Those were some of my best days in the Air Force; I just didn't realize it at the time.
Edward B. Dixon
Vero Beach, Florida
My Tiksi Run
In 1960, pilots Dick Leavitt, Jim Bedford, John McElveen and I with our navigator Charlie Brown, were chosen for a special mission. Our U-2s were modified with a 15 nautical mile notch under the viewfinder handle. We each flew a practice mission along the Gulf Coast of Texas maintaining 15 nautical miles off the coast with the help of the viewfinder notch.
In February we TDY'd to Operating Location 5 at Eielson AFB near Fairbanks, Alaska. Joe Jackson was our Detachment Commander. There were also 30 very important support crew members who took part in the mission. The mission was to fly 15 nautical miles off the coast of USSR to Petropavlovsk on the south to Tiksi Air Base on the North Coast.
The missions were divided into about eight segments. Each end mission was 3,650 nautical miles, which was a stretch for sure. The U-2 Handbook said it could fly 4,000 nautical miles to air flameout. In the Arctic, the temperature at U-2 altitude is about 20 degrees warmer than over the US. The U-2 would level off about 2,000 feet lower and use more fuel. After each of us had flown a mission, we were promoted to Spot Major. We were in “high cotton” because Dick Leavitt was already a Spot Major.
In the Arctic, the ocean was frozen and covered with snow. We observed the ocean had a light gray tinge probably due to the salt content of the water. The terrain had only grass, no trees. Three rivers flowed north out of the USSR and they were fresh water, no gray tinge. Just where was the coast?
Dick Leavitt was chosen to fly the Tiksi mission. Unfortunately, he became disoriented and over flew Soviet territory; luckily he was not spotted by the Soviets. We ceased flying special missions off the coast of the USSR while the fellows in the corner office thought about it. We didn't seem to have cause for an international incident. Meanwhile, we flew nuclear debris collection missions over the Pacific Ocean looking for a reported Soviet nuclear bomb detonation residue at high altitudes. Then word came down that we were going to resume flying special missions and now it was my turn to try for Tiksi.
I knew #953 to be a great, reliable bird. It was well trimmed, would fly straight and had a fine autopilot and Mach sensor. I asked our commander, Joe Jackson, if I could use it and he readily agreed.
The weather was satisfactory so the mission was on. I took off at 0800 and coasted over Wainwright Beacon at 62,000 feet altitude. The weather was clear with unlimited visibility. My celestial lines of position were at an angle to my flight path. So, I had neither a speed line nor flight line information.
I recognized a landmark about an hour from Wainwright near Fairbanks, Alaska. The frozen ocean was criss-crossed with many vehicle trails. My aircraft shadow was visible in a circle halo of ice crystals below me to the right. I patted old #953 on the dash and told her that she was doing a great job.
On my fourth celestial shot I looked up and saw land. I was flying faster than planned; therefore, correcting to the left made me coast in too soon. I turned to the right, turned on my camera and headed for the 28-nautical mile channel between the Soviet mainland and the New Siberian Islands. I could see the Tiksi Bay ahead. The camera gently rocked the aircraft as it went through its repositioning cycle.
I flew west past the bay at Tiksi, turned 90 degrees left so it was on my right. I passed Tiksi Airfield, waited for two more cycles of the camera. With the autopilot off, I turned 180 degrees to the left, as steeply as I dared to get out of there. I exited through the channel between the islands and headed for home.
As I entered the Alaskan ADIZ (Air Defense Identification Zone), I called Wainwright and gave them my estimated time of arrival. I was ahead of schedule by about 20 minutes. They gave me a challenge and asked me to fly the maneuver code. The Maneuver Code is in a numbered sealed envelope that each pilot picks up at Operations when the flight plan is filed. I reported that I was light on fuel and asked to read them the code. They concurred. Flying the code would have used up an additional 5 minutes of fuel. Since I had been airborne for seven hours, I'm glad they felt sympathetic.
As I neared Eielson, I began to let down and requested an approach time. Control gave me a 20-minute approach time delay. The low fuel level light came on and I had 40 gallons remaining. I put old #953 in gust control. It reduced wing loading by raising the flaps a few degrees and was a safeguard in turbulent air. I cancelled my Instrument Flight Rules clearance and spiraled down over the runway under visual and landed. On the runway as the crew installed the pogos, I had 22 gallons remaining of the 1,335 I had started with. Now that is what I call cutting it close! Old #953 got another pat on the dash.
Roger Herman
Fort Worth, Texas
Trouble Over the Arctic
One of the 4080th SRW's major U-2 projects of the early days was completed by 1960. Project Crow Flight, a High Altitude Sampling Program (HASP) for the Armed Forces Special Weapons Project (AFSWP), had done its job of providing the Agency with a background of radiation levels at altitudes from 40,000 feet to the U-2’s maximum altitude. The two-year project of long north-south flights from Plattsburg AFB, New York, Ramey AFB, Puerto Rico and Ezeisa International Airport, Argentina had shown a decline in radiation during that period. Apparently, it was due to the voluntary test ban then in effect.
Our sampling program was reduced to two six-week projects each year from three locations. This reduced our TDYs considerably and the flights were shorter. One of the locations was Eielson AFB, just outside Fairbanks, Alaska. I was scheduled for the Fall deployment in 1961. It was projected to last from September to November, not a bad time to be in Alaska.
As often happens in the military, we listen for words like “Standby for change!” I returned home from a shopping trip with my wife on Saturday of Labor Day weekend at Laughlin AFB. I received a call from the Command Post directing me to “Pack up, we're moving out.” The Russians had broken the Test Ban Agreement. Three of the pilots were flown to Palmdale Airport in California to pick up newly modified U-2s to fly to Eielson AFB. Our easy six-weeks deployment was now an indefinite deployment. The Russians were testing on Novaya Zemlya, an island in the Arctic Ocean just north of Siberia. AFSWP was going to have us sampling all over the area – north, west, south of Alaska and even long flights straight across Canada.
During this testing period, the Russians announced they would detonate a 100-megaton device. They did detonate a large device. It was estimated to be only in the 50-megaton range, but still a large explosion. The detonation occurred late at night, Alaska Time. I went to the weather station for a briefing the next morning, and the meteorologists indicated they had observed a slight rise in atmospheric pressure. It spread across the Arctic and had resulted in a rise in pressure at Eielson.
At the end of October, with days becoming shorter and colder, AFSWP found a favorite route that we flew almost daily. We proceeded northeast from Eielson to a point on the northwest Canadian coast, and then almost due north to the north coast of Banks Island. We descended to 40,000 feet and flew northeast to Ellesmere Island, a point approximately 250 miles north of Thule, Greenland. We reversed course and returned to Banks Island, still at 40,000 feet. For our return to Eielson, we climbed back to normal cruise altitude. I don't know why the “higher ups” picked islands to overfly since we were flying in pitch dark and couldn't see them anyway. This route went directly over the magnetic North Pole and, required Grid Navigation. We didn't follow the SAC procedure used by the bomber crews. We neared the magnetic pole and the aircraft went into a slight bank to hold heading due to rapid changes in variation. Rather than upset the gyro, we went to free run on the slaved gyrocompass and used that heading as our reference. It was surprising how little precession we experienced when we didn't mess with the gyro. The sun was now setting around 3:30 p.m.. Our takeoffs were planned around 7:00 a.m. so we could land in daylight and tail in on the ice-covered runways and taxiways. We relied on th
e sextant for navigation, so at the start we hoped for a good shot of a well-known body. The sun would make a very brief appearance in the southeast as we flew to the northeast. The navigators computed a celestial shot for us. Most notably, the sun was normally around a minus six degrees elevation for a few moments before disappearing again.
On my day of fun, I proceeded to the descent point. I leveled at 40,000 feet and encountered one of the J-57 engine's quirks. It was not unusual to encounter those quirks sometimes on maintenance test flights. We were required to level off for a short period at 40,000 feet to run a few checks, and continue the climb to max altitude. We added power for the continued climb as the engine would chug or compressor stall. It might take several tries to get it through that range. Since we were going to max power, once we got it through that range, we could continue flying with no further problems. In my experience flying over the Arctic, I wasn't going to max power. I needed an intermediate power setting for cruise at 40,000 feet. I could ease it through the stall range but the power at that point was too high for my cruise at 40,000 feet. Four or five times I tried to ease it back to my cruise power setting, and each time it would revert to chugging. I couldn't complete the assigned mission at a non-chug power setting, in pitch dark and with surface temperatures of minus 55 degrees. I didn't feel this was the time or place to fool with a balky engine.
The mission was aborted. I reversed course and started a climb back to normal cruise altitude. Although I couldn't complete the assigned mission, everything was now pretty well under control. I no longer had celestial for grid navigation; I merely had to fly a reverse course on my free-run gyro. Within 20 to 30 minutes, I should pick up a radio beacon on the north coast of Canada.
Now the fun started! Once established in the climb and back on course, I made a call to the SAC Command Post at Eielson asking them to advise our detachment of my situation. Everything was under control; I gave a rough estimated time of my arrival back at Eielson. If I had known what was about to happen, I would have claimed radio reception problems.
The 15th Air Force Command Post at March AFB, Riverside, California heard my call to Eielson. Since Eielson is under their command, 15th AF wanted to get into the act. Bombers must have a two- or three-page emergency checklist to report any unusual situation. The Command Post probably has to log all this information just as a CYA (Cover Your Ass) procedure. So 15th Air Force Command Post started asking me questions. For example: How many crewmembers were aboard and where were they located; how much fuel and where was it located; etc, etc? When 15th finished, the Command Post at Laughlin AFB back in Texas started calling. The 15th AF Command Post then told Laughlin to get off the radio because they (15th AF) had an emergency in progress. Laughlin, being part of 2nd AF and not familiar to 15th AF controllers, advised 15th AF that the aircraft in question belonged to 2nd AF and by golly, they would talk to it. Sometimes, people on the ground can be a bigger problem than the airborne problem.
I reported another successful conclusion to a fun day in the U-2. We finally packed up and went home prior to Thanksgiving. The Russians took a break for the Winter. The next year, as the Russians resumed testing, AFSWP decided to fly directly to the North Pole; there was nothing to navigate by on the surface. But that was another year and another crew.
U-2 Entry Into Vietnam
The 4080th SRW became involved in Vietnam operations quite suddenly in February 1964. Much like our entry in the Cuban Missile Crisis, the “Powers That Be” decided it was time for the military to become involved in the reconnaissance of Southeast Asia (SEA). You could say that we stole this mission from the Agency (CIA) just as we had done with the Cuban operations a year and a half earlier.
This operation started for me as my involvement in the Cuban operation had begun in 1962 from Laughlin AFB. Now we were comfortably situated at Davis Monthan AFB, Tucson, Arizona. I was scheduled for a Monday night celestial training mission. I received my weather briefing and presented my clearance to the dispatcher at Base Operations. He informed me that my training mission had been cancelled and I was advised to return to the Squadron.
The Squadron people were somewhat evasive, but they told me to go home on crew rest. They told me I would be called when it was time for briefing, between 12:00 midnight and 1:00 a.m.. I was told to pack for an indefinite stay in a tropical climate.
The plan was to deploy three U-2s to Clark AB, Philippines and become operational in minimum time. The plan was for three aircraft to be ferried to Hickam AFB, Hawaii. The aircraft were to be refueled and regenerated and ferried on to Clark with inflight refueling over Wake Island. Flight time from Hawaii to Clark was approximately 13½ hours. Two KC-135s supported the group for logistics and IFR (Instrument Flight Rules). The first support aircraft departed Davis Monthan early. They were to be in Hawaii for the arrival of the U-2s. This allowed the pilots for the second leg to crew rest en route prior to their demanding air-refueling leg. Pilots aboard the first support aircraft were Steve Heyser and Jerry McIlmoyle; C. B. Stratton would fly the second leg. Jim Qualls, our Detachment Operations Officer, flew the first operational mission the morning after his arrival at Clark.
Early on the morning of Tuesday, February 14, 1964, I departed Davis-Monthan en route to Hawaii; Jim Rogers and Bob Spencer followed. We flew three U-2Es (J-57 powered, IFR capable). Before daylight I crossed the Southern California Coast; it was a very uneventful, if somewhat boring, flight to Hawaii. Shortly after sunup, as I was descending towards Hawaii and within radio range, I was contacted by the Hickam Command Post. They reported that the first support aircraft had encountered extreme headwinds and would be 50 minutes behind me. The normal light winds at our altitude allowed the three U-2Es to pass the KC-135 en route to Hickam. We spent quite some time circling the area and getting an early morning aerial tour of the Islands.
We finally landed, and everybody hit the ground running. All three aircraft were in good shape. The three of us pilots completed our debriefing, and we became Mobile Control Officers for the continuation leg. The first KC-135 spent minimum ground time before departing for Clark. Jim Qualls again left with the first support aircraft. It was time for the “Ball Buster” U-2 flights.
Our timing was critical for the second support aircraft because we had to do some of the refueling over Wake Island. The second KC-135 was readied and parked at the end of the runway, with engines running. I was Mobile Control Officer for C. B. Stratton in the last U-2 to depart. The minute Stratton was airborne, a jeep rushed me to the crew ladder of the KC-135. The aircraft began moving towards takeoff position before I was strapped in my seat.
I watched the inflight refueling of the U-2s over the KC-135 boom operator's shoulder. I didn't envy those three guys—the U-2 pilot, the KC-135 pilot and the boom operator. Wake Island was about one-third of the way to Clark. The U-2 pilots displayed immense stamina and deserved a lot of admiration for what they accomplished. They were awarded a well-deserved Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) for their flight.
The second KC-135 had to stop at Andersen AFB, Guam to refuel before proceeding to Clark. The reason was two-fold—there was a delay in the refueling area; some of the KC-135’s fuel tanks were used for the special fuel for the U-2s. A little trivia—we missed Ash Wednesday. We departed Tucson early on Shrove Tuesday, landed and departed Hawaii before noon on Tuesday. En route to Guam we crossed the International Date Line putting us into Ash Wednesday. We spent a few hours on the ground to refuel at Andersen late in the evening before departing for Clark where we arrived early on Thursday morning.
Most of us were up late after arrival at Clark. Those of us not recovering from an exhausting U-2 flight were present for the launch of our first operational mission over Vietnam flown by Jim Qualls. The target was a small inlet in the southern part of North Vietnam (NVM). We were searching for a NVM gunboat. This was a prelude to the infamous Gulf of Tonkin Incident. Jim encountered solid cloud cover over the entire area and was unable to do any filming. I flew the second m
ission on Friday, same target, same result. Jim Rogers flew the third mission. His target was the same, but he was directed to remain in the area. Rogers waited and waited for any breaks in cloud cover; still no luck.
Things started falling apart. Jim returned and just after lunch, a number of us decided to hit the golf course. It was a warm, bright sunny day, and we needed a way to kill some time. While on the golf course, a clubhouse employee caught up with our group and told Steve Heyser he had a phone call. Colonel DesPortes was en route to Guam and we were to go to Guam, too. The US Embassy said we didn't have diplomatic clearance to bring U-2s into the Philippines. For years the Agency had operated their U-2s from the US Naval Air Station just west of Clark. The Agency had a large presence in the Embassy and it sounded like retaliation for the Air Force taking over one of their missions. Whatever!
We had to move the airplanes immediately. We left Clark on February 18, 1964 and relocated to Andersen Air Base, Guam. Jim Rogers, Bob Spencer and I ferried the U-2s to Guam after a late departure from Clark. I wasn't feeling well after golfing so long. My pressure suit seal across the back of my neck and the helmet frame across my forehead were uncomfortable. That late at night, there were no radio stations broadcasting and the only one I could pick up was Voice of America. The broadcast was in a foreign language, but they did have music. Every 15 minutes they would play a few bars of Columbia, The Gem of The Ocean. The music and a celestial shot every 30 minutes were the only things to break the monotony. Flying against the clock, we arrived in Guam early on February 19. There we cooled our heels until March 4.
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 40