Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend

by Gerald McIlmoyle

  The U-2C flown that November day was a former “Agency” bird, a term used to describe U-2 airframes that were once inventoried by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), but transferred to SAC when the USAF assumed more of the high altitude reconnaissance missions in the early 1960s. The U-2C rather than the U-2A was the preferred airframe to use for the dangerous Cuban overflights. It had a more powerful engine and a better suite of threat detection instrumentation that informed the pilot when he was under attack by enemy surface-to-air missiles or other aircraft.

  Agency birds, because of their origin in the clandestine world, were modified on occasion to improve mission effectiveness, sometimes at the expense of safety. In this case, the U-2C flying that day had previously had its “stall strips” removed to improve range and maneuverability. Stall strips were installed on the wings of most U-2s then to create a more noticeable stall warning by creating more turbulence over the wings that would warn the pilot of an impending stall. Without the strips, inadvertent stalls were more likely.

  With no stall strips, no functioning autopilot, and an airspeed tolerance of only three knots, even a small deviation in temperature or turbulence can quickly put the U-2C in an out-of control situation. With those conditions present that morning 40 miles south of Key West, ground radar following the mission watched in horror as the U-2C plunged almost vertically and disappeared from radar. Within eight minutes, search and rescue aircraft spotted an oil slick at the location the plane disappeared from radar. Ten days of extensive search continued, and the wreckage was salvaged beneath 100 feet of water in the Gulf of Mexico. Hope remained alive for a long time because the survival gear was found, and it appeared that the pilot had departed the aircraft. Maybe, just maybe, the pilot would be found floating, alive, in the water somewhere. With each ticking hour, then days, hope diminished until the search had to be terminated. The body of the pilot was never found.

  The pilot of that U-2C was my father, Captain Joe Glenn Hyde, Jr. He was only 33 years old when he died.

  My father earned his pilot license at the age of 15. For three years at his high school in Georgia, he was an all-state tackle and in college, a star guard for the University of Georgia Bulldogs in 1948 and 1949. After a nose injury threatened to prevent his dream of a career as an Air Force pilot, he became a capable assistance coach for the Bulldogs in his junior and senior years in college. He accepted an ROTC commission and eventually earned his pilot wings at Greenville AFB, Mississippi.

  His first assignment was as an instructor pilot at Greenville AFB. In modern terms, he was what is now called a “First Assignment Instructor Pilot,” or FAIP. It was during this tour that he met my mother, Marianne. After his FAIP assignment, he was sent to Korea to fly the F-86. A year later he was assigned to Laughlin AFB as a T-33 IP.

  It was a dreadful assignment. No fighter pilot would choose to return to a trainer airplane after a tour flying the F-86. But Dad had a wonderful personality, demeanor and competence for being an IP. His USAF flying records indicate that with volumes of letters of recommendation from senior officers hailing his instructing abilities. SAC needed a strong cadre of IPs at Laughlin to maintain flying skills of the pilots in the recently assigned and secretive U-2 program. The U-2 mission did not afford the pilot much opportunity to practice instrument approaches or landings so the T-33, or T-Bird, was used as a companion trainer.

  One story related to me about my father was of a check ride he endured in the T-33 upon arrival at Laughlin. On short final to Laughlin's Runway 13 for final landing, the evaluator pilot deliberately shut off the fuel switches causing the engine to flame out just before touchdown. My father landed safely and allowed the aircraft to coast to a stop. After both pilots exited the aircraft, the evaluator smiled and admitted that he had deliberately shut off the fuel in order to evaluate how my father would handle the situation. Not amused by this illegal and dangerous act, my Dad, who had arms of steel forged from years of football, cold-cocked the evaluator pilot right then and there.

  The pilots of the classified U-2 program were some of the most highly regarded pilots in the USAF. “If I am going to be in this business, I want to be on the first team,” he told my Mother. After a year of knocking on doors at Laughlin, he was accepted into the U-2 program in 1960. Now he was on the “first team.” By flying the U-2, he felt completely fulfilled with his new assignment in Del Rio.

  The U-2 community has always seemed like part of my family. During the 4080th SRW reunion in Del Rio in 1993, I learned the details of Dad's accident from some of the pilots who participated in the safety investigation. Although no one knew for sure, the theory was that Dad's U-2 stalled and entered a flat spin. The theory was that he attempted multiple spin recovery maneuvers as the aircraft plunged from 70,000 feet altitude. At 10,000 feet, and according to procedures at that time, he attempted to eject. However, the sink rate and centrifugal G-forces of the spin during the long fall exceeded the operational capabilities of the ejection seat. They doubted his parachute ever deployed.

  Some 24 years later in 1987, I learned all about spins in the T-37B as a student pilot at Vance AFB in Oklahoma. On training sorties, students were trained to deliberately place the aircraft into a spin and apply spin recovery techniques. The words for the spin recovery, in shortened phrases still ring in my head to this day--“Idle, neutral, aft, left spin, left needle, right rudder, BOOM! Stick abruptly full forward after one turn. After spinning stops, recover from dive.” The enhanced spin training in place today is probably a result of multiple mishaps involving spins during my Dad's day in the cockpit. In current procedure manuals for all aircraft I have flown in the USAF, there is the warning—should aircraft control be lost at any altitude, an ejection above 15,000 feet offers the best chance of survival. They added 5,000 just for Dad.

  I elected to stay in the Air Force and served primarily as an instructor pilot in the T-38 at Laughlin and as a B-52H instructor pilot at Barksdale. I retired from the 96th Flying Training Squadron (Reserves) in August 2006, ending 20 years of service with an assignment as a reserve T-38C instructor pilot at Laughlin, flying the same skies that Dad had enjoyed for a majority of his own flying career.

  In the Memorial Student Center at my alma mater, Texas A&M University, there is a Bible verse inscribed in stone that reads, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13.” That is the identical verse read at the memorial service for my Father held on December 7, 1963 in his hometown of La Grange, Georgia.

  The most moving tribute to my father was read by his commander, Colonel John DesPortes. It reads as follows:

  JOE GLENN HYDE, JR., Captain, United States Air Force

  As an officer – Dedicated, dependable, one of the finest.

  As a combat crew of the Strategic Air Command – Competent, reliable, eager.

  As an individual – Gentleman, great physical and moral stature.

  As a citizen – A great representative of his state, his alma mater, and his country.

  As a man – Honest, confident, proud of his heritage, a pillar of strength.

  As a friend – Loyal, inspirational, sincere.

  As an American – Who could rank higher than Joe Glenn Hyde, Jr. who gave his life for all in the cause of freedom?

  Young Americans elect to fly for the US Air Force for a variety of reasons today, but it still remains true that service and dedication to our country are foremost on the minds of many of the sharp, young men and women I instructed at Laughlin AFB over the years. In today's political climate of two concurrent “hot wars” in two different countries, the stakes are higher for them than they were for me, yet many continue to volunteer for service.

  Every time a new pilot graduates from Laughlin AFB, they are fulfilling the legacy of those who blazed the path before them. The line of preserved airplanes on static display that greets visitors at the entrance of Laughlin AFB should remind all of us of those heroes. Each plane carries its own story and the s
tory of the heroes who flew them into history.

  The U-2 community has a poem that is read as a tribute to comrades who died while flying that dangerous aircraft. The poem is as follows:

  They were born of the Sun,

  They flew for a short while towards the Sun,

  And left the sky burning in their memory.

  The skies above Laughlin AFB burn in the memory of Joe Glenn Hyde, Jr. and all who have slipped through the clear, blue sky above the Southwestern Texas sagebrush while serving this country on the “first team,” as aviators who were summoned to defend this wonderful land and the freedoms we cherish. I hope we never forget that.

  I'm sure my Dad would have it that way, too.

  Ward G. Graham

  (Deceased May 8, 2004)

  The following was submitted by Ward prior to his death.

  Terrifying Days After the Crisis

  In the Spring of 1964, I was one of several U-2 pilots assigned to fly recon missions over Cuba from Barksdale AFB, Louisiana. Our squadron had been maintaining surveillance of Cuba since October 1962. The “authorities” had determined there was no longer a need to continue these flights. Most of the pilots and airplanes were returned to Davis Monthan AFB, Arizona for reassignment to other missions.

  Don Webster, a tech rep, and I were the last pilots left at OL-19 with our commander, Lt. Col. Joe King. One evening in April, Don, the navigator and I were in Colonel King's quarters celebrating the demise of OL-19. We were in the midst of heavily imbibing what Rush Limbaugh calls “adult beverages” when Colonel King's phone rang. It seemed to us that when Colonel King answered, he snapped to attention. What we heard on his side of the conversation were statements like, “Two pilots and airplanes, sir. How soon to launch? Well, sir, both pilots have been drinking, so it would be about 11:00 tomorrow, 12 hours from bottle to throttle, you know, sir. What's that? Waive the regulation? Yes sir, then we can be there by 20 degrees sun angle tomorrow.”

  Joe flipped a coin and Webster lost the toss. He went to bed to sleep for a few hours. The navigator and I received and planned a route for him to fly over Cuba. Later, we rolled Webster out of bed, got him some breakfast and plenty of hot coffee. The sun peeked over the horizon, and a half-inebriated Don Webster staggered off into the murky dawn. He probably wondered why he was flying to Cuba when the mission had supposedly been shut down.

  Don was airborne and making his check-in calls. We listened to the radio and learned that Fidel Castro, Cuba's dictator, had made a bold statement that he would shoot down the next U-2 that violated his airspace. We were all shocked. We knew that with his 24 SA-2 surface-to-air missile sites he could easily bring down a U-2. In l962 his SAMs had killed one of our squadron mates, Major Rudolph Anderson. We were on pins and needles until Don called his “coast out” message. He had not been fired upon.

  While Don was airborne, a classified message came into OL-19 Operations laying on a mission for the next day. Tomorrow would be my turn. The next morning, I made my way south over Sarasota VOR to Key West. I was very apprehensive. I had flown a few missions over Cuba in the past, but it was with the understanding that Castro's dogs were on a short leash and would not track or fire upon us. That day the 90 miles from Key West VOR to the coast of Cuba seemed like an eternity. The island shape began to loom on the horizon. To this pilot it had the appearance of Darth Vader.

  Castro continued to echo his threat and Don and I alternated days flying over Cuba. We each flew two or three missions a week for two weeks. Why didn't Castro fire on us? Some months later word reached us that then-President Johnson had called Castro's bluff with something like this: “You may have my U-2, but it will cost you your island!” With the stakes that high, Castro backed down. No aide in the White House elected to pass that message to the two pilots who assumed they were facing death on every mission.

  It was during these two weeks that God got my attention and I began asking questions of myself like, “Is there a God? Is He knowable? What would happen to me if I died?” I even tried to get into the Barksdale Chapel one night to find answers to these perplexing questions, thinking that if I “showed up,” God, if He existed, would reveal His program to me.

  About two months later I was in Panama on another U-2 detachment and God answered my questions through another U-2 pilot, Major Clair McCombs. Backed with biblical references, McCombs showed me how I could know God personally through Jesus Christ, have my sins forgiven and be given the guarantee of eternal life. I would gladly fly those Cuban missions for such an outcome!

  Charles W. Kern

  San Antonio, Texas

  Wife: Nancy

  Dragon Lady Comes Of Age

  From the time it entered service with the USAF, the U-2 was assigned mostly routine missions including air sampling and domestic photography. During the month of October 1962 an abrupt change in the missions brought the Dragon Lady to the attention of the world.

  Steve Heyser, Rudolph Anderson and Jerry McIlmoyle quietly left the squadron for several days and traveled to Edwards AFB, California to check out in the CIA's U-2s. Steve and Rudy flew the first missions over Cuba in “borrowed” CIA U-2s. Jerry flew his first mission from Laughlin AFB. The “take” (photography) from these early October flights wrote the pilots’ names in the history books. The US had confirmation of the presence of Soviet Medium Range Ballistic Missiles (MRBM) on the island of Cuba, only 90 miles from Florida.

  I first joined this action on October 16, 1962. Steve and Rudy were already on location, and the rest of us pilots were getting ready to deploy. We were still at Laughlin AFB when the FRAGORD, slang for Supplemental Operations Order, arrived and the mission planning area went into lock down mode with heavy security. U-2 launch times were set for 4:00 AM to 5:00 AM in order to reach the photographic targets over Cuba at the best angle of the sun for the film exposure. Five aircraft were scheduled for the task, and I was assigned as Mobile Control Officer.

  The morning I preflighted each aircraft during pilot hookup and checkout, a series of Texas-sized thunderstorms passed over the Laughlin area. Maintenance had brought out the houdah, an umbrella-like apparatus used to shield the pilot from sun and rain, but it could not begin to keep out the torrential rain that cascaded on the tarmac. We were soon thoroughly soaked. That must have been an omen of the events that were to come.

  After the pilot came onboard (I don't recall which one), I checked his oxygen and pressure connections and meticulously ran the aircraft checklist using our challengeresponse method. I completed all my tasks so we could close the canopy and get the pilot out of the rain. He lowered the canopy lid, and after checking intakes clear, I gave the pilot the start signal, index finger pointing up and rotating. We operated in complete radio silence. With the power unit and air starter running, the pilot signaled inward with thumb to ground crew. Whoosh! The air blasted into the turbine starter and within seconds, the low whine of the engine signaled its starting stages.

  An unrelenting rain, such as I had never seen, lashed and pounded us. Was this how Noah felt? I turned the headlights of the mobile vehicle directly on the aircraft to aid the ground crew in pulling pins and chocks. I signaled thumbs up to the pilot, clearing him to taxi. The pilot taxied the few feet to the runway and the maintenance crew pulled the pogos to ensure none hung up on takeoff.

  I sat in my chase vehicle and watched the dark, helmeted shape in the cockpit turn in my direction. Unable to determine the pilot's thoughts at the moment, I knew for sure he was focused on flying a successful mission. My vehicle was off his right wing with the dome light on. The wind and rain continued their driving intensity.

  Ten seconds to brake release and the pilot increased the engine speed. In seven more seconds, the pilot rammed the throttle full forward and disappeared instantly in a cloud of spray, steam, vapor and darkness. I knew he had made it off safely when the engine roar, heavily muffled by the continuing downpour, faded evenly and quickly.

  After the aircraft launched, I returned to the
Physiological Support Division (PSD), home of the team assigned the job of shoehorning the pilots into the pressure suits. Other launch officers like me were deep in thought and envied those who had been selected to fly the first missions. None of us had any idea of the unique situation developing in the Caribbean and that we, too, would be packing within hours to join the team at OL-X, the classified designation for McCoy AFB, Florida. Our orders came that night. We loaded ground crews, operations officers, mission planning navigators, the Mobile Control station wagon and all the remaining pilots on the giant C-124 Globemaster and launched for McCoy. Considering the momentous events unfolding, it appeared we were all lost in our own thoughts, maybe even prayers.

  The day had finally arrived for the U-2 to show what it, and those flying and supporting the aircraft, could do for the Air Force and for our country. After years of training and flying routine missions, the Shady Lady, a term of endearment for the bird, was on her way to the adventures for which she had been designed. She would have a permanent place in aviation and diplomatic history. What a thrilling time to be part of her metamorphosis.

  After arrival at McCoy AFB, the team was immediately involved in mission planning and flying. There were certainly enough missions to go around with eleven pilots and ten aircraft. Though I don't recall exactly what we did during our non-flying hours, I'm almost certain it probably included “hoisting a few” at the overcrowded Officers Club. Rudy Anderson was a very serious guy and didn't participate in much of the partying like many of the rest of us. He was the standby pilot and Mobile Control Officer the next day when two other pilots and I were scheduled to fly photographic collection missions over Cuba. Up to this point, there had not been much apprehension about these missions. That attitude changed swiftly and brutally.