Greasy's Viper (F-16) stories

[Guest Hydro130]

Greasy...

You need to write a book, bro...

You always have very well-written accounts; thanks for sharing them, that's cool.

And that's from a Herk dude!

Cheers, Hydro

EDIT: Even though you do fly the LGPOS

[ 17. May 2006, 22:18: Message edited by: Hydro130 ]

[Guest ShortThrow]

Yeah, great job man. I Always enjoy it.

[Guest msmith16]

Great post man, I always enjoy them, and they are a great motivator for a wannabe like me.

-Striker

[Guest rapier01]

Nice. Hydro is right you ought to write a book.

[DuckHunter]

Just bumping the post. I was searching for something else (yes hard to believe that happens) and came across this. A good read for anyone interested and for all of us heading to UPT who don't like UAVs.

[brickhistory]

Great. Just f)ckin' great.

A dude who can do it and write about it. Just what a former scope dope who thought he could write marginally about it needs.

That was some awesome reading!

I hope greasy is still flying and writing.

You should write that book. You'd be able to buy your own personal Viper from the success.

Very nice, sir.

[Guest C-21 Pilot]

Very nice work. Cannot believe that I have missed it for 2 years...

Hopefully there is more out there....operational and training.

-Cheers

[GreasySideUp]

Fini Flight.

You either know it will be your fini flight or you don’t.

I had mine planed out for months.

“Viper 2, traffic eleven o’clock , 3 miles slightly high. Slow mover.”

“2’s tally”

That is the first thing he has said in the last 30 minutes. Right after taking the runway I checked him in on the departure frequency and he had not said another word since. Radio discipline is absolutely necessary in our job, something I did not realize fully until flying over the skies of Iraq. Working with JTAC’s, air controllers other flights, predators, helicopters and humvees all on the same frequency - there is no time for small talk. Every word needs to have a meaning. Brevity. There are no umms or aahhhs – nothing extraneous. Think about what you are going to say and find the 3-1 term to say it. A book a thousand pages long with a chapter specifically written on how to say things. Every flight in the last five years we have debriefed to it and so far this flight is going well.

An HH-60 Blackhawk helicopter passes motionless a thousand feet above our flight, the workhorse taxi of Iraq. The doors are open and a few dudes are sitting on the edge with their boots hanging into the air. One gives a hang loose sign as we rocket past at 500 knots. Our flight is at 500 feet and 500 knots, hugging the trees, weaving and bobbing in and out of the valleys. Nap of the earth flying using the terrain to hide from the SAM threats that abound around us. The General Electric I am strapped to is not even sweating. It will still give me 300 more knots with a 2 inch flick of the throttle. I am covering a mile every 6 seconds but it is comfortable now. I have time to check out houses and notice fisherman in the lakes. What was a blur a few years ago has slowed down immensely and given me time to think well ahead of the jet. I have a map in my left hand and a photo of the target along with the attack we will be using strapped to my knee. A quick study of the terrain we will see will pay huge dividends in about 5 minutes. I have my pen handy to jot down any notes the ground controller will give me when we check in. All this with a 2 second time to impact the earth with any wrong moves. The laws about texting and driving always crack me up – we are on a different level.

I was 3 seconds late on my last turn point and need to push it up a little to get there on time. I have a two minute window to deliver, but bombs on target on time to the second is the goal. This will be the lat time I drop bombs for a long time and I want to shack the SA-6 site on the first run attack. The next plane I fly won’t do low levels and I know I am going to miss the Viper. I have had an outstanding time with my squadron the last few years and have been mentored by some of the finest pilots in the Air force. My final flight won’t be without some tears, I’ll be leaving some great friends and my first love – the F-16. The plan is a 10 LAT, Rip 6, 1 pass and haul ass. 1 shot with no re-attacks. Nothing worse than stirring up the hornets nest with the sound of a NASCAR race and going through dry. A re-attack with an aware enemy is much more risky. The element of surprise is a tactic that worked for Ghengas Kaahn and a flight of fighters alike.

The initial point looks exactly as briefed, a small bridge over the creek at a low point in the valley. We are going to egress back over the mountains and be gone and out of sight just as quick as we arrived. Ghosts of destruction. 5 miles out, we still cannot see the target at these low altitudes. Viper 2 checks 45 degrees to the right. I immediately check 30 and climb 15 degrees nose high. Things are starting to happen fast. Off the left is an opening in the road and as I climb, an SA-6 is just becoming visible through the trees. His radar just woke up to the fact that I was there, the operator woken up by an alarm and the computer asking for consent to fire. Off my right, Viper 2 squares up to the target on a simultaneous attack. He needs to pickle before my bombs impact so he can see where to drop. I roll inverted and point. 10 degrees low, target just below the nose.

Track.

Small adjustment left.

Wait.

I am only 1000 feet above the ground with the target rapidly approaching. These are dumb bombs. Old school. They go where you pickle and if you miss you miss. No fancy lasers or GPS to put them back on track. The sport of kings and a skill the CAF is rapidly losing with less flying and the adaptation of high tech guided weapons.

I have less than 5 seconds to figure all this out. 520 knots, heading down hill.

Watch the throttle.

Aim.

Put the thing on the thing.

Let the green stuff do its magic, the hamsters working overtime to calculate it out. Warheads on foreheads. Whatever. The pipper tracks right over the center.

Pickle.

Hold.

Track.

The death dot passes squarely across the target and is moving rapidly. In milliseconds, 6 bombs ripple off the jet in quick succession. 2 lofts his bombs in from a mile out so he doesn’t get nailed by the frag of mine. We both pull 5 g’s in an aggressive left hand turn, back to formation, back down low and back out of sight. Gone. Blue Death. 12 BDU bombs leaving a pile of hair, teeth and eyeballs in our wake…. A perfect training mission and a perfect way to end my career in the plane I have come to love.

The end of the Fini Flight is usually met with the same enthusiasm on the ramp. It is traditional for friends and family along with the entire squadron to meet the jet as it taxis in. Long over are the days of multiple burner low approaches inches over the squadron building but there still is some unique style to ending ones career in a particular fighter. I have seen guys taxi back with gorilla masks on, blow up dolls fully inflated and my personal favorite – helmet removed and replaced with one of those beer caps, 2 Bud Lights strapped to the sides of a yellow plastic ball cap with a straw going to both. The canopy opened on his jet and he tossed a dozen empties over the side.

“Thank God he didn’t crash” is all the commander could say.

“Could you imagine the accident report on that one with a case of beer in the wreckage.”

It is not over with the landing, as the pilot takes his last step off the ladder it begins. Some try to run but most know to stay put. My squadron gets one of the cops to handcuff pilots to the tie down rings on the ramp just to make sure they don’t go anywhere. Kids get the small fire extinguishers, and mom gets the hose from the fire truck to soak the pilot down. This is a fantastic exercise when snow is on the ground – as it turns out, the rubber, watertight dry suit we wear during the winter months is also fantastic at holding water on the inside. Often times, someone will unzip the dry suit, shove the fire hose in, sts, fill it up with water and zip it back closed. Probably 50 gallons or so get trapped and freezing temperatures offer no reprieve. This much water weight will pin the pilot to the ground until the water drains out of his sleeves. A bottle of champagne is shared by the bros, we call the pilot a quitter and generally throw a big party in the bar that evening. Tradition, and something every fighter pilot should have.

I had flown that same flight a hundred times but my planned fini flight in the Viper did not happen that way. None of it. Not even close. Back in November of 2009, my buddy Monty had his fini flight as well but he didn’t know it. A few days after his last flight, on an off day, he was out in his front yard doing a little lawn maintenance when a Pontiac GTO went out of control and jumped the curb up into his yard killing him instantly. He died trimming his trees on a day off. Unbelievable.

Fighter pilots know exactly how they will part the surly bonds of earth. It happens one of two ways. You die telling stories of your past glory at a relatively young old age from liver complications from the whiskey you drank to help make those stories entertaining – OR – you plow in at tremendous speed, out of control and on fire, completely content in the fact that you just took 5 flankers with you. A national frickin hero.

A decorated combat veteran and one of the finest fighter pilots this world has ever known did not go down in a blaze of glory with his hair on fire. He was not slain by AAA even though it had been aimed at him. He was not damaged by SAM’s even though they were trained on his jet. He has had countless emergencies and brushes with death over his decade and a half flying fighters and he came out unscathed. He was a phenomenal fighter pilot, well respected in the community, and unfortunately he did not go out on his own terms. Monty was the kind of pilot that everyone wanted to follow into battle. As one of my early F-16 instructors, he was unanimously voted as one of the best. He had an easy going personality combined with an unbelievable knowledge of tactics and golden hands that made him an extremely talented aviator. He was also a good friend and mentor and played a tremendous part in my follow on assignment. I had dinner with he and his wife just a week earlier. 3 years later and I still have trouble making sense of the way he parted this earth. Tragic.

Monty grew up in Ohio and Ohio is where he wanted to be buried. We flew jets out to Selfridge Michigan the next weekend to honor him with a missing man fly over of his funeral. Unfortunately, just after we landed, the storm of the year started to pass through. Detroit and Chicago O’Hare shut down and the entire country was being crippled by a massive front. Snow had just started falling when we landed, the forecast was getting worse and it looked as if there would be absolutely no way to get airborne the next day. We chatted with the crew at base ops regarding the next day’s flight and they were determined to do whatever it took to make it happen. They knew of the accident and knew what it would mean to Monty to get us airborne. We passed 2 dozen accidents on the way to the hotel that night, the snow had turned to freezing rain. Hell really had frozen over, there was no chance the flyover would happen.

We met Monty’s family that evening and they were just as good of people as he was. I had been on a fishing trip with Monty and his dad down in Florida a few months prior and his old man was devastated. They were true friends. His wife was also a good friend of the squadron. A fantastic woman, also an Air Force pilot, who lost her husband far to early in their marriage. There was nothing to say so we talked about all the good times. They had all thanked us for bringing the jets out and understood that we wouldn’t be able to fly.

The next morning we pressed out to the airport anyways. The storm had been devastating, cars had been in the ditch all night from sliding on the black ice and power outages were widespread from iced over trees falling on power lines. It dumped another 1.5 feet of snow on top of the ice over the night. The weather was still a few hundred feet overcast with freezing fog and mist. 45mph is all we dared to go but we had to at least try and make it happen. When we pulled up to the airport we were amazed at the sight of several snowplows already hard at work. The base ops manager said they called in extra employees and came in early. If the weather cleared, the runway would be ready.

I have never seen an F-16 iced up as badly as these jets were. They looked pathetic and crippled with hundreds of ice sickles jetting off every point that water ran off. The wings were covered in snow and under that was a layer of frozen ice. The manager said the de-ice truck was ready when we were. We made the call to fire the jets up. There was no chance the weather would clear, but we felt we owed it to Monty to try. The truck de-iced us and we hobbled our way out to the runway single file. The cleared area was barely wide enough for an F-16 to sneak through. At the end of the runway we waited. And waited. We were all watching our watches, waiting for the no later time knowing the funeral had already started. We had about a half hour to go until it would be too late.

None of us said a word.

At the 29 minute point, tower called and said we had the absolute minimum weather we needed to lift off.

“1’s Ready.”

“2’s Ready.”

“3’s Ready.”

“Tower, Viper flight ready”

“Good luck boys, cleared for takeoff.”

The tower controllers knew the importance of this flight as well.

It was dark, gray and dreary. Absolutely miserable out. Off we went a minute later and immediately into the weather. A few minutes into the climb, lead broke the silence.

“Well fellas, here we go.”

We were in the weather forever. If the ceiling was the same over the cemetery, there was no way we would be able to do the flyover. We pressed on anyways. Passing through 25,000 feet we finally broke through the clouds. The misery and dreariness of the weather below was left behind and we broke out into a crystal clear blue sky above. It was a beautiful sight to see the sun, but a white blanket of thick clouds stretched out as far as we could see. The satellite image showed it stretched for a thousand miles. 100 miles to go and there was no hole in site. There was no chance this was going to happen but we owed it to Monty to press on anyways. A check of the weather with the center controller said the clouds in the area were overcast from 400-800 feet with 1-2 miles of visibility.

“Viper flight, cleared to descend to 1500’. Good luck fellas.”

The center controller knew how important this flight was as well. Down we went, back into the black abyss. The blue sky disappeared and the gentle white clouds quickly turned grey and then black. The weather sucked but we pressed down anyways.

“Viper flight, cleared to 1000’”

On the AUX radio, lead called our buddy with a handheld on the ground.

“It doesn’t look good fellas, I’d estimate a few hundred feet at best.”

1000’ was the minimum vectoring altitude in the area and as low as we are legally allowed to go. If the clouds were at 800’ we would have to call it a day. Miraculously, and against all odds, we broke out of the weather at 1500’. We were in a radar trail formation with 2 miles between each jet. One by one we popped out of the weather and slowly joined up. We had 5 minutes of loiter time and we were holding about 20 miles away. There was still a wall of weather between us and where we were going. We were in a sucker hole, just wide enough for us to fumble around and wait. It was still a long shot even though we were so close. At the 4^th minute, the weather parted and a rainbow appeared right above the cemetery.

“You see that Rainbow?”

“Yep. This is meant to happen”

The rainbow, no kidding ended right on the mark point for the cemetery.

Viper 2 was on the left wing, I was on the right. In between lead and myself was an empty space for another Viper. Where Monty’s jet belonged. The missing man. We flew slowly over his funeral during taps. His broken wings put back together and placed on his chest in the coffin. His body was on the ground but there is absolutely no doubt that we were actually flying on his wing that chilly morning. There is no way that flyover should have happened, but somehow it did. Monty was watching over us and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. After we flew over, the clouds closed up and we were again swallowed by the weather. Our good buddy was laid to rest with a proper send off. He dedicated his life to the service of our country, it is the least we could do to pay him back.

We had a few more beers that night and reminisced more about our friend. Old Monty stories turned up from other squadrons that we had never heard. Different time, different place, but same old Monty. What a great guy. The next afternoon the weather finally broke. I led the lonely flight home and landed at night. A handful of pilots met me at the jet, the rest were still in transit from Ohio. There was no ceremony, no fire hose, no pictures, or Champaign.

A simple handshake to a few of my good friends to commemorate my fini flight in the F-16 was all I needed. That long flight home was my last in the mighty Viper.

“Here’s To Monty” we all said in unison.

I rubbed my hand down the nose of the jet for the last time and took my gear inside. I cut my teeth on the Viper, and Monty was a big part of that. Not by any means what I planned for a fini, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I miss that bird, but I miss my friend more. I’ll see him again the next time I fly.

Here’s To Monty.

[Breckey]

Amazing. You really need to write a book

[brickhistory]

Amazing. You really need to write a book

2

It's not that hard and this is incredible stuff.

Do it.

[JarheadBoom]

Here's to Monty.

[Slander]

Dude. Please write a book. You're a great storyteller.

[GreasySideUp]

Not my video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTR-J3iBCYs

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lTR-J3iBCYs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

My story.

“Knock it off! Knock it off! I’m out of control!”

“Viper 1 Knock it off, you’re at 10,000 feet.”

What just happened? My 26,000 pound F-16 is flopping around like a Giant Oak leaf in an Autumn tornado. Both sides of the cockpit are instantly glowing with a Christmas tree of warning lights now illuminated. The heads up display flashes off and on with snippets of info here and there when the computers gain some semblance of situational awareness – 000 on the airspeed. I haven't seen that before. The only time that is good is back in the chalks. I wonder if this jet will ever be there again?

I am 90 miles off the coast in the dead of winter with ocean temperatures somewhere in the low 40’s. 10 seconds ago I was having the time of my life on a defensive 3k with the boss. My goal was simple – live. His was also simple – kill. I started out in a position of disadvantage, a scripted setup that left me with a late pickup of a bandit 3000 feet away at my 7:00.

“Next set will be a defensive 3k for number 2.”

“2.”

“1’s ready.”

“2’s ready.”

“Fights on!”

I’m craning my neck over the left rail of the Martin Baker Ejection seat to see the entire left side of the canopy filled with another F-16. I am looking at the top front of his Viper but he is quickly pulling lead to unleash with the gun. The massive intake of the General Electric is beginning to show light and I know if I don’t move now, another second will pepper my jet with a hail of twenty millimeter from the cannon over his left shoulder. 6000 rounds a minute will make quick work of the aluminum and computers I call my office.

Jink now! I slam the stick back and over with as much G as she’ll give me to dodge the bullets in flight. The only un-guided weapon on the F-16, he is duck hunting with a 6-barreled Gatling Gun. A smart duck simply needs to get out of the way and try to remain unpredictable for any follow up shots. The Viper is one of the most maneuverable jets in the air and in the phone booth it is lethal in a knife fight. My second goal is to stuff his shot, spit him out front and turn my disadvantaged starting point into an exercise in offense. I snaproll the jet off axis with my eyes firmly fixated on his plane throughout the maneuver – lose sight lose the fight. With the best visibility of any jet on the planet there is no excuse to not watch his every move. He is quickly on to my rouse and seeing my jet plant in the air in front of him, he has no choice but to pull off high to preserve his range. He probably could keep aiming for one more attempt but with the speed I just lost during the jink, if he misses he will definitely end up neutral or worse in a defensive crouch. I see his nose pull off to the right and that is my chance to stuff him even more. I continue the roll and pull max G right at him.

Suddenly the plane snaps 120 degrees and I am beak to beak. Neutral. A fantastic position to be in, for only seconds earlier I was faced with certain death and instantly I have negated his advantage. I’ve never seen it happen that quick, usually these things result in a quick kill, at best you may be able to fend him off for a while but ultimately he should win with his advantageous starting position. How did this just happen? Write that down and use it again – I just mastered Defensive BFM! I could see the surprise in his jet across the circle as he violently maneuvered his jet out of plane. I was about to be able to employ weapons, I simply needed to pull him into the HUD and shoot. Easy. Pull. Awww, come on girl, just give me a little more so I can wrap this up.

The F-16 was the first all-electric jet. It’s inherent instability yielded fantastic maneuverability but needed computers to reign it all in. HAL decided how much Angle of Attack to give you, how much thrust to give you, how much G and the onset rate. He would even decide what controls to give when you wanted to roll. Sometimes he would give you some rudder, sometimes some aileron. He always trimmed for 1 G and even put the flaps up and down depending on your speed. This made the Viper the easiest plane on the planet to fly. Any 152 pilot could easily take off and land if you showed them where the gear handle was. The problem was that every so often, the pilot became a voting member. The jet was designed to avoid you flying outside of the envelope. It wont let you stall and it will limit your G’s to 9 to avoid the 12-15 it is easily capable of. With that vote, every now and then you want a little bit more and under very certain circumstances, it is possible to “Assault” and override these limiters. The jet usually lets you know, the nose will stop tracking where you want it to go and you simply let go of the stick to give Hal back the reigns. Unfortunately today I went way past that point and when I wanted more, Hal let me have it. The jet instantly went out of control to the point the computers had no idea what was going on. I became offensive simply due to a maneuver the jet was not capable of doing – a tumble that instantly swapped ends.

There would be no offensive advantage for me today. I was falling out of control and I was falling fast. A crowbar wouldn’t have had a straighter path to the ground. I was now living the infamous “Top Gun flat spin” that killed Goose. The jet was absolutely flat with zero airspeed and a stable triangular pattern with the nose tracking gently up and right and down and left. The wings and tail were alive with the computer trying frantically to regain control but it was futile with the bad information it was receiving from the AOA and Airspeed indicators. It was too far gone to reel it back on its on. The Vertical speed was pegged at better than minus 6000 feet per minute and I was at 10 thousand feet above the ocean. At 6000’ it was time to get out of the jet.

“Caution Caution!” Bitching Betty is having a conniption.

OUT OF CONTROL RECOVERY

I’ve written these words and other emergency procedures before flying for years. I’ve done countless recoveries in the sim. Rote.

A3.1.9. OUT-OF-CONTROL RECOVERY:

A3.1.9.1. Controls - Release

A3.1.9.2. Throttle - (GE) Idle, (PW) MIL if in AB.

Well, that didn’t work. I look like a rodeo cowboy with my arms now flailing around while this wild Bronco shows no sense of taming. Good thing I let go of the controls. It is amazing how time dilation sets in. Everything begins to slow down and my mind starts to wander. That water looks cold. I wonder if the parachute rigger was on his game the day he packed the chute? How long can I live in this poopy suit if my raft doesn’t inflate? This is going to hurt my back. That sucks. How long will it take the Coast Guard to get out here? Can they even make it this far? Maybe I should have been a Helo pilot. I am going to owe a lot of booze to those guys when they pick me up. How many guys are on that helo anyways? Can they share a bottle? Cheap ass, buy them each a nice 25 year old Scotch, it is the least you can do. Is TIB really a good show, I’ve never actually seen them. What did they say in water survival about sharks? There is a fishing kit in case I’m out here for a few days. How big of a fish can I catch with a number 2 hook? That will keep my mind occupied. Fishing. At least I have that going for me.

As the jet fell lifelessly towards the cold, wet abyss below, I resolved to fish after I turned my F-16 back to the tax payers. I could just imagine the look on the rescue guy’s face as I ask him to hold the fishstick I just caught while he hoists me up to safety. I was determined to have it stuffed and mounted above the mantle as a reminder to never go out of control again.

“8000 feet.” My flight lead is doing circles around me and calling out my altitudes. I’m screwed. I do the math of the time he took to call the last two altitudes and even with time dilation I am screaming downhill in a hurry. I can’t believe I am going to punch. I can feel my heart beat faster and my breathing picks up a notch. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I’ve put civilian planes intentionally out of control thousands of times flying aerobatics. End over end Lomcevaks, gyroscopic inverted accelerated flat spins – I was very comfortable when out of control. My heart doesn’t pick up a single beat per minute when my civilian plane tumbles or tail slides. Apply the procedure, fly away and do it again. Fun.

This was different. I didn’t put my jet here on purpose. Since the jet was designed to be inherently unstable, it is very comfortable when it is out of control with no computer aid. I however, am not.

“Warning Warning!”

Thanks Betty. Why don’t you bitch at Hal to get us out of this mess. She went from Caution to Warning. That can’t be good. What does the Dash-1 say? “Warning - May result in serious injury or death” or something like that.

A3.1.9.5. If Still Out-Of-Control:

A3.1.9.6. MPO Switch - OVRD and Hold

A3.1.9.7. Stick - Cycle in Phase

MPO switch. Manual Pitch Override. HAL is FUBAR and it is time for me to take over and show this jet who’s boss. Because I know better than a 30 million dollar computer and the army of 100 pound rocket surgeon brains who programmed it. The idea is to cycle the stick at the same time the jet is oscillating. As the jet noses down, I apply full down. When the nose rises, I pull the stick to the aft stop. The MPO switch overrides the limits on deflection and gives a few more degrees to the horizontal stab movement. In theory, the extra uumph should get me out of this pickle.

Full up.

Full Down.

Full Up.

Full down.

The nose of the jet is still keeping pace. A metronome, rocking up and down with no sign of recovery. Boy that water looks cold. About 2 hours until sunset. I hope I don’t spend the night out here. It is supposed to be below freezing. My dog is going to go hungry. Do I need SOS in residence when I completed correspondence?

Come on old girl, give me some love.

Up.

Down.

Any minute now Viper 1 is going to call out 6000’. I’m over the ocean, I don’t have to worry about hitting any mountains. Maybe I’ll stay with it a little longer. 2k is our controlled ejection altitude, how does 4000’ sound. What is up with that new UPT patch? Will I ever fly again if I put a good jet in the drink? Is the jet good? Maybe something is wrong with one of the controls.

I’m breathing heavy now. The jet is not recovering. This is not like the sim. This is not like the sim at all.

Up

Dowwwwnnnn. The nose slowed this time on the down stroke. It paused for just a second. An RCH of hope. It had not done that yet. Hold it. Hold it down. Come on old girl. Stay down. Get some airspeed. Nose towards the ground. Gravity is good now. Fly out of this mess. I’ve got my entire weight forcing the stick to the forward stop. Probably 200# of crazy strength gluing the stick down. Stay there and lets go get a beer together.

Back Up.

Like it came unglued and rocketed back skyward. Son of a motherless goat! YGTBSM. So close. Come on man. Give me a break.

6000 feet is written in blood. Going lower is foolish. Get that out of your mind right now. At 6k you will punch no matter how close you think you are to recovery. Too many guys have tried to recover unrecoverable jets and left their families to pick up the pieces. When you hit the mins, plant your head back against the headrest, put both hands on the ejection handle and cowboy up. Deal with the consequences later and live to tell the tale on Baseops.net to a bunch of guys who think telling stories on Baseops.net is foolish. I can’t win. There is a story of a Navy trainer where they were in an intentional spin and couldn’t recover. Both pilots bailed out, the plane recovered and went on to fly over several states unmanned until it ran out of gas and crashed. That would be my luck. Either way, I’m out on the next cycle. Balls.

Up.

Down.

Down.

Down…. The nose is hanging up again on the down oscillation. Come on. Work with me here.

Airspeed.

60knots. 70. 80.

Aah. Down.

Altitude 7400 feet.

Stay there honey. You stay right there.

90 knots.

110.

Come on sweet heart. Show me some love.

150.

6900’

I'm flying.

*sigh*

“Viper 2 recovered.”

“Copy Viper 2. Come left 90 degrees and put home plate on the nose. 1’s in for the BD check.”

I’ve still got gas for another set and lead wants to go home. Wuss. Maybe next time.

Epilogue

I was out of control for around 30 seconds. A life time. When you talk to bros who have punched, they remember everything. The click of the handle firing the motor. The smell of the rocket. The canopy separating and the aircraft falling below as they shoot upwards and away. That 30 seconds was an eternity. I had a million more thoughts that I didn’t put to paper about my family and good times in life. I’ve had some close calls, but I really didn’t think this jet was coming home. You think a lot about the seat during that time.

It turns out that because of the parallax, Viper 1 had called his altitude on that initial radio call. I was really at 13000’ when he called 10,000. The next call that I heard as 8k was really 11k. He had put his jet truly level with mine as he flew around me and corrected himself on the altitude. 11k to me was impossible as I was descending, so my mind heard 8,000’ and that put me on the timeline to get out of the jet. The next call, I had committed to punch.

In the confusion, and looking at the tapes, I did have a good altitude readout but since I heard it verbally I had tuned it out. I made an effort in the sim afterwards to really watch the altimeter during practice events.

Lastly, watching leads tapes, he squeezed the gun trigger right after I went out of control and I defeated the shot. To all those who have joked about jinking with the MPO, although I don’t recommend it, going out of control is effective.

[TacAirCoug]

Fantastic.

Do I need SOS in residence when I completed correspondence?

Hahahahahahahahahaha!

[Steve Davies]

Definitely write a book.

But don't talk about the ACES II being a Martin Baker seat - it's a Goodrich seat.

[brewskis]

What is up with that new UPT patch?

I LOL'd.

[DFRESH]

I LOL'd.

2

Also, amazing story, and as always, superb writing. I probably won't try an out of control defense on my next dbfm setup though.

[pitts2112]

You've got a real talent for writing. I'm not a USAF pilot and even I was able to figure out enough context to follow the story.

Someone should put "publish book" as a requirement for your next PRF. Getting passed over might just be the kick needed to get that book out of you! :)

[brickhistory]

Outstanding.

That is a publishable magazine story - just need to add some cool pics of, say, a C-130 to make it sexy.

Happy to help point you in the right direction to get started. Get a story or two published and the F-16 book in you is ready to be written.

[GreasySideUp]

No books yet, that requires work I'm sure. I haven't even gotten to the good stuff - my time as a Special Ops Fighter pilot. That stuff won't be unclass for a long time.

Cheers to our fallen bros lately. Him Him.

These are starting to get out of order as I finish unfinished stories up. This was a long long time ago. Enjoy.

Combat Archer

Pickle.

Wait.

Wait.

WTF is wrong with this….

Wooooossshhhhhh.

The AIM 9/M screams off the rail of my Viper with a thunderous roar. I wasn’t expecting to actually be able to hear the missile above the growl of my Pratt screeching along at 9/10ths the speed of sound, but off it went in a flurry of hate, drowning out the wind blast on my bubble canopy.

Walking into the 53^rd WEG, I knew this was going to be an excellent TDY. Parked right at the front door was a shiny new Porsche in the commander’s spot. I detoured slightly from the sidewalk and put a squadron sticker in the middle of the back window. Surely he wouldn’t mind.

The Weapons Evaluation Group was established to test the Air to Air and Air to Ground weapons systems of the USAF and Navy. Specifically, WSEP, the Weapons System Evaluation Program, runs Combat Archer out of Tyndall AFB, Florida. This 2 week TDY evaluates the ability of a unit to deploy troops, aircraft and weapons to a forward location and then fire those weapons at aerial targets. It is staffed with some of the smartest 10 pound brains in the service and they evaluate every part of the process, from the way the airmen attach the fins of the missile, to the parameters the pilot fires the missile, the way the jet sends information to it and ultimately how it performs.

It is also a way to get the pilot to experience actually firing, so when it happens in combat there is no first time anxiety. I don’t know what psychiatrist came up with that idea, but I’ll buy him a round for it. That is, quite possibly the most brilliant idea ever! It would be better to unload an entire jet on 5 different targets but beggars can’t be choosers. And yes I did say shrink, most fighter pilots are certifiably insane. Just take one out of the cockpit for a few weeks and see how he acts.

We started out with extremely in depth technical briefings with experts in each weapon we carry, how they work, how they have improved over the years and limitations we have to using them. Over the years, the missiles, aircraft and operators have continued to improve. They have found things like chafed wires in the jets all the way to bad chips in the missiles. Without testing, this would cause a failure in combat when we needed it the most. It has also led to remarkable advances in missile technology. Early versions of the AIM 9 were susceptible to countermeasures. The first missiles were tail only heat seekers. Infra red Counter Measures, IRCM, in the form of flares were used to decoy the missiles. With testing and the advancement of computer chip technology, Raytheon developed IRCCM, or Infra Red Counter Counter Measures which can differentiate between a flare and the aircraft dispensing them. This is now fielded in the AIM 9 Mike – an all aspect missile that scoffs at flares.

At our lunch break, the zap had been removed from the window of the Porsche. No matter, I’ve got a stack and it deserves another. It is one of the many unsung duties of the LPA.

The squadron was going to fire several missiles over the next few weeks and when we weren’t shooting, we were flying LFE’s and dissimilar with the Eagle squadron who was also in town. It was an awesome opportunity to see several of my UPT bros who were now flying the light Grey and pick their nuggets about that world. I had several outstanding sorties with the F-15’s from that trip but those are stories for another time.

On Tuesday afternoon, my commander pulled me aside in the bar.

“LT. Get over here. Have you been putting Zaps on the commanders car?”

Enable the standard Lieutenant defense. It kicks in without delay, a staple learned in basic, refined in UPT and honed to a razors edge in the goulags of survival school.

Act Surprised.

“Whhaaattt?”

By this time, my count was 5.

Deny.

“I have no idea what you are talking about sir.”

Deny.

“ What car is that?”

“It is the Porsche parked by the front door.”

Deny.

“I haven’t even noticed it sir.”

“The Porsche. You haven’t noticed the nicest effing Porsche in the Pan Handle parked in the spot that says Squadron Commander right by the front door of this fine establishment?”

Counter accuse.

“Maybe it is the other squadron.”

“Don’t give me that S. The other squadron is putting our stickers on the CC’s car? Explain that to me LT.”

Reaffirm Counter Accusation

“I have no idea why they would sir. Sounds like a pretty complicated prank to me.”

“Cut it out. It is a Porsche. And make some popcorn.”

That is certainly no rationale. Dollar value certainly isn’t a limiting factor to zapping something. Almost every Eagle out there has one of our squadron stickers tucked neatly away and those jets are easily worth a few mil. The key is putting one obvious sticker on the nose and then hiding the other in an inspection panel that rarely gets opened. We have found Zaps on our birds that were put there years earlier, behind an ejection seat or on the motor. Just because it is a Porsche offers no reprieve but since the boss asked, I’ll consider it.

The next morning I walked in with our Squadron Commander and the Porsche had another sticker placed by a different pilot. Someone had my back. And my boss saw that there was no winning to be had.

The day after that, a minivan was parked in the Commanders spot. With a sticker on the back that stayed for the remainder of the TDY. Long live the LPA.

After a few glorious flights with the Eagles, it was finally time for my shoot. The plan was to take a simultaneous shot with another Viper while in formation and evaluate the missile performance. We had an instructor from the WEG who was briefing our flight and several others. We had two drones to share between 8 aircraft.

The briefing was different from a standard fighter briefing, in fact after the shoot with the extra gas, we were slated to fly BFM, Basic Fighter Maneuvers or dogfighting. This normally is an hour long brief in itself, but today it was briefed as

“Standard. Any Questions?”

“No Sir.”

“On to the shoot.”

What followed was an extremely technical and procedural briefing on how we were going to shoot these missiles. As fun as it would be to go out and wail away whenever we felt like it, it would be a waste of money to do so. The idea with these shoots is to expand, tighten or validate the firing envelope of the missile. They want us to fire it at extremes, towards the edge of what we think the missile can do. The Engineers come up with boundaries of the firing envelope they want to explore and then run test shots with several missiles to see how they perform. This could be a high off boresight shot from a very slow speed to see if the missile can hack the turn, or a look down shot against a maneuvering bandit. Today, we were going to fire in formation at the edge of the known max range to see how the missile hacked it.

The brief continued with the exact parameters of the shoot. The speed and angles of our jets, the drone and the chase ship. The formation we would shoot from and the range, offset and aspect they wanted us to fire. They wanted us on the numbers. Not 20 knots fast, or 50 feet low, but on the numbers. This is easier said than done when running an intercept. It would be a front quartering shot from a slightly lower altitude today.

Next we covered all the airspace and the contingencies if the primary airspace was blocked by boats. Each morning, one of two specialized DeHavilland E-9A “Widget” Aircraft sweep the range. The Widget is a high wing, twin turboprop with a side looking radar that can sweep the area for surface vessels. Rumor has it that this is one of the best “Old Guy” jobs in the Air Force. Flying in the morning and fishing in the afternoon off the Florida Panhandle. Not for me yet, but I’ll keep it in mind after my inevitable spinal surgery from flying fighters. Since there will be actual metal falling from the sky today, the area has to be clear. I could just imagine a vacation charter with a 900lb tuna on the line being speared and sunk by a Phantom in flames.

“Yeah right man, you had a record setting fish on the line and a Vietnam era jet smashed through your boat setting the tuna free.” Fish story of the century.

Lastly, we spent a large segment talking about the comm for the flight. There is a very precise litany of things to say during the shoot. This was given to us on a card of exactly what to say and when to say it. Written out. Exactly. Word for word. Exactly what to say. This assures the area is clear and you are cleared to fire. It also cues in the engineers and telemetry guys to make sure the missile is set and that they are watching for the data to pour in. “

“What ever you do and whatever you screw up – just sound good on the radio! There are a lot of people listening.”

Walking out to the jet today was different. I had fired the gun and dropped literally tons of bombs but this was a live missile that would not be there when I landed. It was expensive. Very expensive. There were a lot of people watching and it is the kind of thing that you have to answer for if you screw it up.

The AIM-9M is a bad ass missile. It is used by the Air Force, Navy and Marine Corps and 27 other nations as the go to, short range weapon of choice. Developed in the 1950’s, the Sidewinder is the most successful Air to Air missile on the planet with an estimated 270 kills. That is two hundred and seventy kills. It is lethal, and many an enemy pilot loathed the day it was created. It was so successful initially that they even took the guns off the Phantoms. A disaster at the time, we are now repeating it with several versions of the F-35, but again, I digress. I love the missile, but I will slit your throat if you try to take away my gun. Even on a Viper, I still use it all the time.

The heater has 8 fins, four for stability and four for steering. It is capable of right angle corners while at speed under incredible G. This is guided by an Infra Red seeker mounted to a gimbal which sends data to the computer. Preflighting the missile, the seeker droops down, requiring the gyro to spin up and stabilize it. It is cooled by 5000psi of Argon carried in a small bottle internally. The guidance unit is directly behind the seeker and works through black magic and voodoo. All I know is that it is smarter than me. It will take data from the jet’s radar to initially look in the proper direction or I can manually lock it on if my radar is down or being used for something else. Once it leaves the jet, the CPU takes over and all bets are off where it is going to go on it’s own.

Behind the guidance unit is a target detector. This will sense when it is close to another aircraft and set the fuse. On many AIM-9’s, this has been obsolete because the missile actually speared the target. In the late 50’s over the Taiwan Straits, a Taiwanese fighter speared a Chinese MiG -17 with an Aim 9 that failed to explode and lodged in it’s fuselage. The MiG and the missile landed safely back home, and in very short order the Rooskies had a nifty missile dubbed the AA-2 Atol. A carbon copy of our sidewinder down to the part numbers, this advanced the communist missile technology by decades. When the target aircraft is within the lethal range of the missile it fires the WDU-17B annular blast fragmentation warhead. This nasty device is made up of spirally wound spring steel encasing 8 pounds of PBXN-3 high explosives and will shred flesh and aluminum and set fuel on fire. Poor souls to be on the receiving end, should have been born American. Today this warhead is replaced by a telemetry package that beams data from the missile back to antenna along the Florida coast broadcasting exactly what the missile is thinking and what it is doing. If the target passes within the lethal radius of the missile, it is as good as a kill and considered as such.

This 9 foot long, 188 pound, harbinger of death is propelled by a reduced smoke Mk36 solid propellant rocket capable of hurling this missile several times the speed of sound. Outstanding.

Just before we launch, they launch the drone. While they have full scale F-4’s, today we are going after one of the littler fellas. The purpose built BQM-34 Firebee Sub Scale Aerial Target. This is good. I don’t think I would have the heart to shoot at an F-4 – unless it wears the flag of some of our, ¿Cómo se dice, “old friends” who are still flying it. In that case, paint five of them on my jet and I’ll use the fallen pieces as spares to keep ours flying. The Phantom is my favorite plane on the planet and the first jet I ever saw at an airshow at 5 years old. I remember that day like it was yesterday and I attribute my military career entirely to that encounter with those two smoky General Electric J79’s spewing fire and noise over the Florida pan handle. I would eventually get a ride in one but that also, is a story for another time.

As sad as it would be to down an F-4, they are soon to be replaced with F-16’s. This is borderline criminal and certainly against the Geneva Convention. Can’t we put the old girls in Arizona to retire like all the other great fighters? Even though unmanned, I know the Viper Drones will still wax the floor with the Eagles that try to shoot them down, sticking them in lag with the operator a hundred miles away snickering at the joystick and computer monitor in front of him. Eventually it will happen though. An Eagle will paint a Viper on the fuselage and Viper pilots across the world will sip a bottle of Weed and toss a nickel in the grass in mourning. Him Him.

The Firebee is a little bad ass as well. There are many stories of pilots trying to shoot them down, bleeding off too much energy entering the turn circle and getting stuck looking out the side of the canopy with no firing solution. Worse, there are stories of the little orange BQM actually making angles on them. Only F-15’s of course. When we do manage to shoot them down, the wing owns a couple of ships to fish them out of the ocean, patch them up and send them out again. The “Tyndall Navy.” Now there’s a retirement job.

Once airborne, things start to happen fast. The BQM doesn’t have a ton of gas, so we have to move quickly. It could not be a nicer day. Clear blue skies with a patch of cirrus clouds up high to highlight the contrast. A clear blue ocean below with virtually no waves. A great day to go shooting.

I triple check the procedures on the lineup card on my knee. Even though I do these arming procedures every time I train, this time it is for real so I check them again. Our lead chase ship starts his litany over the radio to start the drone on it’s run.

Turn in, Fights on!

Radar Contact.

“Viper 3 targeted Bullseye 269/25, 17000 feet.”

Our two ship starts to run the intercept from 25 miles out.

Aspect starts to break.

Looks good.

The key is timing the aspect break to arrive at our parameters at the correct distance. We are right on cue.

The chase ship gives the clearance to arm the missiles.

Arm Hot. I double check the missile is cooled. Good to go. I’m really going to shoot this thing. Adrenaline starts to flow and time slows down.

“Chase, Viper Three.”

“Go Three.”

“Viper three has a problem with the missile”

Damn. I look off my right wing at Viper Three. He is abeam me at about 3000 feet and I can see he is nugget down in the cockpit looking at his displays. I look left at the chase ship and he is now looking through me at number three. There is nothing these guys haven’t seen so hopefully he can talk him through it.

15 miles to the drone. We better solve this soon.

“Go with your problem.”

“I’m not sure. It. It…”

“What faults are you showing?”

“None. No Faults, I’ve got no symbology for the missile.”

Looking through the HUD, there should be a ton of data provided to the pilot. The main thing is a diamond of where the seeker is looking. This diamond, when slaved to the Radar should be squarely over the target. His is missing. Mine is spot on.

10 miles to the drone.

“3, download and upload your missile. Quickly.”

The Viper reset. Not good. For some reason, every now and then there is a glitch in the Viper matrix and downloading and then uploading fixes the problem 90% of the time 60% of the time.

7 miles.

I should have started my comm litany a while ago but they are working the problem. There is no room to interrupt.

“2, hold your shot unless 3 starts working.”

“2.”

Eff.

“3, what luck?”

“3, no luck.”

“Viper flight off dry, switches safe.”

“2.”

“3.”

We are going to have one more shot at this if the drones don’t get shot down first. There are two drones out here and 6 other aircraft shooting at them with all different shots. We enter the bullpen again and try to sort 3’s problem. Orbiting about 20 miles away from the flight, one of the drones is splashed. We learned later that it was an enormous fireball with the missile puncturing the tank. Good on him, bad for us.

Somewhere around 20 minutes elapse and I can’t stand it. All geared up, ready to go, and waiting. Tim Tebow on the Jets. So much talent…. I still digress. The good news is that three sorts his missile so we are both good to go. I know he is stoked.

Back in the lineup we go.

Turn in, fights on! Again.

Radar Contact.

“Viper 3 targeted Bullseye 273/27, 17000 feet.”

Our two ship again starts to run the intercept.

Aspect starts to break.

Looks like this is going to work out great.

“Vipers, Arm Hot.”

“2”

“3”

My missile is cooled and called up as my primary weapon. It has a low growl. Normal for this range.

“Hey Buddy, I’m just looking around right now.” the missile is telling me. If it could speak sentences, I imagine it sounds like Towelie from South Park for some reason.

“Don’t shoot just yet, patience buddy.”

The great thing about the heater is the way it talks to you. It has several different tones to let you know exactly how it is doing. From a low growl to a full on howl, I can tell how good of a solution the missile has just by listening. As we get closer, the missile starts to perk up and the growl gets meaner and louder.

“Chase, 3 has the same problem.”

You are kidding me! It was working a few minutes ago!

“Copy 3. Let’s go through the same procedure we just did and get it working again.”

My missile is starting to sound good. It has a good heat signature now and a solid growling tone.

We are closing at 1.7 times the speed of sound. Lead and 3 begin to troubleshoot over the radio again but it is not looking good. I’m looking out the left and right side of my jet at each of their jets and say a silent prayer that the good Lord will let us both rain hate on this little Firebee drone. That and the standard Fighter Pilot prayer – Lord, Don’t let me F this up.

For another solid minute the radio is packed with communications between the two, back and forth with troubleshooting. This is the time we should be running the standard comm litany on my kneeboard card.

“What does the Fault page say?”

“The Fault page is clear?”

“Any MFL’s?”

“3, Negative.”

“And still no symbology?

“Negative.”

My missile is loud now. I uncage the seeker head and it stays firmly planted on the Firebee with no radar assistance. It will easily guide itself now.

“Radar Lock?”

“Afirm. Target, 272 for 7 miles.”

His radar is locked but there is no missile symbol in the HUD.

Not good.

My missile is screaming. It is locked on and absolutely screaming in my headset above all the other comm.

“Did you download and upload?”

“Afirm, no change.”

“Try a boresight.”

This is where you target the missile without the radar cue.

“Unable.”

“Did you try…..”

Woosssshhhhhhhh. Like a freight train, the sidewinder screams off my jet. My skinny wingman doing the Lord’s work. I hit the exact parameters and let it rip. Like a bottle rocket, it corkscrews off the jet violently until it picks up speed and stabilizes, then it makes a hard right turn a few thousand feet in front of 3’s jet to get some cutoff on the drone. I’m glad our formation was good.

Awesome. That is freaking awesome.

This shot completely took the IP of the chase ship by surprise. In the history of missile shoots, there is probably no one who has screwed up the comm that badly. I hadn’t said a word in 10 minutes.

“Fox Fox!” He screams on the radio. This cues all the engineers back on the ground that a missile is in the air. There should have been a half dozen calls prior to this, leading up to a triumphant “Fox 2” when the missile left my jet. We were cleared on the range, cleared to arm and cleared to shoot so it wasn’t unsafe but it was non standard and we live by standards. It has never been done that way before and it probably will never again.

I watch the missile make jagged, high G turns as the drone maneuvers and eventually I lose sight. At some point it runs out of steam and falls to the ocean below. To this point, the coolest thing I have seen in the Viper.

3 unfortunately had to bring his missile back home that day. The taxi of shame. The ground crews, Ammo, and everyone else are stoked to see ordinance expended. Bringing a missile home means that something went wrong. It was eventually traced to some corrosion or something on a cannon plug. Bummer, but that is exactly why we do this and that data and the fix will be incorporated fleet wide if it becomes a trend.

In the debrief, nearly every pilot from every squadron gets together with beer and popcorn in the afternoon in a theater to watch the shots. The engineers gather all the data and show exactly what the missile is doing and recreate the flight on a slideshow that puts my powerpoint skills to shame. They pair that up with the Heads Up Display tape so you can hear the comm and see the shot from the jet. We watched several shots and cheered the great success of the missile. And then we got to mine. So there it was, for all to see. Massive troubleshooting, and out of nowhere, my missile firing off in the middle of it.

“What ever you screw up, just sound good on the Radio. Isn’t that right LT?”

Not today. The audience laughed their faces off at my expense. And rightfully so.

It was an outstanding shoot and an even better TDY, and somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico is a spent AIM-9 with a squadron sticker proudly attached to the side.

Chive on.

Edited May 4, 2013 by GreasySideUp

[C-21.Pilot]

^^

Longest post ever award goes to.....

[HU&W]

^^

Longest post ever award goes to.....

Long post, but actually worth the read. Greasy, you should give lessons.

[Breckey]

nsplayer could learn a thing or ton

[matmacwc]

nsplayer could learn a thing or ton

Him and Rainman ran off together, haven't seen him either. Did I just jinx it?

[Buddy Spike]

Him and Rainman ran off together, haven't seen him either. Did I just jinx it?

Just don't say it two more times.