Tales

As it happened, the passengers were just reboarding when the teletype arrived, and as there had been bad weather in Tasmania, the apparent cancellation caused no surprise. Launceston was duly telephoned and told that the flight would not operate and passengers were being dispersed. Fortunately, when the error was discovered, a public address message rounded up the passengers before they strayed too far and again they went aboard, this time making it to Launceston. Apart from a delayed start for the Cup, the mix-up ended on a happy note!

Props Forever

Near the end of the 1988 Bicentennial Air Show, in the Richmond Back Bar, two RAAF pilots from the same Pilot’s Course ran into each other after several years absence. One had achieved his ambition of becoming a “knucklehead” on Mirages, whilst the other moved into the world of “trashies”—a C-130 Hercules driver.

As old times were relived, it became obvious that each was fiercely proud of their particular aircraft. Over many drinks, they began extolling the relative virtues of their charges—speed versus range, ordnance versus load capacity, manoeuvrability versus comfort. This continued for several hours until, as closing time approached, the Herc pilot stood and prepared to leave. “Listen mate,” he said, “I’m really glad that you’re happy with the Miracle, and I’m sure it’s a fine aircraft. But me, I’d rather have four screws than a blowjob any day!” (E Burton, Sydney)

Getting It Right!

Have you read Cdr John Nichol’s and Barrett Tillman’s excellent book on USN air ops over North Vietnam, On Yankee Station? This book is excellent reading and also includes many real-world examples of how not to fight a war. That aside, there was one particular item in the chapter on aircrew rescues that was simply too good to not recall in this column. I quote:

“In March 1967 an RA-5C Vigilante from the USS Kittyhawk was flying a recce sortie at 350ft, just off the beach. Making 450kt (835km/h), the plane was badly hit from shore-based AAA and went down in the water. The pilot was killed but the backseater ejected. The young lieutenant landed on the beach and had waded into the water before being surrounded by numerous hostile locals. He carried the standard issue .38 revolver in a bandoleer shoulder holster, but for added safety he left the first two chambers unloaded, using only four rounds in the gun. He also had a .22 automatic hidden under his flight suit.

Thigh-deep in the surf, surrounded by angry Vietnamese, the NFO knew that resistance was pointless. But he could see the duty SAR helo rapidly approaching from the east and was willing to try anything with the smell of rescue so close. One of the Vietnamese removed the .38 from its holster and pointed it at the flyer. Another local militiaman covered him with a rifle. The crowd dispersed when A-1 Skyraider and F-8 Crusaders from the ResCAP began strafing up and down the beach, suppressing any anti-aircraft fire that might impede the rescue.

The airborne pilots could see the three men in the water and adjusted their passes accordingly. They could also see that the pilot was covered by two guns, but they couldn’t fire at the Vietnamese without hitting the American. The most they could do was to provide distraction and harassment. That however was enough for the cool flyer in the water. When his potential captors glanced upward, taking in the low-level flybys, he unzipped his flight suit, produced his hideout gun, and instantly chambered a round. With the two locals still distracted, he shot the rifleman in the head. The noise of that .22 round startled the other Vietnamese, who reflexively pulled the trigger of the .38. The hammer fell on an empty chamber, as the Viggie NFO knew it would. He shot the pistol holder, and in seconds was swimming madly out to sea. The helo swooped in and picked him up.”

According to Nichols and Tillman that story made the rounds through Task Force 77 and back to Cubi (the Subic Bay HQ for the 6th Fleet air group) in little longer than it takes to relate the incident! Legend records that the level-headed flier from “Heavy 13” was assured free drinks at the O Club as long as he was willing to tell his story!

Discretion Is The Better Part Of Valour!

As a newly qualified civil pilot at Moorabbin, one of the first things I did was grab a lady friend I was trying to impress, and casually ask if she’d like to come flying—with myself as the pilot, of course. She accepted, and after suitably impressing her with my newfound status, we returned from the Moorabbin training area.

Given instructions to set up for right base on runway 18R, I complied. Turning final, I found myself next to an RAAF Caribou on finals for runway 13C, a grass strip, where it was conducting STOL demos. Now you must remember that this was my first flight as a licenced pilot, it was only the second time I had set up for 18R (usually having landed on 17L), and I was right bloody next to a huge Caribou. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and sure that discretion was the better part of valour, I calmly picked up the mike, and adding power, announced: “November Alpha Kilo, going round.”

From out of the ether came an unidentified voice… “Chicken!” (E Burton, Sydney)