THE FIRST SABRES ARE DELIVERED
by Donald M. Cummings
I was Squadron Commander of the first P-80 Shooting Star squadron in Europe with the 55th Fighter Group at Giebelstadt AB, Germany. We received thirty P-80As in the Spring of 1946. General Barcus gave them to our squadron as we had the best accident record in the ETO at the time. We flew them until the Spring of 1947 when we ran out of engines. We ferried the remaining F-80s to Bremen using our last four engines.Because of my P-80 time, I returned to the First Group at March Field only to find that the 94th Squadron already had two lieutenant colonels and four majors assigned. Everyone in the Army Air Force (we were still in the Army at that time) was trying to get assigned to the First Fighter Group, the only jet group at March Field, along with Col. Leon Gray's 12th Reconnaisance Squadron, also flying a variant of the P-80 - the FP-80A. March Field was the home of 12th Air Force Headquarters and considered 'The Country Club of the Air Force'.
In 1949, Lt. Gen. Curtis Lemay decided he wanted March Field for Strategic Air Command. He also convinced Air Force Headquarters that he needed a fighter group assigned to SAC for escort purposes. General Lemay got both March Field and the 1st Fighter Group, just in time for our conversion to the new North American F-86A Sabre. In 1950, the 1st FG was transferred back to Air Defense Command and redesignated a fighter interceptor unit. But between July 1949 and April 1950, the 1st FG was attached to the 22nd Bomb Group!
On the 7th of February 1949, five pilots from the 1st FG went to Muroc Dry Lake AFB (later Edwards AFB) for approximately ten days to check out in the brand new F-86 Sabre, which was still undergoing Air Force acceptance checks. I'm the last of those five pilots still living, but it was certainly one of the highlights of my Air Force career.
The F-86 was a big improvement over the P-80 Shooting Star. It was the first jet plane that felt like a fighter plane should feel enough speed, climb, and maneuverability to give you the confidence that you could perform the mission. And it was much easier to fly. I can not recall any portion of the flight envelope in which the Sabre was not better than the Shooting Star.
On 15 Februiry 1949, we went up to Mines Field, now LAX, to accept delivery of the first F-86s. I don't know if I accepted the actual first F-86 or not. But we checked the aircraft out with the people at North American (we had a close relationship with them, including gratuities - the good old days), and flew them straight to March Field. These were still some of the '47 model F-86A-ls with the round windscreen and Mk. 18 gunsight.
I picked up three more aircraft, two on 3 March and a third on 14 March. It was on the 14 March delivery flight that disaster struck. My roommate at the time, Robert 'Knobby DeLoach, went with me on that trip. I took off first and he followed right behind me. Shortly after becoming airborne, Knobby's Sabre suffered a broken auxiliary drive shaft and he lost all hydraulic power and control of the airplane. Sadly, Knobby did not survive the crash. It was the first F-86 to crash when flown by an Air Force pilot. There would be more from compressor failures, mid-airs, and crash landings when the pilot got behind on the power curve. The F-86 was very forgiving except on landing.
One of the new innovations on the F-86 was the ejector seat. It was a subject often discussed by the Sabre pilots in those early days. Would it actually work? It hadn't as yet been tested in an F-86. While I was with the 1st FG, we had two ejections - another 'first' for the group. One resulted from a mid-air between a pair of F-86s that were making practice firing runs on a B-36. The collision killed one of the Sabre pilots, and fired the seat of the other pilot straight through the still-closed canopy. He had pieces of plexi-glass embedded in his shoulder, and was very happy that he had been wearing one of the new bone dome helmets.
The other ejection occurred during a crash landing in a rocky river bed. The airplane broke up on impact, folding the wing. Again, the ejection seat actuated on impact and fired the pilot out of the aircraft horizontally! Luckily, the pilot had already fired the canopy off prior to the crash. He broke some bones but lived to file the accident report.
In February 1950, 1 was selected along with several other reserve officers, for removal from flying status by Defense Secretary Johnson's 'cost reduction' program. Suspended from flying on 29 April 1950, I went to school at Lowry Field on 14 June. Ten days later the Korean War broke out. I thought they might need experienced F-86 combat pilots and went to Operations with my Form 5. They informed me that I couldn't return to flying status while I was in school, but could once I finished school and was assigned to a command. I was assigned to Western Air Defense Force, the primary air defense force in Southern California, flying F-86s. But alas, they calmly told me that my new job didn't require flying and I was turned down on my request to return to flying status. It was the end of my flying career.
I am proud to have flown with the First Fighter Group from April 1947 until March 1950, and I was Operations Officer for the 94th Squadron when I left. It was the 'best of times'.
ON MAC'S WING
by Dean Abbott
I graduated with Class 52-F in September 1952, having trained in the T-6 at Greenville AFB, the T-28 at Perrin, and the T-33 at Laredo. My' cousin, Earl Wisecarver, also a member of 52-F, went to Bainbridge AFB and Bryan AFB. We got together for the first time when we went through gunnery' training at Nellis between October and December 1952.Training was hectic in those days. The Air Force took in twice as many trainees as they graduated. The attrition rate was high. The purpose was to rush as many' trained pilots to Korea as possible to bolster the undermanned units fighting there. A fatality a week was common at Nellis during our training. However, the system worked and the squadrons in Korea finally came up to authorized strength.
I left late in December for assignment to the 51st Fighter Interceptor Wing at Suwon, K-13, about 20 miles south of Seoul. To my pleasant surprise, cousin Earl was assigned there about a week later. We were both assigned to the 39th Squadron, Earl to 'C' Flight, commanded by 1/Lt. Hal Fischer; and I went to 'D' Flight, commanded by l/Lt. Joe McConnell, 'Mac' to his friends. At that time, Fischer already had three kills, Mac had none.
The beefing up of the wings had one very big consequence for us new guy's. The 'Old Hands', who'd arrived a month or so earlier, already had six to ten missions as wingmen before becoming element or flight leaders. Our arrival alleviated the necessity to rush new guys into lead positions. We didn't get to 'lead' either elements or flights until we had flown at least thirty missions as wingmen.
Joe McConnell got his first victory' on 14 January 1953. At that time, both Earl and I were going through 'in-country' training at Tsuiki, where they taught us to forget what we had just learned at Nellis, and to do it "our way". It was a lot to digest in two weeks, but we were soon flying missions as wingmen. By the end of March, Hal Fischer was a captain and a double ace with 10 victories. Mac was also a new captain, and had seven kills. Fischer was shot down shortly thereafter and captured. Had he not been shot down, it's possible that he would have been the top American ace of the war
I was fortunate enough to fly some memorable missions with Mac. On one of them, Mac and I were conserving fuel while CAPing Chodo Island, acting as spares or covering any on of the forty-plus Sabres sweeping the Yalu River for MiGs, that might get into trouble. However, there was no action and the mission headed south for home. In the meantime, Mac's primary hydraulic system failed and he we forced to use the alternate system. The F-86 Dash-1, i.e. the flight manual called for landing immediately. But suddenly, the Chodo radar started calling out MiG flights over Mukden, eighty miles into Manchuria.
Without a word, Mac turned north and we went straight toward Mukden. By the time we arrived, the MiGs had all landed. We made a lazy, time consuming 3600 circle above the city. I was doing my best to hold my breath. Nothing happened and I thought, "Good, now let's get OUT of here!" Nope, not yet. Mac called for another big ten minute orbit over Mukden. Still nothing happened. THEN we finally started the long flight back to K-13 with barely enough fuel to make it.
Although that was fun (!!!), my most memorable flight with Mac came on the 18th of May. By that time, he had thirteen kills, and the Migs were very active most of the time. We were experimenting with six-ship flights to counter the MiG tactic of flying long trains' of two-ship slights, one behind the other. Our six-shipper didn't last long, proving too unwieldy,. But this morning Mac was leading one. It also didn't last long.
No.5 aborted the takeoff roll and 6 stayed behind with him. Now we were four. Then, when we dropped our tanks, No.3 couldn't get one off, so he and No.4 headed for home. Mac and I were now an element and continued north to the Yalu.
Shortly after we arrived over the river, two MiGs flew right over us heading north. We turned after them and followed them across the river into China. We were allowed to do that according to the rules of 'hot pursuit' that were in effect. The MiGs were about a half mile in front of us, slightly high - and they knew we were behind them. They were dipping their wings to keep us in sight, and we figured, correctly, that they were calling for help.
We weren't gaining on them at full power so I was surprised when Mac pulled his nose up, which would result in a loss of airspeed. What he was doing was getting off a short burst in an attempt to slow his Mig down. quite often if you hit them in the tail, their landing gear would come down, making them a sitting duck. To my amazement, Mac scored some hits and his MiG lit up from strikes on the tail. I tried the same thing, getting off a quick burst at the one I was behind, but with no visible success.
At that very moment, the help the MiGs had called for, started showing up. I called a flight of four coming in from 3 o'clock, and another at 9 o'clock. Another flight also came from 9 o'clock and flew right under us. We broke hard right into this flight, as they were better targets than the two we'd originally chased. In the break, I got out in front and one of the MiGs behind us started firing at me. Mac rolled in behind him and quickly shot him off my tail. The MiG pilot ejected. We broke hard right again, and again with me out in front, the same thing happened. Another MiG opened up on me, and again, Mac did a half roll, got behind him, and shot him off my tail.
Somewhere in this melee, as I was calling out MiGs, I said, "My God, there must be thirty of them!" Mac responded, "Yeh, and we've got 'em all to ourselves." We were the only two still in action that morning and everyone was listening, including the Battle Staff back in Combat Ops at K-13. This audacious statement, plus the fact that he had just become a triple ace, gained Mac a lot of notoriety.
From that point on, all we could do was break left and right defensively, trying to work our way back south as best we could. Probably the only reason we weren't shot down was that there were so many of them they got in each others way. We finally made it south of the Yalu, and, thankfully, they didn't follow. Had they done so, we would have been out of fuel quickly, and they could have claimed both of us without firing another round. As it was, we limped back and landed on fumes. But we did make it.
Mac went back up that afternoon and got one more to raise his total to a record 16 MiGs. That was his last combat flight. He was sent back to the States a few days later. Before he left, he recommended me for a Distinguished Flying Cross, which I received, and secured a spot promotion for me to first lieutenant. One of my most prized possessions is an 8x10 picture of the two of us shaking hands. It's autographed, "to my wingman on the roughest one of all."
Joe McConnell was a fine leader. Often, returning from a mission, if fuel allowed, he would let us practice the scissors maneuver on him. Or practice a simulated complete hydraulic failure using only throttle and rudder, so that we could get ourselves back to friendly territory' to eject if necessary'. his ability to fly that way probably cost him his life the following year. He was stationed at George AFB, and was being 'loaned' to Edwards flight Test Center for acceptance testing of the F-86H. The people of Apple Valley had built and donated a new home for Joe and his family.
In August 1954, he experienced a complete hydraulic failure in an H, and elected to try and bring the crippled airplane down on the dry' lake bed using only throttle and rudder. He almost made it but ground turbulence got him as he was about to land. One wing lifted and he had no way to correct for it. He ejected, but that was before the advent of the zero-launch seat and he didn't make it. Captain Joseph M. Mac' McConnell is buried in a spot of honor in the Victorville Cemetery. his sixteen jet-vs-jet victories have not been surpassed to this day.
His replacement as 'D' Flight commander was a US Marine exchange pilot, Major John Bolt, a 5 victory ace in World War Two with 'Pappy' Boyington's Black Sheep Squadron, VMF-214. Major Bolt would become the only Marine to make ace in Korea, claiming 7 MiGs before the end of the war.
I ended up with exactly 50 missions when the war ended, returning to the States in December. I'd spent enough time in grade as a spot first lieutenant to retain that rank. I was one of the first six pilots to form the nucleus of the 388th Fighter Bomber Wing at Clovis AFB (later Cannon AFB), New Mexico. I later flew a tour in Vietnam, retiring in 1971 at Myrtle Beach AFB, flying the A-7D. Two of my sons followed me into the Air Force as fighter pilots. it. Col. Joe Abbott and Major Tom Abbott, are both still in the Air Force. Both flew in Desert Storm. They' like to remind me that MY war stories are now history. And, damn it, they are!
HOOT'S HOKKAIDO AIR FORCE
by Lon Walter
OK, now picture this. It's Spring 1951. The war in Korea has stabilized roughly along the 38th Parallel. In the US, a fresh army division is being sent to the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido for final training before going to Korea. Troopships carrying the 45th Infantry Division (Oklahoma National Guard) are about to land at the ports of Muroran, Hakodate, and Otaru. Although there are several USAF radar sites on Hokkaido, there are no aircraft on the island. Chitose AB is in caretaker status, with limited transient capability. The Powers-That-Be (PTB) want to reassure the arriving soldiers that the US Air Force will protect them from the damn commies only 210 miles to the north on Sakhalin Island. If you're the PTB, how are you going to do that, huh?It would probably be impossible these days, but what they did was send four first lieutenants from the 4th Fighter Interceptor Wing, each flying an F-86A Sabre, from Johnson AB (near Tokyo) to Chitose. This impressive force consisted of Ralph D. 'Hoot' Gibson (335th Squadron), the flight commander; and wingmen A.J. 'Lon' Walter (335th), E.A. 'Scotty' Hanford (336th), and H.C. 'Shack' Skackleford (336th) Their orders were to proceed to Chitose, about 450 miles, and stand by.
When a troopship approached the island, Doll Sugar Flight was notified and would launch two Sabres to intercept the ship and provide low altitude combat air patrol. It was important that the F-86s remain clearly in view of the soldiers on board. When the fighters ran low on fuel, the other two would launch from Chitose and relieve them on station. The first two would return to base for a quick turn-around, and the process was repeated until the ship docked or darkness set in. The idea was to give the American troops the impression they were being protected by large numbers of America's latest front-line fighter. The mission was of such importance that if one of the four Chitose Sabres had mechanical ills, it was flown to Johnson for an immediate replacement. Or Johnson would send a fresh airplane and maintenance help to repair and recover the broken bird.
The small caretaker detachment at Chitose, commanded by Major Molineaux, welcomed the arrival of the Sabres with open arms. They'd been bored stiff and rolled out the red carpet for us. The transient maintenance force was headed by a former F-86 crew chief, who assured Hoot the aircraft would be well cared for. They were. The pilots were escorted to their quarters, a large three bedroom house with a roaring fireplace, a maid, and a cook. The commander of the Air Police detachment introduced himself by saying that if there was anything the pilots needed, he would do his best to provide it. On-call transportation to and from the flight line (or anywhere else we wanted to go) was provided by the Air Police.
Between 21 April and 28 April 1951, Doll Sugar Flight flew about 96 hours and 84 sorties (see footnote). It was Fighter Pilot's Heaven! Four great airplanes, your own 'private' air base, a mission that required you to show off for ground troops, no additional duties - and we were 450 miles from higher headquarters!
Each day began with a hearty breakfast. Then when the troop-ship-of-the-day loomed on the horizon, two shiny Sabres would begin a series of passes over the ship, rocking their wings as the troops lined the railings, waving like mad. Some passes were at high speed, followed by a sensational pull up, and often followed by an lmmelmann or Cuban Eight. Show time! Other passes were low and slow.
Two mission stand out in my memory. One morning as we approached the ship, there was a very large, four engine aircraft circling overhead. Clearly this Navy P.B.Y Privateer (a Navy version of the B-24, with a single tail, very big wings and quite slow) was trying to upstage the Air Force. After easily flying past the P.B.y at a high rate of speed, I pulled up and began setting up on his 6 o'clock for a little fun. It was then that this lieutenant learned a big lesson - when flying a jet fighter, one does NOT try to turn with a large, slow, four engine airplane.
The Privateer pilot must have been a frustrated fighter jock, because he threw that big hulk into a 450 bank, and broke left at about 150 knots. I soon found myself forced to use the Sabre's great speed and power to impress the shipborne audience. I don't know where that PB-4Y came from, or where he went, but after a while he must have become convinced that the Air Force was capable of caring for the troopship, and he departed. Of course, there might have been submarines down there...but, naw-w-w.
Another time, our sources told us there would be no ships that day, so Hoot and I flew a training mission. In beautiful clear weather, and in contact with the radar stations at Rumoi and Wakkanai, we proceeded up the west coast of Hokkaido at 40,000 feet - well into the contrail level. Arriving at Wakkanai on the northern tip of the island, Sakhalin (USSR) was clearly visible only 26 miles across the La Perouse Strait. And while we never crossed the mid-point of the strait, we both wondered if Soviet MiGs would scramble to protect their border. They didn't. Enroute back to Chitose, Hoot took the scenic low level route down the center of Hokkaido. Fighter Pilot's heaven.
On the eighth day, Doll Sugar Flight bade farewell to its friends at Chitose and returned to Johnson. The 335th 336th Squadrons would soon be rotated back to Korea at K where the stakes would be higher. But by keeping the MiGs contained along the Yalu River, the Sabres were still protecting the 45th Division and other UN forces fighting along the Parallel.
(Footnote: The author's Form 5 shows 24 hours flying time and 21 sorties for this period of time. The flight time total is estimated to multiplying by four.)
SABRERS RETURN TO EUROPE
by Richard A. Lucas
Its July 1961 when an Air Force advisor to the Massachusetts ANG pops the question during our two week training stint at Otis AFB - "How many of you think you'll still be civilians at Christmas?" We all raised our hands, not knowing that plans were underway for Operation STAIRSTEP just as the Berlin Wall was being built.Dodging traffic on the Massachusetts turnpike going home, I was startled to hear a news bulletin that President Kennedy' had activated and federalized certain ANG fighter groups. POW! My unit, the 131st TFS, 104th TFG at Barnes MAP was named!
We had gratefully shed our fuel gulping, noise making F-94C Starfires for sleek, low time F-86Hs in late 1957. My checkout in the 'H' came on 4 January' 1958. It was love at first flight! By the time of our callup, I had racked up more than 600 hours in that sweet flying machine.
Preparations were swift for our deployment. Rumor was it would be a re-opened 'RED BALL' base in eastern France -Phalsbourg. We immediately began running the C-11 trainer around the clock filling squares for practice approaches at Loring, Goose Bay, Prestwick and Phalsbourg. TACANs were quickly fitted to the Sabres, replacing the ADF. We would he landing at Sondestrom AB, Greenland, where the approach meant flying up a fjord, counting Eskimo villages, and after the third village, the runway' should be in sight!
TAC headquarters at Langley was uneasy with the decision to send Guard pilots to Europe on such short notice. In those days, airline pilots were not encouraged to fly with the Guard. The reasoning was that airline pilots often worked weekends when the unit held drills. Many of the Monday through Friday guys flew every Saturday.
Sensing a possible disaster, 9th AF sent its Stan/Eval team headed up by none other than General Walter Sweeny. Were we impressed to be sitting in our briefing room with a 4 star quizzing us on emergency procedures! I think it quickly dawned on the general that we weren't a bunch of fuzzy- cheeked weekend JOPs. Our Group CO had flown P-36s before Pearl Harbor. The Squadron CO had busted trains across Europe. The 'A' Flight leader had flown on Chuck Yeager's wing. We had B-29, F6F, and F4U pilots. Three of us had been B-24 aircraft commanders. The planes from Syracuse and Boston likewise were manned by old heads who stayed with the program because we loved to fly - especially the F-86H!
Launch Day, 28 October 1961. We donned our poopy suits and GCId up to Loring for an RON. Didn't leave a single bottle of champagne or sparkling wing in the O-Club. Our Wing CO, Brig. Gen. Charles Sweeny, of Nagasaki fame, wrote a personal check for a couple of glasses we pilots may have accidently broken.
Off to Goose Bay', where the mess hall struggled mightily to feed 75+ hungry' pilots. Then a bigger problem arose - SNOW! however, the weather experts decided the upper winds were favorable to make the leg to Sondestrom. But to save fuel, the airplanes were tugged to the runway, engines started on signal and run to full power, a head nod and we rolled down the runway' into the white void.
Topping out at 20,000 with Nos. 3 and 4 in position, we settled back for the flight to Sondestrom. There were Duck Butts below, but we knew there wasn't much chance of surviving in the frigid water. But those wonderful GE J73s that we completely trusted, plus the Guard's well known maintenance skills gave us a smooth flight. We often bragged that our senior non-com 'Zebras' had grease under their fingernails, while their Air Force counterparts sat behind desks to supervise.
We normally planned an 'H' cross-country flight at FL 40 to FL 44. This was the altitude where the bird performed at its best. We often looked down from our perches at the early Century series aircraft, most of which had to go into 'burner to get up to where we flew with ease. Those 9,000 lb. J73s were great!
A night spent at Sondestrom in a cold Danish Army barracks, with an early morning breakfast of powered eggs. Yummmm... After we picked the shards of glass out of our flight boots, we headed across the ice cap to Keflavik. We'd been briefed about the free access to the base by Icelanders, and had been warned that their tiny but vocal Communist Party might demonstrate. On shutdown, the flight was greeted by a character with a sign that read Kennedy's Killers Go Home. I was tempted to restart and run up the engine to see how good his grip was on that sign. But discipline held.
We were restricted to the base that night, leaving early the next morning for Prestwick. Someone had thoughtfully placed a TACAN ship between Iceland and Scotland, making us all happy. A quick turn-around at Prestwick, and it was on to our new home at Phalsbourg. We had flown the North Atlantic and put over 75 F-86Hs in place without so much as a blown tire. I recall that the F-84F pilots did about as well. But they had air refueling and visited the Azores en route. We'd put some 235 fighter aircraft into European bases within 30 days of activation - no accidents, no incidents. Pretty good for a bunch of 'part time' fighter pilots.
Then came the culture shock at our re-opened but not yet ready base. My BOQ was fitted with an iron cot and a light bulb dangling on a wire. We were billeted across the base near the hardstands, and routinely rode the Strasbourg buses. After a theater orientation lecture, I made my first flight.
Except for busting out of low ceilings after GCA approaches at Chaumont and Etain, I never saw the ground again. We couldn't get on top of it. But my wingman held on for the entire flight through the European winter murk. Our squadron weather minimum had always been on the conservative side. Now it dropped to 301' on a 7800' downhill (often slushy) NATO runway. We all became sharp on the gauges real fast!
The Sabre had returned to Europe. And as the months rolled by, boy did we love it!