A FIREBALL IN THE NIGHT
by Dwight Purdy
The scramble horn was the signal to move fast. The flight, this night in October, 1955, was actually a routine training mission. With every training flight, how-ever, we used the Air Defense Command's scramble system, which kept us a little closer to the state of alert we were always pursuing. I was into the cockpit and had the engine started and hit the runway rolling with clearance from D-M (Davis-Monthan) tower. No challenge, I was airborne well within five minutes, off into the inky blackness of the sky over the Arizona desert west of Tucson. Sleep well. Arizona. The brave de-fenders of the 15th Fighter Interceptor Squadron are protecting you.
The flight profile was simple. From D-M, I was to head northwest to the Hassayampa radio beacon, which was somewhat west of Phoenix, then north to Prescott, where I was to turn around and fly the same course in reverse. My flight altitude was only 24,000 feet, well below the optimum 30,000 at which the F-86D per-formed best. The objective of the mission was to make me more familiar with the fuel consumption characteristics of the aircraft in situations other than our usual mission profiles.All went well, and at Hassayampa I made my turn and headed for Prescott. The lights of Phoenix were visible off on my right, as were the lights of Tempe and Mesa beyond, all separated by orange groves and desert. Glendale, though closer, was too small to make much of an impression. North of this area there were no lights; only the occasional twinkle that could be almost anything. When I got to Prescott, I made a 180 turn and wrote down the fuel level and compared it with my mission profile. I was shocked to find a huge discrepancy and the sudden realization that I couldn't afford the dogleg to Hassayampa if I was to have enough fuel to get back to D-M. There was an unexplained consumption of fuel that created a critical situation. I decided to abandon the mission profile and climb to the F-86D's optimum cruise altitude and head direct for Tucson. With that thought. I shoved the throttle forward for full power to climb.
What happened then was even more of a surprise. From behind me came a tremendous explosion. I jerked the throttle back, and watched in dismay as yellow and red warning lights started lighting up all over the cockpit. I realized that my engine had just gone bye-bye, and that I better come up with some new plans. I called Davis-Monthan tower to report my problems, and told them I was headed for Luke Field. Luke gave me clearance to approach from the northeast, but be-fore I could even acknowledge them, my radio failed. I headed for the bright lights in the distance that marked the runway where I intended to land, and began to realize that I wasn't going to make it. The F-86D had a high wing loading and came down very fast. I went through an airstart procedure to see if there was anything at all available from the engine. I was pleased when it actually started, although it would only get up to about 18% of power - about half of what it took to bring the generator up and give back my radio. I figured it was better than nothing and I left it at that setting and started planning an ejection.
Another surprise appeared. There was an airfield al-most directly, below me! Bailing out wasn't my only option! I was both pleased and chagrined to realize that I had been homing in on the Litchfield Park air-port, which was brightly lighted, and missed Luke, with much more subdued lighting. Luke Field was just off my right wing and I had only one approach available - to land in the direction opposite to the way they expected me. Sure enough, I could see red lights flashing from vehicles near the runway, as they prepared for my emergency landing.
I dumped the landing gear, the speed brakes and the flaps, all at once. If I thought that bird had a steep glide angle before, I was imitating a rock now. With the failure of the electrical system I had no way of knowing if the landing gear was really down, and I could only hope. Whatever, the ground was coming up fast, and from my steep diving turn I concentrated on making a touchdown in the first quarter of the runway. It actually went quite well, and I began a flare-out just after I crossed the end of the runway - skimming right over the crash barrier that had been erected for my expected approach from the opposite direction.
The touchdown was gorgeous, and I reached up and pulled the drag chute handle to help slow this high-speed tricycle down to reasonable speeds. Moments later I was impressed by the bright red light that came from behind me, and I wondered how the fire department had managed to catch up with me so fast, particularly from the wrong direction. Then spied what no pilot wants to see; a fire warning light. Of course - the engine! I jerked the throttle to off position, which shut down all fuel flow and the indicator light went dark, as did the red glow reflected from the drag chute. I watched the tailpipe temperature, which had been pegged, rapidly return to zero. I dumped the chute, rolled to a stop and began shutting down all systems. A fire rescue crewman appeared on my left canopy rail and began trying to get me out of the plane, but I was having none of that until I had finished my shut-down procedures. No board of inquiry was going to ask me why I left this or that switch on and ultimately blame me for the engine failure in the first place. He was yelling that the plane was on fire and I had to get out. I knew I had shut down the source for the fire, so I gnored him. When I finally got out, I think they were treating him for nervous breakdown. It really wasn't a brilliant decision on my part.
The Captain who took me to flight operations in his staff car explained that I had been the most spectacular thing that had happened in years. My plane, turning on its final approach, was trailing a magnificent fireball dozens of feet long. My throttle setting was feeding raw fuel into the engine, which had stopped turning. It was burning behind the plane - lighting up the night sky like the fireball that it was. Everybody was waiting to see the impact as this burning plane smashed into the ground. I sort of disappointed them when I failed to crash.
I stepped out of the car and went into flight operations to formally close my flight plan. The nervous energy I had been running on suddenly failed. I almost needed help to get to the door, and I began shaking so bad that I couldn't write. The airman behind the counter had problems understanding why I had landed at Luke when there was no such flight plan. The housing office assigning me quarters for the night groused about my late unannounced check-in. Obviously, everything was back to normal.
Radar Lock-on
The Sabre's Radar is Locked on...
BEN W. HALL
and HIS OWN F-86!
Be forewarned: This is the stuff of dreams.
The story begins in early 1970. when one of Ben Hall's Seattle neighbors, Jim Larsen, learned of an F-86 languishing in a surplus dealer's storage yard near Fresno, California. The dealer was asking $700 for the Sabre's remains, and a restoration project would likely require lots of work (and money). Jim knew that ben Hall had owned T-6 and P-51 aircraft, and he asked him to join in on acquiring and restoring the Sabre. Ben joined Jim and flew to Fresno, where they determined that rebuilding the Sabre, F-86A-5 #48-178, was probably worth a try. It would be four long years and about 10,000 man-hours later before they knew for certain if they had been correct.
As purchased in 1970, F-86A #178, had many shortcomings. Most notably, it lacked an engine, had no wing leading edges, and the cockpit was a mess. Fortunately, another F-86 was located in a junkyard and bought for $500. It provided most of the missing parts needed to make '178 flyable, including much of the cockpit but no usable leading edges.Several J47 engines were located and purchased for prices ranging from $50 to $1500. (Can you believe those prices?) Surprisingly, one of the $50 engines was ultimately the best performer and became the engine of choice. Additional major restoration sub-projects involved hydraulics, a complete electrical re-wiring job, and locating and installing a new fuel control.
Eventually, F-86 wings with leading edges were found at another surplus dealer. Removal of the leading edges and installation on `178 was a giant undertaking. In the process, it was discovered that the slats were incompatible with the configuration of '178s wing. The restoration team (Ben Hall and four dedicated associates) decided that the leading edges should be installed with the slats permanently secured in the "Closed" position. They fashioned a procedure to do this, and for good measure, a mid-wing airflow `fence' was added. This resulted in an F-86A with a wing that resembled the F-86F '6-3 hard wing'.
Along the way, there were many, many other problems to he solved. The team benefited at times from outside help such as famed North American Chief Test Pilot Bob Hoover, who helped locate North American engineers and documents to answer questions.
Finally, on 24 February 1974, the old Sabre was once again ready to fly. An experienced and current Sabre pilot, Paul Bennett, would take `178 into the air for its second `first flight'. He was a Boeing test pilot then flying a Sabre Mk. 5 chase plane for the company. Sabre #48-178 flew with virtually no write-ups that day. Subsequent flights proved that the project was a resounding success. According to ben, the secured slats had little effect on the Sabre's performance. Arguably, this F-86 was the first American-made and flyable jet fighter in civilian hands. Ben Hall first flew the Sabre on 3 May 1974, and several months later. Bob Hoover flew it at an air show in Western Canada.
Although he sold the Sabre in 1988. F-86 Sabre Pilots Association member Ben Hall's love affair with this F-86A continues to this day. From his present home in Salt Lake City, he provided SabreJet Classics with the photos and material needed to tell this brief account of the restoration of 48-178. Most helpful was an article telling the full story, published in Air Classics Quarterly Review, Fall 1976, and written by Jim Larsen, who had discovered `178 in 1970.
Today, F-86A #48-178 still flies - at air shows in the United Kingdom, and remains the only airworthy F-86A Sabre in the world.
SEARCH CONTINUES FOR KOREAN WAR MIAs
by Major Dale Cope
On 16 Sep 1952, Capt Troy Cope was flying his F-86F Sabre jet as lead with his wingman in a fighter sweep along the Yalu River, in the general area between Sinuiju and the Suiho Dam, North Korea. Sighting a flight of four MIG-15s, they gave chase when two more MIG-15s entered the action, and a maneuvering fight began. Capt Cope made a firing pass on one of the MIG-15s when it came within shooting range, and the action quickly developed into a dogfight in which both the F-86s and MIG-15s engaged in close-in maneuvering and firing passes. Capt Cope and his wingman remained in close proximity, but had to engage separately as more and more enemy aircraft appeared. Losing sight of Capt Cope, the wingman was able to chase two MIG-15s out of the fight before returning to base, but Capt Cope's aircraft was not seen again.
Fifty years after the armistice ended hostilities on the Korean peninsula, the search for Korean War Missing In Action (MIA) continues, and for the family of one Kansas Air Guard member, Major Dale Cope of the 184th MXS, the search has gained new hope. Known as "Gordy" to his family, Capt Cope was "reported MIA on 16 Sep 1952 and, in the absence of evidence of continued survival, the Air Force issued a presumptive finding of death on 31 Dec 1953." Little effort was made by the U.S. government for the next four decades to account for the approximately 8,177 U.S. MIAs from the Korean War, including the case of Capt Troy Gordon Cope. Then, in 1992, a U.S.-Russia Joint Commission on POWs-MIAs was formed to investigate the Soviet Unions involvement in the Korean War. In a report released in 1993, evidence was presented about the possible transfer of U.S. Korean War prisoners to the Soviet Union. The Soviets had formed and used a special Air Force unit with the mission of capturing pilots of the U.S. F-86 fighter, and the report identified 37 U.S. airmen missing from the Korean War who the United States believed may have been captured and sent to the former Soviet Union. Capt Cope was listed among the 37.Then, in 199S, the first hard evidence of Gordy's fate surfaced when a businessman returned from China with rubbings of American dog tags, including that of Capt Cope. The dog tags were found in a Korean War museum in the border city of Dandong, China near where Capt Cope's plane was last seen. In the report to the U.S.Embassy, it was stated that Capt Cope~survived and was met by locals who thought he was a Russian hero and sent for Russian interpreter. Upon discovering that he was not Russian, it was reported that Capt Cope was taken away live and not seen again.
Through the Defense POW/Missing Personnel Office (DPMO), the U.S. government began pushing the Russians and Chinese for additional information, and in 2001, a major breakthrough was achieved on Capt Cope's case. While researching Soviet air combat reports in the Russian Ministry of Defense Archives, a Chinese report was discovered describing the shoot down of an F-86 on 16 Sep 19S2. The report stated the enemy aircraft crashed into a house in a village and the pilot's body was found in the wreckage.
With this new information, DPMO representatives were able to meet with representatives of the Chinese government in Beijing in March 2003 to discuss Capt Cope's case along with other POW/MIA accounting issues. In a rare instance of cooperation by the Chinese government on a case involving a Korean War MIA, the Chinese agreed to technical talks to facilitate an investigation of the crash site. The Pentagon's Central Identification Laboratory will conduct the investigation, and if the information warrants, they will travel to Dandong for excavation of the crash site and exhumation of the pilot's remains. Once the remains are exhumed, then the laboratory will be able to use state-of-the-art forensic techniques to make positive identification.
Major Dale Cope and his brother, Chris Cope, (nephews of Gordy) recently attended a DPMO briefing for families of Korean War MIAs and POWs, which was held in Washington, D.C. just days prior to the 50th anniversary of the armistice, July 27, 1953. During these briefings, Major Cope learned details about the review of Russian archives and how an excavation is conducted. Major Cope and his brother met individually with the DPMO representatives who have been instrumental in the investigation of Gordy's fate. They discussed the specifics of Capt Cope's case and found out the technical talks with the Chinese were scheduled for August 2003. These latest developments have brought new hope for Gordy's family that he may be returned home after being listed missing for 51 years. Even after five decades, Gordy is survived by his wife, three sons, two brothers, a sister, and a multitude of grandchildren, nephews, and nieces. If the family is able to bring Gordy's remains home in a flag-draped coffin, it will help bring final closure for one MIA family, and hopefully, provide in-roads with the Chinese on the investigation of other Korean War MlAs. Capt Cope's case illustrates the U.S. government's commitment and DPMO's dedication to "Keeping The Promise" to achieve the fullest possible accounting of our missing in action - from all wars.
Sabre Pilots still listed as MIA
Names and Dates of Loss
Capt William D. Crone, 18 June 1951
Capt Robert H Laier, 19 June 1951
1Lt Lawrence C Layton, 2 September 1951
1Lt Carl G Barnett, Jr, 26 September 1951
Capt Charles W Pratt, 8 November 1951
1Lt Charles D Hogue, 13 december 1951
Lt Lester F Page, 6 January 1952
Lt Thiel M Reeves, 11 January 1952
1Lt Charles W Rhinehart, 29 January 1952
l Lt Thomas C Lafferty, 31 January 1952
Capt Charles R Spath, 3 February 1952
Capt Jack C Langston, 10 March 1952
1Lt James D Carey, 24 March 1952
Maj George V Wendling, 13 April 1952
Capt Albert G Tenney, 3 May 1952
Capt John F. Lane, 10 May 1952 Major Felix Asla, 1 August 1952
Maj Deltis H Fincher, 22 August 1952
Capt Troy G Cope, 16 September 1952
2Lt Jack H Turberville, 18 November 1952
1Lt Donald R Reitsma, 22 December 1952
2Lt Bill J Stauffer, 26 January 1953
1 Lt Paul J Jacobson, 12 February 1953
1Lt Richard M Cowden, 9 March 1953
1 Lt Robert F Niemann, 12 April 1953
Capt Frank E Miller, JR, 27 May 1953
1Lt John Southerland, 6 June 1953
1LT Allan K Rudolph, 19 June 1953
Capt Charles E Gunther, 19 June 1953
1Lt Jimmy L Escale, 19 June 1953
2Lt Gerald W Knott, 20 July 19532005 Editors Note
Capt. Troy Cope's remains were recovered and identified in 2005. He was
buried in Plano Texas May 31, 2005
NATIVE DANCERby John Moran
In the Fall of 1954, soon after the 16th and 67th FBS moved from Korea to Kadena AB, Okinawa, Air Force decided that the absence of the third squadron in the 18th Wing justified a month long gathering of that wing. During the Korean "Police Action", the 44th Squadron had remained in the Philippines at Clark AB, while the other two squadrons flew combat in Korea. But bringing the 44th to Kadena for Operation NATIVE DANCER would result in a loss of the squadron's air defense commitment to the Philippines.
Enter the 26th Squadron. Like the 44th, the 26th had remained in Okinawa with the 4th Squadron, while the 3rd squadron in the original 51st Wing operated in Korea. Flying out of Naha AB, near the southern tip of Okinawa, the 26th F-86Fs shared air defense responsibilities with the 4th, flying new F-86D Sabres.Similar aircraft and missions, made the 26th the logical choice to assume the alert posture of the 44th. Additionally, the experience of `bugging out' in a hurry could only enhance the experience of both squadrons. The 26th had been living pretty well at Naha, with a brand new BOQ and a great 0-Club called The Fighter Club. Everyone had a maid and "had it made!"
They sat VFR Alert from 30 minutes before sunrise to 30 minutes after sunset. If a cloud could be found, we palmed the alert schedule off on the 4th Squadron, who stood weather and night alert. If we were able to pull off this charade, it was off to the skies for `training', or to Bolo Point for air to ground gunnery.
But going to Clark Field was going to be great fun. A historical base, good flying and adventure. Yea! Little did we know that we would be restricted to the base for the first two weeks and that our BOQs would be 15 man tents (that we had to build!), which were 'furnished' with canvas cots. A far cry from air conditioning, nice baths, and the previously mentioned maids that we'd been led to believe were waiting at Clark.
The flying was great! A nice alert shack and enough "Scrambles" to keep the duty interesting. There was no all-weather squadron at Clark, so we stood alert in the manner to which we were accustomed. There was a good gunnery range, which we managed to take advantage of, And it sure was a lot of fun to shoot the guns without fear that someone was going to shoot back.
Just prior to NATIVE DANCER, the 26th had been selected to transition into the F-86D. Some of our F models had already been returned to Japan in preparation of the arrival of the `Dogs'. Since we were below the proper number of airplanes to fulfil the commitment. we were sent a group of F-86Es that had just been through IRAN. The wings had been modified to remove the slats, so these Sabres were almost identical to our F models. (editors note: This is the first time I've heard about operational F-86Es having the `6-3 hard wing' conversion other than F-86E-15s used in the Guard. Anyone with further knowledge of this, please contact your Editor.) About midway through 'DANCER', the 26th got the word that we had been selected to represent the United States at the celebration of the birthday of the Prince of Thailand. Sixteen Sabres were repainted, scrubbed and shined up. Our normal 120 gallon combat tanks were moved to the inboard station and 200 gallon tanks were added to the outboard station. On the flight to Bangkok, these big tanks would be dropped in order for the flight to continue non-stop from Clark. The drop site was to be over the jungle of some small country called French Indo China, and the 200 gallon tanks would be replaced in Bangkok.
On the return to Clark, one of the Sabres developed a malfunction, requiring it and its element Leader to divert to Saigon. Both aircraft were disassembled and re-turned to Japan. The leader of that element was later to lose his life on a combat mission over that same country, but now called Vietnam.
During the Thailand visit, those of us who did not get to make the trip, continued to `hold the fort' at Clark. While we still had alert responsibilities, the flying was a bit more relaxed and we were able to visit the rest of Clark Field. At the time, Clark still had the charm of an `old Army' post. Classic officers housing was built in tropical style, widely spaced and surrounding a large parade ground. Additionally. Clark had one of the finest Officer's Clubs to be found anywhere. Even though not being chosen to make the trip to Bangkok was an ego buster, those of us left behind (aces in our own minds!) took advantage not only of the Club but also to take in the local color.
If, in your youth, you didn't have the pleasure of visiting Angeles City, you were truly deprived. `Jitneys' were the transport of choice. These were Jeeps, ingeniously and colorfully converted to min-bus configuration for the run between Clark and the City. The fare depended on your ability to `negotiate'. Once in Angeles, the mode of travel switched to small donkey carts. The owner driver sat sideways at the front, and the seat could accomodate two passengers. Not a bad arrangement unless it was late at night and some fun-seeking GIs decided to take over the driving, resulting in racing two or more carts to the next point of happiness. If such was the case, one was well advised to seek shelter since the streets were narrow and two carts would barely fit between the buildings. Later in the day at the 0-Club, while bragging over some tall cool ones about our misadventures to a local cock fight, our friendly bartender, an enlisted man at Clark, pulled us aside and advised us not to broadcast our tour since the fighting pit was seriously off-limits to all US military personnel.
NATIVE DANCER ended with the 26th and 44th returning to their permanent assignments. The replacement F-86Es, even with the modified leading edges, did not have the capability of carrying multiple tanks, nor the big 200 gallon tanks. Those of us assigned to bring them back to Okinawa had to make a pit stop on Taiwan, where I was fortunate enough to re-new an old friendship with a Chinese Nationalist pilot I'd known during gunnery school.
Bottom line was that NATIVE DANCER was a success proving that the national front line fighter aircraft, and the men who worked on those wonderful airplanes, could go where they were needed and get the job done. And have a good time while doing so.
TWO JET FIGHTERS COLLIDE
OVER SEA OF JAPAN - ONE PILOT KILLEDby Verlin B. Tranter
What do you suppose were the thoughts and feelings of the surviving pilot on that fateful day? Share with me the true story behind that headline.
The weather was perfect for flying on a Fall day in 1954, and the mission was to engage any enemy aircraft which challenged our right to fly in international airspace off the east coast of Korea. If no MiGs came up, they were to turn their gun switches to "Camera Only", and practice air-to-air combat with friendly aircraft they might en-counter.Ever since becoming jet pilots, they'd been motivated and taught to use their Sabres to destroy enemy aircraft. Dangerous business - Yes. But their confidence grew as they flew day after day against aerial targets and against each other in mock combat. And although they were sure of themselves, deep in the pits of their stomachs they were nervous and some degree of anxiety prevailed. If they went up against the MiGs, they would be locked in mortal combat. A sobering thought.
On this day, under a brilliant blue sky, they climbed higher and higher until the few puffy white clouds were far below them. From 35,000 feet they could see for miles, and they knew that their potential enemies could see them as well. After forty-five minutes of alert flying, they were sweaty and physically tired from the tension. No MiGs had been seen, so they went to plan "B" - seek out friendly adversaries.
The flight headed out to sea, where Navy and Marine fighters were often found. Soon two bogies were sighted at two o'clock high! Their spirits picked up and the adrenalin began flowing - they were ready for anything. The friendly dogfight lasted for what seemed like fifteen minutes, and the Sabre pilots were the victors - with gun camera film to prove it! They headed for "home plate", tired but happy and relaxed. After their success of the past few minutes, thoughts turned to the future, when their opponents might be the MiGs.
Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blue flash, a sound of crunching metal, and one of the Sabres began shaking and yawing. The airspeed dropped from about 350 to 200 knots. A mid-air collision with one of the Navy jets!
Thoughts raced wildly through the pilot's mind - "Would I die? Will my aircraft hold together long enough for me to land? Will the weakened airframe collapse on landing and cause a catastrophic ball of fire? But wait, first things first! I'm alive and the aircraft is still flying, although it is badly damaged." Emergency crews were alerted at home base, and fire trucks were standing by. After ex-tending the landing gear, the pilot was satisfied that the crucial hydraulic system was okay, and a successful landing seemed possible.
Now another thought came to mind. With the wing badly torn up and some of the "skin" flapping in the windstream, what would be a safe landing speed? Normally 120 knots would be plenty, but after some experimenting the pilot decided on a straight-in final approach using 170 knots. The long, cautious, final went as planned, and touch down was right at 170 knots. Nose wheel down immediately! Maximum braking! Pump the brakes so they won't overheat and lock up! After what seemed like an eternity, the F-86 came to a screeching halt at the end of the two-mile long runway. "Whew! On the ground and still alive!" With the full realization of how close he had come to disaster, the pilot said a prayer of thanksgiving. God had spared his life.