by G. E. Nolly
I had become fairly comfortable giving presentations, from my experience in Instrument School, but hadn’t ever given a briefing to a General, especially the Commander of the Pacific Air Forces. I guess my apprehension showed in my face.
“Don’t worry, Ham. You’ll do fine. Think of it this way: there’s no one on earth who knows more about this than you.”
He looked at my charts again.
“You know, Ham, you’re a damn fine staff officer. But you’re a really lousy artist. These charts look like shit. We don’t want to show these to a General. We’ll let the Wing Graphics Department make up some really snazzy looking slides.”
I made photocopies of my charts, and sent the originals to the Graphics Department with a rush order.
When General “Mac” McKenzie arrived a few days later, I was ready for the briefing. I had practiced it several times, had my timing for each slide worked out, and had gotten a fresh haircut. My class-A uniform was freshly cleaned and pressed, and my shoes could have passed inspection at the Academy.
We assembled in the Wing Briefing Room, and, after introductions, I was called to the podium.
The briefing went well, really well. At one point, as I was about to switch from a very busy slide, the General interjected.
“Just a second, Captain. It looks to me, from the last line of your chart, that the squadron on column three, line 34, has higher experience levels than the other two squadrons.”
There must have been over a hundred numbers on that chart, and the General caught that! I thought back to when I was a Second Lieutenant, at Laughlin, when my T-38 IP, Captain Rogers, had been telling me about his time as a General’s Aide.
“Generals don’t miss a thing,” he had said, “They don’t make General if they’re not incredibly sharp. Some of them may be assholes, but they’re all sharp as a tack.”
Now it was time for me to address the General’s concern. I had been prepared, and advanced to my next slide.
“General, you can see from this slide that the reason for the difference in Standard Deviation for that squadron is due to the higher experience level required to attend special mission training. We have adjusted for that by assigning more experienced pilots to the other squadrons.”
He smiled.
At the end of the briefing, the General looked over at my Wing Commander.
“Excellent project, excellent briefing. I wish all of my Captains could perform like Captain Hancock.”
And then it was over. We all stood at attention as General McKenzie left. Afterward, I saw Colonel Wilson talking with Ron. Then Ron came over to me.
“You know, Ham, it looks like you have a really good shot at Major below-the-zone. General McKenzie wants to endorse your OER.”
Having a four-star endorsement on an Officer Effectiveness Report is a great first step toward being promoted to Major early, below-the-zone. I had all the other squares filled: two combat tours, all of my PME, great OERs, and a Master’s Degree with a perfect 4.0 grade point average. And now a great OER endorsement!
It looked like my career was really on track.
51
February 9, 1976
I had been enjoying the mission of the support flying and attached flying I had been doing for the past two-plus years, but I still secretly harbored a desire to get back into a fighter on a full-time basis. But after seeing the hoops the peacetime jocks had to jump through during the ORI, I was starting to have second thoughts. Flying the F-4 was a real kick, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay the price of doing it as a full-time squadron jock. In some respects, I suppose I was like the musician who wanted to play in Carnegie Hall, but wasn’t willing to practice his instrument.
But I did have what I considered a brilliant idea. I now had a fairly significant amount of IP time, and also had over the magic 500 hours of F-4 time, so theoretically it would be possible for me to get an assignment as an F-4 Instructor Pilot in one of the Replacement Training Units back in the States. The RTUs were where pilots went to become qualified in a new aircraft, and the IPs took them through every phase of training, just as Speedbrake had taken me through my training when I had attended the RTU at Homestead Air Force Base, back in 1971.
The really great thing about RTU duty was the lifestyle. There would be no ORIs, no deployments, no mandatory cross-country flights, and no weekend flying. It would be a very cool way to fly the F-4, especially for someone who wanted to be home every night. In other words, it would be perfect for me.
The drawback, of course, was that as an IP I wouldn’t be doing a whole lot of stick-and-rudder flying, I’d be riding in the back seat, instructing. It was no secret that IPs got very little stick time, maybe one or two flights in the front seat every month. But, still, I enjoyed instructing, I was good at it, and I would get back into the Phantom on a full-time basis.
So, getting an IP slot at an RTU became my goal. I didn’t even have a preference for which RTU I wanted for an assignment. It could be Homestead Air Force Base, in Florida, McDill Air Force Base, also in Florida, or Luke Air Force Base, in Arizona. I’d be happy with any one of those.
Naturally, I discussed the idea with Sam, and she was more than receptive to the idea.
“Ham,” she said excitedly, “it would be so great if you were home every night. And you’ll be flying the F-4 full-time. I think it’s a great idea.”
So, we were sold on the idea. Now it was time to get the Air Force sold also. I made an appointment to see Colonel McNeil, the new DO. Colonel Wilson had DEROSed at the end of December, and Colonel McNeil had just arrived. As I was planning what I wanted to say to him, I felt like an idiot for not starting this process sooner, while Colonel Wilson was still on base. He had seen me in operation for almost three years, and would have really gone to bat for me. As far as Colonel McNeil was concerned, I was just one of the staff officers he was in the process of getting to know, and his support might be a lot less enthusiastic than Colonel Wilson’s. I entered his office with trepidation.
“Captain Hancock reporting, sir,” I said, as I saluted.
Colonel McNeil returned my salute and motioned for me to sit on the couch, where he joined me.
“What can I help you with, Ham?”
This was a good sign. He knew my name, and he wanted to help me.
“Sir, I’m due to rotate back to the States soon, and I requested an F-4 RTU IP assignment on my Form 90. I was hoping you could assist me in the assignment process.”
The Form 90, also called the “Dream Sheet”, was the Air Force Assignment Preference Form, the vehicle used to tell the Air Force your assignment requests. Although there were spaces on the form for three assignments, I only entered one: F-4 Instructor Pilot.
“Ham, I know you’ve been doing a great job here in O&T, and I’d like to help you. But I think you should know that Tactical Air Command won’t assign anyone to IP duty unless he’s Combat Ready. As an Attached Pilot you only maintain Basic Qual status.”
Basic Qualification status meant simply flying for proficiency, without maintaining any degree of weapons qualification, such as the tasks the jocks performed on the ORI.
“Sir, I think I could get Combat Ready in a heartbeat. I may only have 500 hours in the F-4, but it was all combat. I ended up with 100 missions over the North,” I said proudly, “and it all came back pretty quickly when I was attacking Koh Tang,” I added.
Colonel McNeil looked shocked.
“How could I have not known this? I assumed you were assigned here as a staff officer without any operational F-4 experience, and that’s why you’ve been flying attached. And I never heard anything about your participation in the Mayaguez rescue. So much for assuming. How come you’re not in one of the squadrons?”
Lieutenant Colonel Milner had already rotated back to the States, and I had nothing to lose now by being honest.
“Sir, it’s a long story, but basically Lieutenant Colonel Milner took a disliking to me and kicked me out of the squadron because
I wouldn’t accompany him to the whorehouses in CCK. He pretty much ran the squadron because Cocktail Collins was never around. After he sent me to O&T, he refused to allow me to fly as an attached pilot. It was only after Lieutenant Colonel Scoville took over the squadron that I was allowed to fly as an attached F-4 pilot.”
The Colonel let out a whistle.
“Milner. That son of a bitch. We were deployed to Libya together a long time ago, in F-100s, when he was a Lieutenant and I was a Captain. He was the same way then.” He paused, deep in thought.
“When was the last time you were Combat Ready?”
“March 15th, 1973, my champagne flight at Ubon,” I answered. I didn’t need to check my flight records. The date was seared into my memory.
Colonel McNeil rose from the couch, picked up his phone, and dialed a number from memory.
“This is Colonel McNeil. I need to speak to Colonel Scoville.”
Actually, Scooter was a Lieutenant Colonel, which was sometimes referred to as a “telephone Colonel,” since it was easier to simply say “Colonel” when asking for a Lieutenant Colonel on the phone.
“Hi Scooter, it’s Ryan. I’d like you to check something out for me.” He paused, listening. “What’s it going to take to get Captain Hancock up to Combat Ready status?” He paused again. “Okay, thanks.”
He hung up the phone and returned to the couch.
“Ham, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what the answer is right now, but I’m going to find out. It really pisses me off that Milner…” He was interrupted by the phone. He sprang up and got it on the second ring.
“McNeil.” He retrieved a pen and started taking notes on his steno pad. “Okay, Scooter. Thanks for the quick work. Goodbye.”
He walked back to the couch, staring at the notes he had just taken. He put the pad down and started counting on his fingers, as though he was searching for some way to make the numbers work out.
“When is your DEROS?”
“The middle of next month. March 17th.”
“Shit!” he muttered, looking at his notes, “shit, shit shit.”
He turned to face me squarely.
“Ham, I’m not saying this is going to be hopeless, but it’s going to be tough. You don’t have enough time left here to get Combat Ready. It normally takes two months, and the closest they could shave it is six weeks. There’s just not enough time. I’m going to make some calls to MPC and see if they can waive the Combat Ready requirement. I should know something in a day or two.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I really appreciate your help.”
52
January 13, 1976
I had been fidgeting all weekend, waiting to see if Colonel McNeil had received any information. Then, on Monday, there was still no word. I didn’t want to be a bother to Colonel McNeil, but I resolved to pay him a visit if I didn’t hear anything by Close of Business on this day. I didn’t need to wait until Close of Business.
At 0930 Amy called me in my office and said that the DO wanted to see me. I anxiously entered his office.
“Have a seat, Ham,” he said, gesturing toward the couch. He seated himself on the opposite armrest and faced me.
“Ham, I talked to General Briggs at MPC,” he began. “I’ve known him for a long time. We flew in the same squadron when we were both Captains during Rolling Thunder in 1965. One of us,” he gave a wry smile, “seemed to do pretty well in his career.”
“He personally looked at your file. You have a very impressive record. You’re going to have a successful career. A very successful career. But…” he paused, “you don’t have the prerequisites to be an RTU Instructor in the F-4. Now that the war is over, the RTUs are flooded with Combat Ready jocks with 1000-plus hours in the F-4. Even with your Air Force Cross, there was no way he could get you that assignment.”
The Colonel looked as dejected as I felt.
“The best he could do,” he continued, “was to get you an assignment as an RTU instructor in the O-2, at Patrick Air Force Base.”
I was speechless. This would be the second time in my career that I’d lost a fighter assignment and ended up flying the O-2. Flying the O-2 in combat was one thing, instructing in it during peacetime was going to be totally different.
Then again, it would be RTU duty, which would provide the lifestyle and stability I wanted. And Patrick Air Force Base, on the east coast of central Florida, was reportedly a great assignment.
I immediately thought back to a conversation I’d had with Beans Beansley, a Lieutenant on his first flying tour of duty in one of the F-4 squadrons. He had just received a follow-on assignment as an O-2 pilot and was really disappointed. When he’d found out I had flown O-2s, he sought me out to get information.
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” I had told him. “There’s probably no job in the Air Force where a Lieutenant has so much responsibility. It’s a great career-broadening opportunity.”
So, when it happened to Beans, it was career-broadening. When it was happening to me, all I could think was that I was, once again, being fucked.
“Sir,” I said to Colonel McNeil, “I really appreciate your taking the time to help me. I’ll be honest, I put in my time flying the O-2 already, and I’d had my heart set on an F-4 RTU assignment. But I can promise you I’ll do my best at Patrick. And once again, thank you for making the calls.”
“You’re welcome. I know you’ll do great at Patrick, Ham.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I gave a wan smile and left the office.
53
January 13, 1976
I went back to my office and mindlessly shuffled through the papers on my desk. All of the projects could wait. I needed to get away from the office and get some fresh air. And I needed to talk to Sam.
I drove the short distance to our on-base house, and went in through the kitchen door. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table with Nancy, Larry’s wife. They stopped their conversation in mid-sentence when I entered. Johnny was sitting in a corner, playing with some alphabet blocks. When he saw me he quickly rose, ran up to me, and wrapped his arms around my leg.
“Daddy,” he smiled. I picked him up, gave him a kiss on his cheek and tousled his hair.
“Ham,” Sam said, “is everything okay? What are you doing home so early?”
“Oh, I thought it would be nice to have lunch at home today,” I replied.
Nancy knew how to take a hint.
“Sam, I need to be getting back to my laundry,” Nancy said, “I’ll see you later. Nice seeing you, Ham.”
“Bye bye,” Sam said. As the door closed behind Nancy, Sam looked at me.
“Honey, it’s not even ten o’clock yet. It’s nowhere near lunch time. What’s going on?”
“I just got my assignment,” I sighed, “and I don’t know if it’s a good deal or a bad one.”
54
March 15, 1976
At the end of an assignment, when an officer is reassigned, his supervisor completes an OER for his record. Ron had asked me for information to put into my OER. Actually, he asked me to write the narrative myself. I was fine with that. I was pretty good at writing, and Ron was an unknown quantity.
The dirty little secret of Air Force OERs was that it wasn’t the best officers that got promoted, it was the officers with the best-written, and endorsed, OERs. If the supervisor writing the OER was not a good word-smith, the officer being rated would be totally screwed. His career would grind to a halt through no fault of his own. So the chance to write my own OER gave me a degree of control I otherwise wouldn’t have had.
And I had a lot of great things to put in my OER. I had done an excellent job managing the training of two fighter squadrons and the Suggestion Program. I had served as an IP in a mission support aircraft. I had done a great job, even though I wasn’t Combat Ready, in the Koh Tang operation. I had completed all my eligible PME and my Master’s Degree on my own time. And, of course, I had done a great job with Smoothflow.
; Getting an endorsement from a four-star General was going to be the icing on the cake. If I could get a below-the-zone promotion to Major, my career was really on the trajectory I had envisioned when I graduated from the Academy. The assignment to Patrick was a little hiccup, but I would start working on trying to get an assignment as an Academic Instructor at the Air Force Academy as soon as I pinned on Major. As a below-the-zone Major, that shouldn’t be too hard. I could follow that with another operational flying assignment, and then perhaps another staff job, this time at a major command, such as Tactical Air Command.
Yes, it looked like I had developed a good flight plan for my career.
55
March 22, 1976
Two days before my DEROS, I was in the morning staff meeting. Colonel McNeil had started a very nice, laudatory comment about my service at Kadena. Just as he was about to discuss Smoothflow, a Lieutenant Colonel rushed into the room and handed Colonel McNeil a teletype message. The Colonel stopped in mid-sentence and concentrated on the message.
“Gentlemen,” he intoned, “there’s been a terrible accident. General McKenzie’s T-39 has crashed in Thailand.” He paused and wiped his eyes, “His wife was with him on his farewell tour of Southeast Asia. There apparently was a problem stopping the aircraft on the runway, and it went off the end.” He glanced down at the message again. “There is a steep drop-off at the end of the runway, and the aircraft exploded upon impact. There were no survivors.”
I could immediately envision how this happened. The brakes are the weak system on the T-39. Only one pilot can apply the brakes at a time. There is a shuttle valve that allows hydraulic pressure to go to the brake system from either the pilot’s brake pedals or from the copilot’s, and if both pilots try to apply the brakes at the same time, the shuttle valve will be stuck in the middle, and there will be no hydraulic pressure going to the brake system. Undoubtedly, with the General in the left seat, there was an IP in the right seat, and at some point he attempted to step on the brakes at the same time as the General. And the airplane couldn’t stop.