Sabre Jet Classics

BEDCHECK CHARLIE HITS K-l3!
TWO WOUNDED, ONE SABRE DESTROYED

by Leo Fournier

GE Radar Tech Rep
(with notes by John Henderson, North American Aviation Tech Rep)

The night of 16 June 1951 is one that I'll never forget. Several of us had just seen the first movie shown on the outdoor screen at K-13 (Suwon AB). after the film, we started to walk back to our tent to hit the sack. I was in a 8 man tent at K-13 that sat right next to the parking ramp. The parked airplanes were right on the edge of that same ramp
The guys in my tent included Captains. Sandy Hesse, Bert Gray, and Bruce Cunningham, Lt. Cmdr. Jim Ellis (a Navy pilot on loan to the 4th FIW and the guy that gave me my first jet ride in a T-Bird from K-13 to Tachikawa), Capt. Paul Kaminsky (formerly a C-54 pilot on the Berlin Airlift, and now the PlO Officer at K-13), Irv Clark, the GE jet engine tech rep, and 1/Lt. Paul Bryce.

On the way back to our tent after the movie, we stopped off in another tent, where the pilots were listening to Radio Peking. The Chinese announcer, who spoke very good English, was telling us how they had bombed Suwon a couple of nights before, and that they would be back! The tent exploded in laughter at the 'threat'; and with that, we walked hack to our tent and hit the sack.

Around 2 AM of the morning of 17 June, which just happened to be Fathers Day, I was rudely awakened by a loud noise. An explosion! Bedcheck Charlie was indeed hitting K-13 again, just like the Chinese announcer said.

Bedcheck Charlie was a PoIikarpov PO-2, a small Russian biplane that was able to come in under our radar at night and bomb with relative impunity. No one had been able to knock him down up to this time. The Sabres were day fighters and much too fast. 5th Air Force tried everything, F-82 Twin Mustangs, armed T-6s, even scrambling a B-26 Invader. But no one could get at him. He just flew too low and too slow. Later the Marines would send in a detachment of Corsair night fighters, which got the job done. But not on this night.

Old Charlie would penetrate the base perimeter and throw small bombs over the side from the rear cockpit. He hadn't hit anything vital up to this night. Maybe our luck would hold. There was no air raid alert tonight, because the power had been turned off to the siren! And the 40 mm anti-aircraft guns hadn't opened up because the crews had been given strict orders not to fire the guns until their CO gave them the OK. And of course, their CO wasn't anywhere around when Charlie made his strike.

The first bomb exploded near the end of the runway where we had several scrapped F-86s sitting on oil drums as decoys. (Col. Glenn Eagleston's Sabre was one of these 'decoys. See Sabrejet Classics, vol. 3 #2) The decoys worked but '01 Charlie was flying straight down the flightline towards us. The third bomb landed about six feet outside my tent, so close that Capt. Paul Kaminsky had the legs of his cot shot off by bomb fragments.

With the first explosion, we all grabbed our gear and headed for the nearest foxholes. Irv Clark later told me that he 'knew' I was OK because he could hear me cursing in the night. I was dressed just in my shorts, and I grabbed my helmet, ran out of the tent and jumped into the first convenient hole.

There were already two or three other guys in the trench, including Capt. J.E. 'Jig Easy' Smith, saying "I'm hit, I'm dying!" (J.H. - 'Jig Easy' Smith was evacuated to Yongdungpo, and went back to the States. He'd been hit in the tent next to Fournier's tent. He fully recovered and was put back on flight status with the 33rd FlG at Otis AFB.)

Around this time l thought I'd better take a close look at myself. I felt OK but ---. As I looked down at my stomach I was startled to discover a hole in my abdomen with blood spurting out. I think it was John Henderson, the North American rep, who ran out and notified the medics. (J.H. - When I found the right slit trench, Irv Clark was holding Leo, wrapped in a blanket. Irv was certain that Leo was gong into shock and wouldn't leave him So I made it my task to find the medics and get Leo to the base dispensary for medical attention.)

In the meantime, there were lots of fireworks going on all over the base. The anti-aircraft had finally opened up (evidently someone had found their CO and gotten the OK), and the night was filled with tracers. One of the F-86s had been hit and its guns were cooking off sending still more tracers around the base. But these were at head level!

In a few minutes the medics showed up inside the trench, put a dressing on the wound, and carted me off to the base sick bay. The surgeon on duty was a big guy, smoking a big fat cigar, who hadn't shaved in several days and looked like Hawkeye Pierce of the MASH TV show. He took one look at me and calmly said, - "We can't do anything for this guy!"

Immediately, I asked him in not too calm a voice, - "What the hell do you mean, you can't do anything for me?" He then told me that since I had an internal injury (aren't they all?), I would have to be transported by ambulance to the emergency hospital at Yongdungpo. They had x-ray equipment there and the necessary surgeons to patch me up.

The people at the MASH unit at Yongdungpo were really great. Within three or four minutes after my arrival, they had several IV bottles hooked up to me, and had wheeled me into their x-ray room for pictures of my leak. After another ten minutes or so, they gave me something called sodium pentothal and asked me to start counting. I only remember getting up to four or five.

U.H. - By the time we had Leo clear of the foxhole, I could see the flames of the burning Sabre lighting the sky over the 335th area. It was a frenzy of effort around the burning airplane. Trying to move it was literally impossible. So we moved those Sabres close by. The heat was terrific, and molten aluminum was starting to run out from under the airframe. As the jet fuel fire increased in intensity, the ammo started cooking off.)

(J.H. - As I came up to the wreck, it would be unkind to say there appeared to be a 'court jester' in charge. But that's what it looked like. It was Capt. Casey Riley, 4th Maintenance Squadron, and all he was wearing were his long johns, GI boots with the tops tied, and his steel pot. And he was directing traffic and getting people organized. He had people taking inventory of casualties and tent conditions. He was also trying to organize some sort of defense in case Charlie followed up with another attack)

The next morning, or it might have been 24 hours later, I awoke. I had a big bandage on my stomach, and didn't feel the best. When the surgeon came around, I asked him if I was going to make it. He told me that I was the luckiest guy around. The shrapnel from '01 Charlie's bomb had gone almost completely through me. And it hadn't hit anything vital except for my liver. A liver injury was a bad one, and the surgeon calmly told me that "with an injury like that, you either live or die in the first 24 hours!" Oh great! Then I found out that I had already slept through the first 24 hours. Yes!

I was kept in Korea for another week, then airlifted to Tokyo General Hospital. The Surgeon General at Tokyo General told me that I was the first civilian he'd seen at that hospital. A month went by before they sent me back to the States, with stops at Tripler Army Hospital in IIawaii, Travis Field, and San Antonio, before finally arriving at Valley Forge Army Hospital in Pennsylvania.

Interestingly, when I was wounded, the Pentagon initially notified my wife that I had been "Seriously Wounded In Action". Then they discovered that I was a civilian and sent her another message saying that I was "Seriously Injured ln Action".

About a year after Bedcheck Charlie had ended my tour in Korea, I was completely recovered and back at work with General Electric. One morning I was notified to report to the commanding General at Hancock Field near Syracuse, New York. Much to my amazement, the General pinned the Purple Heart on me in front of the TV and press people. I didn't know a civilian could be awarded the Purple Heart! But there it was - "By direction of the President, under the provisions of AFR 3O-14, and Section VII, General Order 63, etc, etc, the Purple Heart is awarded to MR. LEO EDMUND FOURNIER, Civilian Technical Representative, for wounds received in action against an armed enemy on 17 June 1951." I understand that Capt. Sandy Hesse was the guy that put me in for the decoration. Many thanks Sandy!

(J.H. - The morning after the attack, when the sun came up and we had relaxed a bit with a cup of coffee, it was cleanup time on the burned area of the fightline. There was nothing salvageable on -1334. I picked up a cold piece of melted aluminum and carried it around as a souvenir. But it lost its atrraction, even as a paper weight, and I eventually tossed it away. The third bomb Charlie had dropped, had hit the top of the left outer wing, setting the airplane on fire. A nearby C-22 starter cart was also destroyed. Eight other Sabres were damaged by shrapnel, heat, and .50 caliber rounds cooked off by the fire, four of which required major repairs.)

Some time after the award ceremony, someone told me that a month or so after I was hit, a Marine night fighter had shot down one of the Bedcheck Charlie raiders. The pilot had a diary on him that confirmed that he was the guy that bombed K-13 on the night of 17 June 1951. He had written in his diary that he had damaged three airplanes, which according to John Henderson was actually eight! Funny, he didn't even mention me. But I'll never forget him!

Captain Harold 'Hal' Fischer, waves from the cockpit of "the Paper Tiger", the F-86F he new with the 39th FIS at Suwon AB. Capt. Fischer scored 10 victories between 26 November 1952 and 21 March 1953. He was shot down following his 10th victory, and held in a communist prison camp for an additional two years. (credit - John Stanaway)

MY TEN MIGS

By Col. Harold E. Fischer, USAF (Retired)

America's 22nd jet Ace

Nearing the end of my F-80 missions, I volunteered to go to Headquarters, Far East Command, to work as a personnel officer in the Combat Crew Branch. After I was in the job for awhile, the lure of air combat and all the talk of "jet aces" began to excite me. One of the aces, Bill Whisner (51st Wing, 5 1/2 kills), stopped by my office. He said that experienced pilots were needed desperately, and he thought that I could be an ace. I applied quickly for another combat tour in Korea and made several visits to 'court' the F-86 units there. This paid off, and soon I received orders to the 51st Fighter Interceptor Wing at Suwon.

After six hours and forty-five minutes of check-out flying, I began flying combat missions. After a few of these, I was assigned to a flight commanded by an RCAF exchange officer, Squadron Leader Douglas Lindsay. He was one of those rare individuals who was truly dedicated to getting the job done. And because of his beliefs - that the results are more important than the methods - he was viewed with disfavor by some. But without a doubt, he was the best fighter pilot I had ever seen or flown with. As my mission total increased, so did my desire to get a kill. Soon the moment came that I had been dreaming about. I was number two in another flight with Lindsay, when the sky was suddenly filled with MiGs - everywhere. I called that I was going to make a "bounce", turned to the left and surveyed the scene for a moment.

From the south, about 1500 feet below me, two MiGs were heading north. I eased down and fell in behind them, about a mile in trail. I don't think they saw me, and I pulled up the nose of my aircraft, moved the radar gun sight to manual ( I felt I couldn't trust it in the automatic mode) and fired several long bursts.

Just as I was going to break off the attack, the MiG wingman began a slow descent. I called the flight leader and said I had one going down. I followed the MiG, and when I caught up to him, I rolled around him and got one of the biggest surprises of my life. The canopy was missing and the pilot was gone! When the MIG crashed I knew that there was no positive verification on the gun camera film, so I strafed the wreckage for confirmation purposes. That evening Lindsay told me that it would probably be impossible to sleep. He said that after his first kill in Spitfires during WWII in England, he couldn't sleep a wink. He was right.

In another engagement, I was flying as element leader and made an attack on a MiG by positioning myself about 600 feet directly behind him at 40,000 ft. Before I could fire, the MiG entered and completed a perfect loop. My F-86 floundered over the top, and the MiG proceeded into a series of loops. With each successive loop, my advantage increased slightly because of the 'flop' at the top. This way, I was squaring a corner of our circle, and the flying tail helped out at the bottom. I had presence of mind to fire only short bursts, so as not to dissipate air speed at that altitude. Over the Yalu River, the MiG straightened out for a moment and I prepared to fire a long burst when I observed an object going by my canopy - the MiG's canopy - followed shortly by the pilot in his ejection seat. When the gun camera film was processed, the seat could be seen going by.

Numbers three and four followed over the next thirty days. Number four had'341' painted on the side. When I commenced my attack on him the closure rate was so great that I had to execute a displacement roll around him to maintain nose-to-tail separation. As I rolled, I hit the Mig's jetwash. The jolt was so great that my binoculars hit the stick grip and were broken. (Binoculars were carried by all serious students of MiG killing, just for one chance to get a 'first sighting'.)

In addition to all the activity going on trying to recover the aircraft and myself, the gunsight quit while I was firing and the guns also stopped. For a heartbeat I thought of ramming, striking the horizontal tail which I could see was just inboard of my left wing. I missed by about six inches. Rolling over the MiG, which was rapidly losing airspeed, I recycled the gun switch to 'guns, sight, and camera' and it came back on. I popped the speed brakes, squeezed the trigger, and literally blasted the MiG out of the sky.

The fifth kill was one of both anguish and jubilation. Iended up in a tail chase about 4000 feet from the MiG.Again, I turned off the radar and.computing gunsight, elevated the nose and fired. The tracers made a small halo around the MiG. Gradually a fire began to grow in the rear of the MiG, and about the time I had closed to an ideal firing range there was no need to expend any more ammunition. It was a dying aircraft, with the entire fuselage serving as a flame holder.

I pulled up alongside. the pilot was beating on the canopy, trying to escape. Seeing me, he tried to turn and ram me. I thought the humane thing to do was to put the pilot out of his misery, so I slid my Sabre back onto his tail. Molten metal from the MiG rained on my aircraft. Firing a few short bursts, the sounds suddenly changed, three of my guns quit firing, my left rudder pedal went to the firewall, and I thought for sure I had been hit. I disengaged and cautiously returned home to find after landing that the intense heat from the burning MiG had caused a misfire of a .50 cal. round. The exploding cartridge shut down the guns, severed the rudder cable, and subsequently dumped my pressurization.

The next two kills were in the best fighter tradition of Mannock, Udet, Nungesser, and other heroes of the first dogfights in World War 1. I found myself and the MiG at the same airspeed, altitude, and going in the same direction. Immediately we got into a flat scissors maneuver trying to get on the other's tail. Dropping my speed brakes and using aerodynamic braking, I fell in behind the MiG at a range of about 600 feet. This time the radar gunsight was working marvelously and the first burst of a few seconds caused my opponent's aircraft to light up almost wingtip to wingtip. Before I could fire again, the canopy went by, followed by the pilot.

As we were leaving Mig Alley, my flight had to break to avoid an attack. I fell in trail behind my wingman and told him to take us home. As we climbed out, I spotted a MiG closing behind my wingman at about 3000 feet. I dropped in behind the Mig at about the same range but he must've seen me. He turned left and I zoomed into a yoyo. He continued and I ended up behind him at about 300 feet almost in full stall. I fired a burst that struck right behind the canopy and the MIG immediately snapped into a spin. There was nothing else to do but spin with him. Both of us entered the spin at about 30,000 ft. I would take short bursts when my F-86 pointed at him. He spun all the way into the ground.

The victory which held the most danger and which was fraught with the most mistakes was my next. It began with a new wingman, who had been a professional musician and could play a mean clarinet. Our flight was late getting into the area and battles had already begun. The fight was taking place about fifty miles northeast of the mouth of the Yalu River. We came into the area climbing through 40,000 feet, dropped our tanks, and spotted four MiGs in a fingertip formation. There were four F-86s behind them at a great distance. As we jockeyed for position, we almost collided with the other Sabres, since neither formation wanted to give way and lose the dvantage. No one was firing because the range was so great, but the Migs appeared to be aware of us.

We were now over China. We were above a solid layer of clouds and the Migs were letting down into it. Guessing where they were going, I continued down with my element and occasionally could see the MiGs going in and out of cloud layers. Then we all broke out. The Migs were to our left and in a turn. We could've joined up with them. In fact, my joinup with number two MiG was too good, and I was too close to open fire effectively. My wingman called me clear to fire, and as I got into position, a volley of cannon tracers went by my right wing and canopy. Immediately my wingman called me clear again, and I thought he had negated whoever was shooting at me.

I continued my attack, but once again a burst of fireworks passed my right wing and canopy before I could fire. Still I didn't look back, and once more my wingman called me clear. I was very nervous by now, but not once did I look around to my six o'clock. I suspect the reason I wasn't nailed was because I was so close to the MiG in front of me, that his buddy couldn't get a good shot at me, without hitting his friend. Finally I thought I was clear to fire, and it was no problem to dispatch the aircraft in front of me, once I got my mind settled down. A few good bursts and the battle was over. The MiG was on fire and the pilot ejected.

My next kill was a relatively easy one. I saw a MiG firing on an F-86 and dove on him. I fired and got his attention. He disengaged and headed north. I fell in behind him and easily got him burning. The pilot bailed out. Shortly thereafter my tenth kill was official.

My last mission of the war was both successful and unsuccessful. I set up a pass on two MiGs in formation. My speed was such that I rolled over the number two man and fired a long burst that stopped his engine. Devoting my attention to the leader, I fired from about 1200 feet and this tore apart the MiG. Debris came back at my aircraft in large pieces. I instinctively ducked as parts came by my canopy. Some of them went into my engine and it came to a stop. I smelled smoke and stepped over the side and into captivity. The date was 21 March 1953. Two years later I walked home across Freedom Bridge.

Postcript: Years later it was revealed that the Soviet Air Force supplied at least three air regiments to support the North Korean Air Force. Based north of the Yalu River in mainland China, the Soviet units included many veteran fliers from World War II. In 1990, Hal Fischer learned that the two Migs he chased on his final mission were indeed flown by Soviet pilots. One of them, Major Dinitiri Yermakov, was a WWII ace with 26 victories, who claimed that Fischer's F-86 was one of two he was credited with in the Korean War. Hal Fischer acknowledges that he could have been hit by Yermakov's cannon. At the time, however, he assumed it was debris from the exploding MiG ahead of him. Yermakov survived the war and has corresponded at length with Fischer.

(Hal Fischer has evidence of two addtional kills to which he may be entitled, and has petitioned the Office of Air Force History to correct his records. This process is ongoing.)

F-86H Called Up During
Vietnam War!

by Ron Lang

The year 1968 was one of the most memorable in the history of the United States. On the 30th of January 1968, the North Vietnamese and Viet Gong launched the infamous Tet Offensive, effectively canceling all chances for a peaceful settlement of the war. President Lyndon ]Johnson stepped out of the Presidential picture, setting the stage for the victory by Richard Nixon in November.

But the problems actually began before the Tet attacks. On 23 January 1968, North Korean Navy torpedo boats captured the US Navy intelligence vessel USS Pueblo, along with its entire crew. forcing the Pueblo to Wonsan harbor. These actions by the North Korean government, might have been the beginning of a second Korean War. President Johnson reacted the following day, by activating a large number of Air National Guard squadrons into federal service.

With tensions still running high in the Spring of 1968, several more ANG squadrons were called up, including the 104th TFS, Maryland ANG, and the 138th TFS, New York ANG - both were equipped with F-86H Sabres. It wasn't the first time the 138th had been activated during a world crisis. "The Boys From Syracuse" were called to active duty during the Berlin Crisis of 1961, deploying to Phalsbourg AB, France on 1 October 1961, with a fighter-bomber mission. They remained at Phalsbourg until 20 August 1962 when they were returned to state control.

But this time, they would not be serving in the front lines of the actual war, be it hot or cold. On 13 May 1968, both the 104th (Maryland) and 138th (New York) were called to active duty. Both squadrons were deployed to Cannon AFB, New Mexico, home of the 27th TFW, one of the last F-I 00 equipped wings in the US Air Force.

The mission of both squadrons while at Cannon, was operation of a Forward Air Control and Air Liaison Officer Tactical Training Wing school. The purpose of our units was to take crew conversion people (i.e. B-47, 13-52, C-130, crews) and give them 30-some check rides in the T-33, then 30 rides in the F-86H. 'Thus they earned "entry level fighter pilot AFSC', and could go to Vietnam as Forward Air Controllers for the Misty FAG program. But the Inspector General of the Air Force didn't think too much of the program and it was canceled after 6 months.

The bulk of us '86 drivers were then slated to go to George AFB to be checked out in the front seat of the F-4 before going to Vietnam, But Air Force changed their minds again and we all stayed at Cannon, which meant that the instructor pilots now outnumbered the students 3-1. It then became a 'make work' operation, and we were handed all types of small jobs around the country.

One of the fun jobs was that of tow target aircraft for the F-4s out of George AFB. The Air Force was just getting the F-4E with the internal 2Omm Gatling gun. After a couple of rides, the George students got pretty sharp with the Gatling Gun and would shoot the dart off the tow line. You have plenty of fuel and aggressiveness left. Now what do you do?

Well it's 4 to 1 in favor of the F-4s, and it would soon be time for a little extra curricular activity, i.e. a 'rat race' - and I was the target! A couple of the students tried to turn with me and lost big time. Soon I was camped at their 6 o'clock with the pipper on the F-4 in perfect textbook sight picture.

One of my favorite memories regards a 'Major Dudley'. I'd been towing the dart and no one had hit it. Procedure was for the tow pilot to bring the dart over the air-ground range at about 100' AGL The Range Officer would call to 'Cut cable now!', and the dart would crash on the desert floor, where the weapons people would retrieve it and salvage any parts they could.

This time, Major Dudley was flying with me in an F-4. He was a nice guy, who had gotten a MiG in Vietnam, and who just loved to needle the single-seat types about how nice the F-4 was, since you could shut one engine down and still get home on the other one.

As we came across the range, the Range Officer called for me to cut the cable. I did, and immediately started a high G barrel roll, coming up very' quickly on Major Dudley's 6 o'clock. Now Mama Dudley didn't raise no dummies, and as soon as he realized the position I was in, he popped that F-4 into 'burner and was gone. My radar sight was unwinding at one heIIuva rate and I never did catch him.

I sure wish I'd had some film in the gun camera that day. A 20x24 blowup of my pipper right on that F-4 tailpipe would have made for one great present at the going away party.

Both squadrons returned to state control on 20 December 1968. In 1970, both squadrons transitioned to a new aircraft the Cessna A-37B. The 104th (MD) made the transition on 2 April 1970. The 138th (NY) was the last F-86 unit in Guard, converting to the A-37 in late Summer 1970.

The F-86H - "Last Of The Sport Jobs" - had finally been retired from the Air Force inventory.

GLIDING THE F-86
The Ultimate Range Extender

By Robert W. Smith

Ed. Note: Bob Smith had a remarkable career in the USAF. In Korea, he destroyed two MiGs, had one probable, and two damaged. Between wars, he set a world altitude record of 120,800 ft. in an NF-104A at Edwards AFB, California. In Vietnam, as a squadron commander in F-105s, he won the Air Force Cross. He also holds the Silver Star, five DFCs, and 13 Air Medals. After he retired from the Air Force, he had a successful twenty year career with the Martin Marietta Company. He is retired in Montverde, Florida, and enjoys golf and traveling. The story which follows was presented in two parts when it appeared in the Sabrejet Classics.

You invited stories about the F-86H, and this is one, but I must preface it with related tales from a thousand hours I enjoyed flying the A, E, and F models. Only a fool would tell this story, but I have been judged worse, so here goes. This fool flew more than 50 military aircraft types and never enjoyed any of them more than the Sabre.

This F-86 story really began upon my graduation from Class 50C at Williams AFB, in the F-80A/B, the day before the Korean War began. Those of us who had orders to Japan were reassigned stateside within days, and I went to the 1st Fighter Group at March AFB, then to Griffiss AFB, where I spent a year and 340 flight hours learning and enjoying the F-86A. I also spent 20,000 feet learning to recover from a flat spin during my one and only flight in the F-51D. This occurred after I intentionally entered a normal spin for fun, only to have it become the dreaded flat spin. All this because I had a full fuselage tank, which I later learned was a big no-no. I found out recovery is possible, but only below 3,000 feet.

My good fortune with Sabre assignments then led to the 335th Fighter Squadron, 4th Fighter Group, and my first combat tour. Although I ultimately got two MiG kills, a probable, and two damaged, I like to think that my record would have been better except that I lacked the eyes of an eagle and not aggressiveness and gunnery skill, which are other traits of the great aces.

After a couple of weeks at Johnson AB, Japan, I joined the 335th at Kimpo AB (K-14) in Korea. There, I was assigned to the tent of Captain Ralph D. "Hoot" Gibson, who showed the kind of leader he was by always putting the new guys on his wing for their first mission. Others might have done it differently, since he was so close to becoming the second jet ace, but not Hoot. So there I was, on his wing, and we had cruised south of the Yalu for quite a while, when I got my first look at the awesome sight of a large (make that HUGE) gaggle of MiGs approaching in the cons. We jettisoned our empty tanks and engaged, and before long I was a spectator watching Hoot shoot down a MiG. I was trying diligently to check six while we were tracking the MiGs, but confess I was fascinated by the sight of tracers and the many, many hits on the MiGs, which seemed like big sparklers to me. Watching a MiG kill for the first time seemed almost surrealistic.

That MiG was history in no time, and Hoot closed on another one and began hammering him. Soon, other MiGs were cutting us off and closing to near firing range behind me, so I told Hoot about this. He told me to let him know if I had to break. The lead MiG on my tail started shooting far enough out so that the "golf ball" tracers were falling short, but he closed and fired a burst that passed right over my right wing. I'm sure he was using the MiG's 37mm because the red balls were so large, and the rate of fire was slow. Right then, I notified Hoot that I was breaking hard right, then told him that all four MiGs were sticking with me. He asked if I needed help, and pride and bravado prompted me to say that I could handle it. I thought I could easily shake these birds, however we were near bingo fuel, so I knew I had to do it quickly. We were high enough so that I could make a diving turn to gain a speed advantage as I had been taught, pulling just enough g's to make it unlikely they could draw a lead. I pulled hard while holding aft trim, since my "A" model was in that speed range where the elevator pulled like a gigantic rubber band, but produced little g response unless you used elevator trim. Suddenly something occurred that I had never encountered, and I found my head down in my lap as I felt many g's for an extended period. Because I didn't feel the side load associated with a snap roll, I have always surmised that I had runaway trim. Because I never used shoulder straps as a wingman in Korea, I literally could not look outside. All my efforts to push the stick forward and retrim were useless. Although I was still concerned about the MiGs, I finally extended the speed brakes, pulled the throttle to idle, and found that I could raise my head again. My Sabre and I were down to 4,000 feet and we were climbing steeply, still between Anju and Sinuiju.

At this point I had real fuel problems and turned towards home as I continued to climb. The four MiGs were still there, and now began a series of high-side firing passes on me that looked like gunnery school. I found that I now had very little roll response - slow and sluggish. The MiGs took advantage of my vulnerability and continued their passes. I couldn't understand why they didn't slip in behind me for an easy kill, except maybe they didn't know my problem and didn't want to force me to break. This went on for what seemed to be an eternity, and I continued working my way to the south. I tried to increase their attack angle by turning into them as best I could without varying too much from my southerly heading. As Elvis said, I was "all shook up" since my "breaks" were so gentle. I thought each of their passes would be the end of me. Suddenly my fear turned to blind fury, and I emptied my six fifties in one long burst as the next MiG passed me. Of course, it was futile, because I wasn't able to get my sight on him until he was long gone. To this day, I can visualize the fifty caliber rounds tumbling out of burned-out barrels before the last shot left. Thank goodness, the MiGs then left, and while I'd like to think they had had enough of that crazy American, the truth was likely that they too were low on fuel.

I climbed toward home base until I had 15-20 gallons showing on my fuel gage, then shut down my engine to save that precious fuel for landing. At the right time, I made an airstart and landed after a long, straight-in approach. Everyone else had landed long ago, and Hoot said they had already written me off. Major W.W. "Bones" Marshall, the 335th commander, met me on the ramp and we inspected the airplane. The wing stress plates were severely damaged, and the ailerons were so deformed that they were physically binding. The resettable "Max G" needle (removed on later airplanes) was pegged at the max. If my memory serves me (and it often doesn't anymore), that was 12-14 g's. That mission began my use, or abuse, of power-off cruise descents.

In my own defense, I think I did better on my next 99 missions, and even had the honor of leading the wing on a mission as a first lieutenant.

After leaving Korea, I was assigned to the 93rd Fighter Squadron at Kirtland AFB, New Mexico, once again flying the trusty '86A. Major W.W. "Bones" Marshall, my old squadron commander and an ace from Korea, was the 93rd commander. Now, one of our favorite assignments at Kirtland was to fly to Yuma, Arizona, for air-to-air gunnery practice, but this was a long haul (Albuquerque to Yuma) for a clean Sabre. Unfortunately, drop tanks were in short supply stateside, because the Korea groups were dropping them regularly and naturally had the priority for resupply.

One fine day I was scheduled to fly to Yuma with Bones and Capt. Ken Chandler, another Korea ace and a great pilot who had performed stunts with Chuck Yeager in the F-86 for the 1950 movie "Jet Pilot", which starred John Wayne. My own radio failed on take-off, so Bones and Kenny pressed on while I returned to Kirtland for a new radio. This was accomplished in short order, and I also headed for Yuma. The headwinds were pretty strong, so I found it necessary to shut down my engine once again and dead-glide to the maximum in order to make Yuma. Bones and Kenny had stopped at Williams to refuel, so I was waiting for them when they finally got to Yuma. I think to this day, Bones can't figure out how the headwinds had died so suddenly.

After graduating from Test Pilot School in 1956, I found myself assigned to the Air Force Armament Center at Eglin AFB, Florida, and flying the F-86F and H on gun test projects. After about a year, AFAC was absorbed by the Air Force Operational Test Center, also at Eglin, and my new commander was Brig. Gen. Ernest Warburton, a well-named man of Native American descent. I had not met him, but soon would.

One Friday I was instructed to ferry a clean F-86H to Bradley Field, Connecticut for transfer to the Air National Guard. I had never been to Bradley, but approached the flight with some urgency, since my good wife had invited about 85 people to our house for a party that night. At the airline ticket office I found that the only way I could catch the only flight home from Bradley was to make it to Bradley non-stop. Wasting no time departing, I grabbed a map, checked the weather, and noted that Bradley was on the south bank of a large river. I calculated that the distance and weather (CAFB) would allow me to make it non-stop if I used my cruise-climb and engine out descent.

Things went well, and visibility from altitude was unbelievable. My progress showed it would be tight, but I'd make it with a full power-off glide from cruise altitude. I made all the necessary radio calls enroute, shut down the engine and began my slow glide. Someone had told me that the field was right across the river from the Pratt and Whitney engine plant, and I was sure I saw it from way out. I never even unfolded the map from the moment I picked it up, but I saw the plant on it and the letters BRA...disappear behind the fold line. About fifty miles out - still gliding - I tried to call the tower, but got no response from the tower or anyone else. No radios! So I continued to an IP for a power-off 360, and planned to start my engine at the last possible moment, saving about 30 pounds of fuel for use if required. Suddenly my full attention was focused on a light aircraft on an extended downwind. I didn't have enough fuel for a go-around, but was able to cut inside him and roll out to a short but unbelievable final approach view. There was a high earthen dam at the approach end of a runway that now seemed more like a short country lane. It proved to be somewhat less than 2500 feet in length and about 75 feet wide, with grass growing through the blacktop. Of course, all my other options had been abandoned at 38,000 feet, but I landed successfully. Because I had been practicing short field landings in the F-100, stopping was no real problem.

Before I could dismount, an Army National Guard jeep pulled up, and I hollered, "Is this Bradley Field?". "Nope, this is BRAinerd - BRAdley is thirty miles up the river!" The kind Army lieutenant happened to have access to a UH-1, and after I grabbed the aircraft documents, we helicoptered over to Bradley. Unfortunately, I had to leave the '86H where it was because there were no taxiways at Brainerd (Fortunately, there wasn't much traffic, either.) At Bradley, I hurriedly got the Guardsmen to sign for the airplane, and felt sure they would recover the Sabre and forget the matter.

The party that Friday night back at Eglin was a great success (Yes, I made it in time!) and was a catharsis for my lingering concerns about the consequences of my most recent Sabre sortie.

Early Monday morning, I was summoned to General Warburton's office and learned first hand about an Indian on the warpath - and how! I decided my best defense was stupidity, since grounding was the alternative. It seems the Air Force advisor at Bradley had called the Eglin command section to ask what kind of idiot pilots they had. I will never forget the anger of that general, and I stuck by my story that I had landed there because I thought it was Bradley, and yes, the field looked OK to me. I still contend that this answer was close enough to fact that I have never outright lied to a superior officer.

As luck would have it, I was soon to get back in General Warburton's good graces. At the next Joint Civilian Orientation Conference, one of Eglin's famous "firepower demonstrations", I was chosen as the alternate shooter in a new event. An F-100 was to shoot down a towed "Redbird" target (very tiny), on time and right in front of a grandstand full of VIPs. It hadn't been done before, and I had some trepidation that if I became the primary shooter, and failed, my position on General W's hit list would advance to Number 1.

Sure enough, on the day of the show the primary had to abort with a mechanical problem, and I became the designated shooter. Thankfully, I was able to blast the target to pieces, an event I later repeated at The World Congress of Flight at Las Vegas in April 1959. At the flying suit beer party after the show, General Warburton came over and gushed to the primary about his great "kill". My good friend modestly pointed to me and told the general that I had done the shooting. The general's smile faded, and he wheeled about and also faded into the crowd without a word. But thereafter, he treated me as if nothing bad had ever happened, and I truly don't believe that he had an ulterior motive when he helped get me transferred in response to an invitation by the Thunderbird leader.

Shortly after my chewing-out from the general, Captain Lon Walter, the assistant fighter ops officer, presented me with a nameplate for my desk, properly including my correct initials, "Rong Way Smith". Things picked up even more when I received a clipping from a Connecticut newspaper that reported the first jet to land at Brainerd Field, and how they took the wings off to truck it to Bradley.

The last times I used my F-86 dead-glide proficiency were in a test program at Edwards on a highly modified NF-104A with a liquid rocket engine and reaction controls, in which I reached 120,800 feet for a world record in 1963. On over 100 flights I had many occasions to make an engine-off reentry, but only once in this airplane and the Sabres did I have to actually dead-stick.

For a long time, Lon Walter and another great friend, Lt. Gen. Howard Leaf, retired USAF Assistant Vice Chief of Staff, tormented me about my only mistake in twenty years of flying, except for the times when.....

Cross Country With "GB"

by James "Skinny" McLennan

We launched from Syracuse as a flight of two F-86Hs, bound for Willy Patch (Williams AFB, AZ) near Phoenix, "Garbage Belly" Miller in the lead. We scheduled a refueling stop at Scott AFB. But on arrival at Scott, we were informed the field was closed to jet traffic due to repairs on the long runway. "GB" informed the tower that we'd take the short runway and land anyway. And that's exactly what we did!

In Base Ops we ran into our second obstacle, the Airdrome Officer, who calmly informed us that we were going nowhere. "The base is clased to jet traffic!" But "GB" looked him right in the eye and said, "We're in the Guard! But you can watch us take off!" The stunned Airdrome Officer did as "GB" said - he watched.

Our climb to 41,000 feet, our best cross-sountry cruise altitude, took about 20 minutes. At this altitude, we indicated 240 KTh, which gave us a 470 KT TAS. With 200 gallon drop tanks, maximum range was about 1,000 miles. But we seldom planned more than 800 depending on the winds.The time enroute was usually an hour and a half to two hours. Anything more and we really started sweating fuel. We navigated between radio beacons using the ADF, which was less reliable if their were any thunderhoomers about. At each fix, we gave a radio position report which included an estimate of our arrival at the next 'fix'. It was all done in our head. We had no calculators, computers, or even an autopilot to w e could use a pencil and paper. In '61 it got a lot easier. We had TACAN installed, which was more reliable and gave us both distance and heading to or from the station.

So there we were, at 41,000 feet, above an overcast, with about 30 minutes of fuel left. "GB" called Oklahoma City Control to tell them "We haven't enough gas to get to Willy." He took their suggestion to go to Altus AFB, which wasn't too far away. Switching to Altus Approach Control, they informed us that the weather was very bad. They were recovering several B~47s and we would have to hold at the fix for an hour before they would clear us for the approach. "GB" calmly tells them "No problem."

Now I'm really confused. How can we hold for one hour with less than 30 minutes of gas? As we hit the 'fix', "GB" called Approach Control and announces that we will cancel the IFR and let down VFR. We roll upside down into a split S, change to tower frequency, plunge straight down into the soup for our 'VFR descent'.

With the altimeter unwinding at breakneck speed, I feel my G suit inflate as "GB" starts his pull-out. I'm hanging on for dear life! Rain is pelting the canopy as we break out at 500 feet, moving at over 575 KTS. One mile from the end of the runway, "GB" calls "Two Sabres in the break for full stop landings!" And the tower calmly responded "Cleared to land." That night at the OClub bar, "GB" told World War 2 Mustang stories til they closed. And you know what? I believed all of them!