U.S. Navy helicopter crew members aboard their carrier off the Vietnam coast.
Squadron uniform patches during the Vietnam conflict in the 1960s.
“Ed made a similar approach, using a different ingress route, and this time, flak and a SAM warning notwithstanding, we got the pictures. We both overflew the bridge in excess of 600 knots and made the turn towards the Gulf via a pre-planned route that ran on a southerly heading just west of Haiphong and then almost due east to the water over a relatively unpopulated area. Just as we approached the target my low-fuel warning light illuminated and it shocked me. Nonetheless, we continued our egress from the target area as planned and went feet wet low and at high speed.
“I was elated because I was sure it was a successful photo run and neither of us had been hit. This time there hadn’t even been any SAMs launched, just a radar lock-on. Ed had plenty of fuel remaining and began his climb at full power with the intent of hurrying back to Panther. I kissed him off and, looking at a fuel gauge which read only 400 pounds, I headed for a rendezvous with the tanker who had dropped down to 10,000 feet twenty miles southwest of the northern SAR destroyer. My mouth was dry as I began my rendezvous with the tanker. With only 400 pounds of fuel my engine would flame out in just fifteen minutes. This was, I thought ruefully, cutting it too God-damned close. The tanker had been refuelling some A-4s in the air wing and been vectored to the northern SAR destroyer by the ship when we asked for a tanker before going back in for the second run.
“Naturally, I was extremely happy to see the tanker and was equally anxious to get plugged in. When I told the tanker pilot my fuel state, his voice suddenly sounded a little strange. He was extremely apologetic and explained to me that he had just given away all of the fuel in his buddy store. I was shocked. How could this have happened? Somebody back at the ship had really screwed up by failing to tell him to hold at least 1,500 pounds for me. A cold chill crept over me. There was no way I could get even half way back to the ship with only 400 pounds of fuel.
“It is worth spending a few words of explanation on fuel and what it means to a carrier pilot. In any fleet squadron there is standard operating procedure which dictates landing back aboard a ship with a reasonable fuel reserve to take care of emergencies like a crash on deck, bad weather, malfunctioning recovery systems, or a recovery delay for any of a dozen other reasons. For example, the low-fuel level warning light comes on in the cockpit of an F-8 Crusader at 1,100 pounds remaining. No carrier pilot who wants a long, safe career should ever be caught airborne with that light illuminated. There is a similar light in the A-4 which comes on at about 1,100 pounds. So to find oneself 125 nautical miles from the ship in a Crusader with 400 pounds of fuel is not just critical … it is way past critical … the stuff of which nightmares are made.
“By now we had joined up and were climbing to cruise altitude for our return to the ship … except I was not going to make it. It was a strange feeling … one of finality. It was all unreal. And again I thought of those sea snakes. We levelled off at 20,000 feet, and with my fuel gauge now reading 100 pounds I began to prepare myself for ejection. We were flying close together. The lower my fuel reading the closer I flew to him. Perhaps proximity to a friendly face made me feel comforted.
“The A-4 tanker pilot throttled way back to match a maximum endurance profile for the Crusader. Since getting back to the ship was out of the question, we were buying some time before I flamed out … just a few more minutes … but every minute now seemed very precious. The tanker pilot’s head, which was only fifty feet away from mine, turned to look at me for what seemed a long time but was probably only twenty seconds. Then I saw him look down in the cockpit. A moment later the propeller on the nose of his tanker buddy store began to windmill in the airstream. This was the driving mechanism which reeled the refuelling basket in and out.
“The buddy store consisted of a fuel tank, a refuelling hose, a take-up reel and an air-driven propeller to deploy and retract the basket. The fuel tank contained 300 gallons (2000 pounds of fuel) when full. The tanker pilot also had the capability of transferring fuel into and out of the tank from his own internal tanks. It was the tanker pilot’s responsibility always to retain enough internal fuel to get back safely to the ship. I found it curious that the propeller was turning and then was startled to see the refuelling basket reel out to its full extension. The pilot then looked over at me and transmitted over the radio.
“ ‘Firefighter Two Zero Four. I have just transferred 500 pounds of fuel into the buddy store. Go get it.’ I couldn’t believe my ears.
“ ‘What about you?’ I asked, almost afraid to do so.
“ ‘You’d better take while you can,’ he warned ominously, as though he were already having second thoughts. I slid back into position and prepared to tank. Never was my tanking skill so necessary as this moment. There could be no missed attempts. My last glance at the fuel gauge showed 100 pounds. I resolved not to look at it again. The sight made me physically ill.
“The in-flight refuelling probe on a Crusader is high on the port side of the fuselage just aft of the pilot. In actual measurements the tip of the probe is exactly thirty-one inches to the left of the pilot’s eye. Therefore the inner rim of the refuelling basket, when the probe is centered in it, is only about a foot away from the canopy. The basket seems to float around like some wayward, feathery entity whenever one tries to engage it with the probe. In actual fact, the basket, for all its airy movements, is in the tight grasp of a 250-knot gale. The airstream grips it like a vice. Thus it has all the resiliency of a steel rail. If it so much as touches the canopy of a Crusader, the result is an instant and violent implosion and fragmentation of the plexiglas into a thousand tiny shards which end up everywhere inside the cockpit. To say that tanking is a touchy evolution is the understatement of the year.
“Needless to say, my technique on this particular tanking attempt was flawless and the tip of the probe hit the basket in its dead center with a ‘clunk’ which resulted in a small sine wave travelling up the hose to the end of the buddy store. It is a comforting sound and sensation which one can feel in his pants and right hand. It is the next best thing to sex.
“The very act of tanking, of course, uses fuel. It therefore took me about 100 pounds to get the 500 pounds, which left me with a net gain of 400 pounds. Now my fuel gauge read a much more comfortable 500 pounds, leaving me feeling in ‘hog heaven.’ I disengaged and slid once more out to the right side of the tanker. We looked at each other and there was an unspoken understanding in the tilt of the tanker pilot’s head that he had bought me some time … perhaps only fifteen minutes, but a very precious increment of life nonetheless. Experiencing no small amount of guilt, I felt compelled to ask him the obvious question.
“ ‘Can you make it back?’ The answer was delayed.
Randy Cunningham and Willy Driscoll were the last two U.S. Navy aviators to achieve ‘ace’ status in the Vietnam War. Their aircraft was the McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom.
“ ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, but quickly added, ‘There’s another tanker up here somewhere. Maybe he’s got a few pounds to give.’ The tanker pilot then inquired of the ship about the tanker that had been sent north to tank the BARCAP (barrier combat air patrol). The ship came back quickly and informed us that he was indeed returning at maximum speed to rendezvous with us. The voice which told us that was more mature and sounded more senior. I suspected immediately that, recognizing that they had screwed up royally, they had put the first team on the problem. On a carrier at sea, everyone is in training for the next higher notch on the ladder.
“We droned along, still at maximum endurance speed, watching our fuel gauges and the distance-measuring device on the TACAN display. It was really simple mathematics, the kind naval aviators learn to do quickly in their heads. My fuel flow gauge told me the engine was burning fuel at the rate of 2,400 pounds per hour (divided by sixty converts to forty pounds per minute). My airspeed indicator told me my speed
was 300 knots. Indicated airspeed decreases as altitude increases at the rate of two percent per thousand feet. Therefore, at my altitude of 20,000 feet my true airspeed would actually be forty percent higher than what my airspeed indicator read. Forty percent of 300 equals 120 which, when added to 300, equals 420 knots true airspeed. Divide 420 by sixty and it comes to seven miles per minute. If I am burning forty pounds per minute, then each mile I traverse through the air costs me six pounds of fuel. By cross-checking the distance-measuring equipment reading on my airspeed indicator telling me how far away the carrier is, I corroborate that my groundspeed is roughly what my true airspeed is, meaning little or no wind effect to worry about.
“But, no matter how often I run the numbers through my head, they told me that my airplane would flame out before I got to the ship. Again, I thought of those God-damned sea snakes. Our only hope was that the other tanker had some fuel left to give. Moments later a target appeared on the left side of my radar scope, thirty miles away and converging. A few moments later, my tanker pilot, who had eyes better than mine, called out somewhat excitedly, ‘Tally Ho! The tanker, ten o’clock, fifteen miles.’ The several minutes it took for us to complete the rendezvous seemed like forever, during which we were informed that there was 1,400 pounds of ‘giveaway’ fuel available. My tanker pilot said, ‘Firefighter, you go first and take 800 pounds and I’ll take 600, Okay?’ What could I say? My fuel gauge again showed 300 pounds.
“Of course, the ship gave us priority in the landing sequence. We made a straight-in approach with the tanker taking interval on me at about ten miles astern. The sight of the ship steaming into the wind with a ready deck is one of the most beautiful sights in all of my memory. The LSOs seemed to understand our sense of urgency. We both caught the number two wire and taxied forward for shutdown. The arrestment felt great, the feel of the ship under my wheels felt wonderful. The blast of warm air that filled my cockpit when I opened the canopy tasted like pure oxygen. Life was beautiful at that moment. As I climbed out of the cockpit I felt a sudden and enormous exhaustion. Then I took one last look at the fuel quantity gauge. It read 100 pounds.
“On the way from the airplane to the ready room I took a short detour to the edge of the flight deck and scanned the sea for the snakes. Strangely, there were none to be seen.
“Five minutes later, while finishing filling out the mainenance ‘yellow sheet’ in my ready room seat, I took a sip of steaming hot coffee and relished the moment. Then I got up, walked over to the duty officer’s desk and pressed the lever on the 19MC squawk box. ‘Ready room four, this is ready room two, Commander Gillcrist calling. Is the pilot of Four One Four there?’ The answer was immediate. ‘He’s listening,’ said a voice.
“ ‘Young man, you have cojones of brass. I owe you one.’ The now-familiar voice of the tanker pilot came right back. ‘No problem, skipper. Glad to be of help. I’ll collect at the bar in Cubi.’
“I never got to pay off that debt. Three days later, that fine young man was literally blown out of the sky by a direct hit from an 85mm anti-aircraft shell.
“The three salvos from the Marine honor guards’ rifles jolted me in much the same way that the violent 85mm explosion must have done when it ended that young man’s life. For the first time in my life, as I stood at attention, saluting with the bugler playing taps, the tears coursed down my cheeks. The flight deck was heaving slowly in mute response to a gentle swell. Then the Marine honor guard tilted the catafalque up. The coffin slid out from under the American flag and fell into the sea.”
Spread the table and contention will cease.
—English proverb
“Under the ladder to the flight deck, starboard side of the hangar deck, was the gedunk locker. Soft ice cream, candy bars, cigarettes, etc. Sea stores cigarettes were three to six cents a pack. While in flight quarters, we would elect one man to go below and get the gedunks, and hope he got back before we had to man the planes.”
—Lynn Forshee, former U.S. Navy radio/gunner, USS Yorktown
SLIDERS
NAVY PILOTS CALL IT A SLIDER. IT’S A burger, and a slider with cheese is probably the most popular order at the “dirty shirt” wardroom—the canteen on a carrier where pilots and Naval Flight Officers in their flight suits are always welcome.
Kevin Morris joined the Royal Navy in 1977. He went in as a Cook’s Mate and made his way steadily through the ranks. He went from Cook to the training to be a Chef. From that he transferred to catering, moving away from the “craft side” to management, including accounting, budgeting, and stock management. In 1993 he attained the rank of Chief Caterer and was selected to go to Dartmouth to the Brittania Royal Naval College to take a commission. As an officer he held positions at the Navy’s Cookery School where he was responsible for training cooks and stewards, and another shore position in which he managed contracts and camp catering. By October 1999, he had been aboard the aircraft carrier HMS Illustrious for a year, in charge of food services. His responsibilities included anything and everything to do with food, from the menus to hygiene standards, to making sure the ship had enough food on board at all times. He was concerned with anything to do with the galley, the store rooms, the ship’s company eating areas, and the dining halls. Nothing to do with food aboard Illustrious escaped his attention.
Morris aboard Illustrious in 1999: “Several inputs go into the menu planning, including budgetary input. It’s no good putting something on the counter that people don’t like or won’t eat. The menus are constructed on a weekly basis, and we run from a framework of six menus on a rotational basis. Each week we look at the menu that is next in the rotation and make minor adjustments relating to stock remaining on board that we need to turn over. We also look at the ship’s program, where the ship is going to be in the world. We don’t want to put on a hot, stodgy pudding if we’re going to be in the tropics. We also have to consider what the ship is doing. We have to adjust our feeding methods to comply with the ship’s program. If we are to be at action stations, we generally have action messing. If there is a RAS (replenishment at sea) going on, we have to look at the style of menu that we put on and the timings of meals because a lot of people can’t come down for a meal at normal times. If, for instance, we are taking on fuel, there are a lot of people involved in special duties throughout the ship who have to remain at their duty station and may not be able to get down for a specific meal. We have to make provision to feed them wherever they are stationed, or extend the meal times so they can come through afterwards. After we have looked at the programming side, we try not to be repetitious in our meal planning. But when you are putting four hot choices on for lunch and four hot choices on for the evening—eight popular hot choices a day seven days a week—you quickly run out of popular choices. We have to make sure that a dish doesn’t come around too often. We have to make the menus as varied as possible.
Meal preparation aboard the carrier HMS Illustrious;
“Certain trends have been filtering through in recent years. There is a general move away from red meat consumption and towards fish and chicken. Vegetarianism is coming on in a whole range of forms. There are a number of tastes to take into account. We are also getting a lot of ethnic minorities coming through, which provides us with another challenge. Still, many of the dishes that we prepare and serve today are the same ones that we were serving ten to fifteen years ago.
“The biggest thing on board is morale. Food and morale are very closely linked. You can have the best machines, the best equipment, the best ships, but if you can’t feed people well, you’re not going anywhere.
“One of my biggest jobs is to make sure we have enough food, and for 1,200 people, that is an awful lot of food, and you run out very quickly. Ideally, we need to replenish every two weeks. We go through sixty to seventy pallets of food a month.
“Certain items are very difficult to get outside of the UK. Sausages are very popular; everyone has them for breakfast, and you just can’t get them anywhere else. We
just bought some in Amsterdam because we had run low, but they didn’t go down well with the ship’s company. It’s one of those things.”
Waldorf Salad
(yield: 100 portions)
Ingredients
3 tbsp. (¾ oz) milk, non-fat, dry
7/8 cup water, warm
½ cup lemon juice
¼ cup (2 oz) sugar, granulated
1 ¼ qt (2 lb 8 oz) salad dressing
3 qt (4 lb) celery, freshly diced ½ inch
1 qt (1 lb) walnuts, coarsely chopped
2 ½ gallons (9 lb) apples, fresh, eating, unpared, cored, diced, ⅓ inch
4 lb lettuce, fresh trimmed
Deck handling of an F/A-18 Hornet aboard the American Supercarrier USS John C. Stennis.
Method
1. Trim, wash, and prepare fruit and vegetables.
2. Reconstitute milk.
3. Combine lemon juice, sugar, and salad dressing. Add to milk. Mix well.
The Bird Farm Page 18