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

by Gerald McIlmoyle

  Duck Butt called and asked me if I could see a glow to the east on the horizon. I replied, “Negative.” Transmissions from Duck Butt were getting weaker by the minute and the last one I heard was, “Turn left 15 degrees.” The transmissions from the unknown source were loud and clear, but I ignored them. I selected the emergency channel broadcast and yelled “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!” as loud as I could. I had about 30 minutes of fuel left, with no prospect of landing back at Eielson or anywhere else for that matter. The U-2 carries enough fuel for nine hours and forty minutes of flight and I had already been airborne nine hours and ten minutes.

  Suddenly I picked up a radio station directly off the nose of the aircraft; it sounded like Russian music. It came in loud and clear. Now I knew where I was! The suppressed panic was now real and seized my lungs. I heard my own pulse pound in my ears. Through my panic, I knew for sure I wasn't going to be another Gary Powers and spend time in a Russian prison.

  With what little fuel I had left, I decided to get as far away as possible from that radio station. I turned left until it was directly behind me and I kept calling “MAYDAY” until I became hoarse. “Why bother,” I thought, “There's nothing anyone can do, so I may as well save my breath.”

  Twelve minutes of fuel left now. I made a call in the clear, to let anyone who might be listening, know that I was going off the air. A sense of despair overwhelmed me. I shut the engine down. Here I was just above 75,000 feet over God-knows-where, encased in a pressure suit which had inflated to keep my blood from boiling and all I could think of was, “This is a fine mess you got yourself into, Charlie.”

  When the suit inflated, I neglected to pull the lanyard to keep the helmet from rising. I had a hell of a time seeing the instrument panel until I finally got my helmet back into position. The helmet face shield and the windshield immediately fogged over.

  I wanted to conserve the battery so I could make one call before I punched out. I thought for a moment the altimeter was stuck. At least 10 minutes went by before the aircraft started to descend. With my face close to the faceplate, I could lick the condensation off. Now all I had to do was keep the wings level, maintain a rate of descent for maximum range and hope my Guardian Angel wasn't taking a nap. The silence was deafening. I could only hear my own labored breathing.

  Up to now Mother Nature hadn't extended an invitation to relieve my bladder, but wouldn't you know, she makes a call at the most inopportune time. I wasn't about to unzip the pressure suit and have my “winky” pinched off during ejection. Besides, I didn't think I could find my “winky” under all the winter gear I was wearing. I felt like a 40-pound robin. I wandered off the heading I had established. That it would not have mattered that much, but I still wanted to feel I was in control of an impossible situation.

  Twenty minutes passed since flameout. Damned if I didn't see a faint glow on the horizon directly in front of me. I thought I'd hold this heading and rate of descent until I reached 20,000 feet. If I'm in an overcast condition, I'd better punch out. I didn't want to meet up with a mountain, if one was in my flight path. If there aren't any clouds, I would descend to 15,000 feet and take it from there. I descended through 25,000 feet. There wasn't any cloud cover and my pressure suit started deflating. I thanked God. Now I could look around because it was light enough to see the terrain, which was blanketed in snow.

  There were no mountains in sight, but what I did see was breathtaking to me. There were two F-102s, one on each of my wings. They were both flying near stall speed and their angle of attack looked dangerously steep. I activated the battery switch and gave them a call on the emergency frequency. They welcomed me home and said they had been following me for the past 15 minutes. They also said I had just passed over a little airstrip about 20 miles back. I told the F-102 driver off my left wing that I was going to make a left turn, so he'd better move off. He said, “No sweat, come on.”

  When I turned into him, he stalled out and disappeared under my wing. He said, “While I'm down here, I'll look for that little airstrip.” As I passed through 10,000 feet altitude, I decided to attempt an engine restart. I was still gliding at 160 knots indicated airspeed and didn't have quite the engine RPM for a restart but I tried anyway. Was I ever relieved to hear the J-57 engine come to life!

  I descended below 5,000 feet. The F-102 drivers were getting nervous. They were used to setting up a flameout pattern with a high key of 10,000 feet, but they weren't flying a glider. I reached 1,000 feet flying over a truck. I could not detect any crosswind, which was one less thing to worry about. I started a left turn out to sea and the F-102 drivers came unglued. “Bail out! Bail out!” they screamed. I continued my turn on around to low key, lowered the flaps and decided I was getting too much thrust out of the idling J-57. I shut it down. Everything looked good so far. I was coming up on the truck now with more airspeed than I wanted.

  As I passed over the truck at about 15 feet, I deployed the drag chute and kicked the rudder back and forth. That took care of the excessive airspeed. The U-2 still didn't seem to want to stop, even without an engine.

  Call it luck or the help of that Guardian Angel, I think I made the best touchdown ever. I hardly felt a thing as both landing gears settled in one foot of snow. When the U-2 came to a complete stop, I just sat there staring straight ahead. I was physically and emotionally drained.

  I don't remember how long I sat there, but a knock on the canopy startled me. I turned to face a bearded giant who was grinning from ear to ear. He reminded me of the television character, Grizzly Adams. I breathed a sigh of relief; he wore a parka that I recognized as US Government Issue.

  Before I opened the canopy, I unbuckled the seat belt and shoulder harness, made sure all switches were off and stowed the maps that had been useless to me. I took off the faceplate and I sucked in a breath of real air. I opened the canopy and the bearded giant said, “Welcome to Kotzebue.” I replied, “You don't know how glad I am to be here.” It was bitter cold as I tried to climb out of the cockpit with all my heavy flight gear. My legs were numb and I didn't think they would support my weight. My new-found friend sensed the difficulty I was having, so he put his hands under my armpits and gently lifted me out of the cockpit and put me on the snow as if I was a rag doll. He wasn't even standing on a ladder or box!

  There were several more personnel from the radar station that gathered around, plus a half dozen Eskimos who came from the shacks I saw while airborne. Grizzly gave me a hand taking off the helmet and had someone place it in the vehicle the rescuers drove. The two F-102s buzzed us rocking their wings, then headed east. I thought, “I have to thank them somehow for making this landing possible.”

  My bladder was about to burst so I excused myself and shuffled to the other side of the U-2. The Eskimos followed me, but when they saw what I was about to do, they politely turned their heads. More people showed up to look at the strange bird until there were about 20 or so gathered to see and hear the ruckus. I never before in my life had such a large audience to watch me tinkle.

  The radar site commander let me use a secure phone in his office and brought me a mug of hot coffee to sip on. I finally got hold of “Whip” Wilson. He had been standing by the radio since I took off. I told him the aircraft was okay, no damage done, but the fuel tanks were dry. He said a C-47 was loading up now with drums of fuel and maintenance people. Whip said he would be along to fly the U-2 back to Eielson. I asked if anyone had notified Jeanne, my wife, that I was overdue and he said no one had. Good. At least she wouldn't know a thing until I told her. Whip let me know that my little excursion over Russia sure had the White House and SAC Headquarters shook up. I thought, “I'll bet.”

  It took several hours before the C-47 landed at Kotzebue. I had time to unwind and get acquainted with the radar site personnel. The site commander asked if I would like to see where I had been. He took me to a room with the largest plotting screen I had ever seen. There was a map about 15 feet square of the polar region including Alaska and Siberi
a overlaid with plexiglass. He flipped a switch and a battery of lights illuminated the entire screen. There was my entire flight from start to finish, indicated by little tick marks made with a yellow grease pencil. The tick marks traced a path from Eielson AFB direct to Barter Island, then to the North Pole. A 90 degree turn over the Pole was indicated, but instead of a 270 degree turn in the opposite direction, it looked like I turned 300 or 310 degrees before rolling out and heading for Siberia. At this point, I was beginning to understand my flight path. I followed the tick marks where the Duck Butt navigator told me to steer 10 degrees left and later 15 degrees left. The tick marks made a sharp left turn and headed for Kotzebue. I was about to slug the radar site commander and ask him, “Why in hell hadn't I been given a steer when all along you knew where I was,” but my attention was directed to six little tick marks on either side of my flight path as I changed course to Kotzebue.

  I asked the commander, “What are those little curly cues?” He replied, “Six MiGs were nipping up trying to shoot you down.” Well, that got my attention and I thought, “Shit! I'm glad I didn't know it at the time. Phew!”

  I stumbled over to a chair and took the weight off. I feared my legs were about to give out. He pulled up a chair alongside mine and said, “I know what you are thinking and I don't blame you. There is a good reason why we couldn't help you. I can't tell you, but maybe someone higher up will.” I said, “Gee thanks. I hope the reason justifies throwing away an aircraft and crew.”

  I was still digesting all that I learned when the phone rang and someone in another room said it was for the U-2 pilot. The call was from one of the F-102 pilots stationed at Galena AFB who escorted me to Kotzebue. He said he was glad to see that I had made it down safely and apologized for yelling, “Bail out” when I turned out to sea at 1,000 feet. He had never seen a U-2 before and couldn't believe one could glide like that. I invited him to come visit us at Eielson and we would give him a “cook's tour.”

  The C-47 finally arrived from Eielson with Lieutenant Colonel “Whip” Wilson, several maintenance personnel and enough fuel to get the U-2 back to Eielson. When Wilson checked the aircraft forms, he noticed I neglected to fill out my takeoff and landing times. I remembered my takeoff time at midnight but couldn't remember when I landed. The radar site had me logged down at 10:25. That was 10 hours and 25 minutes of flight time. The U-2 had only nine hours and 40 minutes of fuel; that meant I had 45 minutes of glide time. There was that Guardian Angel again.

  Wilson took off in the U-2, and I climbed aboard the C-47 with the maintenance crew for the long haul back to Eielson. “Wee” Willie met the C-47 and told me I had 30 minutes to pack all my gear because there was a KC-135 waiting to fly me to SAC Headquarters at Offutt AFB in Omaha, Nebraska. I was to brief my flight to the Commander in Chief of the Strategic Air Command, General Thomas Powers and his staff, especially the part over Russia. He also told me that Major Rudolph Anderson had been shot down over Cuba that day by a SA-2 surface-to-air missile. That was depressing news on top of everything else I had recently experienced. Everyone that knew Rudy would sorely miss him, myself included.

  I don't remember how long the flight to Offutt AFB took, but it couldn't have taken long enough to suit me. I wasn't anxious to meet General Powers. I was the only passenger aboard the KC-135 and that made me extremely anxious about the briefing I was to give at SAC Headquarters. General Powers must have deemed it crucial to learn the circumstances surrounding my overflight of Russia. He must know all the details by now, but I supposed he wanted to hear it directly from me.

  The KC-135 flight crew was curious to learn why they were flying me to SAC Headquarters, but they never came right out and asked. They had probably been briefed not to discuss the reason for this flight with anyone, especially me. They did provide that hot meal I was hoping for so long ago back in Eielson.

  We landed at Offutt and a staff car took me to the SAC Headquarters building. A full colonel met me and escorted me to the underground Command Post. The room was a beehive of activity. People were actually running from place to place, as if their lives depended on it. Adjacent to the Command Post was a briefing room with a table that could seat at least 20 people. At the head of the table was an easel with an aeronautical chart on which my flight was plotted to the North Pole. A sheet of paper covered the portion of my flight after leaving the Pole. A colonel told me to take a seat and General Powers would be with us in a few minutes. General Powers entered the room and eight other generals followed. Those ranking generals looked as if they hadn't been out of their uniforms for days. Their eyes were bloodshot and some hadn't seen a razor in the past 24 or more hours. I stood at attention while they were all seated. General Powers sat directly across the table from me. He looked extremely tired, but he was clean-shaven and wore a fresh uniform.

  As soon as everyone was seated, with all eyes riveted on me, General Powers said, “Captain Maultsby, how about briefing us on your flight yesterday.” I stood at the easel while describing the type mission I had flown. I used the pointer to indicate the route I had flown from Eielson to the North Pole. I mentioned the difficulty I had taking fixes because of the Aurora Borealis.

  Until I pointed to the North Pole, no one stopped me to ask questions. General Powers then asked, “Captain Maultsby, do you know where you went after leaving the Pole?” I said, “Yes, sir.” The other generals squirmed in their seats as if they were sitting on tacks. General Powers said, “Show us, please.” I took the pointer and lifted the paper that had covered my flight path after leaving the Pole. The other generals really became excited now, but General Powers only smiled. He asked, “How did you know?” I told him that I saw my flight path plotted at the radar site at Kotzebue. General Powers turned and looked to each of the other generals and asked, “Gentlemen, do you have any more questions?” They all nodded negatively. He turned back to me and said, “Too bad you weren't configured with a system to gather electromagnetic radiation. The Russians probably had every radar and ICBM site on maximum alert.”

  General Powers thanked me for the briefing, told me not to discuss my overflight with anyone and left the room. The other generals followed in order of rank, and the last to leave the room was a brigadier general. He stopped in front of me and said, “You are a lucky little devil. I've seen General Powers chew up and spit out pilots for a helluva lot less.”

  The colonel who escorted me into the Command Post asked me if I'd like to wait in his office; he said there was a U-3A flying up from Laughlin AFB to pick me up. It wasn't due for another hour or so. I thought now would be a good time to find out why I wasn't given a steer when every Tom, Dick and Harry had my flight path plotted. The colonel wouldn't tell me why, but he did say that my overflight came close to starting World War III. If it hadn't been for my “MAYDAY” calls, the Russians may have pulled the trigger. He told me that when President Kennedy was informed about my overflight, he simply said, “There's always some son of a bitch who doesn't get the word.” Well, if I had gotten “the word”, I wouldn't be sitting here now. Just one steer would have prevented all this commotion.

  A phone call from Base Operations announced the arrival of a U-3A from Laughlin. I thanked the colonel for his hospitality and left the underground Command Post still wondering why I wasn't given a steer. It bugged me for years before I learned the reason.

  Captain Ed Purdue was waiting for me in the flight planning room in Base Operations. He said everyone back at Laughlin had been sweating me out. Ed didn't think anyone had told Jeanne and I was thankful. He was anxious to hear all about my fiasco, but when I told him General Powers told me not to discuss the flight with anyone, he didn't pursue the issue.

  Ed said that he flew through some pretty nasty weather on his way up and hoped it had cleared for the flight back. The weather station forecast wasn't optimistic. Just north of Enid, Oklahoma we ran into icing conditions and couldn't maintain altitude. We called Vance AFB near Enid, told them we were icing up and requested immediate
landing instructions. To make matters worse, one engine was losing power which increased our rate of descent. We requested a straight in GCA (Ground Control Approach) and declared an emergency. When GCA picked us up, we were already below the glide path and still descending. I thought, “What a way to go and after all I'd been through in the past two days.” GCA was screaming for us to level off; we were way below the glide path. I could see the ground now through light fog and was certain we wouldn't make it up to the runway. I swear Ed was trying to hold the airplane up by pulling up on the yoke. It worked because we touched down in the overrun 50 feet from the runway.

  I arrived back at Laughlin and I recited the same briefing for my Wing Commander, General DesPortes. Not one word was spoken throughout the entire briefing, except for an occasional muttered, “Oh, shit,” when I described the six MiGs after my fanny, no one asked a question until I finished. Everyone seemed more interested in the thoughts that went through my mind during the ordeal rather than the cause of the overflight. They all were glad not to have been in my place. General DesPortes thanked me and said, “Now get back to Jeanne and the boys and take the next two days off.”