Chapter 22
(One
year of Air Force basic pilot training at Vance Air Force Base, Enid, Oklahoma
from early April 1970 to late March 1971)
I check in at Vance about 3 days before I’m required to check in. So my
official leave (with pay) stops. I have no military work during the next 3
days, nor were they subtracted from the 30 days of leave I’m allowed per year.
That helps.
After
arriving at Vance at night, the following morning I find the officers’ chow
hall a short walk from my BOQ and starting eating my meals there. I discover
that Air Force chow is not as “manly” as the Marine chow at Quantico. Also, I’m
not allowed to eat an unlimited amount. This day I relax, put my personal
things in order inside my suite (relishing such “luxurious” quarters in which
to dwell in privacy), and go to the BX (base store) to see what is available to
buy.
I
walk around in the nearby area to acquaint myself with this new place and watch
the airplanes take off and land as flight training is going on full scale for
the classes ahead of me. Watching small straight-wing 2 jet engine T-37s taxi
in and out, that plane’s loud high-pitched engine noise is most annoying. I
wonder how much of my precious God-given hearing I lost to that plane’s
destructive noise. The T-37s use the runway nearest to the “inhabited”
(built-up) side of the base where I now stand watching them.
Parallel
to that runway and just past it is the runway for the sleek, fast supersonic;
coke-bottle shaped, impressive T-38 I will train in during my last 6 months
here. I crane my neck to watch one after another T-38 overhead fly down “initial”
1500 feet above the runway at a fast speed of 300 knots, break mid-way down the
runway (1500 feet above the runway) by banking 60 degrees, pulling 2 Gs to
maintain level flight and reducing power to kill off air speed while turning
180 degrees into the opposite direction to fly downwind while lowering
landing gear and flaps, then make another 180 degree descending turn on crosswind
to line up on the runway on final approach to land at a speed of
about 150 knots. I was intimidated.
“With
such a long sentence as that, I guess you would be intimidated.”
‘Hush,
please.’
Thus
far, I have used the brains with which God had blessed me to somewhat excel in
my classroom studies since I began them at the age of 6. I have used the
abundant physical strength with which God had blessed me to excel in rigorous
physical training in the Army and Marines. I consider that I had been naturally endowed to do
well in those 2 areas and thus was enabled to arrive at this high plateau of
starting pilot training. Thank Thee, my Dear Lord, for bringing me thus far.
Our
Creator God ordained that during our life on earth we use our natural God-given
mental and physical abilities as we trod this sod. But Almighty God did not ordain that we imitate
the way of an eagle in the air by flying and soaring high in the sky,
especially at supersonic speeds. This day, before I even start flight
training, watching the high speed of that T-38 during its landing phase
(typically the most difficult phase of basic flying) causes me to wonder if I
have the physical and mental dexterity (finesse) to think fast enough and to
act and react fast enough correctly with minute precision
movements to land a supersonic T-38.
It
sure is different from riding a horse, plowing a field with a horse or driving
a team of horses pulling a wagon. (Don’t forget that is how I started out in
life.) Such natural God-ordained “moving” at man and animal’s speed is
laid-back and relaxed, not requiring the constant, speedy mental calculations,
quick reactions and precise, correct movements that are required
to pilot a supersonic airplane, especially to bring it back to earth in
a safe landing.
Thus
far, you have read of 7 military buddies of mine getting killed while doing
military duty. Enemy soldiers in Viet Nam killed the first 3 young men on the
list, as they fought on the ground in the Marine infantry. The remaining 4
buddies so far on the list become fellow pilots who will die when their planes
crash. In this chapter, I will add 3 more names to that list, 3 pilots I meet
here at Vance who later die piloting airplanes. I’ll add a few more names
before this true story ends.
Each
time I pilot a military airplane; I’m fighting for my life (similar to being in
war) by striving to be the best pilot in the sky (with a main goal of keeping
myself, and any other soul in my aircraft, alive). I give God the glory for
keeping me safe during that time and I can now tell you of it in my old age.
Several pilot and navigator buddies and acquaintances died in plane crashes
long before old age, some were only about one-third of my present age when one
small mistake or aircraft malfunction caused their plane to crash, instantly
killing them.
Upon
starting pilot training here at Vance in early April 1970, I start receiving
military hazardous duty pay because a military pilot’s duty is classified as
hazardous. At this time, that extra pay is $110 per month. It’s the same
amount as combat pay. My first 3 buddies on the KIA list started
receiving that amount of combat pay when they arrived in Viet Nam to fight in
the ground war. I receive the very same amount just for fighting to stay alive
while piloting a military airplane in a peacetime setting. About 12 aviation
buddies and acquaintances of mine lose in that battle for survival, dying in
plane crashes in a peacetime setting. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus,
for keeping me safe and alive!
So
“flight pay” is my next pay raise, and a large one compared to the 5% or
so COLA raise back about last November. $110 more per month. I get paid twice a
month. After deductions for taxes and such, each paycheck every 15 days now
contains over $40 more, a big help to becoming more
financially sound.
The
military pays for my travel from Quantico to Vance AFB, calculated by the mile.
At this time, each mile traveled by car pays just over 20 cents per mile (I
think). That might sound very cheap to you, but at that time gasoline cost
about 33 cents a gallon. I receive that “travel pay” soon after arriving at
Vance. Likely it was about $200, much more than the cost of gas for that
distance. It greatly helps my thin wallet.
On
arriving at Vance Air Force Base, I enter the world of noisy military jet
aircraft to live with that most unpleasant sound until March 1975. It’s
miserable enough to have to endure it all day during working hours. But
mechanics here at Vance work on these jet engines at night, tuning and testing
their output and such, not all that far from my quarters where that loud noise
keeps me awake in the middle of the night as I try to get my needed sleep.
“Welcome
to such worldly glory, farm boy!”
During
the following 3 days or so, all other pilot trainees in my class arrive and we
launch into pilot training. I think there are about 60 men in this class,
divided into 2 sections of about 30 men each. There are 2 Iranians, one in each
section. (Search 1970 history to see the U.S. and Russia in a cold war struggle
to obtain favor with mid-east nations, each of the 2 great powers “aiding”
these small Mid-east nations in various ways. One of the many things the U.S.
did was to train military pilots for Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia,
etc.)
There
are 4 of us Marines from my class at Quantico in my class here at Vance, 2 of
us in each section. I’m glad to see their 3 familiar faces again now, a month
after we parted at Quantico. There are a total of 14 or so Marine officers in
pilot training here at Vance, the most senior being a captain. He soon calls a
meeting of all us Marines (after hours) for us 4 new men to get acquainted with
all our fellow Marines already here.
Aside
from the 2 Iranians and us 4 Marines, all other student pilots in my class here
are Air Force officers; mostly 2nd lieutenants but two were
captains.
For
the 1st time during my military active duty, I’m required to go to
the phone company, obtain my own telephone to be installed in my living
quarters on base in my name, and pay the monthly phone bills myself. The Air
Force requires that so I can be called “at home” anytime. (There were no
cell phones back in those ancient days.)
Pilot
training starts with a welcoming “pep rally type” speech by the enthusiastic
base commander, Colonel King. He’s a pilot of course. Next is orientation
instructions. Classes pertaining to flying start immediately. We are issued the
gear pilots wear and use. It felt great to get a pilot’s helmet and oxygen
mask.
All
60 (or so) trainees in my class are given a pilot’s medical physical exam by an
Air Force flight surgeon (doctor) at Vance’s medical facility. During it, as
soon as I meet the doc after much “processing” by lower staff, I plainly tell
him that most recently I had a thorough pilot’s physical at Quantico and passed
it, inferring that I didn’t need another physical exam just a few weeks later.
(Military pilots are required to take a medical physical checkup once every 12
months.)
That
Air Force doc immediately took on a most serious (somewhat offended) attitude
toward what I said and took time to clearly explain to me that Air Force
doctors properly give
physicals to pilots-to-be, inferring that Navy doctors likely don’t do it
properly. (Reader, please don’t forget his lecture. Because 2 chapters
later, I’ll relate to you the flip side of that doc’s proud speech; a proud Navy
doc’s speech to me.)
In
the first classes of piloting instruction, we are taught everything we need to know
about a Cessna 172 single engine propeller airplane because that simple
airplane is the first bird we learn to pilot (sort of like the diaper stage of
military jet pilot training).
“Lt.
Richard, pilots of small airplanes will be offended by that statement.”
‘Well,
let them fly fast, highly maneuverable military jets for 5 years and then
reassess that statement. If you can’t fly with the big birds…stay in the
nest.’
Almost immediately after classes start, we start flying the Cessna 172. It will be over 2 weeks before we each start flying it solo. And by then, all our instructions pertaining to its engine, flight characteristics and capabilities, necessary emergency procedures, etc. will be finished. Each day we fly the Cessna propeller plane; we board a bus on the Air Force base and ride it across the south edge of Enid to the small Enid municipal airport out past the opposite side of the city. There, civilian pilot instructors teach us to fly this prop plane. All things considered, it is best for the Air Force to contract a civilian company to train us in this airplane. Thus, they do so.
But
an Air Force major commands this training. He is in our “ready room” in our
building at the airport each time we are bussed out here to fly. He’s in charge
of it all and quite vocal. He’s a great guy. I don’t recall his name. I’ll call
him Major “Pug” ⑧ because “Pug” is our call sign when flying this Cessna (a weak
sounding call sign for a small plane). “Pug Zero Eight requesting landing
conditions.”
Major
“Pug” is a colorful officer, in speech and such. We all quickly come to like
him. Tho he’s quite strict with us, it’s for our good. So we respect him for
his severity also. He appears to be about 50 years old. So it’s almost time for
him to retire. We fly the Cessna under Major “Pug” about 5 weeks.
When
we finish that short initial stage of flight training, the civilian instructor
pilots and student pilots celebrate together with a “beer blast” (a drinking
party). I don’t go because attendance is optional. My classmates later said
that Major “Pug” got sentimental at the party. “You might think I don’t like
you because I’m hard on you in training. Actually, I’m just a sentimental old
man.” He spoke such to them in sincerity. He enjoyed training young green
pilots. We all liked Major “Pug”.
Not
long after we each finish flying our 30 hours in the Cessna and move on to the
T-37 jet, the Air Force sends Major “Pug” to Viet Nam. There he is soon killed
when the C-47 he was piloting crashed. We didn’t get any details of the cause
of the crash. I do not know if enemy fire or bad weather or mechanical failure
or pilot error or some combination of the above caused his plane to crash. All
of the few souls on board his C-47 died in that crash.
My
class here at Vance will be flying the supersonic T-38 (soon to graduate from
Vance) when we hear that Major “Pug” got killed that way in Nam. We are
saddened by the news and think back on the times with him out at the municipal
airport where we began our pilot careers flying that little “Pug” puddle jumper
of an airplane. Being the commander of T-41 training, Major “Pug” was the
very first pilot to “command” me during my pilot training. And about 9
months after I first met him on these peaceful Oklahoma plains, I get news that
he died a violet death when his plane crashed in far away Viet Nam.
From
now on, such sad news (of another pilot friend or acquaintance) will
periodically reach my ears. Each time, it’s a solemn reminder that, as a
military pilot I constantly stare death in the face, and that at any time I’m
manning those controls, violent death might be only a split second
away.
I’m
plenty aware of that fatal danger from the first time I take a flying lesson in
the Cessna 172. So to the best of my capabilities I apply myself to piloting,
the first and foremost motivating factor being survival.
Flight time for each lesson is typically just over an hour. I think we solo out
after 12 hours of flight time (10 sessions or so). So during those first 12 flying
hours, take off and landing practice is in focus. We do many touch and go
landings.
My
flying skills are satisfactory, thank God, and I solo out without any delay,
not failing any flight lesson. As I taxi out solo the 1st time, I’m
somewhat apprehensive, of course. Then I “take the active” (line up at the
starting end of the active runway), cob the throttle to full power upon getting
permission to take off, and soon that little “Pug” lifts off the runway and
climbs into the air. ‘Now I have to land this bird all alone! There
is no instructor pilot sitting beside me this time! No other human soul
in this airplane!’
It’s
a sobering thought. A voice comes thru the radio’s crackling static
assigning a “flight area” to me. I fly there, practice the basic maneuvers I’m
supposed to, and fly back to the airport to practice several “touch and go”
landings before finally taxiing back to the “chocks”. I’m greatly relieved and
happy to have flown little “Pug” solo. Because I was the only pilot in
that plane, I was the “pilot in command” according to aviation rules. But in
reality, my Lord and God was the Pilot in Command. I was His co-pilot. That was
always the case each of the many times I was the only human pilot in an
airplane.
Now,
I am using aviation maps. I told you that I like maps. And I like using
aviation maps just as I liked using the military ground maps at Quantico to
find all my points on that “map test”. All our flying in the Cessna is VFR
(visual flight rules). We never fly inside clouds. We always keep the ground
below in sight. My folded map is clamped onto my “knee pad” strapped onto my
left thigh. I’m required to keep up with my location by correctly spotting
roads, highways, towns, cities, creeks, rivers, lakes and such terrain features
on the ground below that are shown on my map. This aerial map work is fun!
A
T-41 instructor tells us of a previous student pilot getting lost while flying
the Cessna. Failing to find his location on his map, he didn’t want to radio in
that he was lost. So he did a most dangerous thing. He landed on an open
highway, taxied up to a nearby Dairy Queen and shut off his plane’s engine. He
got out and asked someone to show him that location on his aerial map, then
took off again from the highway and found his way back to the base. That is most dangerous! If just 1
vehicle had come along on that hwy at a critical time when he landed or took
off…crash right into it! Or
if he failed to spot just 1 electric wire in his path and cut thru it…crash! Oh, the dumb
dangerous things some pilots do.
“Pilot
Richard, were you ever guilty of any dangerous flying stunts??”
‘(Silence)’
The
short time of flying the Cessna soon passes. By the time we are 2 weeks or so
into it, we finish all classroom instruction concerning this propeller plane
and start studying the T-37 jet trainer. We study weather, as pilots must ever
beware of dangerous weather. We study the effects altitude has on our physical
bodies and “go up” in an altitude chamber, a pressure chamber where they “thin
out” the air in it to simulate high altitudes we will soon fly thru.
Those
young guys from the Mid-east nations our Air Force train to be pilots, are so
dangerous in a pilot’s seat. Some had extremely limited previous use of
any kind of machinery or experience in driving a vehicle. (They grew up using
donkeys like I grew up using horses.) Because of their limited ability with the
English language, they cannot understand much of the critical classroom
instruction about aviation and complicated jet aircraft.
Before
our pressure chamber “ride” the instructor briefs us like this. “I’ll take the
chamber up to 5,000 feet and we will… Then I’ll take it on up to 10,000 feet
where you will take off your oxygen masks to breathe the thin air for a while
to experience its effects on your brain.” The Iranian student pilot in my
section took the instructor’s words literally, thinking that pressure
chamber built onto a concrete floor inside a large building was somehow to literally
rise up to those altitudes in the sky.
One instructor
is inside the chamber with us, wearing his oxygen mask. For safety observation
purposes, another instructor sits outside on a stool at the side of the chamber
staring at us thru a round glass porthole (like a ship’s porthole). As we
“reach” 10,000 feet or so, the Iranian just happens to glance at that porthole
and jumps in shock when he sees the instructor’s face still outside the
porthole, thinking the guy outside had somehow risen 10,000 feet up into the
sky with us.
Because
our jet trainers have ejection seats, I practice parachute landings by
strapping on a parachute that is open and lying on the ground behind me. One
end of a 100-foot long rope is fastened to the chest area of my parachute
harness. The other end is fastened to the back of a pickup truck. As the truck
starts up slowly, I run to keep up with its speed. As the truck picks up speed,
the parachute rises up in the air, lifting me off the ground while I’m still
able to run at the truck’s speed. Then the truck driver speeds up, causing the
chute to rise more vertically, lifting me 50 feet high or so. Then a guy in the
back of the truck releases that end of the rope and I float down to the ground,
much simpler than my airborne training at Ft. Benning. We do such preparation
for flying jets while still flying the Cessna.
The
purpose of each class being divided into 2 sections (as I said before) is for 1
section to be in class half a day and to be in the ready room and flying the
other half of the day. So daily, each section rotates, typically after lunch.
And each week, we rotate to fly in the afternoon if we had flown in the
mornings the previous week, and vice versa.
I
told you that 3 other Marines came here from my class at Quantico and they are
in my pilot training class here at Vance. One of them just didn’t have the
knack for flying airplanes, not even the Cessna. He failed (washed out of pilot
training) in the “Cessna stage”. He was a good-natured guy, pleasant to work
with. I don’t recall his name. The Marine Corps assigned him to a different job
elsewhere and he soon left Vance. He was in the other section with Marine Tom
P. The one other Marine in my section is Tom M. Both of these 2nd
lieutenants are good men and I enjoy their “Marine” company in my class on this
Air Force Base.
The
late 1960s and early 1970s saw violent anti-war protests on university campuses
in our nation with terrible acts of arson, destruction of buildings and
property, and the loss of human life. At the end of April and beginning of May
1970, as I am finishing my flight training in that Cessna prop plane, violent
students at Kent State University in Kent, Ohio are setting fire to campus ROTC
buildings and such. The National Guard is called in. On 4 May 1970, Guard
soldiers fire on students killing 2 guys and 2 girls and wounded 9 other
students.
During
1970, similar deaths occur on at least 2 other university or college campuses.
You can easily search that period of U.S. history for more details. Likely that
was the first time ever in our nation for such fighting and killings on
“school” campuses. Truly it was a turbulent time, new turbulent waters
running thru our nation.
The
weather is getting hot here in Oklahoma when my class starts flying the T-37
jet trainer in early May. My Navy pilot logbook shows that I “logged” 84.2
hours flying the T-37 here at Vance, now wearing the impressive pilot’s helmet
and oxygen mask while sitting in an ejection seat I can use if both engines
quit. I’ll only briefly write of my 5 months of training in the T-37. But I’ll
break from that now to tell you of my personal life in Oklahoma.
Each
week, during the 5 or 5 and half workdays, I seldom use my car. I walk to the
chow hall and to the bus stop for the bus to the airport to fly the Cessna and
then walk to the nearby flight line on base after I start flying the jets.
Again, I thrill to have a job with no daily commute. Many weeks, I never
use my car except on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. But I typically give that
car a good workout on weekends.
Upon
arriving here, I looked in the yellow pages of the phone directory for church
listings and started attending 3 or more Baptist churches to see what they were
like. I ended up attending 3 churches in Enid the whole year I was here, never
sticking with just one. I attended Bible Baptist Church the most because it had
the best Spiritual food I found in the churches in Enid. But I soon began
spending about every other Saturday afternoon and Sunday away from Enid.
In
late May or so, my preacher friend, Evangelist Bobby Jackson, flies to Oklahoma
to preach revival services for a week at Owasso Free Will Baptist Church just
north of Tulsa. During that week, Owasso Pastor Bob drove Bobby to Hillsdale
Bible College just west of Oklahoma City to preach in chapel there. That
college is about 70 miles southeast of Vance. I get permission to absent myself
from training just a few hours that day to drive down there and listen to
Brother Bobby preach to the college students. Revival services in Owasso are to
run thru the following Sunday night service. Pastor Bob is kind enough to
invite me to come on Saturday and spend that night at his house. I’m delighted.
At
Vance on many Saturdays, we have morning classes or training other than flying,
much so till the last few months. So, on Saturday afternoon I drive to Owasso,
find the church looking at its address I have, and attend revival service that
night. I spend Saturday night at Pastor Bob’s along with Evangelist Bobby.
Sunday, I attend morning and evening church services to listen to Evangelist
Bobby preach, bid them Farewell that night and drive back to Enid late Sunday
night for the early start of pilot training Monday morning.
At
Pastor Bob’s house in Owasso, he said to me, “I want to introduce you to a fine
Christian lady in my church.” He did so. She and I chat after church Sunday
night. Two or 3 weeks later, I call Pastor Bob from Enid, he gives me the
lady’s phone number, I call her to ask for a supper date Saturday night and she
accepts. So I soon go to Owasso again on Saturday and drive back to Enid late
Sunday night after church. In church that Sunday, Gerry and Dean invite me to
stay at their house if I come back in the future. So I start going to Owasso
about every other Saturday for a date that night (usually including fellowship
with other church members) and to attend both of Pastor Bob’s church services
on Sunday.
Somewhat
distant Owasso becomes my main social outlet while stationed at Vance AFB.
Owasso Free Will Baptist Church is spiritually on fire now. Pastor Bob’s
powerful preaching helps me much spiritually. Gerry and Dean have a son and
daughter, Mark being 11 years old or so, and Kim is younger. Those 2 nice kids
are impressed to have a pilot in their house. I enjoy being with those 2 kids,
like having a little brother and sister. God caused me to blend in with their
family. So again, as in Birmingham and in Fredericksburg, God graciously gives
me an adopted family. I’m most blessed!
(Now,
back to flying!) The flat, spacious prairie scenery here (wheat country)
quickly becomes pleasant to me. It’s most lovely to view from the air as I fly
almost daily the 5 weekdays and sometimes (rarely) have 2 training flights in 1
day. At the start of T-37 training, I typically fly north to Keagelman
auxiliary field for touch and go landings. After practicing a few, I fly up
high in a nearby assigned area to practice acrobatic maneuvers (aileron rolls,
barrel rolls, loops and such) to hone up my proficiency in flying a small jet
capable of such maneuvers.
I
practice stalls and stall recovery. Also I purposefully put the T-37 into a
spin after stalling it, to practice spin recovery. Such flying is adventurous!
An instructor pilot is with me during all the above-mentioned training flights,
coaxing me, coaching me, giving me pointers, telling me what I’m doing right or
wrong, and yelling at me at times, of course.
Remember
how terribly it scared 6 year-old me to watch Air Force trainer planes overhead
our farm practicing stalls and spins. I would run into the house to Mother. Now
(just 18 years later) I am the human soul high in the lofty sky practicing
these dangerous maneuvers. I hope I am not terrifying some 6 year-old kid
looking up at me from the ground.
I am more apprehensive about flying this jet
plane solo the first time, than I was with little “Pug”. But I’m more elated
when I return safely from my 1st solo flight. I enjoy plenty more
solo flights in the T-37 jet.
It
was about my 2nd or 3rd solo flight when I had a minor
emergency. The T-37 has internal fuel tanks only, located in the fuselage and
in both wings. The wing tank fuel is burned first to take that weight out of
the wings, as that is safest for balancing the plane. Then the fuel in the
fuselage tanks is burned last.
As I
fly monitoring the fuel level in each tank by keeping an eye on the fuel gages,
I see that the left wing tank is not feeding at all. It stays full. I joggle
the electrically operated fuel switches off and on in attempts to get the
switch on that tank to open up. All attempts fail. The tank stays full. I soon
radio base and tell them the situation. They order me to return immediately and
land. I do so, working diligently to keep the lopsided weighted plane level
during landing. I’m most relieved to climb out of that cockpit all-safe.
“Did
that make you a hero, pilot Richard?”
‘Not
really! But I was plenty content that it made me a “safely returned alive”
pilot!’
My 5
months of T-37 training was from early May thru September, or so. That is a
period of plenty dangerous summer weather in NW Oklahoma and southern Kansas
where we fly (storms with high winds, hail, etc., and tornadoes). Our pilot
commanders and instructors keep close eyes on the reporting and forecasting
from the base’s weather department. We stay grounded when the weather is deemed
too dangerous to fly.
But
sometimes summer storms whip up quickly when many T-37s are airborne. A weather
recall goes out over the radio and we all rush back for landing. A few times I
see ferocious dangerous cloud formations form around me while airborne. I see
“soup bowl” formations appear along the bottom of a level dark cloud layer on a
hot summer day, indicating that one of those “soup bowls” could easily enlarge
into a twister. Occasionally a pilot in the air spots a small tornado. There’s
plenty danger lurking in the high skies to keep any pilot alert.
In
the T-37, we practice flying by the airplane’s instruments (IFR: Instrument
Flight Rules). We practice flying at night. And we each fly a “Cross country”
flight, flying to another base on Friday to spend the night there, maybe to
another base on Saturday and back to Vance on Sunday. This is not a solo
flight. I ask my instructor, Captain Bittner, if I may fly to Columbus Air
Force Base (Mississippi).
“Yes.
I have never flown there. I would like to go there for a change.” I was happy
with my instructor’s answer.
Columbus
AFB was just over 30 miles from Daddy’s house. I look forward to flying in
there, having Daddy or my brother Sidney come for me to take me to Daddy’s to
spend the night. And then when I fly out the next day, I want all my family
members who can come, to come to the base to watch their “pilot farm boy” fly
away. I got excited over that prospect.
But
bad weather in the Columbus area those 2 days forced me to fly elsewhere. I
chose a destination that seemed exciting, The Air Force Academy near Boulder,
Colorado. Captain Bittner and I fly there. Viewing the breathtaking Rocky
Mountain scenery around Boulder from the air (and from the ground) pretty well
made up for my disappointment over not getting to fly home. Also, The Air Force
Academy was impressive with its fancy chapel and such. I leisurely walk around
on Academy grounds in the cool mountain air, beholding man’s vain “greatness”
in the impressive man-made structures there.
It’s
a plentifully eventful and busy summer for me, flying the T-37. Thank
God for 84.2 safe hours in this first jet I fly. I never failed a flight
session in this bird. We trainees each try our best and encourage and help each
other in every way possible. The much time we each sit in the ready room
waiting our turn to fly, we rehearse flying procedures together giving each
other hints, quoting emergency procedures (we are required to memorize) to a
buddy and vice versa. It’s an exciting, promising time in our young,
vibrant lives.
At
Quantico and here at Vance, my classmates are getting married one by one, and
some were welcoming their first baby into their lives. It’s a good time in
life. We are young, full of energy, ambition, and are excited about becoming
pilots.
Here’s
a funny story about this redneck farm boy pilot. Vance AF Base has a main tower
to control aircraft as they take off and land. But because of the high volume
of touch-and-go landings, a little (mostly glass) hut named “Mobile” is located
right beside each end of the runway. Two controllers would “man” the
Mobile at the upwind end of the runway to control (by radio) our
takeoffs and landings. One student pilot is assigned to sit in Mobile with them
to record on paper the initial takeoff and the final landing of each bird. (I
stood that duty of student pilot recorder a few times.)
One
day while I am airborne flying solo, 2 new controllers come on duty in Mobile
with my classmate (Marine Tom M.) with them to do the recording. I fly back to
base, shoot a few touch-and-goes, and then make my final landing. Later on when
Tom sees me in the ready room, he’s laughing. “When you first radioed Mobile
upon flying back to the base, both controllers burst out laughing at your rural
Southern accent. “Is such a guy actually up there piloting one of our birds?”
My redneck Southern drawl fitted a farmer plowing horses. It certainly didn’t
fit a military pilot flying jets. By God’s Grace, I safely plow thru high skies
in jets for almost 5 years, during which time several city boy pilots that I
know crash and die.
One
Air Force 2nd lieutenant in my class (in my own section) failed
(washed out of pilot training) in the T-37 phase of training. So he was
transferred to a different job in the Air Force. I could readily sense that
piloting scared him. Upon washing out, his relief was apparent. It was much
better for him to wash out, than to later kill himself in a plane crash as a
few of my fellow pilots did.
This
summer or fall, the senior ranking Marine student pilot here graduates, that
captain whom I soon met upon arriving at Vance. By now another Marine captain
(Captain Doug ⑨)
has come here a few classes behind me. So he will be the senior Marine officer
here till a few months after I graduate. After Doug ⑨ graduates
from Vance, he will join me in TA-4 Skyhawk training at MCAS Cherry Point,
North Carolina. Months later he will crash the TA-4 he is flying and die in the
crash due to a senseless (totally stupid, insane) pilot maneuver.
My
class starts training in the T-38 around the start of October 1970. I’m plenty
daunted at the prospects of piloting this swift T-38. Now, I must run
with the big dogs. I must jump from the nest and fly with the fast birds.
Weeks before we finish flying the T-37, we start studying this more complicated
supersonic T-38. There’s much
to learn about this fast bird in the classrooms.
In
the T-37, my instructor pilot sat beside me in the same cockpit. Each of us had
a separate full set of controls and a separate complete instrument panel in
front of each of us. There was a lot of safety in that cockpit setup. He could closely
observe every little action of mine.
But
the sleek T-38 has 2 separate cockpits, front and rear. Each cockpit has a full
set of instruments and controls, but my instructor cannot personally see me as
we fly. That is quite a difference. Also, each cockpit is narrow and cramped in
this sleek supersonic bird. The first time I close the canopy to my cockpit, I
feel plenty claustrophobic, not like riding in a horse-drawn open wagon
at all. I simply tell myself that I must adapt to that. By God’s Grace, I do. Also, my movements
are extremely limited in this tiny cockpit.
My first
flights in the T-38 are instrument-training flights. I sit in the rear cockpit
with a vinyl hood pulled over the inside of its canopy so that I cannot see
outside. I practice flying to various points on instruments alone and doing
instrument approaches to the runway for landing. Of course, Instructor Pilot
Hull sits in the front cockpit observing everything outside and inside the
plane. I even practice instrument takeoffs from the back veiled cockpit.
Instructor Hull always lands the plane when I’m in the back cockpit. By God’s
Grace, I excel in this instrument phase of training in the T-38. Just as I was
apt at using maps, so was I apt at flying by observing the instruments only.
On 1
November 1970, I get promoted to 1st lieutenant, 15 months after the
date of 1 August 1969 on my officer’s commission. I relish the promotion in
rank and the nice increase in my pay that it brings. Likely I also get a 4% or
5% COLA pay increase in November. My wallet welcomes each and every pay
increase, no matter how great or small.
Soon
after arriving at Vance, I join the credit union on base here. I get a loan
from this credit union on 2 different occasions, once to help a Christian back
in Alabama who needed financial help. I live simple, spending little money for
my own self, faithfully making monthly car payments and credit union payments,
and looking forward (with passing time) to getting out of debt.
My
commission as a Marine officer was dated 1 August 1969, tho I didn’t receive
that commission until university graduation day on August 23rd. At
this time the Marine Corps is promoting us to 1st lieutenants in
just 15 months, quite fast because of the numbers of junior officers being
killed in Viet Nam. (My Air Force classmates here at Vance stay 2nd
lieutenants for 2 years or so before being promoted to 1st
lieutenants. After Marine Tom M. and I are promoted to 1st
lieutenants, we have occasion to “rib” our Air Force 2nd lieutenant
classmates about their lower rank.)
About the time of this promotion, we go into
visual training in the T-38, touch and go landings, acrobatic maneuvers, stalls
and such, pretty much like the T-37 training I described to you. (Of course,
for all this visual training, I now occupy the front cockpit with Instructor
Hull in the rear cockpit.)
Essentially,
the most critical thing is to become efficient in safely landing any plane any
pilot flies. I have difficulty landing this fast bird. I think the main
difficulty has nothing to do with the fast speed at which this plane lands (tho
that is a big factor). My main trouble is with Instructor Hull’s caustic
mouth. Instructor pilots each have their individual natures. Some speak few
words in a calm voice. Some yell a lot at the student pilot. The latter is
Instructor Hull’s nature.
It’s
not necessary for an instructor to yell at me or to berate me with many
filthy words like they did back in Marine Officers’ Candidate School the summer
of 1968 at Quantico. The reason being that I am self motivated to do my best.
It suits my nature for an instructor to kindly tell me what to do and kindly
explain what I’m doing right or wrong. Then I do my dead-level best to get it
right. But I tense up under Hull’s berating, causing my farm boy piloting
skills to deteriorate.
Approaching
the critical point in training where I’m to solo out in the T-38, I fail 2
consecutive touch-and-go landing practices in a row. That calls for me to fly
with my section commander (a major) for him to evaluate my piloting ability. In
the ready room, he briefs me on what I’m to do during the flight. Then once we
strap into the cockpits, he hardly says a word the whole time we are in the
airplane. I pilot the plane (from the front cockpit) much better in that
peaceful silence, make safe landings, and the major gives me the OK to fly that
fast bird solo.
My
first solo flight in the T-38 is this same day after the major and I taxi back
in and he briefly debriefs me. I soon again strap a T-38 onto my back with no
instructor pilot in it, just Almighty God and me. When that speedy bird lifts off
the runway (with both afterburners at full blast) my heart floods with the
thrill of flying it alone. A controller soon radios me with my assigned
training area. I fly out to it, practice all the acrobatic maneuvers I’m
permitted to practice solo, then “play around” some fleecy cloud formations to
gaze on their beauty before returning to base for a few touch-and-go landings
before taxiing to the chocks. I’m elated to have flown alone in a supersonic
jet, partly elated just to still be
alive!
Though
the T-38 flies at fast speeds all the time, only 1 time do I fly it at
supersonic speed, just briefly straight and level at high altitude with
Instructor Hull in the rear cockpit, mainly just to experience the sensation of
breaking (passing thru) the sound barrier. Only one supersonic flight is in our
training syllabus. Local folks don’t like hearing those overhead sonic booms at
all. Such environmental reasons keep supersonic flying at a minimum.
Soon
after I solo out, Instructor Hull talks to me at our table in the ready room
explaining that he has come to understand that I do better piloting if he does
not yell at me and berate me. I’m relieved that he finally “saw the
light”, but I wish he had seen it much earlier. Anyway, from then on till I
graduate, he uses quieter instructing methods on me, much to my relief. The
tranquility is most pleasant.
Our
pilot training takes a 2-week break for Christmas and New Years. Several of my
classmates go home for that long a break. I stay at Enid, just as I stayed at
Quantico for Christmas last year when we got 1 week off from training. By
staying in the immediate area, I’m don’t take official leave against the 30
days I’m allowed each year. But I’m off work, of course. That’s nice. I
previously told you I reported in at Vance about 3 days before I was required
to do so, stopping my official leave early, and giving me 3 free days to relax
on base.
My 2
remaining Marine buddies here from my class at Quantico (Tom P. and Tom M.)
each got promoted to 1st lieutenant about the same time I did. Tom
P. recently got married (the month we had off between Quantico and Vance, I
think).
While
at Vance, Tom P. and his bride live in an old small farmhouse about 8 miles
from the base out amidst the wheat fields. They plan to leave during the 2 week
Christmas break. “Richard, how about house-sitting for us while we are gone,
staying in our house to keep an eye on things there?” I was a little surprised
when Tom P. asked me to do that. But I like the idea of having a change of
scenery, so I readily agree to that.
I
drive to Owasso twice to spend each weekend nearest to Christmas and New
Year’s. It’s a blessing to enjoy Christmas and holiday festivities with my
Christian friends there, similar to being in the Tiptons’ house during that
holiday season 1 year before. Staying in Gerry and Dean’s house those weekends,
I give their son (Mark) an impressive model of the T-38 for a Christmas present
and he is awed by it. “You actually fly this?” was his attitude toward me as he
gazed on that sleek model. I can’t recall what I gave their daughter (Kim) but
she was also happy with her Christmas gift from me.
I
pass a quiet 2 weeks out there on the prairie in Tom P’s farmhouse (no jet
engine noise at all). On weekdays, I take long walks on the straight roads that
delineated each square mile section of land here. I like driving in Oklahoma
also. One can see forever. “Grasshopper” shaped oil pumps dot the flat
landscape, being scattered throughout the wheat fields. It fascinates me to
watch their “grasshopper heads” constantly bobbing up and down amidst the wheat
as they pump oil (money for the farmer who owns the land) from the wells below.
I perceive that landowners here receive handsome incomes from wheat plus oil. I wish Daddy’s poor
farm had been like that.
Frankly,
I’m quite bored out there in Tom’s house. I don’t like having to prepare my own
meals, even tho they let me eat the food in their house. It suits me better to
be on base, eating in the nearby chow hall, going to a movie once in a while at
night, and doing other things conveniently available to do there on base or in
town. Remember I told you of being bored deer hunting out in the woods near
Dad’s when I was a university senior. I’m learning that I enjoy being in town,
or on a college campus, or on a military base more than being out in a rural
area for any length of time.
New
Year’s brings 1971 A.D. to this earth as we march toward eternity. My 25th
birthday soon follows. When pilot training resumes right after New Year’s, I
welcome it and am happy to be back in my BOQ suite on base with a full and busy
day each day.
We
start practicing formation flight in the T-38, 2 plane formations, and then 4
plane formations. In close formation, I maintain 3 feet between my plane’s
wingtip and the wingtip of the plane next to me. That is close and makes for a tense situation. Each and every
change of the controls (throttle and stick) must be smooth and gradual.
We also start night flying, also more stressful. We practice night formation, ever
so dangerous and stressful. Thank Thee for flying with
me, Lord.
The
tension and stress causes me to fly much in my dreams when I sleep at night,
tensing up while just dreaming of that tense flying. Soon both of my jaws began
to ache. I’ve no idea what causes them to hurt. So I go see the flight surgeon
and tell him about my aching jaws, wondering what strange jaw disease has
befallen me. Doc sort of chuckles, nodding knowingly. He explains that the pain
comes from me “gritting” my teeth and clenching my jaws during the tense,
stressful flying and while
dreaming about that flying. He said that the pain should subside with time. It
did, to my relief.
I
begin to take evening drives after work 2 or 3 times a week to relieve tension.
I find a restaurant in Enid serving a buffet supper, better chow than in the
base’s chow hall. So, on days I go for a drive after my workday, I often first
go to that self service buffet restaurant for a good supper (all I want to eat)
and then “wind down” more during a relaxing ride with soothing music coming
from the car stereo’s 5 speakers. Such “down time” sure helps during stressful
supersonic jet training.
I’m
tested on leading a 4-ship (4 plane) formation of T-38s on IFR flight from high
altitude back to base, descending and coming into the landing flight pattern
where we then cancel instrument flight rules to fly the landing pattern VFR
(visual flight rules). The required skill, timing and finesse are stressful.
Thank God for enabling me to perform well.
It
feels great to enter “initial”
flying south at a speed of 300 knots at 1500 feet above the runway with 3 other
T-38s “stair stepped” off my left wing in close formation. Midway down the
length of the runway that is 1500 feet below me, I break to the right in a
60-degree angle of bank to make my sharp turn back to the opposite direction.
Number 2 pilot slowly counts 1, 2, 3 seconds and breaks likewise. Numbers 3 and
4 pilots follow the same course 3 seconds apart. It looks like an air show.
(Many times I observe that “performance” from the ground here at Vance.) Then
we 4 pilots shoot a few touch and go landings for practice before taxiing into
the “chocks” and taking off our helmets before our proud swelling heads split
our helmets apart.
Mastering
that sleek supersonic bird brought on a fulfilling sense of accomplishment.
After such an afternoon flight I might go eat supper at that buffet restaurant
and then take a drive in my T-Bird to wind down. The T-Bird seems so simple and
easy to handle after leading a 4-ship flight of T-38s.
Also,
it sure helps me relax to drive the 120 miles or so every other Saturday to
Owasso and forget about the stress of flying fast jets while fellowshipping
with good Christian friends in Owasso, attending Pastor Bob’s church Sunday
morning and evening and returning to Vance late Sunday night.
Gasoline
is now cheap in this oil producing state of Oklahoma. Frequent “gas wars” bring
the price even lower at times. So when I’m out on the road, each time I pass a
gas station I look at their posted price and stop and fill up my tank if their
price is the lowest I’ve seen lately.
At
this time, gasoline in my hometown of Vernon, Alabama is about 33 cents a
gallon. Here, I can usually find it for 30 to 31 cents. But when a “gas war”
rages fiercely, I recall buying gasoline for 25 cents a gallon for certain
(possibly as low as 22 or 23 cents a gallon). You young souls who never saw
vehicle gasoline below about $2 per gallon probably think I am writing fiction
now. No, just writing ancient history of Good Ol’
Days.
I
fly an IFR (instrument flight rules) solo “out and in” to another Air Force
base a few hundred miles away. (I don’t recall which base.) I file my own
flight plan at Vance; fly solo to the destination base and land in daylight.
A flight instructor from Vance had flown there to watch over the few of us
student pilots who each flew solo to this destination. Then I activate with the
FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) the return leg of my flight plan back to
Vance and take off solo in the dark. Yes, a night solo flight in that
T-38 from another base to fly alone back to my home base. Unspeakable adventure
for this farm boy!
Nighttime
flight has its own fascinating sights of the lights of the cities and towns
below, the lovely stars and moon above, and such. It thrilled me to be alone in
that night sky at the controls of that “sports car” type of jet airplane. I
flew back to Vance for a few touch-and-go night landings before taxiing back in
to the chocks, reporting details of my flight to instructors in our ready room,
getting debriefed by them, filling out the paperwork and soon going to bed to
again fly at night, in my dreams.
Toward
the end of T-38 training, each student pilot in my class flies one “cross
country” flight in this bird just as I had previously done in the T-37, with an
instructor pilot. I ask Instructor Hull if he and I may fly to Columbus AF
Base. He readily agreed. Again, I’m overjoyed at the
prospects of family members coming to the base at Columbus to see me pilot this
swift, sleek bird. But, as in my T-37 “cross country” flight, again,
my vain hopes are thwarted.
The
day we head toward Columbus, the sky is overcast at Columbus. Approaching the
base at Columbus, I’m flying high above that cloud layer and must descend thru
it. That alone is no problem. I would fly the descent on instruments. But
if there were a chance of ice forming on the engine intakes, we must divert to
our alternate destination instead. (The jet engine blades on this small, fast
bird are made of extremely thin and light metal. If ice forms on the engine
intakes and small pieces of it break off and fly into the engines, it can
easily damage those delicate blades enough to cause the engines to seize up.)
As
the time nears for us to start our descent thru that cloud layer below us into
Columbus, Instructor Hull asks Columbus approach control (on the radio) if
there is a chance of icing when we descend thru that cloud layer. They report
that there’s a slight chance of “rim icing”. With that report, Instructor Hull
tells them we are diverting to our alternate destination (in Louisiana, I
think).
And
thus, my T-38 cross-country flight became lackluster, thwarted by weather from
flying home, just as had happened with my T-37 cross-country flight. A few days
before, I had called Daddy and told him of my plans to come, weather
permitting. He drove down to my brother’s (Sidney) house nearer the base to
wait there for my “arrival call” to them. They watched in disappointment, as
that solid cloud layer overhead stayed solid all day and the hope of seeing me
that day evaporated.
“The
good Lord sure knows how to keep pilot Richard humble, doesn’t He?”
‘Apparently
so.’
Strong,
fierce winds howl across this open, flat Oklahoma prairie where Vance AFB is located,
typically being strongest in late winter and early spring. We get a large snow
in late January or early February that grounds us from all flying for several
days. While taking a walk in the snow around the athletic field near my BOQ, I
watch kids sledding across that flat field with a parachute tied to the front
of their sled. They place the sled at the upwind edge of the field, toss the
chute up into the strong wind, jump on the sled and enjoy the ride as the wind
in the chute pulls the sled across the flat field. As the sled nears the
downwind edge of the field, one kid jumps off, grasps an edge of the chute and
yanks it down to stop the sled. Watching their fun with fascination, I silently
commend their ingenuity.
I
just wish landing the T-38 in a strong crosswind was such fun instead of being
deadly dangerous. Most of the time those strong winds blow thru Enid from west
to east. Thus it would be much easier for pilots to land in that area if
runways are been built on an east-west line, to land westward straight into
a headwind. Do you think the runways at Vance were laid in that direction? NO!
All 3 runways are parallel, running north to south. Often when I land that fast
T-38 at Vance, a strong crosswind is pushing my bird directly sideways.
The procedure
for landing a large wing airplane (like the T-41 Cessna prop and the
T-37 jet) is to bank into the wind (dropping the wing the wind is blowing
against) while kicking in opposite rudder to keep the plane flying
straight (in line with the runway) and to prevent the plane from naturally
turning in the direction of the “bank” (the dropped wing). That is a plenty
difficult maneuver.
But
the procedure for landing a small wing airplane (like the T-38) is more
difficult. Dropping one wing would result in insufficient wing surface to keep
the plane flying at landing speed. So we “crab” (referring to the sideways
movement of a crab) the T-38 into the crosswind while landing it.
Upon
turning onto final approach, I angle the T-38 into the crosswind at an angle
that stops the crosswind from blowing (pushing) the plane sideways. Tower or
Mobile informs me of wind direction and speed on the “radio”. The stronger the
crosswind, the wider of an angle I turn the plane into the wind, angled away
from the runway but flying a straight line with the runway. Then as soon as the
main gear (wheels) of the bird touch the runway, I precisely and timely bring
in opposite rudder to line up the bird with the runway so it doesn’t run off
the side of the runway as the bird comes to take its “moving direction” from
the direction its tires are facing on the runway. Such landings keep a pilot
on his toes, to put it most midly!
Of
course, when bad weather, strong winds and such natural hazards reached
certain, pre-determined limits, we “stand down”, not flying until weather
improves. But flying quite regularly in adverse winds and weather here at Vance
hones us into skilled pilots. Instructor Hull told of the Air Force pilot
training base in the desert area of Arizona where the sky is clear and quite
calm most every day of the year. Thus pilots graduating from there gain little
or no experience flying in adverse weather. Then upon being transferred to a
different place on this planet to serve as an Air Force pilot, they sometimes tend
to “clutch up” when they find themselves flying in adverse winds and
weather.
These
strong western plain winds are most annoying also in everyday life when I do
most anything outdoors. When I waxed my Thunderbird, it was my custom to lay
cloths, towels, wax can lid (and such) on the car’s vinyl roof when I wasn’t
using any of those items. The 1st time I did that in Oklahoma, the
wind kept blowing them away. I had to put them inside the car on the floorboard
and open and close the car door each time I took out or replaced an item.
(That’s just one example of constantly battling the wind here.)
Tho Instructor Hull was assigned as my instructor in the T-38, each student pilot flew once or twice with a few other instructor pilots to glean experience from variety. I flew once with an instructor from a different training squadron (right here on Vance) who unnecessarily rough handled the T-38 in ways I considered dangerous. Our own flight commander (the major) strictly forbad his instructors to do such. As I think back on that, I was blessed to be in one of the safer training squadrons.
A month or so before I finish flying the T-38 (and graduate from
Vance), a new instructor, 1st Lieutenant R.⑩, enters my squadron (his
start as an instructor pilot). I fly with Lt. R. just a few times. To me he had
a too casual attitude toward such a dangerous job, too often not staying keenly
alert to the instrument panel and to what we could observe outside the bird
while in the air. I perceived him to be a novice instructor and a careless
pilot in general. Just a very few months after I graduate from Vance, he and
his student pilot die when their T-38 crashes. (I’ll give you the few details I
know of that crash when we reach that point in history.)
Our training load lightens up toward the last,
which is a welcome relief. A few weeks before we finish flying, all our
classroom instruction comes to an end. The logical reason being that classroom
instruction is to be applied while flying here at Vance. Thus we first had to
be taught each phase in the classroom before
the time came for us to put it into practice high up in the sky in the pilot’s
seat.
A
few weeks before I graduate at Vance, my younger brother, Joe (U.S. Army),
returns home safely from the battlefield of Viet Nam. All our family and
friends are most thankful to God for that mercy and grace.
I
logged 120.2 hours flight time in the T-38 supersonic 2-engine trainer jet. The
entirety of it was a “high”
adventure. Right at the end of this final phase of pilot training, all my classmates
and I have to take another medical exam to see if we are still healthy enough
to be pilots. (Remember that, because about 2 months later, the Marines will
make me take a medical exam at Cherry Point. And the Navy doc there will
lecture me on how the Navy does it right, but likely an Air Force doc does not
do it right.)
I
invite my girlfriend in Owasso to attend my graduation and the evening banquet
following it. She agrees to do so. My brother Joe and his wife Mavis make plans
to come for graduation also, bringing Daddy and my stepmother, Lucille. I’m so
glad they get to come and it’s a great joy to see Joe again for the first time
after his return from Viet Nam. All my guests arrive on time. The ceremony is
plenty grandeur. I receive silver U.S. Air Force pilot wings. My girlfriend
pens them onto my chest that was pumped full of vain pride.
Graduation
is indoors. But then my graduation class and guests go out to the athletic
field to sit on bleachers to watch flyovers of a formation of T-37s and then
T-38s, in a most chilly wind. Daddy and Lucille were plenty relieved when that
shivering part was finished. Then in the afternoon, I am allowed to show my
guests around the base and go out to the flight line where a T-37 and a T-38
are on “static display” for the guests to look into the cockpits and such. We
observe touch and go landings from the flight line, taking plenty of pictures
this day. After all that, Joe, Mavis, Daddy and Lucille left in the late
afternoon. My date, wearing a lovely dress, attends the evening banquet with
me. Vance Base Commander, Colonel King, sincerely compliments her on how nice
her dress looks. I’m wearing my Marine dress uniform.
I
think Graduation Day was on a Friday. I drive on to Owasso the next day to stay
with Gerry and family and attend Sunday church at Pastor Bob’s church. Everyone
at church has such kind Farewell words for me. I spend Sunday night with
Gerry’s family. Early Monday morning, I bid Farewell to Gerry as he leaves for
work and to Mark and Kim as they leave for school. I soon blast off in my
T-Bird to depart from Oklahoma. I had come to like Oklahoma much,
just as I had come to like Virginia! It was a year of rich experiences in this flat
prairie of wheat fields and oil wells, and daring adventure in the high skies
above it.
“Pilot
Richard, don’t try any fancy flight maneuvers in your Thunderbird driving home
to Vernon and don’t drive as fast as the T-38 flies!”
‘Yes,
Sir!’