I didn't know how correct until two weekends later when I was introduced to them at the officer's beach club. They were both very good-looking. One of them, Ann Coleman, was at the club with a squadron mate, Maj. Spider Webb, whom she later married. The other, Glindel Barron, had that Lauren Bacall look, tall and willowy, with a great suntan. Much to my dismay, she was accompanied by an equally suntanned fugitive from Muscle Beach, an ordnance officer attached to our squadron. But he was a ground pounder, and I knew that a real jet pilot like me would have no trouble turning inside him if it became necessary. Eventually it did.
7
Travels by Yo-Yo
During the summer and fall of 1946 I flew on two short but interesting tests and took two long trips, one to Alaska and one to California. The first test involved a new large fighter-bomber developed by Boeing for the Navy, the XF8B. It had been sent to Eglin to see if the AAF had any interest in it. The XF8B was much larger than the fighters of that time. The wingspan was 54 feet, 2 feet more than the Lockheed P-38 Lightning, which was the largest AAF day fighter. It was powered by the 28-cylinder, 3,250-horsepower Pratt & Whitney Wasp Major engine driving counter-rotating propellers. In size it closely resembled the Douglas A-1 Skyraider, which was used with great success by the Navy and the Air Force in Vietnam. One of its distinctive features was a bomb bay, which allowed it to carry bombs internally, with less drag, instead of on the wings as they are on most fighters.
The first couple of flights were spent in feeling the plane out, checking its stall response, and trying a few aerobatic maneuvers. Because of the counter-rotating props, there was no torque to correct for on takeoff; it seemed strange in a propeller aircraft, although flying jets had prepared me for the feeling. The sun shining through the counter-rotating props formed intricate, changing kaleidoscopic patterns that were almost hypnotic. I thought that might create a problem for already fatigued pilots on long flights.
Despite its size and weight (18,000 pounds) it handled like a much smaller plane. I was most conscious of its size while taxiing and on landing.
The plane had a long landing gear, and the cockpit was above the bomb bay, putting the pilot about twelve feet above the ground at touchdown, which took some getting used to, especially since the P-80 cockpit was quite close to the ground.
My first test mission was to drop some practice bombs in level flight to check the functioning of the winker bomb bay doors. On a glide-bombing or skip-bombing run, the pilot would normally have to open the doors, release the bombs, and then close the doors; the winker doors allowed the pilot to do all that just by pressing the bomb release, at which time the doors would quickly open, the bombs release, and the doors close immediately. The Boeing technical representative told me the enemy would never know where the bombs came from. I thought the enemy might suspect that they came from the airplane that had just completed a run on them, but I didn't say anything.
As briefed, I climbed to 10,000 feet over the Gulf range, accelerated to 300 mph in level flight, and notified range control that I was ready to release the first bomb. Upon receiving clearance, I pushed the bomb release button on the stick while peering through the glass peephole in the floor of the cockpit, which allowed me to monitor the opening and closing of the door. The doors partially opened and then closed as programmed, but the bomb release hit the right door, which had not opened far enough, and bent it badly. I could see that the bomb was gone. In fact, I saw the smoke market when it hit the water, but since I could also see the Gulf through the peephole, I knew the door had not closed completely. I reduced my speed as much as possible, returned to the field, and landed. After the door was repaired, we ran some tests without bombs to determine the problem with the doors. There were two difficulties: the airflow over the doors at the higher speed created a low pressure inside the bomb bay, and the springs that aided the opening were not strong enough. Small aerodynamic spoilers and stronger springs corrected the problem, and we made a number of successful drops. Later, we did some firing at ground targets. The six 20mm cannon practically dissolved the targets.
We suddenly were ordered to discontinue the tests and return the airplane to the Navy. Both the Navy and our test team thought it would be an effective fighter bomber, with its range of greater than one thousand miles and its 6,400-pound internal bomb load, but with the end of the war there was no longer a requirement for it.
I had a rather hairy experience on another test that was run in conjunction with the equipment lab at Eglin. One morning Colonel Muldoon told me to get my helmet and report to Dr. Graves at the equipment lab. He said I would not need my parachute. Wondering what was in store, I left for the lab. I had met Dr. Graves a few times at the club. He was tall and extremely thin (we told him he would have to tread water in a test tube) and well liked, with a Ph.D. in aviation physiology. He was totally dedicated to his profession and determined to make flying as safe and comfortable for the aircrews as possible. At this time he was trying to find ways to make fighter pilots more comfortable on long flights, especially long flights over water. When there was an appreciable body of water to be crossed, the pilot's normal seat cushion was replaced with a packed life raft. Since the pilot cannot move around in the cockpit, six or eight hours of sitting on a life raft becomes extremely uncomfortable. The pilots often commented that the raft didn't bother them; it was the propeller on the outboard motor that really hurt.
The lab staff had devised a hammock seat that would keep the pilot suspended a few inches above the parachute and, by conforming to his body contours, provide comfortable yet sturdy support. The rig consisted of a rectangular piece of heavy canvas, about four feet long and eighteen inches wide, attached firmly to the inside of the parachute harness at four points, two at the top of the pilot's shoulders and two at the front of the parachute pack under the pilot's knees. There was sufficient slack in the canvas to provide a hammocklike seat. The canvas had a metal grommet in each corner and a larger hole in the center of the lower end for the parachute leg straps to pass through.
In the P-51H to be used in the test, the seat had been removed and a metal framework about the size of a seat installed. The seat belt and shoulder harness were attached to this frame, and there were four L-shaped pins or hooks on the frame, two at shoulder level and two at the knees. When I got into the cockpit I had to brace myself with my feet on the rudder pedals and with my back against the armorplate rear wall of the cockpit until Doc Graves and one of his henchmen slipped the grommets over the four pins and the hammock would support my weight. The lab staff had already completed many hours of ground testing and knew that the seat met the comfort requirements. My job was to test it under combat maneuvers, including positive and negative g-loads, to determine its utility.
I took off and, as directed, flew generally straight and level for two hours before beginning the combat maneuvers. I had to admit that the seat was comfortable during those two hours. I had no problems under high g-loads and during turns, dives, and rolls, but when I pushed over at the top of a zoom, the negative g lifted the left shoulder grommet off the hook. When I leveled out, there was no support on that side, my parachute hit the floor, and I dropped below the cockpit rim with an absurd tilt to the left and my knees still up. I knew it would be virtually impossible to land safely in this ridiculous position, since I could barely see out, so I somewhat frantically tried to get the grommet back onto the hook. I couldn't get my feet under my body to lift up, and I could barely touch the canvas with my hand. I decided that my best chance would be to do a series of pushovers and hope to slip the grommet over the pin. After several futile attempts, I succeeded, that is, in lifting the right shoulder grommet off its hook and dumping myself on the floor of the cockpit with my knees up. I was so inclined that I was in the recommended position to do sit-ups, had I been so inclined.