18. February 2010 by Farb.

This is a story when I was a First Lieutenant at Kadena and still a wingman. I had been checked out for a while and was a pretty good wingman at this point. I was flying with six other guys in one of my sister flights in my squadron. This was unusual because we normally tried to fly in our own flight because these were the guys you were going to war with. However, on this occasion my job was to fly as number four in another flight’s four-ship. The flight lead was being checked out and number three was the Instructor Pilot (IP) doing the checkout. I can remember the flight lead to this day. He was a nice guy but not what I thought of as one of the best possible leaders you could have. Unfortunately he died in a civilian aircraft accident several years after this incident. So I don’t want to belittle him too much here. Just know that at the time he was going through his flight lead checkout he was not the sharpest pencil in the box. Know also that when I was becoming a flight lead I was probably ten times more clueless and stupid than John was so don’t think him a stupid guy. However, I learned a valuable lesson that day from John’s misfortune.

We briefed up a standard bombing range mission that day with a standard low-level mission onto the range. The range was called Ishima Bomb Range and I spent a lot of time there both on the ground as the Range Officer and in the air as a bomb dropper. On this particular day the weather was questionable but the plan was to go there anyway so John could fill this flight lead square on the range. The briefing, ground ops, takeoff and first part of the mission went as scheduled. However, when we got to the range the weather was worse than briefed. In fact the weather was pretty much doggie pou-pou. We came into the range at about 12,000 feet and we were definitely between two solid layers (of unknown thickness) above and below us. My backseater was complaining about the weather as we came in. When you bring a four-ship onto the range the way we did you basically bring everyone in a formation we call an echelon formation. This means that everyone was stacked away from lead in the direction of what we call the break. During the break you start a climbing turn away from the other aircraft up to your bomb pattern altitude. The next aircraft delays five seconds and then does the same thing. The end result is that all four aircraft end up on either the crosswind, downwind, base or on the final portion of the bomb pattern. That is ok when the weather is basically VFR (clear) but when the weather if IFR (cloudy or poor visibility) you need some means of keeping track of the other three aircraft. That means you need eyeballs on and since none of us were Superman and could see through clouds this was going to be difficult. As we were coming in with John the first aircraft on the left of the formation; I was staring up through the other two aircraft between John and myself. I was noticing that as we were getting closer to the break point the clouds were coming down from above and closing in on the bottom of the flight. At this point I said to myself “Self – this is definitely not looking good.” I had that same talk with myself many times over my career. I was thinking that we were going to carry straight through and go find something else to do rather than drop our bombs. Now any decent flight lead would have come to that same conclusion. John however, being a brand new trainee flight lead, was all about filling squares and that was not in his thought process. The first thing I knew was that I heard John say “Ones Up.” Which meant he was in the break. I looked over in amazement and disbelief just in time to see the shinny underside of his F-4 disappear in the clouds and the number two man now become the new three-ship lead. At this point I was overcome with disbelief. I am telling myself that there is no way he is that stupid. Next I begin to wonder what the hell number two’s plan was. All the time I am thinking this I kept hearing my backseater saying “one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two…, etc.) on the way to five seconds at which time number two should go into the break. Has my backseater lost his mind too? Assuming my backseater was just a creature of habit I was about to say “can you belief that stupid shit and knock that shit off” when my backseater arrived at “one-thousand-five.” Seems that number two was about as accurate as my backseater and their internal clocks were perfectly synchronized. Immediately number two says Two’s Up.” It was exactly like number one - a big white shinny F-4 belly staring at us momentarily and then disappearing into the white clouds. Now I am downright sure everyone has lost their mind. Again I hear “one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, … etc.” echoing from the rear cockpit. Now sure that number three was in just as much amazement as I was; I was perfectly ready to start heading back to the barn and let the two stupid Phantom drivers fend for themselves in the weather. You guessed it … “one-thousand-five” and bang - three says “Three’s up.” “No way in Hell” I am thinking now. Three airplanes flying around in the clouds over the range is going to result in a pretty big fireball. Again I hear “one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, … etc.” coming from the back cockpit. It is a magic tune and very mesmerizing. Just then I hear “one-thousand-five” and just like Pavlov’s dog this young fighter pilot thinks “they must know something I don’t and I am not going to be the only pussy in this fight.” Out of my mouth comes “Four’s up” and just like my pals I am now in the weather. As soon as I roll out I came to the instant realization that I have committed one of the biggest (but not last) errors of my short flying career. All I can see out front is puffy white cloud. On the radios the inevitable process begins. First three ask one his position. Then one says he has no clue. Then three says that one better get his act together. Then one starts giving three shit. Then two jumps in and begins to whine on the radios something about being “Popeye” (meaning in the weather and not seeing anything.) To which my reply on our intercom is what a definite stupid-o two is but not in those very words. At this point someone (flight lead or three) should have taken over and separated each aircraft by altitude. At least that way we would be less likely to smack each other. Being the smart guy I am I decided to take care of myself. This is the number one rule of being a fighter pilot. So I said on the radios “four is climbing to 15,000 feet.” Immediately John figures out he is losing control and decides to finally act like the flight lead. “Negative” he says and then he says “one is going to 15,000 feet … two take 14,000 feet, three 13,000 and four take 12,000.” By this time everyone is going around in different directions. Some heading South, others North and some West. Also, I had already started my climb which meant I had to descend now. Telling my backseater that this was going to be different and whispering the words they hate to hear “watch this” I lowered the nose and pushed it up to minimize the chance of meeting one of the other aircraft coming up as I was going down. Just as I approached my altitude I popped into a small hole in the clouds. I began to let the air out I had been holding in when out of the opposite cloud, and just above my altitude by about 100 feet, comes the pointy nose of one of my flight members. “Shi………….t” is about all I can get out as I shove the stick forward trying to avoid the mid-air. We pass so close that I can hear the air rush by and count the rivets on the underside of the other “double-ugly.” “That’s it” is all I can say and then I plug both burners in, point the nose straight up, and shoot for the moon. I reach 20,000 feet and clear air in a matter of several seconds. I am shaking in my boots from the near-miss we just had and I am in no mood for any shenanigans. I come up on the radios and say “four is out of the fight - I am setting up an orbit at 20,000 feet in clear air.” Then the next radio call will live in my brain forever. It is from John and he once again decides to be directive. “Four” he says with disdain “I told you to take 12,000 feet so get your ass back down there.” Thinking to myself once more I said “Self - this dumb shit wants me to go back down, into the weather where you can’t see shit, fly through three other aircraft’s altitudes to get there, and then fly around lost at 12,000 feet again.” My reply was “No-way lead.” His reply was “I am your leader so do as I say.” My reply was “F*** You lead - I am going home.” His reply was “I haven’t given you permission to break formation.” My reply was basically “Bite Me - see you at home if you survive.” Now this is normally a very bad thing to do. Break formation without permission that is. However, I had already had enough fun that day and I did not plan on flying with those guys ever again so I proceeded home at the speed of heat. All the time listening to John call me, argue with three, direct two around and then take more shit from three. I landed proceeded to the squadron. Told my story to my Operations Officer and got ready to duke it out with a guy double my size when he got back after the flight. Fortunately for me; three decided that he had just witnessed one of the most bizarre flights he had ever been on and was hammering John so much that no one had time to yell at me. I immediately went into the squadron scheduler and asked never to fly with that particular flight again and I tried my best to not do that. Three became a two-star General later in life but it was never due to his skill but rather to his wife and her daddy. My lesson? Never be a dumb shit flight lead and take charge should you do something wrong. It was a dangerous business we were in and being a dumb shit only kills people. Fortunately I never killed anyone because of my mistakes so I must have learned my lesson. Adios Compatriats.

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3. February 2010 by Farb.

If you are following me and you are a pilot, which I assume most are, then I need your help. I am trying to promote my website called UPTConnect.com which is a web site designed to help pilot trainee’s keep in touch with each other. I don’t want to spend gizillions of dollars trying to advertise and promote my sight just yet. However, I am not getting the traffic I need to get the site running. So here is where you come in. I ask that you go to the site at UPTConnect.com and sign up. Then I ask that you get someone and that someone gets someone, etc. and all sign up so the site starts getting enough traffic. Please just go look and sign up. Thanks.

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30. January 2010 by Farb.

Seemed like a very long time from the time that I began pilot training until the time I was checked out and could be my own man flying “Double Ugly” or the F-4 Phantom II. It was a long hard road and sometimes I felt not worth all the effort. However, when you were out there piloting that huge noise maker around at 500+ knots at sea level it all became worthwhile. I had been stationed at Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, Japan for quite some time. I had finally made it through the checkout program and I had been a Mission Ready wingman for nearly a year. Kadena at the time was on water rationing, commissary rationing and other things that made life not so sweet. One of the privileges for being a “good boy” was the opportunity to take a plane to Post Depot Maintenance (PDM) by yourself.

I was finally lucky and got selected to take a jet and I was chomping at the bit to get the hell off the island. The best part was that it meant a couple of days in Taiwan and a different island plus some R&R. You need to realize that this was just after Viet Nam had concluded and there were many places that still wanted to see G.I’s and their money. “ME LOVE YOU LONG-TIME G.I. - KISSY, KISSY.” Since I had island fever I was ready to leave. I showed up at the squadron early that day with my backseater and started calling feverishly because the weather said a typhoon was moving our way and if we did not make it out today someone else in another squadron would take the jet. Thus I would lose my chance to go to Taiwan UFN. Not a prospect I wanted. So I was dialing maintenance every 15 minutes trying to get them to push it up and get the damn jet ready. Maintenance kept slipping and slipping until I became very concerned that we would get weathered out. Finally the call came that said the jet was ready. I grabbed my bags and the backseater and ran to the crew van and we headed out on the flightline. We started at the front of the blue tails (our squadron jets) and proceeded to the end. All the time checking the tail numbers out on each jet. We were only looking out the right door of the van because that’s where all the ready jets were at. On the left side of the van was nothing but the hangars. We went up and down the line about three times and we could not find the tail. Finally we decided to go back to the squadron to find out where the hell the jet was. On the way back someone looked out the left side and sure as shit it was sitting in a hangar. We got back to the squadron and I began to yell at maintenance on the phone. It was typical at Kadena to get stuff like that from maintenance saying the jet was ready for the aircrew when it was still in pieces. Again, after about two more hours we were called and guaranteed this time that the jet was ready. My window for launch was rapidly closing by now so I was in a hurry when I got to the jet. Letting the backseater handle all the luggage (after all that was what they were good for) I began my preflight. I got all the way around to the right side of the jet and I duckwalked from the rear of the wing up to the right main landing gear. If you have ever seen a Phantom up close you would note that you need to be a midget to get under the wing because it is so low to the ground. Since I was in a hurry I was duckwalking pretty fast and not paying much attention to anything except the gear. What I failed to note was the right wing stores pylon hanging down from the wing. This pylon is where they normally hang bombs and such. It is also aerodynamically shaped with a pointy end on the back. You guessed it. The top and middle of my brain pan connected with great force on the sharp and pointy end of the pylon. I hit it with such force that the physics rule, you know the one about repelling with equal and opposite force, took effect and I ended up sitting flat on my ass on the concrete. I remember being shocked in the fact that one minute I was duckwalking and the next instance I was sitting on my ass on the ground. Even better was the fact that I was literally seeing stars floating around and everything else was dark as a moonless night. I sat there for the better part of five minutes until I got my vision back. Then I quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen my accident. Not that I was concerned about the accident but that I did not want anyone to have witnessed my stupidity. Remember being a fighter pilot is all about looking good in the shower. Luckily no one had seen me so I hurried up and completed the preflight and jumped in the jet. As I was strapping in I noticed the crew chief was giving me the once over. I did not know why but I soon ignored it. I reached into my g-suit pocket and grabbed my skull cap and began to put it on before the helmet. As I put it on I noticed the top of my head was wet. I remember thinking to myself what-the-hell liquid did I get on my head from the jet. As I pulled my hand down to examine the fluid I noticed that it was bright red. Yes, you are right sir! I had split my noggin open nicely and I was bleeding like a stuck pig. The next thought that occurred to me was wondering about the effects of high altitude on an open wound. I had visions of my life force draining out the top of my head in seconds because of the lower pressure at altitude. The next thought I had was “Kissy, Kissy!” so I immediately forgot about my life force. I rapidly put the skull cap on hoping that no one would notice and insist that I go see a doctor. Then I put the helmet on and it hurt like hell. I think I actually passed out momentarily again. By now I could feel my blood starting to run down my forehead. I was very afraid someone would see it and put a stop to things before we started the jet. I wanted off that island so much that anything short of death was not going to impede me. My focus became getting off the island today before the weather moved in and stopped things and all injuries be damned. Anyway, when I came up on the intercom all the backseater could say was that we were weather recalled and that the squadron supervision had told us to come back in. I was very disappointed to say the least. After all that effort and physical pain I was doomed to never get a chance to go to PDM. I was right - I never did. PEACE!

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20. January 2010 by Farb.

Going through Pilot Instructor Training (PIT) at Randolph is quite an experience. The funny thing about it is that I went through PIT a second time which was nearly 15 years later to the day. I was amazed that the program had not changed one bit. Nothing was different and it was like experiencing the same nightmare all over again. Shows that the Air Force is pretty stuck in its ways and that change is hard to come by. When I went through the first time I was a rough and tumble fighter pilot who was basically pissed-off for having to go there. I was a shit hot F-15 pilot and one of only seven F-15 pilots in Air Training Command at the time. Our purpose was to bring a different perspective to pilot training so the guys were not just being trained to become future airline pilots. Going there was bad enough but I promise the fist time I went through; that I know training had not changed any little bit since they started training in jets. To add injury to insult we had to do a lot of stuff that any fighter pilot worth a shit was more than capable of doing without any problem. Likewise, those instructors at PIT considered themselves the cream-of-the-crop, especially the FAIPs (First Assignment IPs) who homesteaded at Randolph after their initial tours at an out base. Being a pilot with significant capabilities, I found myself often breaking in the new instructors so they could learn how to be good instructors teaching instructor going-to-be’s. In other words I was actually training them. Also, my job was to be an easy student so the weak sisters on the staff would think they were capable of doing the job. That is what happened to me one day when we were briefing up a two-ship formation ride.

When I say formation you need to understand that I probably had well over 600 hours of flying time at this point and most of it was definitely flying formation. I had more time on the wing than the guest IP who showed up had flying airplanes. I was surprised when he swaggered in to the briefing and began to brief me on basic formation. I started to say something but decided against it. When I say brief I really mean that he started back at the theory of manned flight and then continued on until our current period. After about 30 minutes of learning about the finer parts of flying as number two my eyes rolled back in the back of my head and I proceeded to pass out. Being the astute instructor this steely eyed instructor was he thought that I was not paying attention enough. So what does he do? He goes back and starts over again from the very beginning. I am thinking to myself “self - either this guy is trying really hard to make sure I know how to fly formation or he is the biggest prick I have ever seen.” After a long drawn out inner brain discussion with myself I came to the conclusion that he was just the biggest idiot I had ever met. Think about it. When you meet someone don’t you try and feel them out? Don’t you sniff around a little to see if this dog is more alpha than you? Not this guy. He was the guy they invented the name clueless for. By now I am steaming and I am praying that I can get that last smoke in before we step but that he thinks we need to brief right up to step time. Finally I can’t stand it anymore and say I got to take a piss before we step and that if we don’t knock it off we will surely be late. Something he said we don’t want to be as number two. So reluctantly he finished the briefing and we rushed to get to the jet.

Preflight, start, taxi, and the formation takeoff went OK but I could not get him to shut up for the life of me. Finally about one minute after my sterling formation takeoff the words I had be waiting for finally came out of his mouth. He said, “that was a pretty good takeoff, I guess my briefing was pretty good.” Then he said, “by the way, I meant to ask earlier, what have you flown before?” I just said with the most authoritative voice I could muster, “F-4s and F-15s Dickweed!” With that he was silent for the rest of the flight. No further instruction was given. The debrief was short and I could see that he was in a hurry to leave. At the conclusion he did the standard “what can I do better for you” student question. I just said that before you start going into great detail in your briefing you might find out your students background. It definitely would save a lot of heartbeats that they can’t get back. He did teach me one thing. That is that you need to be smart enough to figure out your audience. So I try and do that in my current job. I surely don’t want to brief how to do an ILS approach to a student who probably has his CFII (Certified Flight Instructor, Instruments) rating. He probably knows more than I ever will. So don’t waste their time and yours just trying to prove how great you are. Mr. Dickweed never flew with me again nor did I ever see his smiling face on the flightline again, thank God!

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29. December 2009 by Farb.

I have recently discovered that one of my favorite paranormal podcast is up and running again after a long time of being off the airwaves. If you like that kind of thing then please visit Mysterious Universe at mysteriousuniverse.org

Farb

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29. December 2009 by Farb.

This war story is a short one because I don’t want to be long winded all the time. This story once again begins in pilot training and deals with the complexity of language and our different dialects. As preparatory work for the story, just let me say I am a native born Texan and sometimes I revert back to my native language when I speak. You know, with a lot of draws and you-alls, etc.

As you know, part of the regiment of flying requires the pilot to preflight his steed to ensure that it is properly configured and ready for flight. This is a long time tradition just as mounting the aircraft on the left side is. This comes from our roots of US Army Calvary days and how we treated horses. On this particular day I was accomplishing one of my first pre-flights on my first jet, the T-37 Tweet. Part of the preflight requires the inspection of the tires. They teach you to verify the number of chord layers remaining, look at the overall tire condition, verify the tire pressure is correct, check brakes and landing gear condition, etc. It is not an easy job to do because the clearance between the ground and the wing (where the main landing gear is) is very minimal. I would say about three feet maximum. You know, the size of a small pygmy. So average people don’t fit under it very well. This fact makes looking closely at the tire something hard to do unless you are on your belly crawling around. On this particular day I was down there doing my close inspection when I noticed something black and bubbly on the tire. Upon close inspection I determined that it was tar from the payment joint where the aircraft had been parked. Being Arizona with a ramp temperature of more than 100 degrees it was not uncommon to find a lot of the sticky stuff everywhere. I remember thinking that no one had ever spoken about the disaster awaiting on takeoff when you try and takeoff with a tire that is covered in tar. So being the new student I was determined it would be best at this time to ask the IP if it was OK. Remember we are on an airport with hundreds of airplanes making lots and lots of noise. So I crawl out from under the wing and point to the tire. My IP leans in a little closer to try and hear me so I shout out “tar” meaning there was pavement tar on the tire. He shakes his head up and down in acknowledgement and repeats back “Tire, yes that is a Tire.” I become instantly frustrated in the fact that he believes I have reverted to my native tongue and am calling the tire a tar. So I yell even louder “No tar, tar.” At which point he repeats back “Yes, tire, tire.” Now I am really frustrated and scared in that his buffoonery is about to put our lives in danger on takeoff from the deadly tar on the tire. So I am about to really give him “my what for” because he is incapable of understanding my spoken word and because he was treating me like some hick who had never seen anything from the 20th Century before. So this time with slow and deliberate pronunciation I say for the last time “No tar, tar.” Just like clockwork he repeats back “Yes, tire, tire.” Now I on the verge of a massive coronary so I am about to grab him by his harness and shake the living hell out of him when I notice a small twinge in his lips as he is about to break out into heavy laughter. He gives a hearty laugh and says “Yes, is see there is tar on the tire and it is not a problem.” This allowed me to complete my preflight all the while thinking what an idiot I was and how he had really gotten to me.

I completed that flight that day without any adverse effects from the tar on the tire. I got a healthy respect for my IP on that day as well. He taught me that flying did not have to be serious business all the time and that you were allowed to joke around sometimes. I followed that example when I was an IP years later. Always trying to get a laugh on the students part about a business that could be fun as well as serious. To this day I always think about the “tars” on my airplane as I get ready to go fly. Merry Christmas, happy New Year, and goodbye to 2009.

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6. December 2009 by Farb.

One of the courses we go through during our extensive training at Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) is called Physiological Training. This training deals with how your body reacts to the environment in which we fly airplanes and the things that can happen while flying airplanes. One specific portion of the training deals with the effect of altitude on your body and the problem with the thinning atmosphere as you climb to higher altitudes. This effect is called Hypoxia or oxygen depletion. The end result of oxygen depletion is that eventually your lights go out because your brain is not getting the oxygen it needs. Not a good thing if you are the lone person flying the aircraft. Hypoxia is a high altitude kind of thing which normally occurs well above 10,000 feet. We got a lot of training in the altitude chamber dealing with Hypoxia and your own individual symptoms from Hypoxia. One of the common symptoms is a tingling sensation (kind of what you get when you leg, arm, or other body part goes to sleep) and one that all of us have probably experienced at some point. We were taught to constantly be aware of it and watch for our symptoms. One of my classmates did this with a vengeance while we were in training. Let’s just call him Roger to prevent any blatant incrimination from my part.Hypoxia can sometimes be caused by a malfunctioning oxygen system which includes a mask malfunction. Usually a result of the system not putting out the correct amount of oxygen for the specific altitude you are flying. This oxygen is mixed with ambient cockpit air to make the correct oxygen mix. Again, something that would normally occur above 10,000 feet because our system did not even start mixing oxygen into cockpit air until above 8,000 feet. A fix we do to correct the lack of oxygen is to increase flow, use the emergency oxygen system, or to just rely on ambient air by removing our oxygen mask. That is the setup. Here is the story.One day Roger was flying solo (by himself) when I was getting ground instruction from my Instructor Pilot (IP). We did not get a lot of solo time so it was fun to be the guy responsible for completing successful flight without adult supervision. It was even more fun to not get the famous UNSAT grade for any mission. UNSAT meant you failed the mission and was not a good thing to do because it impacted your class standing which effected your aircraft assignment following pilot training. We also called it “Pinking the Ride.” Don’t ask me where that came from. My IP was also scheduled to be the Squadron Supervisor who is the guy in charge of flying operations and because of that had to be located at the SUP’s (supervisor’s) desk. He was there because all the radios were located there, as well as, other methods of communicating with the outside world. Other people who assigned aircraft, monitored flights, ensured things were legal and such were located here also. You might call it kind of a Command Post thing specific to the squadron. Since I was getting my ground instruction from my IP I likewise had to be down in the area with him. This put me in hearing range of everything that was going on in the world of T-38 training at Williams. I was a man in the know. Now to the story. I shit you not - this is the way I heard it verbatim. I still remember Roger calling the SUP, my IP, and saying that he was having trouble with his oxygen system. When I say calling it is not exactly what I meant. Roger was screaming at the SUP in sheer terror over the radio as if he was facing imminent death within a matter of seconds. Naturally my IP, Butch, nearly jumped out of his skin thinking that he was about to have a major aircraft accident and fatality on his hands. Butch, after what seemed like hours, finally managed to get Roger to respond and slow down his rate of speaking so that he could be better understood. When asked for the specifics of the emergency Roger responded that he was having difficulty with his oxygen system, was having trouble breathing, seemed his mask was malfunctioning and was afraid that he was blacking out from Hypoxia. This Roger did in an extensive diatribe that seemed to go on forever and forever and in great detail. If you would have been there you would have been caught up in the sheer terror that the rest of us were at the time. The suspense was terrible and the air was filled with the electricity of fear. Fear for Roger, fear for his wife, family and for my IP who would be responsible for the loss of a student. No one else, and me specifically, could figure out how to help poor Roger. What question to ask? How can we give him help? What guidance should we give him? What might we possibly do to rescue Roger from this dire emergency? Then without skipping a beat Butch asked him a long list of questions to help refine the issue. I was in awe of how professional Butch was handling this. How knowledgeable and all-knowing my IP was. I thought to myself that I want to be like this man with all my heart. He was my Idol. I was not worthy to be around him. Then Butch asked the final question which made me want to be even more like him. Butch said “where are you at now” meaning what area in the training areas was he in. Roger responded immediately without skipping a beat. Roger said “I am in the pattern.” Within seconds of saying this we all glanced at each other and began to break out in uncontrollable laughter. What an idiot. If he was in the local traffic pattern that meant that he was flying around about 2,000 feet up. The only way you could get Hypoxia here was to hold his breath and tape his nose and other orifices shut. My idol then keeping his professional image (after he nearly passed out from laughing so hard); just matter-of-factly said “Roger - I suggest if you are having trouble breathing then please remove your oxygen mask.” Roger responded that he would. Butch said “ call me back in a couple of minutes so we can see if this fixes your oxygen problem.” Roger responded affirmatively. Naturally by removing his malfunctioning mask Roger began to breathe normally and would not have any issues flying around in the pattern. Roger was asked a few minutes later if he was ok. He said yes. Butch then suggested that he not declare an emergency and that he make his next landing a full-stop. No need to perform a straight-in landing just a normal overhead. And oh-by-the-way stop in after you get down and see him. Roger arrived in the Squadron within 30 minutes and reported in a military manner to Butch. Butch was holding back all the sarcasm he could when he told Roger to make sure he graded his grade sheet UNSAT for the sheer stupidity of thinking he was experiencing an oxygen problem and not being smart enough to remove the mask that was causing the problem. To this day I remember saying to myself that I never want to be such an idiot pilot. Specifically not to advertise to the world over my radios that I am the one who left the building without my clue bag. Thus I, like many before me, learned the prayer we pilots often say before doing something with the potential to show our lack of capabilities to the world. That prayer is “Dear God, please don’t let me F***-up.” After all, it’s all about looking good in the shower! Amen.

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11. November 2009 by Farb.

One of the Emergency Procedures we review with the students is “What is an engine compressor stall and what do you do if you get one.” A compressor stall is when the engine backfires or stops producing thrust and can occur because of various reasons. To get my point across about how attention getting a compressor stalls can be I tell one of my favorite Lieutenant stories that I obtained while I was flying F-4s. When I say Lieutenant that means I was not bright and kind of just meandering through life without much smarts. In other words, I was a prime example that GOD can, and really does take care of stupid people. You know - Lieutenant! Here goes … I was hanging out on the wing of a guy named Eric Oliver (short for Mr. Prick) and we had just come off the bombing range at IShima in Okinawa, Japan. Since we had some extra gas my leader decided that we would practice two-ship tactical down low over the water. When I say low I really mean very low and very fast and making the old Rhino make noise out of JP-4. By this time of the mission our external wing tanks had gone dry and as we pushed the speed of sound at sea level I remembered that there was something in the Dash 1 about empty tanks, sea level and maximum speeds not to exceed. Failure to watch this restriction would result in a crumpled up external tank and a personal talk with the Operations Group Commander. The good news was that I remembered there was a restriction. The bad news is that I could not remember the number for the life of me. Being the intelligent and resourceful Front Seater that I was and using an early example of Crew Resource Management (CRM) I asked my Back Seater for the number. His answer was what I normally got from him which was Duh - I don’t know. So working on the assumption that I had already exceeded that speed and that the tank was about to go bent; I pulled the throttles rapidly out of mil power all the way to idle power in order to slow down. I remember to this day that as I was pulling the power back a little picture came into my head. The picture was me sitting in front of my flight leader (Mr. Prick) in the briefing room and him yelling his head off at me for being out of position as a wingman. Not wanting to get yelled at; I immediately threw both throttles back in to full afterburner to make up for the two knots of airspeed I had probably lost by then. The response was impressive even to this day. Normally flames in a jet engine come out the back end. On that day I was privileged to see flames come out the front end of both engines. You need to get this picture - as the pilot I sit forward of the engine intakes about 3 feet. What I saw was flames about 3 feet in front of me. Both engines burped and shuttered so bad that both my feet were kicked off the rudder pedals and my legs slammed back into the seat. I swear the aircraft appeared to stop moving forward for an instant. Imagine driving forward at roughly 600 plus knots and then instantly going backwards for just a split second. I swear it happened - I shit you not. More important and louder than the engine backfire was the noise emanating from the back seater as he practically shit his drawers. He sits slightly behind the front edge of the intakes so he saw a minimum of 6 feet of flames coming out of the wrong end. Needless to say he was certainly scared. Me on the other hand, being calm, cool and collected as every good fighter pilot is; I just took both throttles smoothly back to mil power and then gingerly back into min afterburner as if nothing had happened and we continued on with the tactical formation until bingo fuel. What I have always said about the old F-4 is that it is really a manly aircraft. “It would take a lickin and keep on tickin.” That is exactly what it did. When we got back I never got yelled at for being out of position because Mr. Prick wasn’t looking when my aircraft became a temporary fireball. Try doing that in today’s pussy airplanes. See ya - Wouldn’t want to be ya!

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10. November 2009 by Farb.

My current job is that of instructing students in the fine art of flying airplanes. More specifically, flying the T-6 Texan II primary trainer aircraft. Granted, I am not actually flying real airplanes, but I instruct in the T-6 simulator and we cover the basics of manned flight from the ground up. The students often joke about all of their simulator instructors when they think we are not listening. Because of the type of individuals we are; more specifically how old we all are (and we are all very old) they often think that one of two things might happen while we are instructing. The first is that we might fall asleep during the mission. The second, and one that most of us hope won’t happen, is that we may pass away during the sortie. Currently I only have to deal with the first issue but the latter one is a distinct possibility and coming on fast.As most pilots know; we are often telling stories of our heroic exploits while defying gravity. When used with alcohol and at the Officer’s Club on Friday nights it can sometimes lead to romantic interest. Just ask my wife. We term those stories “War Stories.” Being a typical pilot I have accumulated about a million heroic stories over the many years I have flown. I often use these stories to make a point or to get the student’s attention. It is a very good way to teach and I often hear the other instructors doing the same. So while at my job I decided to take these daily instructional stories and start a new series of blogs that I will title “War Stories.” Just remember these are the stories that I remember and they are true to the best of my ability. However, since I am currently suffering from CRS (a disease common among older men - short for Can’t Remember Shit) I am really not totally responsible if there are some parts that might be questionable. So hang on - here goes!

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22. April 2008 by Farb.

I have not written anything in so long that I have practically forgotten how to do it. I decided to put up a picture of me in my F-16 at Luke AFB in Arizona. I am taking off here loaded for bear. I remember this particular sortie because it was on a Saturday.  I see that I was in a hurry to catch up with my leader on this takeoff.  Looks like we were going out for a little air-to-air fun.  Anyway, after I left the unit one of the maintenance guys sent me this picture. It is not often you get to see yourself flying. Cheers!

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