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View Full Version : Khaki Jack, and the airplane that wouldn't start. A true story.....



Navy Chief
December 18th, 2009, 17:29
The following is a true story. No real life names for reasons you will find out. But this is funny! The story is somewhat lengthy, but quite entertaining........This was sent to me by a friend of mine who is a former USN A-7 Corsair II pilot.

Khaki Jack and the Airplane That Would Not Start

Sometimes, things happen on an aircraft carrier that are just too rich to keep to yourself. The bad stuff, we tend to keep in the family and grieve either privately or with those we trust. But the funny stuff, even if (and sometimes, especially if) it amuses us and others at the expense of a colleague, must be shared.

When I went to the USS John F. Kennedy, my new home for the next two years, for the first time, I was an Ensign in the fleet. I was a “nugget”, a new pilot with Navy wings of gold. There was a gruff LCDR in the squadron who’s name was Jack. After being in the squadron for a short time, I could not help notice that Jack was often referred to as “Khaki Jack”. Usually, the pilots spent their days in the typical green nomex flight suits, but not Jack. He was usually found in his wash cotton khaki uniform, thus the name.

Jack flew when he had to, but he didn’t like it much. It had lost its allure, you might say. Jack had ejected successfully three times from Navy jets, and I am sure that had to put somewhat of a damper on his enthusiasm. I sure couldn’t fault him for that. I was always terrified at the thought of having to ride a seat through the canopy, into a 300 knot windstream that could tear your face off, propelled by an explosive charge under my butt. Thanks, but I prefer the ladder.

Jack had been shot down once (thank you for your service to our country, Jack), had ejected a second time when a student tried to kill them both during a training flight, and had ejected a third time for reasons lost in time. Suffice it to say that he had had quite enough thrills for one career.

Jack was usually grouchy. He made very little pretense of not being especially fond of me and our relationship was purely professional. We weren’t buddies, but squadron mates. That was it. The extent of this professionalism and animosity was seen one dark night as we were steaming in the Med.

Night recoveries at sea may seem scary to the uninitiated, but I found them, if not relaxing, at least calm and non-threatening. Basically, you are assigned a distance behind the ship and an altitude. You fly there in circles until it is your assigned time to begin your descent down to a straight in approach to land on the boat. On clear nights, you can see the ship from far away, and you begin your descent down the glide slope at 1200 feet, instead of a descending turn in the daytime which begins at 600 feet. All things given, I’d choose a full moon night landing any time over one in the day. It is just easier, and safer.

Navy pilots have a method of overcoming just about any problem that can go wrong during a flight. These procedures are briefed and briefed and briefed again. Your life depends upon them, and no one takes them for granted. If you have a problem with the plane, and it is serious enough to alert the ship, you simply declare an emergency and you are given priority during the recovery, or you are sent to a land base immediately. In the event that you have a serious problem with the machinery, AND you also have a radio failure (a condition we call NORDO, for “no radio”), then you are in somewhat of a fix. Who do you tell, and how do you do it?

There is a procedure for that condition. We use hand signals in the day and flashlight signals at night to alert another plane that we have a problem. These signals are known as HEFOE signals. HEFOE sounds funny, but it describes five problems that can go wrong with a jet that require attention. In the daytime, the procedure is to join up on another plane in close formation and get the pilot’s attention. Then the pilot in trouble puts his wrist up to his forehead or eyes, as if weeping (Oh, poor me. My airplane is broken. Boo hoo!). This immediately tells the other pilot that his new wingman is NORDO and then the troubled pilot holds up from one to five fingers, indicating his problem. One finger is for the letter H, indicating a hydraulic problem. Two fingers: E for engine. Three fingers: F for fuel. Four fingers:O for oxygen. Five fingers: E for electrical.

So it was that one night I am flying my mind numbing circles behind the ship waiting for my time to penetrate and begin my approach when I notice another A-7 right off my right wing. Lo and behold, it’s Jack the Grouch and, poor baby, his radio broke down. Dang. No other HEFOE signals though. Thank God for small blessings.

Landing on an aircraft carrier at night with no radio is not career enhancing, unless you have a little help. I knew exactly what I had to do. After all, I was no longer an Ensign by this time, but now a Lt. Jg and Sir, It would be my pleasure to escort you to the ship, Sir. I sent a message to approach control informing them that I had a Nordo A-7 on my wing. Jack gave me his fuel state using flashlight signals and I reported that also. The guys on the boat always want to know how much fuel you have. You can have one eyeball hanging out of its socket and that’s something you have to deal with. But when you are low on fuel, they want to share your pain.

At the time to penetrate, I turned my exterior lights to dim and we take the plunge. Together. Me and Khaki Jacky. Buddies at last. I gave him the signal to deploy the massive speed brake and slowly retarded the throttles just a bit over flight idle, so he would have to carry a little power and not go ahead of me during the descent. Down we went at the typical 6,000 feet per minute rate of descent. Jack’s hanging in there like the seasoned veteran that he is. For not liking this much, he did it well. At the proper altitude, another signal and the speed brake is retracted. Add a little throttle. Signal the gear down; both go down – three down and locked on both planes. Signal the flaps; down together. Hook down. I am now on the frequency to the LSO who can direct the landing. My lights go off and I am flying an approach to the ship that I have no intention of carrying to its completion. Jack is flying close formation on me and I am setting him up for an arrested landing. He’ll have to take what I give him as an approach, until he sees the “meatball” and takes over for himself. When I pick up the ball, and am sure he sees it also (“Chief 305, ball, 3.2, Nordo”), I peel away to the left and turn my lights on bright again. I’ll stay down and dirty until I see that Jack has successfully trapped. If he bolters, or misses the arresting cable, he can join up on me again and we’ll go around and try it again. But Jack is a very good pilot and the approach was adequate. Jack traps and I join the bolter pattern and nose my way back in to the string of planes lined up to go home. I trap and we are both home safely. During the debrief that follows every mission, I don’t recall a warm reunion with Jack. Its not like Navy pilots to hug one another. We just don’t do that. I have heard that Air Force guys do, but that’s just a rumor most likely instigated by the Marines, some of which can actually be trained to land on a ship.

As stated, Jack didn’t like to fly and went to his plane like he was going to the gallows. Picture an 8 year old boy in the family sedan on his way to the dentist. That’s Jack at the mission briefing. On one particular mission, Jack was further irritated to learn that the plane we was assigned was not on the flight deck at all, but had just come out of maintenance and was below the flight deck, on the hangar deck.

There are three places a jet on an aircraft carrier can be found: in the air, the fun place; on the flight deck, getting ready to go to the fun place; or on the hangar deck (i.e. the dentist’s office). The hangar deck is where all the serious maintenance work is accomplished. Engines are changed out there, planes are taken apart for repairs, etc. The hangar deck is where the Navy’s “Mr. Goodwrenches” hang out, or more accurately, Mr. GREATwrenches. It is a huge cavernous area with massive openings in the sides that go to elevators which transport planes to and from the two decks. It is not unusual for a pilot to man a plane on the hangar deck, then be tugged to the elevator for a ride up to the flight deck for a cat launch. Jack didn’t like it though. Truth is, Jack wouldn’t enjoy going to the plane if escorted by the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. He just didn’t want to go. But today, he had to go and after the briefing, he made his way down to the shop to hop in his recently repaired plane and wait for a tug to hook him up for the ride to the elevator.

One thing that all pilots learn from the very first day, whether military or civilian, is that you conduct a preflight inspection of the aircraft. In a small private plane, you kick the tires, check the oil, wiggle the control surfaces, etc. It’s a little different in a jet. Understand that the A-7 is not a very large jet bomber. It’s known as a “light attack” aircraft. Even so, it weighs over 10 tons empty. It’s no lightweight when it comes to carrying weapons, and the entire back half of its fuselage has a Rolls Royce jet engine stuffed into it that produces 12,500 lbs of thrust. The engine begins at about the middle of the fuselage and the tail pipe of the engine sticks out the back of the plane. The preflight inspection of vital engine components and fluid levels is done by opening inspection doors. The pilot “dives the duct”, or crawls into the huge engine air intake tunnel to inspect the engines turbine blades for damage, then looks up the tail pipe for anything that looks odd, kind of a preflight rectal exam. There is a procedure for this and it is done each and every time the plane is flown, by the pilot who will fly it. No other person on the face of the earth has more of a vested interest in the airworthiness of that plane.

When the launch cycles begins, there is a very loud announcement over the ships public address system that is analogous to the Daytona 500 broadcast, “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Jack was all strapped into the cockpit in his jet, expecting at any minute for the diesel tug to come and take him to the elevator. No tug. He could hear engines starting and planes begin launched, and still, no tug. After a while, the noise on the flight deck no longer included the whine of jet engines, and Jack, furious, got out of his plane and stormed off to Hangar Deck Control to find out why he had not been launched. He got a polite, “Where were you, sir?” from the petty officers who managed the hangar deck and Jack curtly informed them, in language that included references to scatology, nearly impossible sexual feats and people’s heritage , that he was strapped in and waiting for a tug. “No sir, there was no one in your plane, sir” was his answer.

Jack would have been wise to let it go there. Perhaps the world, and every other pilot on the ship (and the east coast), would have never known the truth. But he was too mad. An ounce of grace on that day would have prevented a ton of personal humiliation, and certainly the loss of this story to the world. But, grace was not to be found on that day, and when Jack took them to show them the plane, he was faced with the awful truth. Jack had manned the wrong aircraft.

But that is not the worst of it. As Paul Harvey says, “the rest of the story” will follow.

An A-7 squadron has four LCDR’s who serve as Department Heads. The four jobs are, Maintenance Officer, Operations Officer, Administrative Officer, and Safety Officer. The first two positions are typically for senior officers who are being groomed for command, and the latter two jobs are for either junior LCDR’s or for officers who’s command potential is………..not an issue. Jack was the squadron’s Safety Officer. It was Jack who was responsible to make sure that all activities that the squadron did conformed with Naval standards, whether flight or otherwise. Being safe was what Jack’s job was, and making sure that the rest of us were safe too was also his responsibility.

When Jack, the Safety Officer of Light Attack Squadron 46, deployed aboard the USS John F. Kennedy, took the men from Hangar Deck Control to see the plane that he had wasted 30 minutes sitting in, he expected sheepish apologies and explanations. He was wrong. It would have been bad enough to man the wrong plane, as he had done. They were respectful to him when they checked with the squadron’s Maintenance Control to check on his plane’s side number. The showed the proper respect when they pointed out that he had indeed strapped into the wrong plane by mistake and they had, in fact, gone to the right plane and found it vacant.

They were even respectful when they pointed out one more small detail that Jack had failed to notice – that the Safety Officer of VA-46 had strapped himself into an A-7 that was awaiting the installation of a fresh engine. Jack had mounted a jet plane that had no engine in it. It would have been warranted to point out to Jack, the Safety Officer, that his preflight inspection technique had room for improvement.

It could have been worse for Jack on that day. Imagine if he’d actually been towed to the flight deck riding that empty airplane. Now, THAT would be a story.

cheezyflier
December 18th, 2009, 19:58
awesome! thanks for the laugh.

Bjoern
December 19th, 2009, 12:43
Haha, awesome!

And well written, too.