Sky Spy, Memoirs of a U-2 Pilot

by Jim Carter

  Once he started down, he noted his low fuel supply; he didn’t have a lot to play with. He was able to establish radio contact with the tower as he entered the cloud layer at 5,000 feet. He had every light in the airplane on hoping that if he couldn’t see the runway, the tower would see him and direct him toward the airport. Down through the clouds he came, from 5,000 feet all the way down to 500 feet, waiting to break out and still nothing. He checked his vanishing fuel supply and went down another 100 feet. He finally broke out of the bottom of the cloud deck and saw… nothing. Before him was a vast black hole. He tried to keep his voice under control. It was one thing to die a horrible death in shark-infested waters, but Doc was not going to sound like a wimp as he did so. He kept talking to tower as he searched the horizon for a light but there was nothing ahead of him.

  Just as he decided to turn back in the other direction, the tower called saying they might have spotted him. They asked him to start a left turn to verify that it was him that they saw. He started turning and tower confirmed his sighting. He stayed in the turn until he could see the airport. The final piece of bad news at the end of this grueling 12-hour day was the wind report. Tower was reporting a 15-knot direct crosswind; the limit for the U-2 was 10 knots. But his choices were limited. He had to put the airplane down here or dump it in the drink with the sharks. He opted for the runway. He headed directly to it. He had no fuel to waste in setting up a long, straightin approach. The landing was as good as it gets but not good enough. In order to keep from drifting away from the runway and into the ocean, he had to hold the crab on landing. The airplane settled on the runway and immediately aligned itself, snapping the tailwheel steering. Since the same thing had happened to me on a training ride, I knew exactly what was coming. His airplane turned into the wind and ran off the side of the runway. Doc was so thankful and relieved to be on the ground and not in the ocean he neglected to shut off the engine. He stopped the airplane and only then did he think about the running engine. As he reached for the shutoff switch, the engine shut itself down. He had run out of fuel.

  Doc’s other experience was a much more uplifting, feel-good story. While at Beale, Doc had been assigned a search and rescue mission over the Pacific Ocean. In October of 1976, Doc joined in the search for a seaman who had been adrift for three weeks. The seaman was the sole survivor of a shipwreck and he was thought to be adrift in an orange raft.

  Doc’s mission was to scour the Pacific by taking recon photos of the seaman’s suspected track. It was hoped that an analysis of Doc’s film would show the raft’s position. Doc spent several hours crisscrossing the suspect area. He returned to the base and was met by the photo interpreters who retrieved the film from his airplane. From 70,000 feet over an ocean that appeared nearly pitch black the raft was spotted. It was a mere bright speck in a dark frame. Due to Doc’s efforts, the lost sailor was brought safely home.

  Chapter 10

  Once I finished my training in the U-2R, I continued to build time by flying missions out of Beale. I needed to build this time before I could go TDY to one of the remote locations.

  On my last Beale flight prior to my first TDY I had a revealing experience at the Physiological Support Division (PSD) building. I returned from a six-hour mapping mission and was in the PSD building getting out of my suit. One of the two technicians helping me undress was new to the unit. Sgt. Laura Mayall was a lovely, shy young lady about 22 years old. The suit had been unzipped from the back and I was standing straight up as Laura and her older fellow technician tried to pull the suit off. Normally, after the techs unzip the suit and get the top half off, they leave the room to give the pilot privacy as he undoes the bottom and removes the urine collection tube.

  On this day, however, the suit was stuck on my shoulders. Laura pulled on the sleeves but it wouldn’t come off. Both techs grabbed the shoulders of the suit and gave one big yank. The suit came off so suddenly that Laura fell on her knees in front me with her head about a foot in front of my crotch. The suit had come all the way off and so had my urine collection tube. Laura looked shocked as she stared at my manhood so close to her face. She made a little screaming noise and quickly left the room. It all happened so fast that I didn’t even realize that I was exposed until she had left the room and I looked down to see what all the fuss was about. She quickly recovered and from then on we had something to laugh about.

  The typical U-2 pilot spent about half his time overseas. New pilots were always sent to Osan Air Base, Korea, as their first TDY. By January of 1978 I had accumulated enough hours to go to Korea.

  January in Korea was brutal. The weather was always cold and bleak. I thought the country and its people were fascinating but these positives didn’t overcome the lousy weather. I soon settled into my BOQ and learned my way around the base and the local area surrounding it. Our Korea detachment was small, consisting of an Operations Officer (the Boss), three pilots, and one airplane. Unlike other TDY locations, we wore our uniforms on base. Officially, we weren’t there but everyone on base knew about the U-2. The airplane flew two or three times a week. That meant I would fly once a week at a maximum, and act as mobile, or launch supervisor, once a week.

  Osan is located about 25 miles south of Seoul, the largest city and capital of South Korea. The base itself is just south of the small town of Osan. If you were in the market for custom clothing, Seoul, and even Osan could fill your needs. My fellow pilots had thoroughly briefed me about the clothing before I left Beale. The man I needed to see in Osan was Mr. Oh. Mr. Oh sold only custom made clothing and had been doing so for over 20 years. I visited his shop about a week after arriving at Osan. Mr. Oh took my measurements and showed me his cloth samples. Within ten days he had produced for me the following: three three-piece suits, two ski outfits, a tuxedo, and a leather-flying jacket. All the garments were expertly tailored, and each coat had my name stitched, in cursive, on the inside pocket. Total cost for the entire wardrobe was $300.

  I was also introduced to Korean food. I found it spicy but I ate it with caution. After Muff’s warning about kimchi, I avoided it on days before I flew.

  The Korean mission was different from the recon mission I was used to. We weren’t over there to take pictures; we were there to listen. Instead of loading a camera in the nose, cylindrical pods approximately 20 feet long were loaded under the wings. The left pod was installed for balance only; it was empty. The right pod could be opened and loaded with electronic gear on its internal racks. A variety of electronic equipment could be loaded hence the name given to our mission, ELINT, which stood for electronic intelligence gathering. We never knew exactly what they were loading in the racks but it was our understanding that this equipment could monitor phone calls and even uplink these calls to a satellite, which would relay the information to the NSA. All of this occurred real time.

  When we flew we stayed south of the border. The normal mission would last eight or nine hours, with a takeoff at either 7:00 a.m. or 7:00 p.m.. Our flight pattern included eight waypoints, which were loaded into the Omega, the aircraft navigation system. The autopilot would fly the points in order, 1 through 8, and the resultant flight path looked like a figure eight.

  I was a rookie in Korea but the other two pilots were very experienced. Each had been here two or three times. Dave Kantor was married with no children; Ken Stafford was single.

  Dave was known as the “Corvette Man.” The armed forces had a special deal with General Motors. This deal allowed overseas airmen to purchase new cars at a great discount, basically at cost. The purchaser would order the car while he was overseas and the car would be waiting for him when he returned to the states. Dave bought a new Corvette every year. When he got back to the states, he picked up his car and drove it home. He then sold his “old” Corvette for more than he paid for it. He always had a new car and he always made money on the deal. He was smart and lucky.

  I was acting as mobile for Dave one day at Osan. Dave was doing the standard mission with the morning
departure so there was not a lot of flight planning involved. I had pre-flighted his airplane earlier, and then joined him at the PSD building as he completed his pre-breathing. Once that was done, he climbed on the van for the ride out to the airplane. I followed along in the chase car. While Dave sat in the van, I rechecked the cockpit to ensure it was set up just the way he liked it.

  Dave climbed out of the van and into the airplane. The techs connected him to the airplane’s air conditioning and oxygen systems. When they finished, I hopped up beside the cockpit and gave all his connections one last look. He was ready so I gave him the thumbs up and he closed the canopy. The maintenance guys pulled the steps away and he started the engine. We followed him out to the end of the runway.

  Security was very tight at Osan. The airplane was stored in a hangar when not flying. In order to get to the runway we had to taxi across a public road. The Security Police stopped traffic on both sides to allow the aircraft to taxi across. One of the vehicles waiting for Dave to taxi across the road was a workers’ bus filled with early morning commuters coming on base. A security policeman noticed someone with a camera at one of the bus’s windows. The policeman boarded the bus and took the film from every camera on the bus, whether it was used or not. Once the bus was film-free, Dave resumed his taxi to the runway.

  When I acted as mobile, I always rolled down my window after the airplane had been cleared for takeoff. It was easier to see or hear if anything was amiss than if I was sitting in the car with the window full up. The weather that day was typical Osan winter weather. A solid cloud layer started at 1,000 feet and went up to about 12,000 feet. Dave’s airplane looked good as he powered up and roared down the runway.

  The U-2 on takeoff is an extremely loud airplane. Standing at the end of the runway for the takeoff was a bone-rattling experience. After the airplane rotated for takeoff, it climbed very quickly. Dave’s airplane disappeared into the clouds in seconds. As I started to roll down the runway to retrieve the pogos, suddenly there was dead silence. I couldn’t see his airplane but that sudden cutoff of noise meant only one thing. Dave’s engine had quit.

  I stared up at the clouds and saw his airplane break out the bottom of the cloud layer, still silent. He continued to descend but could not land. He was too high, his gear was up, and he was too fast. No sooner had I seen his airplane come out of the clouds I heard a tremendous roar. He had restarted the engine, and then, just as quickly as he had popped below the clouds, he pulled up and disappeared into them again. I ran to the radio to find out what the hell was going on. Dave told me that the engine quit as soon as he entered the clouds. He maintained his heading and pitched the nose over while hitting the start button. He broke out of the bottom and was reaching for the ejection seat handle when the engine restarted. He said it seemed to be running OK now so he elected to continue. He came back on schedule eight hours later.

  If the engine had not restarted, Dave would have ejected. The U-2 ejection seat was state-of-the-art. The same seat was in the SR-71. It was a “0/0” seat. This meant that it would safely eject the pilot while sitting still on the ground — 0 speed and 0 altitude.

  When Dave returned from this mission, the maintenance techs did a thorough inspection of the engine and found nothing amiss. It was just one of those things.

  About a week later, it was Ken’s turn to fly with Dave acting as his mobile. This time Ken had another engine problem but nothing like the one Dave had.

  Ken had the morning departure and all looked good for his 7:00 a.m. launch. The weather was not only bad at Osan; the entire Korean peninsula was fogged in. Every U-2 mission had a thorough weather briefing. The pilot needed to know where to go if he couldn’t land back at his origination station. That morning, his weather alternate was Kunsan Air Base, southwest of Osan. The ceiling and visibility at Kunsan were low but were adequate for a normal alternate.

  Ken was two hours into his flight when he had a serious engine problem. This, coupled with weather conditions, made for an emergency situation. The J-75 engine in the U-2 was normally operated at a high Exhaust Gas Temperature (EGT). If the EGT was exceeded, a red warning light illuminated and the pilot would pull back on the throttle. You didn’t want to leave the red light on because doing so risked an engine failure or fire. Ken saw the red light come on and throttled back slightly. This would normally bring the EGT down and extinguish the light. That day it didn’t work; the light stayed on. So he reduced it a little more and the EGT came down, but then climbed right back up and turned on the light.

  Ken reviewed his options. He had to get the airplane into position at an airport where he could make an engine out landing. He needed good weather for that and there was no good weather in Korea. In fact, the nearest place he could take the airplane was Okinawa, Japan; a distance of about 800 miles across the East China Sea. He informed all the appropriate agencies about his plans and he turned the airplane towards Japan. The engine would run for about 20 minutes before it started to overtemp. He would pull the throttle to idle and, in order to stay on speed, start descending. He then pushed the power up, started climbing, and watched the EGT climb. When the red light came on, it was back to idle and another descent. He did this vertical zigzag all the way to Okinawa. When he finally reached Okinawa the EGT climbed into the red even in idle power. Ken set himself up for an engine out approach and landing and then shut down his engine. He made an uneventful engine out landing and for his effort, didn’t have to buy a drink at the Officers Club that night.

  The U-2 maintenance team found a faulty fuel control valve in the engine. Once it was replaced, the engine ran great and Ken flew the airplane back to Osan.

  It only seems fair that I have my own horror story to relate. It was, after all, my turn.

  I was scheduled for the evening monitor mission with the normal 7:00 p.m. departure time. I was expected to land around 4:00 a.m. My figure-8 track was just south of the demilitarized zone (DMZ) separating North and South Korea. I had flown this night mission a couple of times already and still had trouble with my body clock. I tried but couldn’t force myself to sleep during the day prior to flight. I even tried pills given to me by the Flight Surgeon, but nothing seemed to work. I was able to get around two hours of sleep prior to flight. I felt OK when I started but that would change.

  Dave was acting as mobile and he did his usual thorough job of preflight. We discussed the weather. It was fine for launch but a cold front was moving in with a forecast of rain showers and even a few thunderstorms possible. Take off and departure were normal. All was going smoothly as I eased the airplane into its flight track.

  It was a moonless night with a thickening cloud layer rolling in below me. One of the most wondrous experiences of flying the U-2 happens during night flights, especially moonless ones. The feeling I had was of being suspended in a star-filled room. The higher you go, the brighter the stars get. So being above 70,000 feet on a pitch black night was magical. There were stars everywhere: up, down, and on either side. It was a view that never disappointed, and one I will never forget. It was on nights such as these that I felt I had reached those stars that I viewed from our roof behind the hardware store so many years ago. I was finally doing what I had dreamed about.

  I settled into orbit and did my best to stay awake. I wasn’t sure, but I think I may have dozed off with my eyes open. I shook my head and looked around to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and it was. The sudden realization that I may have fallen asleep really got my heart pumping and now I was truly awake. Then I felt something, a slight, small shudder. I quickly checked the airspeed and saw that it had dropped dangerously close to stall speed. Just then, the speed started to rise, right up through normal target speed and kept on going. Then another shudder, this one more pronounced. The speed then started down again. The autopilot was very subtly pitching the airplane up and down trying to control the speed but it wasn’t working.

  With each cycle, the speed came closer to the stall speed. It w
ould then overcorrect and push the Mach buffet on the other end. The U-2 autopilot was made for use above 50,000 feet. Below 50,000, it was useless. Conversely, trying to fly the airplane without using the autopilot above 50,000 feet was nearly impossible. In order to hand fly the airplane, you had to use the instruments: the attitude director indicator (ADI), the vertical velocity indicator, and the airspeed indicator all were used to keep the target speed in the safe range. The problem was, subtle changes had to be made on the ADI. This gauge was about four inches across and making the minutest change in pitch would result in large excursions in vertical velocity. I couldn’t allow the autopilot to either stall or Mach-buffet the airplane so I disconnected it and started hand flying the airplane.

  The concentration required to keep the speed in the target range was all consuming. I thought I had leveled the airplane. It looked level on the ADI, but checking the vertical velocity, I was descending at 1000 feet per minute and my speed was building. To counteract this, I made a minute pitch change on the ADI, but that caused me to start climbing at 1000 feet per minute and the speed was dropping toward stall speed. While I was doing this vertical yo-yo, I also had to navigate in order to remain on my figure-8 track. The smallest excursion to my track would put me into North Korea. I was starting to hyperventilate. I recognized this and took steps to slow down my breathing. Since I was now working so hard, I was sweating profusely.

  I realized that this roller coaster ride could result in a stall or Mach buffet, either of which would tear the tail off the airplane. If I didn’t stay on my assigned track, I might be bailing out over a very hostile country. Even if I stayed on track but had to bail out, the wind below 50,000 feet might carry my chute to the north. These thoughts rushed through my head as I struggled to control the airplane. All the missions we flew were vital to our security so I tried to stay on station as long as possible, but it wasn’t meant to be. I headed back to Osan. The two-hour battle with the airplane had left me exhausted.