On my first P-80 flight, on February 20, 1946, it took a few minutes to become accustomed to the boosted ailerons. I flew along gently rocking my wings after takeoff because of overcontrolling. Luckily, there were no other planes nearby (rocking one's wings is the signal to join formation). Actually it wouldn't have mattered, because no one could have caught up with the P-80, being the only jet in the sky. I soon overcame that tendency and found the ailerons responsive, giving the airplane a high rate of roll. I could perform a quick roll by just moving the stick sharply in the direction I wished to roll. No rudder at all was used, very different from the aileron-rudder coordination required to slow roll in propeller airplane.
The P-80 was a delight to fly. All the controls and instruments were where they belonged, and the control pressures were well balanced. The elevator trim button on top of the stick was a great innovation. All the elevator trimming could be done without taking my hand off the stick. The ailerons required little or no trim changes, but the aileron trim was put on the top of the stick in later P-80s. The elevator trim switch was most appreciated when the dive brakes were operated, especially at high speed. When they were lowered, the nose pitched up sharply. The reverse occurred when they were raised, so rapid trim changes were necessary.
I ran through a series of stalls both clean and in landing configuration (dive brakes down, landing gear down, and full flaps) and learned that the airplane started mushing and buffeting about 10 mph before it stalled. The stalls were normal, with no wing drop unless they were held too long; recovery was clean using standard procedures (stick forward and add power to increase airspeed). Accelerated (high-g) stalls also gave ample warning by buffeting; the airplane recovered immediately when back pressure on the stick was relaxed.
After a few rolls and loops, I headed back to the field for landing. As I had been told, the P-80, even with everything down for landing, did not decelerate like a prop airplane with the power off, because the propeller acts as a brake at idle power. Consequently, the approach had to be much flatter; with a steep approach, the pilot couldn't slow it down for landing within a reasonable distance. It was quite easy to land, and I taxied to the ramp with the comforting feeling that now I was a real jet pilot, notwithstanding my previous flights in the P-59.
My feelings during that first P-80 flight are difficult to describe but are more difficult to forget. The name ''Shooting Star" fit the P-80 well. I felt as though I were riding on a shooting star, that all my training and flying up to now were to prepare me for this airplane. I felt as though I were, at least for the moment, king of the sky. Later I made the transition into newer and faster jets, but none of my later first flights matched my first P-80 flight for pure exhilaration and joy.
The good performance and handling characteristics of the P-80 were a tribute to designer Kelly Johnson and his Lockheed team. The project details for the P-80 were completed in one week, and Lockheed promised delivery of the first plane within 180 days. On January 4, 1944, 143 days after the contract was let, it made its first flight. The Germans and the British were much farther along with the Messerschmitt 262 and Gloster Meteor, respectively. They both became operational in 1944. After a great deal of testing and modifying, there were four P-80s overseas — two in England and two in Italy — in 1945, but a tragic accident involving one of them caused them to be grounded, and they never saw combat. Maj. Fred Borsodi, an experienced Wright Field test pilot, was demonstrating one of the 80s in England when, unknown to him, a fire started in the engine compartment. The aft section of the airplane burned off, and he was killed. His death was not completely in vain, however, for his accident resulted in the installation of a fire warning sensor in the engine compartment, which saved the lives of a number of pilots.
During the next few months after my P-80 flight, I was engaged in a series of armament tests flying mostly P-51s and P-47s. It was quite a letdown for a real jet pilot, but the one P-80 was spread pretty thin among fifteen eager pilots. The gun tests involved firing 5,000 rounds per gun at various altitudes and g-loads with a new model of the .50-caliber machine gun to test its durability and the dependability of the belt feed system. Firing at high g-loads (4, 5, and 6 g) was extremely enervating, especially in hot weather at low altitude. After three of these flights I felt, and looked, like a dishrag. I thought that was tough duty until a few months later, in midsummer, when we started the same tests with the P-80. The early models that we were flying were not equipped with air conditioning and, because of the heat generated by the friction of the high-speed airflow on the fuselage, had cockpit temperatures that ran from 120 to 140 degrees Fahrenheit. When I came into operations after a flight I would take off my anti-g suit and wring out a considerable amount of water. Several visitors accused me of passing through the shower on my way to operations; I hadn't, but it sounded like a good idea. Later models of the P-80 included air-cycle air conditioning. (Hot air was tapped from the compressor and passed through a small, high-speed turbine that removed enough energy to lower the temperature of the air, which was then delivered to the cockpit.) It made flying the P-80, especially at low altitude, much more pleasant, but there was a disconcerting side effect. In the high humidity of the Gulf coast, when a jet was about halfway down the runway on takeoff, small clouds of steam began pouring out of the vents on either side of the rudder pedals. The steam was harmless and dissipated almost immediately, and we became used to it that we often forgot to mention it to new pilots checking out in the P-80, and it would cause them to abort their takeoffs.
Many years later, in 1989, I was able to get a ride in a two-seat version of the General Dynamics F-16C Fighting Falcon with the Vermont Air National Guard. The visibility, performance, and handling were astounding, to say the least. It had been twenty-five years since I had flown a jet fighter, as I had retired from the USAF in 1964.
I was well aware of the performance of modern fighters, but until I experienced it I did not fully appreciate it. When not fully loaded, the thrust exceeds the weight, and thus the F-16 could climb vertically. It could pull and sustain 9 g's, and the seat was tilted back at a 30-degree angle to help the pilot retain consciousness at that g-load. The heads-up display projected the gunsight, radar scope, and all required flight and armament data onto the windscreen, so the pilot didn't have to look down into the cockpit. The HOTAS (Hands On Throttle And Stick) allowed the pilot to fly the airplane and operate all its systems without removing his hands from the stick and throttle. There are nine buttons and switches on the stick and seven on the throttle. A saxophone player would feel at home with the system. In contrast, the P-80A had only a trigger, bomb release button, and trim tab switch on the stick and a microphone button on the throttle.
The emergency warning system on the F-16 is considerably improved from that in the P-80, which consisted of a few analog gages with red lines on the faces indicating trouble (such as low oil pressure or high tail-pipe temperature) and a fire warning light. In the F-16, a female voice, known as Bitching Betty, repeats, "Warning! Warning!" in the pilot's earphones while a red signal on an annunciator panel lights up the proper panel to define the emergency. This table outlines the performance of the two airplanes:
Barney Turner had a close call on one of these low-altitude armament tests. He was over the Gulf at about 5,000 feet when the fire warning light came on. He reduced power immediately, but the light remained on, causing him to follow the mandated procedure and shut down the engine. He zoomed to gain as much altitude as possible and turned back toward land and the field. He thought he could just make the runway, but with the engine not turning, he had no hydraulic pressure to lower the landing gear and to power the aileron boost. Without boost the stick felt as though it were mounted in rapidly hardening concrete; it took both hands to bank. Despite this he managed to hold a steady glide while pumping the gear down by hand and fighting the stick when he tried to turn. He made a good landing on the field, but only the nose gear and the right main gear were locked down. The left gear folded, and the airplane skidded off the side of the runway and stopped with no injury to Barney and minimal damage to the P-80. Barney was a fine pilot, and he did a masterful job of saving the airplane when he would have been fully justified in bailing out.