The pilots and aircrew are briefed on the specifics of the mission and on the sequence of events. They will go to their aircraft thirty to forty-five minutes before they are scheduled to launch, and will do a thorough pre-flight inspection of the aircraft prior to the order to start engines.
Meanwhile, the various flight deck personnel are preparing their equipment and personal gear for the upcoming ops. Before any aircraft engines are started, a ritual FOD (foreign object damage) walk-down is conducted, in which all off-duty personnel, mainly flight deck and Air Wing, are requested to participate. Often the walk-down is sponsored by one of the Air Wing squadrons, with music provided for motivation. With the range of aircraft minor maintenance and repair activity occurring on the flight deck, it is inevitable that items such as small tools, rivets, and bits of safety wire hit the deck and are not noticed at the time. When aircraft engines are runnning, these objects can be blown about and cause significant injury to people and engines. When flight deck ops are not underway, ship’s personnel are frequently allowed to exercise there, usually by running laps around the deck. They, too, can be a source for foreign objects finding their way to the flight deck. The potentially deadly objects are often hidden in the recessed “pad-eye” tie-down points spotted all over the flight deck. Personnel manning air hoses precede the main walk-down force to blow any collected debris or water from these pad-eyes. The deck-wide line of FOD walkers proceeds slowly down the whole length of the flight deck, picking up all objects that may pose even the slightest threat to man and machine. They are followed by scrubber vacuums which suck up anything that may have been overlooked by the walkers. FOD is a deadly menace to both men and machines and the walk-down procedure is taken seriously. Only after it has been completed is the order to start engines given.
The first craft to start up and launch are the plane guard helicopters who leave the deck to orbit in a D-shaped flight path, designed to let them quickly rescue an airman or crewman should that be necessary.
Just prior to the launch of the mission aircraft, the supercarrier is turned to a heading that will allow for sufficient wind, usually about thirty knots over the flight deck, to assist the planes in getting airborne. The yellow-shirted plane directors begin to guide the first aircraft to be launched to precise spots on the two forward steam catapults. When spotted there, large blast deflectors rise from the deck just behind the planes, to protect deck personnel aft of the catapults. Hook-up green shirts crouch at the nose wheel of each of the aircraft on cats one and two and attach the nose gear to the catapult shuttle with nose-tow and hold-back bars. A green shirt moves in to the right of one plane’s canopy and holds up a black box with illuminated numerals which flash the predicted weight of the aircraft. The pilot must concur that the figure is correct. That done, the cat launch personnel calibrate the power of the cat to the requirement of the plane about to launch. Low clouds of steam billow down the length of the cats as a yellow shirt signals the pilot, who releases the brakes and applies full power. The cat officer signals with a rotating hand, two fingers extended, as the pilot does a quick final check that the aircraft and controls are functioning correctly. The pilot then salutes to indicate that he is ready to launch, and braces himself. If he is flying an F/A-18 Hornet, procedure requires him to place his right (stick) hand on the canopy frame grab handle and keep it there for the duration of the cat shot, in order not to disturb the computer-set trim during the shot.
Flight deck personnel aboard the Royal Navy carrier HMS Illustrious during flight operations of their Sea Harriers.
At this point the catapult officer checks the final readiness of the cat and receives confirmation from other deck personnel that the aircraft is ready for flight. He then signals the shooter in the enclosed launch station bubble (by touching the deck), to press the cat firing button.
Launch … and the four-g force of the steam cat hurls the airplane from the flight deck. The plane achieves 150 knots air speed from a standing start in two seconds, sending the flesh and facial muscles of the pilot racing toward the back of his skull.
The first two aircraft of the mission have departed and the catapult crews rush to position and attach the next planes in the queue for launch. These crews can ready and launch an aircraft every thirty seconds if necessary, and are frequently required to set up and launch more than 100 times in a day. For the flight deck operation to go smoothly, an endless regime of planning, discipline, expert engineering, skilled maintenance, training, motivation, and extraordinary attention to detail is employed. And safety is the prime concern of all.
Chris Hurst was a Leading Aircraftsman / Aircraft Handler with the Air Department aboard HMS Illustrious, and he describes a Sea Harrier launch sequence: “Ten minutes prior to launch, we will get a verbal communication from the flight control position to start the aircraft. Permission will then be given to the aircraft mechanics to liaise with the pilots to start the engines and go through their various acceleration checks, making sure the wing flaps, etc. are at the right angles for launch, depending on the aircraft weights and weapon loads. The mechanics will also take off the outrigger ground locks and the lashings that are not required. Then they will be ready on deck.
“The aircraft directors will face toward the flying control position, watching for an amber light which means that the ship is on a designated flying course and we have permission to taxi the aircraft onto the runway. The pilot will be told to ‘unbrakes’. The two remaining nose lashings and the chocks will be removed. Then a Leading Aircraftsman will guide the aircraft out of the range and pass it on to the Petty Officer of the Deck who is standing on the runway at the designated launch distance. He will then marshal it onto that launch distance, stop it in the brakes and pass the control of the aircraft to either the Captain of the flight deck, or the Flight Deck Officer, whichever is on watch at the time.
“The duty squadron Air Engineering Officer will then look round the aircraft and make sure that everything is safe, all the relevant pins have been removed, etc. When he is satisfied, he will give a thumbs-up to the Flight Deck Officer, who will wait for a steady green light from Flyco, which means he has the Captain’s permission to launch fixed-wing aircraft.
“Then, when he has checked up and down the runway that all is clear, he will raise a small green flag. The pilot will turn on a white nose wheel light and roar away up the deck and off the ski ramp. As the aircraft is launched, the next aircraft will be drawn out of the range and marshalled on in sequence until all the aircraft have gone. All the time this is going on, there is a spare aircraft handling team ready in the ‘graveyard’ at the front end of the deck, should anything go wrong. We call it the graveyard because it is for “dead” aircraft. They have a tractor ready to attach to the aircraft. Certain minor unserviceabilities could mean an aircraft not launching, but having to taxi all the way up to the graveyard to get it out of the way, to clear the deck and make everything ready for the next aircraft to launch. There is nothing worse than an aircraft having a minor radio problem, sitting there with all its intake blanks missing. It would be dangerous. Foreign object damage could occur with an aircraft zooming up the deck, so we prefer to get him straight to the graveyard and out of the way.”
“The Enterprise flight deck was 109 feet abeam, including the island, and approximately 800 feet long. Usually less than half of that length was availible for Scouting Six, because the TBDs of Torpedo Six and SBDs of Bombing Six were always in the pack behind us.
“We frequently watched a bomb-laden SBD drop out of sight as it took off and passed the bow of the ship. It then reappeared, picking up speed, getting a boost from the 65-foot deck height and the ‘ground effect’ between wings and water.
“One day I was up on deck watching as a young pilot really almost touched the waves ahead of the ship. He later confided that he had taken off with his controls fully locked. Somehow he managed to remove the unlocking pin under the control stick, barely avoiding a crash into the sea. He must have been
a contortionist.”
—Jack ‘Dusty’ Kleiss, former U.S. Navy pilot
Airline pilot David Smith is a veteran of more than 1,000 hours flying the Grumman F-14 Tomcat, between 1982 and 1991. In that time, he made 342 carrier landings in the course of two Mediterranean cruises aboard the USS John F. Kennedy (CVA-67). He was then assigned as an instructor, training fleet F-14 and F/A-18 pilots in adversary flight tactics at Key West, Florida. All of the F/A-18 Hornet squadrons that took part in the Gulf War Operation Desert Storm attended the Key West course. “We F-14 pilots flew whenever the ship had air operations. In a normal schedule we flew during the day and every other night. Some of us flew every night to make up for some of the weak night pilots and the senior squadron officers who just didn’t want to fly at night. Flying at night was not fun. Flying in the day was, and everyone wanted to do that.
A BAE Sea Harrier undergoing servicing in the hangar deck of HMS Illustrious in 1999;
“Most flight ops lasted either one hour and thirty minutes, or one hour and forty-five minutes. In peacetime, the briefs started between one-and-a-half and two hours before lunch. The topics included such admin items as weather, aircraft, crews, join-up (rendezvous), lost communications, gas (in-flight refuelling amounts, altitudes, and locations), and the mission briefing itself, which took longer and varied from ship support, to air-to-air basic fighter maneuvering, to air intercept, to strafing, to section or division tactics. If operating near land, we might be supporting an overland operation or working with another country. The brief was where you transitioned from just being aboard the ship, to be reminded of why you were there. The actual brief was almost a formality because you had heard it all many times before, but it always served to make me focus on what I was about to do.
“If the brief ran long, you would walk immediately to maintenance control to check out the logbook on your airplane. You then signed for the airplane and went to the paraloft where flight equipment was stored. On the Kennedy it was a small room, no bigger than an average bedroom. With all of the hanging equipment, it could barely accommodate four persons. This was where you became an aviator. You went about the task of suiting up and preparing to go topside to do something that no one else on the planet was going to do at that moment.
“On the flight deck it was usually very quiet and rather peaceful at the beginning of a new ops cycle. Normally, it was a very dangerous place to be.
FA-2 Sea Harrier pilot Pete Wilson of No 801 Squadron, Royal Navy, in the cockpit of his aircraft aboard Illustrious in 2000.
“The first task was to find your plane. There was never a clue as to where it would be spotted. You walked around the flight deck until you found the aircraft number you were looking for. People have been known to man the wrong airplane. Finding your airplane at night can be difficult and frustrating. When you found it, the plane captain, who might be just eighteen years old, would exchange a few words with you about the only thing you really had in common—that airplane. I knew all my plane captains and all the maintenance personnel very well.
“Pre-flighting an F-14 on board a carrier can be the most dangerous part of the mission. Some of them were parked with their tails hanging out over the edge of the ship. There could be twenty to thirty knots of wind over the deck, and trying to do a thorough pre-flight might put you in the safety nets, if not actually overboard. Walking around the plane you encountered chains that were trying to trip you, missile fins aiming to leave an impression on you, and many other little gotchas out to ruin your day.
“Climbing in and sitting in the seat of the Tomcat was a relief, a place of comfort. You knew your way around the cockpit with your eyes closed, and you felt safe. Because the F-14 burns gas fast, we always launched right after the E-2 Hawkeye (our eyes and ears) and the A-6 Intruder / tanker (our gas). A couple of F-14s would be spotted either on the catapults or just behind them. When the order was given, engines were started and we went through the various after-start checks.
“We had afterburners, but did not always need them for the cat shot. On deployment, when you are going to launch missiles and have a full load of fuel, you would always be using afterburners in the launch. You followed the plane director’s instructions and he would steer you into alignment just behind the catapult. He would then point to another plane director who was straddling the cat track at a point about thirty feet ahead of your plane. He would slowly lead you forward until you were just behind the cat shuttle. Another director would guide you very precisely onto the shuttle and you would then be turned over to the CAT officer. When satisfied that your hook-up was correct, he would have the tension taken on your plane. Under tension, you would be required to go to full power. You did not come out of full power under any circumstances unless the CAT officer stepped in front of your plane and gave you the ‘throttle back’ signal. This was a trust that had been violated in the past, costing lives. Once under tension and in full power, you were going flying.
“During the day you can see all of the actors on the stage. At night you see nothing but the yellow wands. Two totally different worlds. The difference is almost indescribable.
“The plane is under tension and at full power and, when the CAT officer is content that all of the check-list items have been checked, he will give the signal to launch by touching the deck. Now the fun begins.
“Our initial indication of the launch is when the launch bar releases. F-14 pilots have long been accused of trying to be ‘cool’ by holding the head forward during a launch, instead of keeping it back against the headrest as most aviators do. Actually, when that launch bar releases, the airplane abruptly squats; it’s almost like hitting a pothole in the road. Your head is forced down and forward for a split second. This is quickly followed by an immediate and, hopefully, incredible acceleration forward. The neophyte who puts his or her head back against the headrest at the start of this sequence, will have it jolted forward, and then back, with amazing sharpness that will literally make him or her see stars.
“The intensity of the acceleration can vary, depending on the initial gross weight of the plane and the natural wind over the deck. You need a given end / air speed to go flying, and the heavier your plane is, the greater that air speed has to be. Less wind over the deck requires a harder, more powerful cat shot. At a maximum gross weight of 72,000 pounds, an F-14A, with little or no wind over the deck, requires a cat shot that will take the breath out of you. The acceleration is so rapid, it hurts. Such cat shots are not only hard on the pilot and RIO (Radar Intercept Officer in the back seat); they are hard on the plane as well. Generators, inertial navigation system alignments, radars … all are in jeopardy in such launches. Stories of instruments coming out and striking air crew in the face and chest are not uncommon.
“On an extremely windy day, when the ship is barely moving, you may become concerned that your launch will not be hard enough to send you flying. That concern is directed toward the CAT officer, who may be about to shoot you into water breaking over the deck. He will try to time the launch with the ship’s pitches, but a cat shot into a severe down cycle will give you a windscreen full of ocean that you won’t soon forget. Still, when things work, and they almost always do, the cat shot is the most enjoyable part of the cycle. Getting back on board is something else.”
“Cat shots never bothered me. You are as much passenger as pilot. Even if you shut down the engines and set the parking brake, you were going off the cat. Just five knots slower. The first one is the first one. It was memorable and very exhilarating. My subsequent shots were in unison with hooting and hollering, maybe another reason why instructors don’t ride along. Once you’ve finished your required number of traps (arrested landings on a carrier deck), you sit on the deck, refuelling and anxiously waiting for the radio call from the LSO and the magic words: ‘You’re a qual.’ Back on land, we were all very excited and animated. I had been in the Navy for only a year, and flying for only eight months. That night I slept like a baby. The next step was ad
vanced jet training.”
—Frank Furbish, former U.S. Navy fighter pilot
Catapult and arresting gear crewmen on the carriers of the U.S. Navy wear green jerseys.
A Westland Sea King helicopter crew member embarked in HMS Illustrious in 1999;
A member of the flight deck crew of Illustrious.
“One day when I was flying wing out over the ocean west of NAS Miramar near San Diego, my engine began making grinding sounds. I asked my section leader to take us home. When we arrived, I wrote up the bad engine. The crew chief refused to believe my write-up because I was the new kid, the most junior officer. I tried to convince him about what I had experienced, and left the ops shack to return to the squadron area. Soon after I got there, the chief phoned me to chew me out, saying I was wrong, that it had only been carburetor icing. Obviously, he didn’t want to go to work checking the oil filter on the opinion of a snot-nosed ensign. I was just a kid and he an old chief. My mistake was in not contesting his judgement or challenging his lack of respect. He released the plane for ops without checking the oil filter. The next day a squadron buddy of mine flew that same Skyraider and suffered engine failure on take-off, but managed to get it back on the runway. The filter had metal particles in it. The chief did not apologize for his stupidity.”
—Paul Ludwig, former U.S. Navy attack pilot
“One afternoon while Ensign Willie P. West and I were walking and talking to each other on the flight deck, neither of us heard the centerline elevator warning signal—if it was sounded. Suddenly, Willie took a step into space, and I was right on the edge of the gaping hole. I expected to find him in a crumpled heap at the end of a thirty-foot drop. Instead, he walked away unhurt. He said that the elevator was moving downward almost as fast as he was falling, and that jumping on it was like landing on a feather bed.”
The Bird Farm Page 11