Horological Meandering

COMBAT READY IN GERMANY

The entire 49th Tactical Fighter Wing was relocated from France to Spangdahlem, Germany in the summer of 1959. Before we could “sit alert” at Spangdahlem, we had to be certified Combat Ready. This meant we needed to possess in-depth knowledge of the F104 aircraft, the internal workings of a nuclear bomb and how to set it up properly for delivery, how to calculate and set the bomb-release gyro, demonstrate you could fly a low-level navigation profile accurately, and many other bits and pieces of miscellaneous information.

Cutaway of F-104

(this line art adapted and modified) 

Sometime during that first summer at Etain, France, I told my flight commander I thought I was ready for my Operational Ready Certification Test. It was a catastrophe! Aside from not being up to speed on my written and oral test, I got lost about halfway around the route on my low-level navigation flight. 

The airplane’s crew chief is responsible to see that the aircraft is ready to go when the pilot arrives at the revetment. One of his myriad of duties is to see that the cockpit clock is fully wound before takeoff. That does not, however, relieve the pilot from checking the clock himself before he starts the engine…which I failed to do.

Cockpit clock of the era; by Wakmann

At some point about half way through my flight I realized the sweep second hand had not moved, and I had already flown past my next checkpoint. Once you do that, it’s almost impossible to get reoriented unless you are very experienced. Even if I had eventually found the target, getting lost even for a short period of time meant a busted checkride. 

During the debriefing after the flight, the check pilot, a serious type, got right to the point. Pungent and pithy, his comments went something like this: 

“Lt. Parker, you are not even close to being operationally ready! You barely passed your written and oral test, and your low-level navigation was a disaster. Whatever made you think you were ready for me to give you a checkride? Please don’t waste my time again unless you know what you are doing.” 

To say that I felt chagrined about my performance doesn’t quite define it: it was more like “ouch!” Double ouch! 

One thing is for sure—I never did forget to check that the cockpit clock was wound after that. But once I got over this guy not being very nice to me, it came—an epiphany out of the blue. I would later realize as a seminal moment in my life and the catalyst I needed to start taking charge of my life. I thought:

“Brownie, you have been spoon-fed through grade school, middle school, high school, college, and one and a half years of pilot training. This might be a propitious time to wake up and take charge of your life!” 

Successful people, I’m sure, go through this kind of transformative process much earlier than I did. Shortly thereafter I “got my act together” and my personnel file had one more page added to it indicating that 1st Lt. Morris B. Parker III was certified “Combat Ready.”

Can't fake this position and garb - it's the real thing

THE OCCASIONAL HICCUP

While we were at Hahn, we always had four aircraft on 15-minute alert in case the East Germans or Soviets acted up. Unlike Spangdahlem or Spain where we had covered parking, our planes were out in the open. The planes and the concrete-block alert shack where the pilots, crew chiefs and armament people stayed were located at the takeoff end of the prevailing runway. The term, “prevailing runway,” denotes the runway (or runways) used the majority of the time because of the direction of the wind. 

(this line art from F-104 manual)

When we were sitting inside the alert shack we would hear the mournful tune of the J-79 engines as our fellow pilots were taxiing toward us, knowing that they would shortly be parked right outside our door. We flew in the same configuration as we did in Spain and at Key West, that is “clean,” except for Sidewinder missiles on the wingtips. The reason for the flights lining up at the end of the runway prior to takeoff was to have the Sidewinder safety pins pulled. These pins physically disconnect the electrical firing circuit from the missiles and are located on the underside of the wingtip, just inside the rail to which the Sidewinder is attached.

The reverse procedure would be performed after they landed—the armament people would meet them at the far end of the runway and the pins would be reinstalled. Before the armorers approached the airplanes, the pilots extend to them the courtesy of placing their hands outside the cockpit in full view, arms resting on the canopy sill. These guys want to know that the pilots were not messing around with switches in the cockpit, especially the ones affecting the ordnance.

One afternoon four of us were sitting in the alert shack as another flight of four outside was getting their Sidewinder pins pulled. Suddenly there was a very ominous sound, something none of us had ever heard. We knew it was out of the ordinary and it was not good. 

We rushed outside to see an ashen-faced enlisted man on the ground underneath the left wing of the F-104 he had been arming. Above him was the wingtip rail where the Sidewinder should have been ... there was an electric short somewhere in the aircraft wiring and as soon as the pin was pulled, the missile launched! The armorers are taught to pull the pins at arms-length, which he had done, so fortunately all he had was a pair of soiled pants and a pounding heartbeat. 

The F-104 and the missile happened to be aimed in the general direction of one of our control towers on the other side of the runway. The Sidewinder missed them by about fifteen yards, and because it hit the ground shortly after it went by, it did not reach the preset speed at which it would arm itself; thus, it did not detonate. Whew! We felt very lucky that no one was injured or killed, especially the armorer and our pal in the control tower, who was more than a little “spooked” when this thing flew by.

Thanks for reading. Please go on to Part 3 for more stories

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