Lieutenant Colonel Muldoon, who had recently been promoted, assigned me as test officer for the F7F. I was pleased to be considered a good enough pilot to be assigned to a performance test. Since this was the initial AAF testing of the airplane, we started off with some basic performance tests before beginning the operational suitability phase. Colonel Muldoon had been checked out by the Navy pilot who delivered the plane, and he in turn gave me a cockpit check before my first flight.
I found the Tigercat a delight to fly. It was quite maneuverable for so large a plane, and its two big engines provided good acceleration and climbing ability. I was already familiar with the engines, since I had flown the R-2800-powered P-47, the P-61, and the B-26. The F7F had a control stick, which I preferred, instead of a wheel, which is common to most twin-engine aircraft. Only the rudder, which was exceptionally large, was hydraulically boosted. One feature concerned me, though. It had folding wings to facilitate parking on the crowded decks of aircraft carriers. Although it was supposed to be impossible to fold them in flight, I wanted an extra safeguard, so I had the crew chief wire the control handle securely in the extended position.
Because turbulence increases, especially at low altitude, as the air heats up during the day, performance speed runs and timed climbs were made at first light. The sea-level speed runs were made over the water on a measured course at a height of about 100 feet. Flying at high speed at low altitude is both exciting and dangerous; a small error can be fatal. The tests proceeded smoothly until the first timed climb using water injection. The water-injection system allows the engine to provide 10 to 15 percent more power by injecting a small amount of water into the cylinders, increasing cooling and preventing detonation and the consequent engine damage. The F7F carried enough water for about five minutes of operation.
On the morning of the first climb test, I taxied to the end of runway 6 at about five-thirty, ran up my engines, checked the mags, and lined up for takeoff. The test called for me to run the engines up to full power while holding the brakes, cut in the water injection, simultaneously release the brakes and start my stopwatch, then climb at the optimum climbing speeds up to the service ceiling of the F7F, about 40,000 feet, noting the elapsed time on my knee board at 5,000-foot intervals.
Everything went as planned until I released the brakes. The airplane leaped ahead like its namesake springing after a gazelle, snapping my head back against the armor plate and causing me to haul it off the ground before I was ready to fly, although it clearly was. I exceeded the permissible wheels-down speed before I could retract the gear. All that was disconcerting enough, but more important, I had forgotten to start my stopwatch, making the test a mission impossible. Turning back, I landed and returned to the parking area where the puzzled mechanics were waiting, wondering what was wrong with the airplane. Embarrassed, I told them of my problems, while they quickly topped off the fuel and water tanks. I tried again and, since I was ready for the sudden burst of power, completed the mission without difficulty.
On a later mission, I was making a series of speed runs at 5,000-foot intervals with two 150-gallon external tanks installed on pylons between the fuselage and the engines. The runs were made without incident until I completed the one at 30,000 feet. A bit low on fuel, I was making a rather steep dive back toward the field. At nearly 300 miles per hour indicated airspeed and about 25,000 feet, the airplane began a porpoising motion that steadily increased in amplitude, jerking the stick out of my hand. I immediately chopped the power, and as the airplane slowed, the porpoising decreased and then stopped. I continued back to the field at a lower speed and landed without difficulty. When I reported the problem, Colonel Muldoon decided to repeat the descent under the same conditions to see if he obtained the same results. He did, and we repeated the dives without the drop tanks. There were no problems right up to the redline (maximum permissible) speed. It was obvious that the tanks were interfering with the airflow. We reported the results to the Grumman technical representative at Eglin, who in turn reported to the company. Shortly thereafter we received new pylons that were several inches longer than the originals, thus moving the tanks several inches farther from the lower wing surface and creating a smoother airflow in that area. They solved the problem, and we were able to dive at any speed with tanks on without porpoising. The modified pylons became standard on the F7F.
Just before the end of August, Colonel Muldoon assigned Barney Turner and me to fly two of the P-51Hs we were testing to the North American Aviation plant in Los Angeles and bring back two new ones that had been modified. The H was a lightweight version of the P-51D Mustang. Although it had slightly better performance than the P-51D, I didn't like it as well as the D. It never felt quite right to me. Also, it had disc brakes on small wheels, and the brake pedals were tilted toward the pilot so much that it was easy to ride the brakes unknowingly while taxiing, causing them to burn out with great frequency. The unmodified H's cockpit arrangement was poorly designed. Something was wrong with the relationship between the seat and the stick. It felt like the stick was about six or eight inches too long, putting your stick hand almost level with your face. It was very uncomfortable, especially on long flights.
Despite those problems I was quite excited about the prospect of flying to California. The western half of the country would be all new. I had never been west of Russellville, Arkansas, and was there only on a cross-country flight in basic-flying school. I hoped there would be time to see the famous corner of Hollywood and Vine and perhaps even a movie star. I was also eager to see Texas, the scene of so many of the cowboy films and books I had always enjoyed.
We took off early in the morning with a couple of uniforms and toilet articles stuffed under the seat. The flight would cover almost 2,000 miles, and we would have to land twice along the way, as we weren't carrying external fuel tanks. Barney led the first leg across the flat lowlands of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and East Texas to Ellington Field, near Houston. I led the next leg, and my wish to see Texas was more than fulfilled. The whole second leg was over Texas, from Houston to Biggs Field, at El Paso. It was flat, dry, and featureless over the whole route until we approached El Paso, when a range of mountains appeared northwest of the city. Just west of the city was the mountain pass that gives El Paso its name.
We ate a quick lunch while the planes were being refueled and then took off for California. The mountains and deserts of New Mexico, Arizona, and California were majestic in their beauty, especially as the visibility was so good in the clear air. I flew a loose formation so I could watch the scenery, instead of Barney's plane.
When we crossed the last range of mountains before entering the Los Angeles Basin, there was too much haze to sightsee, and I closed in on Barney as we descended toward the coast. It was a good thing Barney was leading, because I don't think I could have located Mines Field (now Los Angeles International Airport). The haze was not the only problem; the North American factory adjoining the field and the runways was camouflaged — covered by large nets with fake houses and shrubbery on them — and the runway was disguised in trompe l'oeil depicting houses and trees. They really tromped my oeils. I didn't know what Barney had in mind as we dived toward the trees and houses and peeled up to land. I figured he must know since he was flying with such precision, and when he lowered his wheels I did the same. As we got lower I could begin to make out the runway and landed, following Barney all the way in. After parking the airplanes we were met by one of the AAF plant representatives, who told us that the new P-51Hs would not be ready for two days. In the meantime he had booked us into a nearby hotel and arranged for a car to take us there. He said that a couple of engineers from the P-51H program would pick us up at seven and take us to dinner. They showed up right on time, and as we drove to the restaurant, we discussed the flying characteristics and cockpit arrangement of the unmodified H. They thought we would find the new arrangement much more satisfactory, and later, upon inspection, we did. The cockpit of the modified P-51H was much better arranged, but I still was never as comfortable in the H as in the D. Recently Chuck Yeager and I were discussing P-51s and discovered that we shared the same feelings about the P-51H.