day “The War” ended. In November 1945 a large portion of the crew was transferred to Roswell AFB, New Mexico to be discharged or reassigned. I considered my options at the time; I was 5 feet 5 inches and pilot requirements for commercial airlines were 5 feet 6 inches. Employment as a commercial pilot did not seem to be a viable option for me. I decided I would stay in the Air Force and I became an Administrative Officer in the Base “Pool” Squadron until I received an assignment. I was finally assigned to the 393rd Bomb Squadron, 509th Bomb Wing as a co-pilot when it returned to Roswell. After 18 months, I was upgraded to Aircraft Commander. A great deal of my Air Force career was subsequently in aircraft safety where I participated on a number of aircraft accident investigations.
In August 1948 Jack Nole was assigned as the Deputy Commander of the 393rd Bomb Squadron. We were deployed to Goose Bay, Labrador for a short TDY. Our new squadron commander had a friend who had been assigned to the Wing and to my crew for that TDY. He was designated as the Wing Fly-Away Kit Officer. The Kit Officer was responsible for insuring that anything required for support of the squadron aircraft on TDYs was stowed in the bomb bays until supply lines could be established. Not only did I fly a combat crew, but I was also the Squadron Technical Supply Officer and Fly-Away Kit Officer. For that scheduled flight, I already had a substitution of other members of my aircrew when the Squadron Commander requested that his friend be assigned to my crew. The friend was to have flown the “test hop” of our aircraft, B-29 S/N 44-86383 on Wednesday, August 11, 1948. However, he did not show up for the flight which was flown with another crew member as co-pilot. On Thursday, August 12, prior to takeoff I briefed the Squadron Commander's friend on his responsibility on the takeoff. I specifically briefed him on the “flap retraction procedure.” I explained what the procedure was and why I would call for “flaps 10 degrees” after the aircraft was established in a climb. The last 10 degrees of flap retraction in the heavyweight B-29 would lose a lot of its lift so we would then gain more airspeed. To ensure we had a climb re-established on the flight before retracting the last 10 degrees of flaps, I called for “flaps 10 degrees.” About the time I felt the aircraft losing lift, I heard the co-pilot say, “Uh-oh, I forgot to play their coast.” A quick glance at the co-pilot's instrument panel showed the flap indicator almost at “zero.” My efforts to stop the aircraft from settling were almost successful but it was not enough. The two inboard propellers on the B-29 were six inches lower than the outboard propellers, a fact which played against us that day. I saw a flash of fire and instantly knew we had struck the ground. I concentrated on keeping the wings level and the nose slightly elevated for the next impact. The crash came with such devastation that only eight of the 21 crew on board survived. After the aircraft hit the ground, my left leg extended with the rudder pedal to keep the wings level and I sustained a fracture at the knee joint. I sustained head injuries that I can only attribute to my good fortune and a Guardian Angel to have survived. I was off duty for three months recovering from my injuries. I was fortunate to be among the eight, but to this day I remember those who lost their lives.
Julian Anderson awaiting his flight with Air Combat USA, 2005.
Julian Anderson checking the scheduling board for his flight, 2005.
Following my recovery and return to flight duty, I attended Air Tactical School and Air Force Instrument Instructor Pilot Training. I transitioned into the B-50s as the 509th Bomb Wing was being converted to the B-50 aircraft. Then the B-47s came into operation and I volunteered to be reassigned to that aircraft. The original intent was to have the B-47s operated by a three-man crew and all qualified as navigators/bombardiers/radar navigators. The plan was to have the crew members rotate in each of the positions; however, the headquarters decision makers never implemented it.
After a year of training schools, I was assigned in 1951 to the 376th Bomb Wing at Barksdale AFB, Shreveport, Louisiana. I flew the B-29 until our unit subsequently received their B-47s. I was offered a job on the Wing Staff but I declined in order to refresh my proficiency in the aircraft. Part of my flying included testing the newly devised Minimum Altitude Bombing Technique for the SAC War Plan procedures. After transitioning into B-47s, I became an Instructor Pilot (IP) in the B-47 and accrued 1,000 hours. Later I was selected as the Wing Director of Safety under the new Wing Commander. Part of my new duties was to fly the Wing Commander whenever he wanted to go in a B-47.
One day a B-29 crashed while attempting a three-engine emergency landing. It occurred away from the airfield in the Special Weapons Storage area at Barksdale, but it did not impact the storage bunker. Crash equipment was routinely positioned alongside the runway at regular intervals for easy access in case of emergency. As the aircraft burned, the crash recovery crew had to travel a circuitous route to get to site. There were no survivors of that emergency.
I was a member of the investigative board proceedings for this accident. I recommended to SAC that procedures be revised. The recommendation was—if a B-29 pilot was making an emergency three-engine landing, once he descended through 500 feet altitude above the ground, he was then committed to land the aircraft, hopefully on the runway or within the confines of the landing area where the crash recovery vehicles are positioned, making it more probable for crew members to be safely rescued.
As a result of those recommendations, I learned that Brigadier General Austin Russell, Commander, 4th Air Division at Barksdale was impressed with the accident investigation. Another accident involved a B-47 from Eglin A
FB, Florida that crashed in the Mississippi River. The pilot was attempting to “get on top” of a line of thunderstorms en route to Edwards AFB, California. I learned again that General Russell was pleased with the board's investigation of the accident.
The 376th Bomb Wing was relocated to Ohio and the Strategic Evaluation Group (SEG) came to Barksdale from MacDill AFB, Florida. It was considered to be a SAC Headquarters assignment and I was assigned as Director of Safety for the SEG.
When it came time for the relocation of the 376th Bomb Wing to Ohio and the SEG to Barksdale, General Armstrong, Commander of Second Air Force at Barksdale made his first visit to the 4080th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Laughlin AFB, Texas. The day General Armstrong arrived at Laughlin, his plane was delayed from landing due to a crash of B-57C right on the runway. It took two hours for the crash recovery team to get the runway cleared to permit General Armstrong's plane to land. Rumor was that General Armstrong returned to Barksdale and immediately phoned General Russell and said, “A.J., you are now Commander of the 4080th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Laughlin. Get down there and straighten them out.”
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 7
