Sky Spy, Memoirs of a U-2 Pilot

by Jim Carter

  We left Pope and the first stop was our old standby, Lajes, Azores. We spent the night there, refueled, and left Lajes the next morning for Africa. The weather was beautiful and clear all the way. Our route took us directly to the west coast of Africa near Dakar, Senegal. From there we turned directly for Mali.

  Bamako is located in the southwestern part of Mali. What struck me most about seeing this part of Africa for the first time was the brown flatness of everything. You could see an occasional village with conical grass huts scattered about but not much of anything else. Bamako itself stood in stark contrast to the surrounding countryside. We could see its buildings from miles out. The city straddled both sides of the Niger River. Just south of the city was the airport. Navigation aids and air traffic control facilities were primitive in sub-Saharan Africa in 1973. All this flying would be visual flight rules (VFR). This meant that if you could see it, you could go. These flying rules were the same ones we used in Gauhati, so we were experienced in this type of flying.

  As we made our approach to the Bamako airport we could see that the city consisted of mostly flat-roofed single story structures with one big exception. There was one high-rise building, the Hotel De L’Amitier. This would be our home for the next six weeks.

  After landing we taxied to our parking ramp and were met by a delegation from the Malian government. They gave us a warm welcome and repeatedly thanked us for coming to their aid in this time of crisis. We climbed on a large, ancient bus that pulled up to the aircraft and we were off to the Hotel De L’Amitier.

  The view from the ground confirmed what we had seen from the air: flat, brown and dusty. The hotel was the exception. It was 15 stories high and so new that it wasn’t completely finished yet. We maneuvered our equipment and luggage around sawhorses and sand piles and finally checked into our rooms. I was pleasantly surprised by the opulence of my room. It had air conditioning, a bath with a tub-shower combination, a toilet that actually worked, a beautiful double bed, and the most unusual chair coverings I’d ever seen. The chair and small sofa were covered with real animal skins. The chair was done in zebra; the sofa in leopard skin. This was definitely not the PETA suite. I had a great view of the entire city from the 12th floor.

  We cleaned up and I met Jack and Ed for drinks. We noted that there were a lot of candles around the hotel. After the sun went down we found out why. Electricity was an iffy proposition in Mali. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn’t. After a nice candle-lit dinner in the hotel restaurant, we adjourned to our rooms. Just prior to leaving the restaurant the electricity came back on so we were able to use the elevators. I opted for the stairs, just in case.

  After getting back to my room I started reading a book that Jack had shared with me. I had to read by candlelight since the power went out…again. The book was, “The Exorcist.” Now I’m not easily rattled by spooky stories, but there was something about sitting in a room alone, in the middle of Africa, reading this ghastly story by candlelight. I was on edge all night and didn’t sleep at all.

  One piece of good news was that the hotel had priority on the electric grid. It was the last to lose it and the first to get it back. But when the power went out, the blackness was total. Looking out my window I saw a vast sea of nothingness with only an occasional twinkle from the scattered peasant huts below my window.

  Chapter 15

  The borders of present day Mali were drawn in 1890 when the country was known as French Sudan. Mali remained a French colony until it achieved independence in 1960.

  Our mission was to deliver grain to small outposts on the edge of the Sahara. Distribution points for the grain were set up around five destination airstrips. We were part of a massive international relief effort. Successive dry years killed both crops and livestock. The Sahara crept southward and thousands of people faced starvation. Existing means of transportation couldn’t move the grain inland quickly enough. Most waterways were unsuitable for barges to reach the northern areas. The only workable solution was to airlift the grain in to where it was needed.

  Those hardest hit by this drought were the Tuaregs. They lead a nomadic, pastoral life in the Sahara desert. In 1973, the severe drought conditions drove the Tuaregs out of their traditional grazing lands and pushed them south where they sought food and water.

  My lasting impression of the operation was the unremitting heat and sand. During the day, the temperature rose into the triple digits. The highest I witnessed was 116 degrees. It would cool off somewhat from evening through early morning however, and this had a direct effect on how much we could carry. There were two launches per day. The 6:00 A.M. flight carried 13 ½ metric tons of grain and the afternoon sortie carried 11 ½ metric tons. The load difference was due to the outside air temperature. The cooler temperatures allowed us to carry a greater load. Cooler air was denser, which meant more lift.

  We were based in Bamako, and all of our destinations were in the north: Timbuktu, Goundam, Gao, Nioro, and Nara. All these destinations had runways consisting of dirt and a red, residual product of rock decay called laterite.

  All the airports had control towers. This was good — except for the language barrier and faulty equipment. The tower operators were supposed to communicate with us in English, the international language of aviation. But French was the official language of Mali and its natives rarely got to use English until we arrived. As time went on their English got better and so did our French.

  The control towers used old radios that had high failure rates. Many times the radio operator’s transmission would just stop in mid-sentence. Sometimes they fixed the problem and came back on the air, sometimes not.

  Though there were radio operators in the towers there were no air traffic controllers. In the U.S. and in Europe, air traffic controllers had all the planes on radar screens and guided the traffic to avoid conflicts with other planes. When we were flying in Mali in the 70’s there was no radar. Once cleared for takeoff by the tower, we were on our own; not only to navigate to our destination, but also to avoid other airplanes. We never had any near misses, or near hits, as George Carlin called them. We used the “see and avoid” principle of flight and self sequenced for every approach and landing.

  Sand was a constant problem. Sometimes it reduced visibility down to zero. With the drought conditions and the Sahara being so close, the sand went from ground level to 20,000 feet. The sand also affected our airplanes. It peeled most of the paint off the propellers and the leading edges of the wings. The sand would even work its way into our aircraft air-conditioning packs. Halfway through our six week stay, the air-conditioning and pressurization systems were shot. The conditions were so oppressive we stopped wearing flight suits. “T” shirts and shorts became the uniform of the day.

  Our longest flight was to Gao, about 2 ½ hours. The shortest was Nara, about 30 minutes. The weather reports were unreliable. Even our Air Force meteorologists couldn’t predict what the sand would do. We would load up, take off, and head to our destination. If we could see enough to land, we did. If not, we’d turn around and go back to base.

  Most of the northern runways were short. This required us to perform a specific type of approach and landing known as a short field landing. The glide slope was very steep. The aircraft was configured with full flaps and minimum speed. The aiming point for touchdown was between 500’ and 1000’ down the runway. Once on the ground, we applied maximum breaking and pulled the props into reverse. When the sand kicked up from our reversing props and enveloped the aircraft, we’d bring the props out of reverse and the aircraft emerged from the sand cloud, at taxi speed.

  Once on the ground, we were met by a group of laborers, typically around 50 men, with trucks standing by to transport the grain. Without heavy equipment the sacks of grain had to be offloaded by manual labor. The workers would enter the aircraft through the aft ramp and a truck would park right up against the back of the airplane. The workers were not big men. They were all very thin but very strong. Each bag of g
rain weighed from 80 to 100 pounds. Two workers would grab the ends of the sack and lift it on to the back of a “runner.” These “runners” would carry the sacks to the truck where two men would relieve them of the grain and stack it in the truck. The workers were fast, off loading the plane in less than 30 minutes.

  Chapter 16

  Timbuktu was one of the locations where we delivered grain. Prior to going to Mali, I thought Timbuktu was a fictional remote city like Shangri-La. But the city was real. The Tuaregs founded it in the 11th century.

  Timbuktu attracted both scholars and merchants. It became a scholarly center and important trade port where goods from west and north Africa were exchanged. Salt from mines in the north was traded for gold mined in the south. Black and Arab scholars flocked to this thriving hub and established several important libraries there.

  When our sister ship got stuck in Timbuktu, our crew headed up there with a load of grain, maintenance technicians, and spare parts to fix the other aircraft. One of the stuck plane’s engines wouldn’t start. We hoped the two techs plus our two flight engineers could come up with a solution. The problem with the engine couldn’t get solved by the afternoon so we had to spend the night and give it another go in the morning.

  The local government assigned a guide to arrange transportation, hotel rooms, and even dinner reservations. His name was Mustafa and he spoke broken, but understandable English. Our rooms in Timbuktu were not as nice as our rooms in Bamako, but they were clean. Some of us even had hot water.

  We gathered in the small lobby of the hotel. Mustafa did a head count and led us down the street to the restaurant he had chosen. I don’t recall the name of the restaurant but I’ll never forget the food. The first course was some kind of bird egg cooked in what looked like clippings from my lawn mower. Then came sorghum and small, rock-like potatoes (best guess). The main course was a meat dish. The texture of the meat was unfamiliar to me and was heavily spiced. I asked our guide what it was. Mustafa simply said, “It is small beast.” I left it at that.

  The next morning it was back to the airport to try to solve the mystery of the non-starting Number 3 engine. Getting that airplane back in the air was critical. The more grain we could deliver, the more lives we could save.

  The Flight Engineer from the crew of the stuck plane was SMSgt Ed Hinesmann. He was the most experienced and trusted engineer, not only in our squadron but also in the entire wing at Pope, which consisted of three squadrons. Our Flight Engineer, Albert Moses, and Hinesmann went to work on the problem. They had run through every start problem scenario without success. Then in a stroke of luck Moses discovered the problem.

  The C-130, like most airliners and turboprops, has “T” handles for use in shutting down the engine in emergencies, like engine fires. Pulling the T-handle would cut off fuel, oil and hydraulic pressure to the engine. During an engine fire, this T-handle would flash red and a loud warning bell would sound. What Moses discovered was Number 3 T-handle had been pulled out. The difference between full out position and full in was only a half-inch. No one knew how the handle had been pulled out. But when they pushed it in, the engine started up immediately. Hinesmann was humbled and mortified that he missed such a simple solution.

  Malians had many ailments; among which were malaria, dysentery, lack of clean water, and easy access to good medical care. In 1973, Mali had the shortest life span of any country on earth, 34.4 years. A large segment of the population was affected by onchocerciasis, otherwise known as river blindness. It’s a parasitic disease caused by a roundworm infection that is transmitted through the bite of a black fly. The roundworm larva are introduced through the bite and spread throughout the body. This causes severe itching and can destroy optical tissue.

  In spite of this and other daily difficulties of life in a dirt-poor country, the Malians were a joyful people. All the ones that I met were friendly, outgoing and appreciative of our efforts in their behalf. Every time I flew, regardless of destination, I would receive an invitation to someone’s home. Due to our schedule, I was only able to accept two of these invitations during our six-week stay. On both occasions I was impressed with their joy for living and their warmth.

  On those rare days off we loved to explore the streets of Bamako. One day as we walked along a few blocks from our hotel we noticed a tall tree with hundreds of long black pods, about a foot long, hanging from the branches. A crowd of small children had gathered at the base of the tree. They had several rudimentary slingshots and were attempting to knock the pods from the tree. We watched as an eight or nine year old boy aimed his slingshot and hit his target, knocking the pod to the ground. He was very proud of his accomplishment and brought the pod over to show us. These pods turned out to be sleeping, foot-long bats. The little guy laid the bat at our feet and proceeded to slit its throat with a piece of a broken coke bottle. I knew food was scarce in Mali and now I knew just how scarce. These little guys weren’t shooting for sport; they were shooting for food. As I looked down on the ground at this giant, bleeding bat, I thought about my meat dish in Timbuktu. Small beast, indeed.

  The unremitting heat and the daily grind were having an effect on us. Trying to keep the airplanes flying while maintenance issues plagued us caused a lot of stress. We were committed to doing the best we could but, above all else, it had to be safe. If we were able to press on safely in spite of a maintenance problem we would. A good example of this was when our plane had an inoperative air conditioning system. There was a part coming in from Pope but it would take two weeks to arrive. We operated without it until the part arrived. It was uncomfortable but safe.

  The six-week stay in Africa was coming to an end and we all yearned to see the states again. In spite of the hardships, I treasured my time in Mali. We made a real difference in the lives of thousands of people. They needed our help and we came through for them. We learned a few valuable lessons while there. We learned that life is precious, embrace it; every human being has value no matter what his background or what’s in his pocket; when the job is important enough, find a way to get it done, despite hardships. These lessons stayed with me throughout my professional and personal life.

  The situation in Mali today is still unsettled. Since January of 2012, the country has been fighting a war with separatist forces consisting of Tuareg rebels and radical Islamists. These rebel forces are concentrated in the northern part of the country. The northern area contains the regions of Timbuktu, Kidal and Gao, which are the least populated and most arid regions of the country.

  The rebels declared the secession of a new state, Azawad. In 2012, in response to the increasing Islamist threat to the country, French paratroopers, together with Malian forces, recaptured most of the north. The fighting continues today with no resolution in sight.

  PART II

  Chapter 1

  I hadn’t been back at Pope very long when an interesting career opportunity came up. As much as I enjoyed flying the C-130, I always had my antennae up for other flying jobs. I didn’t want a specific airplane. I was looking for an exciting airplane attached to a rewarding job. In the Air Force, such jobs were uncommon.

  Tactical Air Command (TAC) had received a request from Air Training Command (ATC) for experienced C-130 pilots to become Instructor Pilots. Up until then, most Instructor Pilots had come from the ranks of new pilot graduates. Headquarters at ATC thought that it would be a good idea to mix in experienced pilots with the current crop of Instructors. The instructor job sounded interesting but I needed the right airplane to make it a go for me.

  I wanted into the program only if I could fly the T-38. The T-38 is a pilot’s dream. It’s a two-engine jet, white, supersonic, sleek, front and back seating, and it was sexy as hell. I had flown both the T-37 and T-38 when I went through pilot training so I was familiar with both. Only the T-38 would do. I placed my application and was soon accepted into the Air Training Command as a T-38 Instructor Pilot. My base of choice was Williams AFB, Arizona, near Phoenix. I got the airplane
but not the base. I’d be going to Craig AFB, Alabama, near Selma. Even though I didn’t get Williams, I was still happy overall. After living in North Carolina, I could speak Southern.

  My wife and I both looked forward to this new opportunity but it was difficult for us to leave Pope. I loved the people, the airplane, and the travel. We spent several days saying our goodbyes. We made lifelong friends at Pope but now we looked forward to meeting new ones in Alabama.

  I never saw Irv or Col. Benny again but I did follow their careers. Benny continued his upward climb. He left our squadron to become a Wing Commander at Little Rock in charge of three squadrons. On a low-level training mission one night, an aircraft in a three-ship formation clipped a tree with its wingtip. The aircraft landed successfully with only minor structural damage. Benny was not flying that night. Since it was one of his pilots who was flying, Benny was fired. He was transferred to Rhein-Main where he stayed until his retirement. After his retirement, he ran the “Stars and Stripes“ bookstore at the Frankfurt airport. Benny died in 2007 having fought Alzheimer’s disease, heart disease and colon cancer.

  Irv stayed in the C-130. Apparently he never calmed down. Irv had moved to a nice house in a lake community near Pope. He was having one of his wild squadron parties on a sunny Sunday afternoon. One of Irv’s co pilots was a member of the Aero Club at nearby Simmons Army Airfield. Aero Club members could rent airplanes from the club at cost. Their only extra cost was the fuel used. This young man decided he would rent an airplane and put on an airshow for the partygoers. After performing a couple of low passes, he pulled up to set up for another one. He yanked and banked a little too much and it resulted in a hammerhead stall. He wound up with the airplane pointing straight up and out of airspeed. Then the plane nosed straight over into the lake, killing the pilot in front of his horrified wife and young son.