One pitch-black night I had a near accident that bordered on the bizarre. Joe Cotton had taken off about half an hour earlier in the B-29 that was to be my target so that he would be at altitude when I took off. It was hot with virtually no wind, and I knew that with full tip tanks and the radar set, the takeoff run would be long. Since runway 1 at Eglin is 10,000 feet long I didn't anticipate any trouble, and I was right, for about forty seconds. The airplane had lifted off about 6,000 feet down the runway, and I had just moved my hand to the gear handle to retract the wheels, when a yellow light on the instrument panel came on, indicating that the main fuel pump had failed and the emergency fuel pump had kicked in. The engine rpm dropped from 100 percent to 96 percent. At a higher altitude or airspeed that would not have posed a major problem, but the airplane would not fly at 96 percent in this situation, so I put it back on the runway, stopcocked the engine, stood on the brakes, retracted the flaps to put more weight on the wheels to help braking, and opened the canopy. I told the tower I was aborting the takeoff and continued to brake hard, hoping to stop before the plane ran off the runway. I knew there was a dirt overrun of about 1,000 feet, a perimeter road, and then a drop-off into a swampy area. I ran off the end of the runway still moving at a good clip, but once on the overrun the soft sand helped slow the airplane. I was not certain it would stop before the drop-off, and when the perimeter road appeared in my landing light I reached for the gear handle to retract the wheels, but the plane shuddered to a stop just before the road.
Seeing flames flickering under both wings, I cut all the switches and jumped to the ground, where I saw that the brakes had ignited both tires. Using a crude but effective method, I managed to extinguish the flames by throwing sand on them. Then I moved back from the airplane to be out of the way if the tires exploded from the heat. I could hear the sirens and the engines of the crash vehicles, but instead of getting louder they seemed to be fading in the distance. Apparently, the tower had sent them to the south end of the runway, about two miles away. I tried to jump and catch the edge of the cockpit in order to climb back in and inform the tower of the error of its ways, but the sand, while excellent for fire fighting, was too soft for good jumping. After several tries I gave up and piled some sand into a sort of adult sand castle. Jumping from its ramparts, I managed to grab the cockpit rim and climb back in. I was about to call the tower when a jeep pulled up on the perimeter road with my crew chief and his assistants, who, realizing immediately that I had not gotten off the ground, had driven to the north end of the runway as fast as they could. Luckily, the airplane was not otherwise damaged. After replacing the brakes, tires, and fuel pump, we were able to fly it the next night. Joe Cotton told me that he also knew that I was at the north end of the runway but was unable to get through to the tower.
I related my experiences in the operations room the next morning and, when I returned from lunch, was presented with a flashy cardboard medal with the inscription "Royal Order of the Flaming Sandcrab." It wasn't much, but I had not received a medal in some time, and since no one else had that particular medal, I wore it proudly.
The final report of this test concluded that it was possible and practical for a pilot to operate effectively as a night fighter without the assistance of a radar operator but that the F-84/APS-19 should not be considered for this role. A more powerful radar, designed for single-pilot operation, was required. The original test program called for additional testing of the concept using an F-86 equipped with the APS-19. That phase was cancelled because of the difficulty of mounting the APS-19 on the F-86 and because of the shortcomings of the APS-19.
A few years later, the single-seat F-86D entered production and became the USAF's first-line interceptor. It had a modified nose that housed a new radar and weapon system designed for a single pilot and was armed with twenty-four 2.75-inch folding-fin aircraft rockets. More than 2,500 F-86Ds were produced, and about 350 F-86Ks (an advanced model of the D armed with 20mm cannon) were produced for use by NATO countries. The F-86D Sabre Dog remained in the USAF inventory until 1960 and in the Air National Guard until 1965.
19
Target Practice in 1949
The bomber test pilots at Eglin felt a bit behind the times, because the fighter squadron was the only one equipped with jets. Although many of them had been checked out in the T-33, they longed for the arrival of the first jet bomber at Eglin. Whenever possible we added to their longing by demonstrating the great disparity in speed between our respective aircraft. The preferred method of demonstrating this point was very effective. Often, when we spotted a bomber flying alone, not over a bombing range, we dived on it from behind, with a closing speed of about 200 mph, passing just below it and then pulling up suddenly in front of it. Besides the visual shock, the bomber would lurch violently in the jetwash, and the crew said that it smelled as though they were inside a kerosene tank. We occasionally attacked another fighter, but only a propeller-driven fighter, since the jets were too fast to allow for sufficient closing speed. I have had it done to me several times, and it certainly got my attention. After the first time, I noticed that as the jet passed below I could feel a slight lift, which gave me a fraction of a second's warning.
In April 1949 the light bomber squadron was notified that it would be receiving its first jet bomber, and the Air Force's first operational jet bomber: the North American B-45 Tornado, powered by four 4,000-pound-thrust General Electric J47-GE engines. (Later models had upgraded engines with 5,200 pounds of thrust, giving it a top speed capability of 579 mph.) Shortly afterward, the squadron's commander and the operations officer went to Los Angeles for a familiarization course on the B-45 at the North American Aviation factory and then went on to Edwards Air Force Base to be checked out. After their triumphant return as the first Eglin jet-bomber pilots, they would check out the other pilots in the squadron. Well, things did not quite work out as planned.
The first B-45 was delivered a few days after they left for California. The group commander and the squadron's assistant operations officer could not bear to see it parked forlornly on the ramp, unflown. The temptation became overpowering, so after carefully reading the pilot's operating instructions, they decided to check each other out. They were both fine pilots with a lot of experience, and on the first flight the group commander flew in the front seat with the ops officer in the back. After landing, the ops officer signed the transition certificate, certifying that the commander was qualified in the B-45. Then they switched seats and repeated the process. They flew it a number of times after that, and I think they checked out a few more pilots before the return of the two from California.
To say those two were chagrined is putting it mildly. They were prepared to bask in the glory of being the first to fly the first jet bomber at Eglin, and instead they found that it had been flying regularly since a few days after they left. It was a bitter blow. They probably would have taken some disciplinary action had the prime culprit not been the group commander. Rank is a most effective armor in the military.