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!

Posted in War Stories, Airplanes, Opinion | Print | No Comments »

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!

Posted in War Stories, Airplanes, Opinion | Print | No Comments »