brickhistory

What bluto said. Although it's been many years since I pulled alert. This sounds like a code change. The oncoming pair of crewdogs lug the new codes out, the off-going set lugs the old ones RTB. I do not know how/why there were simultaneous crews on duty in the LCC (launch control capsule), but there's supposes to be at least one dude/dudette awake at all times. Not that I ever catnapped in the seat at 0300 while the other dude/dudette was racked out in the bunk. It's not like the thing is cruising at FL-200 at .80. You hear the klaxon, you hear when stuff that should be running stops, etc, etc. What I don't get, is how was this discovered? If one of the crew woke up, saw the other flaked out, then no big deal, just stay the f*ck awake, and keep your mouth shut. If an 'outside' entity discovered it (cook, the FM, maintenance, etc), then the crew is screwed. If internal, it should be an informal debrief item. Especially since the crew has control of the door and the Vegas rule - "What happens behind the blast door, stays behind the blast door." This sounds like somebody ratted somebody out.

"And here, we observe the male armored fighting vehicle mating with the female. Never before captured on film, our cameraman lived in his blind for weeks to catch this brief 20 seconds of film."

Godspeed, gentlemen. By the way, this is a chilling, graphic reminder why wings carry significance. I haven't heard of too many space or cyber guys not coming back while performing the space or cyber mission.

The first part of this sentence is way beyond UFB. The second part is pretty darn funny! Brick, Goat Forks, MMII Deuce '87-'91

Old Dog, New Tricks: B-52 Operations in Iraqi Freedom In the famous film, “True Grit,” John Wayne played an aging U.S. Marshall. In the climatic scene, the Duke, astride his horse, faces off across a field against four bandits, also on horseback. “Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!” he yells before taking the reins in his mouth and filling each of his hands with lethal western hardware. So it is regarding the venerable Boeing B-52 “Stratofortress.” Definitely long in the tooth, the big Cold War bomber continues to face down bad guys, and like Wayne’s character, the “BUFF (Big Ugly Fat….Fella)” has “filled its hands” with a modernized arsenal to stay relevant in modern warfare. Eighth Air Force Goes To England (again) In early March, 2003, from bases in North Dakota and Louisiana, B-52H’s, the last of the breed, flew converging courses to arrive at Royal Air Force base Fairford. During the Cold War, Fairford was a thriving, bustling base, used to large aircraft reception and beddown. By 2003, however, it was in ‘caretaker’ status; only a handful of people on the base to keep it open. A swarm of loaded B-52s and the airlift needed to support bomber operations soon had Fairford humming again. In addition to cooks, motor pool, and security forces, weapons loaders, computer and communication specialists, aircraft crew chiefs, as well as extra flight crews all flowed into the formerly quiet base. Staff Sergeant (SSgt) Ben Morgan was a weapons loader who worked 12 hour days for weeks on end to support the long range strikes. Indeed, Morgan flew in one of the bombers in its initial deployment. Since the BUFF flew fully loaded for war with a full load of conventional air launched cruise missiles (CALCMS – pronounced “Cal-kums”), he had the responsibility of maintaining and monitoring the warload until it was used. On March 19th, it would be. Shock and Awe Night I Capt Jeremy ‘TB’ Holmes was a copilot on the opening night’s strikes. He flew in the right seat of the number 6 bomber of a formation of eight B-52s. “We’d brief about three hours prior to the ‘fragged’ take-off. Our crew of five – aircraft commander, pilot, electronic warfare officer (EWO), radar navigator and navigator attended the mass briefing then split off for specialized portions. “The navs checked the routing and timing that the mission planning cell had developed. The EWO updated his enemy order of battle planning; making sure he had the latest ‘gouge’ on what surface to air missiles (SAMs), triple AAA (anti-aircraft artillery), or fighter aircraft Iraqi’s could have and how they were likely to employ any of those. “The pilots checked weather, filed our flight plan, and verified the status of our jet.” Speaking of a flight plan, unlike the Eighth Air Force bombing missions of yore, modern day, limited warfare still required the niceties to be observed. Since most of Europe was not involved in the distant operation and those European skies were still filled with civil air traffic, even bombers had to file a plan to fit within the busy system. At the far end of the plan, just prior to entering the combat arena, the bombers would “disappear” and conduct their missions. Afterwards, they’d pick up their plan and re-enter the ATC system. Times have indeed changed for bombers. Holmes said that about one and half hours prior to take-off, the crew arrived at the jet and did pre-flights. The pilots did the standard walkaround, checking for ‘two wings and eight engines,’ the navs, who were responsible for targeting and dropping the weapons, would check over the load-out, make sure the correct fuse settings were in place, and pull the safety pins. Once the pins were pulled, the ordnance was live, so strict adherence to safety was mandatory lest bad things happen in an aircraft filled with jet fuel and explosives. In military aviation, every airplane has a crew chief assigned to it. The crew chief is the individual responsible for making sure the aircraft is maintained, serviced and ready to fly whenever required. Such is the massiveness of the B-52H, that the crew chief can have up to five assistant crew chiefs. SSgt Kyle Helton was one of those and tells what it was like prepping one of the big birds for combat. His particular jet was named “Christine” of Steven King fame. When asked about it, he just says the nickname is well deserved. “A lot of the work would have been done when the jet landed from its previous flight, but about eight hours before take-off, we’d get to the jet and begin checking everything – making sure all the panels were secured, the engines were free of FOD (debris that can get sucked into a jet called “Foreign Object Damage.”), the hydraulic systems were filled and serviceable, same for the tires, brakes, and flight control systems. That the jet was fueled properly and that weight and balance were within limits. If something isn’t right, we either fix it or contact the systems specialist to make the repair. “When the crew arrives, we help them do their pre-flight, then plug in to headsets and stand by with fire bottles as they crank the engines; verify the control movements correspond with the pilot’s inputs, and send ‘em off with a salute and thumb’s up. “Post-flight takes another six or so hours, so it can be a really long day. But once you see your baby take flight, the hard work is definitely worth it.” ‘TB’ says of launching that first night, “I was excited; there a lot of things happening. Launching out that night as part of an armada of eight B-52s fully loaded for war was one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen. Even Holmes’ earlier 12 combat missions for Operation ENDURING FREEDOM weren’t as ‘exciting’ because the formations weren’t as large and the Taliban air defense threat against the high-flying BUFFs was almost non-existent. Iraq was a different matter. Even though heavily degraded compared to DESERT STORM levels, Iraqi air defense still had lethal anti-aircraft artillery (‘triple A’), surface to air missiles (SAMs), and fighters. All of which could be deadly to the bombers. Holmes’, as well as most of the other jets, was burdened with a full internal load of CALCMs. With the missiles and a full fuel load, the bomber was nearly at its maximum gross take-off weight. Getting to the fight required hours of droning along, interrupted with aerial refuelings. Said Holmes of BUFF handling, “The saying I’ve always heard and agree with is, ‘It’s like driving a fully loaded beer truck with flat tires on a gravel road.’ It’s definitely not a Corvette and you have to muscle it around, but I like flying it.” Major Doug Hill, a KC-10 tanker pilot, recalled what fueling a BUFF was like from his end. “They’d cruise up high and come down to the low 20s (in thousands of feet) to get gas. Up much higher than that and the thin air affected maneuvering too much to off-load fuel safely. It was too hard for someone to stay on the boom up high.” Holmes’ description from the receiver’s end concurred with that assessment. “Getting gas is kinda like wrestling a bear. It takes a lot of work. Our wings are longer than either the –10 or the (KC)-135, so we get hit with the wingtip vortices coming off the tanker. That and the constantly changing CG (center of gravity) as the fuel comes in makes staying on the boom more art than science. You will definitely work up a sweat doing AR (aerial refueling).” Entering the combat theater soon after sunset, the two pilots in Holmes’ jet put on NVGs (night vision goggles) and flew on. At about the same time, the CAOC (combined air operations center, the air war headquarters then in Saudi Arabia) changed the targets for the CALCMs. Scrambling madly amid the now cluttered blare of radios full of chatter, the navigators in their compartment below the flight deck reprogrammed the missiles guidance computers. Such is the pace of modern warfare that moving targets can be tracked even after a mission has launched but before any weapons are launched. Holmes recalled those moments, “We could have had helmet fires in our jet and in the others with the stress of retargeting the missiles only minutes away from the launch point, but we got it done correctly and on time.” Re-entering ATC control, all eight B-52s returned to Fairford that first night. The total sortie length was more than 14 hours. Add in the pre- and post-flight briefings and the crew’s day was more than 24 hours long. In a couple of nights, they’d do it again. Night II Major Alex ‘Coyote’ Wylie, a radar navigator, had his chance at combat on Night II. Wylie was also a veteran of the ENDURING FREEDOM missions the previous year, but this was different than those strikes. Like Holmes’ the night before, Wylie also had concerns about Iraq’s air defense capabilities. By now the defenders knew that the fight was on. Like kicking a hornet’s nest, missions into Iraq faced a stirred up, angry enemy. After stepping to the jet, Wylie recalled the commander of the 23d Bomb Squadron, “The Bomber Barons,” came out to each jet and briefed the crews that headquarters had designated new targets and that the crews should contact the CAOC for updated targeting information. “He said the new targets were classified as “high priority” and that loss of the aircraft and crew was acceptable.” After mulling over those sobering words, Wylie said, “We didn’t have much time to waste if we were going to make our first refueling so we pressed and figured we’d see what would happen when we got there.” Wylie and his crew flew as the number 2 of a two-ship strike carrying a mixed load of CALCMs and JDAMs (Joint Direct Attack Munition – a 2000lb bomb equipped with a GPS receiver and movable control surfaces to guide it to the desired point.). Night II’s mission had similarities to the opening night’s in that the cell of BUFFs entered the European ATC system, had to hit a tanker several times and encountered mass confusion just before ‘showtime.’ Said Wylie, “We finished retargeting 13 weapons just minutes before our CALCM releases. After release, all players were told to slide south due to unknown hostiles west of Baghdad. We were fragged to go into the Baghdad MEZ (missile engagement zone – threat area where SAMs could reach out and touch an aircraft) to drop our JDAMs.” After the cruise missile launches, Wylie’s jet was to support a strike package of fighters and SEAD (suppression of enemy air defense) EA-6B “Prowlers.” “We didn’t want to miss our strike package push and going south would have made us late, so we went east instead. We picked up the SEAD support, but the rest of the strike package never showed. We pushed without them due to the importance of the new targets. “Over target, all our weapons malfunctioned. We scrambled like mad to fix the problem before we left the launch envelope and released with only one second to spare. “We must have woke them up because right at weapons impact we were engaged by a SAM. The pilots did their thing and broke away from the missile while we tried to get out of the MEZ. “We’d had an exciting 15 minutes over the target area and a long haul to get back home. We struck all our targets and the mission was a success. When we landed, our next mission was already on the schedule.” After several weeks of operating from England, operational necessity called for moving the BUFFs to different operating locations. As of this writing, the hulking bombers are still flying missions in harm’s way. But for a time in 2003, the grandsons of original Eighth Air Force crews performed as they did, getting to the target no matter the odds. (The author would like to thank the men and women of the 5th Bomb Wing, Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota for their help in telling this story.) SIDEBAR – B-52 H “Stratofortress” and Crew The B-52’s roots go all the way back to 1946 when the then-US Army Air Forces selected the Boeing Airplane Company’s XB-52 design as its replacement for the Consolidated B-36 long-range bomber. The XB-52 was a straight wing, six piston-engine design. In 1948, the design was modified with swept wings and eight jet engines neatly contained in four pods slung beneath the wings. The prototype YB-52 first flew on April 15, 1952. Interestingly, it had the pilot and co-pilot seated in tandem vice the side-by-side seating of production models. The US Air Force took delivery of its first operational models, the B-52B in 1953 with subsequent models making incremental improvements in the design. Originally conceived as a high-altitude, long-range nuclear bomber, the B-52 adopted a plethora of roles and tactics throughout its more than 50 years of operational life. For nearly 40 years, the BUFFs pulled nuclear alert duty. In the first stages of the Cold War, B-52s flew armed patrols, waiting for the order to strike targets inside the Soviet Union. Starting in the 1960s, the crews sat quick reaction alert at Strategic Air Command bases around the United States, awaiting the klaxon that would send them aloft on doomsday missions. It was also in the 1960s that the bomber took on a less world-ending role. Probably most well known to the general public for its role in the Vietnam War, B-52s devastated large areas of North and South Vietnam with conventional bombs. Specially modified under the apt code-name of “Big Belly,” B-52 Ds could carry up to 85 500lb bombs – 60,000lbs of high explosive that obliterated large areas in one sortie. The B-52 strikes at Hanoi and Haiphong in 1972, dubbed Operation LINEBACKER I and II are generally credited with demonstrating US resolve and thereby bringing the North Vietnamese to the negotiating table for serious discussions. By the 1970s, however, most of the B-52 force was still involved in its primary mission of nuclear deterrence and if need be, delivery. In the face of increasingly effective Soviet air defenses, the B-52 adopted low-level flying to sneak under the Russian radar screen and strike the targets. The inherently flexible Boeing designed absorbed this mission profile change very well and the view of a cell of B-52s on the deck must have been awesome. As the airplane aged, numerous successors were planned then cancelled due to political or budgetary restraints. The B-52s soldiered on, far beyond the time anyone could ever envision. Despite its age, BUFFs performed its conventional bombing role again in Operation DESERT STORM in Iraq and again for ALLIED FORCE in Kosovo in the late 1990s. By then, however, except for the H model, all other variants were gone from the inventory. Arms limitation treaties and antiquated equipment consigned hundreds of older B-52s to the boneyard. The remaining aircraft, however, were updated yet again and have mastered another unique role in warfare. Equipped with precision munitions, the B-52 still offers military and political leaders unprecedented load carrying and loiter time capability. As described in this story, the old dog can still perform new tricks.

I was a ROTC nazi so can't comment on the Academy, but the admission requirements for a 'normal' school and ROTC were/are not as tough as getting an Academy slot (sts). The payoff, in my mind, is a better shot at a pilot slot/better chance of a waiver for whatever that ails ya that would ground a ROTC dude. Remember, you have to have a Congressional/Presidential/Vice-Presidential/offspring of a Medal of Honor winner* or be selected for the Academy prep school to get in (for enlisted only or do they take 'off the street?'). So in addition to good grades, lots of extracurricular (sp?) activity, you've got the part of competing and winning such an appoinment. * Zoomies, did I miss any of the 'foot in the door' categories?

Gonna have to see if I can find the photos of the 8th AF B-17s/B-24s with such 'unprofessional' markings and send it in. The B-17 'Snafu-er Man" comes to mind, not mention "The Sad Sack," the "Behind the 8-ball" and others.

I think the shoe clerk's union president just 'outed' himself. Lighten up, Francis!

It's not?! If not, my bad. I always thought it was. Guess my alma mater, Valdosta State (where?) didn't learn me everything.

The end is near. I agree with loyma3. I don't believe 99% of black people care about stuff like this. Funny, I also don't believe 99% of white people care about this. Or Asian. Not sure about the American Indian yet.......... Yet the Reverend Jesse Jackson has made a lucrative career out of shaking down corporate America with racial boycotts and threats thereof. The Reverends Jackson and Sharpton (you know, the admitted perjurer in the Twana Braley (sp?) case) were quick to go after so-so comedic Don Imus with a comment about an obscure Ivy League women's basketball team. They weren't shy at all about the 'outrage,' the 'injustice,' the 'horror' of the comment. Yet no so much when suggesting castration of a Presidential candidate. Hmmm, I wonder what would have happened if a white polarizing figure like Rush or Bill O'Reilly had made the same sort of comment - on or off air? Riots in the streets, led by Jackson and Sharpton. Hypocrisy is not a color, it's a character trait.

mambo, sorry wasn't clear in what I was asking, thanks for the link. Several posts back, codename46 had a 'slight personal reluctance' to renounce his other than US-citizenship. I'm just curious as to what from a practical/personal viewpoint, does holding or renouncing dual citizenship have?

A couple of questions and one piece of advice: to those holding dual-citizenship: Why is renouncing one hard or not desirable to do? How does one have dual-citizenship in the first place? Not a slam, I'm just interested. I'm not in nor will ever be in that situation so I know nothing about it. I'll admit to not reading all nine pages, but if it hasn't been mentioned, SAVE whatever you turn in. Both for this clearance and for not having to re-invent the wheel in five years when it's time to renew the clearance.

There was a thread about 'swingers.' Sounded like it beat the hell out of spwings.... I'm just sayin'......

"One Square Mile of Hell" by John Wukovits. Non-fiction story of the battle of Tarawa, November 1943. I have to hand it to the Marines. Tiny island, no place to go but straight ahead. A 700 yard slog through the water under hellish machine gun and mortar fire. 35 percent casualty rate out of about 5,000 jarheads. Japanese Naval Landing Forces (Japanese Marines) of about 4000-ish dug in well with reinforced pillboxes, etc. 14 prisoners. Three days from start to finish. Guts. Related but fiction is an older book called "Battle Cry" by Leon Uris. Uris was a Marine at Tarawa; good tale of enlisting, boot camp, training in New Zealand, then Tarawa, Saipan.

A missileer, by definition, will only ever get to log one 'combat mission' if it ever happens. It will probably be the last combat mission for the world. Until then, it's just pulling alert, i.e., babysitting bombs. 242 'missions' under North Dakota. One thing I will say from that time was there were some absolutely magnificent 'doofer books.' One guy was a fantastic artist and had an entire saga of an LCC towing LFs under the ground, encountering Soviet counterparts, underground gas lines, electric cables, etc. It was worth the 2+ hour drive in good weather just to read the latest installment. "One ping only, Dmitri....." World class porn drawer (sts) as well.

2. I preferred BDUs as my uniform of choice when given one. Uniform once the LCC blast door is closed is sweats and, in my case moose, slippers. Sponge Bob versions would probably work just fine today.

DG" good! Not a DG? checked the square, good on ya, next..... One non-DG's opinion.

2. It is my favorite book. Ever.

"Rampant Raider" by Stephan Gray, US Naval Institute Press Not a particularly innovative story, but good nonetheless. Tells of his enlisting in the Navy, getting flight school, very detailed about the trials/tribulations there, then on to 1967-era Vietnam flying A-4s. Very good look at squadron flying and life.

Yeah, those peasants aren't as polished as we uber-mortal officer class. Dude, seriously! Cussin' is part and parcel of life - USAF or not. You don't have to, and by that example, I bet you will find most around you will try to refrain around you, but please disabuse (sts) yourself of this 'class' system. There are tremendous folks in uniform, officer and enlisted. There are complete assho...uh, wastes of flesh, officer and enlisted. You commission, should you earn one, does not make you better than the enlisted force; it does make you responsible for the well-being of those under your command. Sorry, I'll put down the

Want to join the Air Force? Then expect to do your job whenever and wherever it's time to work. End of discussion. Nobody will really care about your religion or lack thereof. Nobody will really care about you chasing tail or lack thereof. Nobody will care about your drinking or lack thereof. Oh, except that prick Col Mohammed............................ er, sorry,

Not it you get 'em on the Mexican side of the border.

Once upon a time, before even dinosaurs, there was the missile badge, i.e., 'pocket rocket' without the laurels along the sides. If you worked in the business, ops, maintenance, scientist, et al, you qualified for the badge. Even B-52 crews who carried Hound Dog, and later ALCMs, qualified for the badge (I thought it was douche-y to do so, but I digress). Then in an effort to boost morale and the 'operationalness' of missiles, crew dogs gained the badge with the ops identifier - the laurel wreaths running vertically along both sides of the original pocket rocket. Non-ops missile folks kept the old badge. Space guys had their 'Star Trek Next Generation" badges. After combining the two, there was angst about the differentiation since they were all one happy family - not, but again, I digress. Gen Lance Lord (ret) pushed the spwings through to give that fashion statement to the space and missile force. Despite the fact that heritage and morale would suffer at those forced to give up their pocket rockets. Scoff if you will, but once one escaped that duty, it was a point of pride to wear the missile badge. Kind of like prison cred in the 'hood. Notice that pilot/nav wings havent' been screwed with for a long while, so why mess with the missile badge? But Lance wanted it and it was so. Three-four years ago, I was sitting fat/dumb/happy at my liaison job with the FAA HQ when I got an e-mail from Space Command notifying me that I had been awarded basic spwings. I almost shat myself as I thought I was long gone from the reach of SAC/Space Command, but their ability to find you is almost KGB-like. I was scared that somehow I was gonna be put back in the ground like the undead. And have to wear spwings. Fortunately, neither happened. They grandfathered in those who were awarded the pocket rocket and weren't in Space Command. There are further historical lessons if desired about the blue shirt/pants (aka the old base ops Transient Alert uniform) missile uniform with the 'dashing' ascot being replaced by the non-childproofed blue 'flight suit' and the lovely blue missile jacket, then on to the age of green bags for everyone. But that would be boring and a huge waste of time.

Another WWII vet and a superb pilot who did the transition from the high-powered piston engine fighters to jets into the 1960s. I've had drinks with him here in the US and visited he and his wife in the UK. At 80, when I visited, he still was able to run hard. Some of his stories in immediate post-War Germany had me rolling on the floor. Things Were A Bit Different Then “At the end of World War II, I led the capture of Tokyo. Well, actually, one of four forts that ringed the entrance to Tokyo Bay.” So began a fascinating morning with Commander John ‘Boot’ Nethersole, Royal Navy (ret.). “I was just out of Dartmouth (the Royal Navy’s officer academy) and assigned to the cruiser, HMS Newfoundland. I led one of two Royal Navy (RN) landing parties against two of the forts while some US Marines captured the other two on the other side of the entrance. “So here I am, a young midshipman leading my lot of sailors onto the beach and up the hill, yelling and screaming to keep our courage up since we really didn’t know what kind of reaction the Japanese would produce. “It was all anti-climatic really, for when we got to the top, there was no one there and we were standing around kicking the sand with our boots and nothing to do. Finally, from behind a beached cutter (kind of a long row boat), up pops this white flag on a pole. “I advanced to the cutter and stuck my .45 around the bow, to find three Japanese soldiers attached to the other end of the pole, kneeling and shaking in their shoes. “So with their surrender, I lay claim to having captured Tokyo!” This is only one of the many stories ‘Boot’ recounted with tongue firmly in cheek. Shortly after this episode, he applied to the RN’s Fleet Air Arm (FAA) to be a pilot. At that time, the Royal Air Force taught FAA fledglings until they were awarded their wings at which point the new pilots posted to a FAA operational training unit (OTU). It was at OTU that Nethersole first flew in navalized variants of the famous Supermarine Spitfire. Of these ‘Seafires,’ Nethersole recalled, “Really a lovely little airplane to fly; smelled strongly of petrol when you flew it upside down.” Moving on to the second part of his OTU, he flew another 100 hours in the Hawker Sea Fury, learning basic fighter maneuvers, practicing air to air and air to ground attacks, including his first live firing of 20mm cannons, rockets and bombs before posting to his first operational squadron, No. 802. 802’s senior pilot was none other than famed test pilot Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown. 802 Squadron came aboard the carrier HMS Vengeance and cruised as part of both the Home and Mediterranean Fleets during Nethersole’s first squadron tour, 1949-1951. Nethersole recounts what flying the Sea Fury was like, “Unless there was no wind over the deck, which almost never happened, we did free take-offs. Spotted as far aft as we could, we poured the power to the 18-cylinder Centaurus radial and released the brakes. “When really heavy, carrying a full load of bombs for example, some Sea Furies could use RATOG – rocket assisted take-off. You fired these off as you started forward and the rockets provided several hundred pounds of extra ‘push’ to get airborne. “Although RATOG was seldom used, my squadron commander had had an exciting experience while using them during the Korean War. He was carrying 1000 pounders under each wing, full fuel and ammunition, really rather heavy. “During his pre-flight, he forgot to switch on the masterswitch for the RATOG bottles. Spotted in the front rank for take-off, he was about even with the carrier’s island. When the deck officer gave him the launch signal, he applied full throttle and started rolling forward. As he moved, he hit the ignition switch for the RATOG and, of course, nothing happened, but it was too late for him to stop on the remaining deck. “Over the bow he went, everyone expecting the splash. That never happened and shortly thereafter, he pulled ahead of the ship at nil feet above the water. He had been unbelievably lucky and supremely skilled to take advantage of ‘ground effect’ and stay out of the water (Ground effect – the phenomenon where air is compressed between the underside of a low flying aircraft and the surface, in this case the ocean. It occurs when the height of the aircraft is less than one wingspan above the surface.) “So he was really in a bind; too slow to climb out of ground effect or he’d stall and crash and unable to gain speed since he couldn’t dive to pick up some extra knots. When last seen, he was flying over the horizon with his tailwheel sometimes kicking up spray. He actually flew that way until he burned off enough fuel to lighten his airplane and manage to climb at the lighter weight! “When returning to the ship, we’d typically be in echelon formation, entering the pattern on the starboard side of the ship, breaking off at ten second intervals to set up landings. We strove to land each aircraft within 15-20 seconds of the each other. “When Mother Nature provided wind and the ship was charging into it for all she was worth, we’d usually have 30-40 knots over the deck when on finals for landing in a continuously curving approach to the stern. We had to fly like that so we could keep the batsman in sight. With the twelve feet of nose and engine in front of the cockpit, if we came straight in, we’d be blind in the three-point landing attitude. “Holding 80-82 knots, we kept our eyes glued to the batsman’s signals, when he gave us the ‘cut’ we pulled the power and settled to the deck, hoping we’d catch one of the ten cross-deck wires with the tailhook. If we didn’t, we faced the prospect of taking one of two wire barriers that protected the aircraft parked towards the bow. The barriers would play havoc with the fighter’s propeller and wings, but it would stop the aircraft from plowing into the airpark on deck forward. “If, as happened from time to time, a chap hit rather hard and bounced, he’d balloon over the wires and the barriers and go into the airpark. At best, the fighter would be a write-off and maybe, one or two others. At worst, a collision would trigger explosions and damage or destroy many aircraft.” It was ashore,however, that ‘Boot’ tells one of his funniest ‘there I was’ stories. “We had completed our last day of armaments camp, flying out of the airfield at Sylt, in the Friesian Islands off northern Germany. We had quite a party to celebrate the end of our encampment and I had a bit much to drink. “Next morning, we were to be off back to our base at Wunstorf. Naturally, the weather was terrible - cold, wet, low hanging cloud that went up to who knows what altitude, so we delayed. “I found myself a choice piece of hangar wall to lean against and had a nap. Next thing I know, I’m shaken awake with a “Right, your off!” “I jumped in my airplane, started it up and fell into the taxiing queue and waited my turn for take-off. I lined up on the runway, added power and took off, immediately going into the clouds and onto instruments. “When I finally broke out of the clouds on top, there wasn’t another airplane to be seen. I also discovered I’d lost my radio. “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just set course for home and meet up with the chaps there.” “Well, without the concentration required for formation flying and the soothing drone of the Centaurus, I soon drifted off for a bit. When I awoke, I found myself well off-course, and if my hurried calculations were correct, probably over the Russian Zone of Occupation! “I wasn’t really sure of my position and couldn’t call for a fix, but I knew I didn’t want to be were I was and that if I flew west, I should eventually find the coast and from there, I could determine my position. “So, I flew away, eyes open for either a recognizable landmark or a Russian escort. I desperately wanted the former and not the latter! “Eventually, I did reach the coast over Belgium, so I flew north, looking for a more definitive navigational reference than the sea. Petrol, at this point, was becoming a real concern so I knew I had to do something soon. “I spotted a lovely stretch of autobahn beneath me, so decided that would do. Remember, this is 1948, so there was not a lot of traffic on the road then. “I landed quite nicely, folded the Fury’s wings, and taxied to a carriage way link shut down and waited for a car to come by. Luckily, the next one by was actually a German police car, so we were able to determine my position and what course I needed to get home. “I had the German chap stop traffic, unfolded the wings, and took off. I arrived back at Wunstorf to find my squadron thinking I had crashed as the time expired since we took off from Sylt had long exceeded the fuel endurance of my Sea Fury. Luckily, I was able to explain most of my story and no one was the worse for wear.” In another episode, Nethersole tells of what might be the last time that a British aircraft was ‘fired upon’ by the recently defeated Germans. “I was flat-hatting over the fields of northern Germany when I came upon a German farmer just finishing up loading his hay wagon. “The farmer raised his three-pronged pitchfork like a javelin as I flew by. I thought, “There is no bloody way he can do anything thing with that,” so I pressed in. “I roared right above his piled high wagon, leaving a cloud of dust and straw in my wake and an unloaded wagon. But I’ll be damned if I also didn’t feel a ‘thunk’ on my wing! When I landed, there, impaled in my port wing’s leading edge was the fork and foot or two of the handle of the man’s pitchfork. Nice shot, that!” During his initial tour, Nethersole’s flying ability was recognized by ‘Winkle’ Brown as he was handpicked by Brown to be one of 802’s aerobatic demonstration team pilots. In his auto-biography, “Wings on My Sleeve,” Brown wrote of working the team to such a fine pitch of airmanship that he could feel pressure on his tailplanes from the air being compressed and bunching up in front of the ‘box’ man’s propeller. Tight formation flying, indeed! After finishing his first operational tour, Nethersole was selected for the Air Weapons Officers Course where he became schooled in the latest weapons and tactics to best employ those weapons by tactical aircraft and assigned to 702 Squadron. It was with 702 that he had a very close call in one of the early jets, the Supermarine Attacker. “The Attacker was really just not a good airplane. I think the Navy bought it just so it could get a jet into service.” Derived from Supermarine’s Spiteful which itself was a derivative of the Spitfire, the Attacker kept the Spiteful’s straight wings and tailwheel landing gear arrangement. Fitted with a 5,000lb thrust Nene turbojet, the Attacker had several fuel tanks, including an ungainly auxiliary ventral tank to increase its ‘legs.’ One feature in its fuel system that would directly and dramatically affect Nethersole is the one that had all tanks flow to one 73-gallon feeder tank. If that tank should empty due to fuel pump failure or the other tanks not feeding for whatever reason, it didn’t matter how much gas was aboard, the thirsty Nene would soon sputter out. That is what happened to Boot. “We made a formation take-off and climbed into very thick cloud cover. Trying to maintain my formation in those conditions, I really couldn’t afford to keep my head inside the cockpit. By the time we popped out on top and could gain a few feet of separation, the damage was done. A quick glance at my fuel gauges showed the other tanks still full, but my feeder tank nearly empty! Obviously, it wasn’t flowing and I was just a few minutes from a flame out. “I nearly made it, but not quite. The fuel ran out and the engine quit while I was still a bit too far out. I couldn’t stretch the glide quite far enough and wound up about 100 yards shy of the airfield. Luckily, it was grass and I was able to touchdown with some control because the airfield boundary fence made of concrete posts with wire between them was quickly looming larger. I managed to kick enough rudder to steer the fuselage between two posts, sheering the port wing off completely. I came to rest very nearly on the runway edge inside the airfield. “Now the thing was, there was a group of ‘plane spotters’ parked outside the fence watching the aircraft come and go. After I punched through the fence, they just kind of wandered in and stood in a semi-circle around my aircraft. Since it was now on fire that perhaps wasn’t the wisest thing they could have done. “But I had other problems than the crowd’s welfare to worry about. My canopy was jammed shut and I couldn’t budge it. I tried with some hand gestures to get one of the crowd to come forward and grab the emergency canopy release lever on the side of the fuselage, but couldn’t get the idea across. As I was beginning to cook, I was not happy at the miscommunication. “Finally, I was able to shoulder the canopy open enough to jump out and get away from the burning jet. I started shoo’ing the crowd away because there was still quite a lot of gas that would be going up any second. One wing tank did flare up just as I jumped, leaving me with burns on my face around the edge of my oxygen mask. “About then, the station commander came along in his car. He had been driving along the peri track on his way to one of the other squadrons and saw me crash. He said, “Right, Boot, you take my car to the Infirmary and I’ll deal with this lot.” A few years later, in a fortuitous meeting in the ‘loo’ at RNAS Lossiemouth, Boot ran into a friend, Lt. Cdr. Les Baker, the CO of 801 Squadron. Baker asked Boot what he was up to as 801 had need of a senior pilot. Nethersole, thinking quickly, said that was just what he was looking for. Baker then rang up the Admiralty and the deed was done. Tragically, Baker was killed at sea during 801’s Far East cruise aboard HMS Centaur. Flying Hawker Seahawk FGA.4s, Baker missed a loose nose tank fuel cap during his preflight inspection, as did the Centaur’s deck crew. During the catapult shot, the acceleration forces flung the cap off and raw fuel streamed out and into the spring-loaded low speed engine bay air vents over the Seahawk’s Nene engine. The fuel ignited and Baker’s jet blew up right off the bow. Nethersole picked up temporary, later permanent, command of 801. At that time, he was the youngest squadron commander in the Navy. After rotating numerous times between sea and shore duties including command of his own ship, the frigate HMS Loch Alvie, he assumed the duties of Commander (Air) at RNAS Lossiemouth. It was at Lossiemouth, that Boot claimed another bit of history. He made the last flight in the World War II-era Fairey Fulmar. The first eight-gun fighter in Royal Navy history, the Fulmar failed to live up to expectations during its operational service. Lossiemouth’s Fulmar served as the station ‘hack.’ By Nethersole’s time, the aging fighter was unsupportable. Boot received a message from the Admiralty directing him to ground the aircraft. Recognizing his chance for small piece of aviation history, Nethersole took the Fulmar up for one last flight. Upon landing, he shut down the Fulmar’s Rolls Royce Merlin, thinking, “Well, that’s that.” A few hours later, back in his office, he glanced out the window to see the Fulmar taxiing to the active runway. The Chief Flying Instructor had decided HE wanted to be the last to fly the Fulmar and away he went. Rank does have its privileges, so upon the instructor’s return, Boot again took up the Fulmar, landed, then ordered that no one else was to fly the damn thing! Fast forward nearly 25 years to the FAA Museum at RNAS Yeovilton. Visiting the Museum, Nethersole overheard a guide lecturing a group on that very same Fulmar in the Museum’s collection. The guide got it wrong and Nethersole found himself unable to resist commenting. Thrilled to be able to set the record straight, the Museum has since requested, and upon his death, will receive Nethersole’s logbook with its nearly 4,000 hours including the Fulmar’s final flight. Says Boot now of his time as a pilot compared to today’s much more regulated times, “Things were a bit different then.”

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