No one from the agency briefed us on what procedure to follow if we were forced to come down in Russia.
None of the pilots, to my knowledge, asked for such a briefing, nor, as if to do so would be to tempt fate, did we discuss it among ourselves.
It was a bad mistake.
One thing not ignored was actual flying. While at Watertown we flew the U-2 far more than we would have if we’d been in the Air Force and checking out in a new aircraft. As a result, on completing our training we had the utmost confidence in its reliability. It was a remarkable piece of equipment; perhaps it was this, more than anything else, that rendered less immediate whatever doubts we had.
Our group, the second to go through Watertown, was fortunate. We came through “clean.” No washouts, all pilots qualifying on the aircraft. No accidents, no crashes.
Three U-2 groups went through Watertown. The last class, which followed us by some months, had a fatality. A pilot, taking off on a night mission, apparently was confused by the bright lights at the end of the runway and flew directly into a telephone pole.
Another class there at the same time as we were fared less well. Shortly after our arrival at Watertown the agency brought in four Greek pilots to be checked out on the U-2.
Presumably they were mercenaries, in the program on their own and without the knowledge of their government. At least this was what it seemed to be. We were never told otherwise. There was some speculation that, being Mediterraneans, they could pass more easily and attract less attention than Americans in some of the countries from which we would be flying. And there were other theories. But all were merely speculation; we were never informed as to why they had been included.
Whatever the reason, it didn’t work out. Inconspicuous they were not, at least not in Hollywood, where they spent most of their weekends, always with an agency escort. It was no secret that none of the CIA men relished the escort job. Like playing nursemaid to four Zorbas, each intent on his own devilment. Their zest for enjoying themselves was epic.
At flying they did less well. Without exception, they failed to qualify on the aircraft. Not wanting them to return to Greece with their knowledge of the U-2 project, the agency was forced to keep them in the United States. Two, we heard later, were sent to college, at government expense, while one, it was rumored, had attempted to blackmail the agency. Unsuccessfully.
The U-2 was much too distinctive an aircraft, either on ground or in flight, to be kept completely secret. Too, with the movement of the various groups overseas, some leak was inevitable. To forestall comment and speculation, a series of cover stories was released.
The first appeared late in April, 1956, in the form of a NACA press release announcing that “a new type of airplane, the Lockheed U-2,” had been developed, which, with the logistical and technical assistance of the Air Weather Service of the USAF, would be used to study turbulence and meteorological conditions. Although indicating the U-2 was capable of high-altitude flight, the release gave no particulars. It did state, however, that initial flights were made from “Watertown Strip, Nevada.”
The first U-2 group, which had completed its training early in April, a month before our arrival at Watertown, and which had been officially designated the Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, (Provisional), had been sent to Lakenheath, England.
The second release, covering this, announced that NACA was extending its weather program to Europe. Again the release was long on rhetoric, short on details. There was no mention of the U-2’s altitude, its range, its duration of flight. Nor were photographs of the plane released.
The cover story was not entirely fictitious. Some of the U-2s were being used for weather research, and doing a superb job of it.
They were also, at this time or very shortly after, being used for purposes the news releases didn’t mention.
Our unit, which was officially designated the Second Weather Observational Squadron (Provisional), and, more informally, Detachment 10-10, completed its training early in August, 1956. Our destination, Incirlik AFB, Adana, Turkey, was mentioned in no press releases, however.
While the U-2s we would be using were disassembled and flown to Incirlik, we were given two weeks’ leave.
Before it began we were provided with new identification, in our real names, as civilian employees of the Department of the Air Force, GS-12. We were also given a card which stated that we worked for NACA, that we were authorized to fly Air Force aircraft, but that we were not subject to Air Force flying regulations. The latter stipulation was important, because it would permit us to take off from Air Force bases when regular Air Force pilots would be grounded by weather minimums.
As cover story for parents and friends, we could say that we would be going overseas as a part of NACA’s program for studying weather phenomena in various parts of the world. If we felt it necessary, we could also drop some comment that this was tied in with the forthcoming scientific International Geophysical Year.
Two weeks was barely enough time to care for the minor business matters I couldn’t handle once overseas; however, the agency had taken care of many details, including supplying a mailing address and a twenty-four-hour agency number in Washington, D.C., which Barbara could use for emergencies.
We did manage to work in a brief visit to The Pound. My father asked quite a few questions, more, in fact, than I had anticipated. But I got around them fairly well, or so I thought.
At the airport, before taking off for overseas, I called home to say good-bye.
When my father came on the line he said, “I’ve figured out what you’re doing.”
“What do you mean? I told you what I’m doing.”
“No, I’ve figured it out,” he stated emphatically. “You’re working for the FBI.”
Hanging up, I had to laugh. He was far more perceptive than I’d realized. But I suspect parents usually are. His guess was close. At this time few people had heard of the CIA.
May 1, 1960, I regret to say, would change that.
TWO
OPERATION OVERFLIGHT
One
Geographically, Adana was an excellent choice as takeoff point for the overflights. Situated in the southern portion of Turkey, near the Mediterranean, it was sufficiently distant from the USSR for the Russians to have no radar coverage of the site, yet close enough for a plane to make the flight without too great an expenditure of fuel.
There were other advantages. Though a Turkish base, Incirlik already housed a small USAF detachment and was functioning primarily as a refueling stop for American planes on trips across the Middle East. From the point of cover and logistics, this was ideal, since it meant the fuel and equipment required for the U-2 flights could be brought in without attracting undue attention.
Presumably there was still another reason for the choice. Since little of what occurred at diplomatic levels made its way down to the pilots, we could only guess whether the government of Turkey knew our real mission and had granted approval for such use of the base. It was our presumption—perhaps erroneous—that they were at least aware of the border-surveillance flights, though possibly not of the overflights. For a weather unit, Detachment 10-10 had suspiciously tight security, something obvious to any Turk who worked on other portions of the base.
If we did have approval, tacit or otherwise, we were one up on the first U-2 group. Shortly after arrival at Lakenheath, the British government, learning their mission was something more than the collection of weather data, requested them to leave, in the interim restricting them to training flights. Kicked out of England, the unit had been transferred to Wiesbaden, Germany, from which the first U-2 overflight took place.