A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.”?
2. In what movie (and who said it) did we hear, “All right, sweethearts, what are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed? Another glorious day in the Corps! A day in the Marine Corps is like a day on the farm. Every meal’s a banquet! Every paycheck a fortune! Every formation a parade! I LOVE the Corps!”?
3. In what song (and who sang it) did we hear the following?
   End of the spring And here she comes back
   Hi, hi, hi, hi there
   Them summer days Those summer days
   That’s when I had Most of my fun, back
   Hi, hi, hi, hi there
   Them summer days Those summer days

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USS Kitty Hawk, CV-63; August 1975—
On the flight deck
Westpac ’75: somewhere in the South China Sea

Late morning… we’ve already launched two cycles of aircraft and recovered the first. Over the flight deck 5MC, the Air Boss announces, “Standby to recover aircraft.”

Yellow shirt aircraft directors, Tractor drivers, Blue shirts, and squadron Plane Captains have already moved aircraft out of the recovery area and into their designed parking spots, ready for the next launch cycle as soon as we’ve recovered these—18, I think—aircraft.

There’s not a cloud in the sky and the sun is directly overhead. It’s hot as hell on the flight deck. Who am I kidding… we’re in the middle of the ocean in summer, not that far from the equator. Yeah, it’s hot, but at least there’s a nice ocean breeze coming down the flight deck. Suck it up, buttercup!

What’d we say in Florida during the summer? “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes… it’ll change.”

‘Bout the same here. Between the two cycles of flight ops, the ship’s captain has managed to find at least one or two rainstorms along the way and boy, do they feel good. Especially when I can peel off my red Crash jersey and get drenched. Of course, I can only do that between launch and recovery.

And I’m not the only one on the flight deck who does this. Only about ten to fifteen minutes. But it is so worth it. Helps to cool things down a bit. Next time, maybe I’ll bring a bar of soap.

Alright, enough daydreaming. Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got incoming.

I look aft, toward the fantail of the ship, barely making out the first set of aircraft heading our way. I can’t really tell which type of aircraft from this distance, they’re still about a mile or so out. But most likely, they’re the F-4 Phantoms, since they usually burn their fuel quicker than the others. Sure, there’s a KA-6 Intruder fitted as a tanker flying around for refueling purposes, but that’s to be used only in emergency conditions.

It’s only a few seconds before I—actually, almost all of us on the flight deck—squint as we look up and watch four Phantoms pass over in formation, just to the starboard side of the ship. They’re cruising at about 250 to 300 knots, making good time. I can easily see that all four have their tail hooks down; that’s good—no touch & goes this time.

Count… one, two, three, four… and the first one breaks to the left to enter the traffic pattern—he’s about 800 feet up. I know these little tidbits of detail, ‘cause I’ve been watching it for the past several months, every day we’re at sea.

Count… one, two, three, four… and the next aircraft breaks to the left, following the first one. The traffic pattern is like an oval racing track, with the downwind leg at 600 feet above water, 180 degrees opposite to the “Base Recovery Course,” on which the ship is steaming. The traffic pattern varies, depending on several factors, but is usually about a mile wide and about four miles long along the port side of the carrier.

I wonder what it’s like for the F-4 pilot & RIO (Radar Intercept Officer) pulling about three- to four-Gs as they bank hard left at 70 to 90 degrees, decelerate, and drop to about 600 feet. What’s going through their minds? I know they train all the time—just like we do. But landing on an aircraft carrier? Well… that takes guts. Especially when you have to land at a 15-degree angle on a ship moving about 15-20 knots.

I’ve heard pilots compare landing an aircraft on a flight deck to sex: “It’s like having sex during a car crash. It feels wonderful, it’s violent, and when it’s over, it’s over pretty quick.”

Or… “It’s the best sex you’ll ever have with your clothes on.”

Yeah… I’ve known a few Navy aviators over the years.

And while I’m at it—just to nudge my two Air Force veteran friends—the fundamental difference between landing Navy aircraft and Air Force aircraft is that in the Navy, landings are a controlled crash; in the Air Force, pilots land like a floating butterfly with sore feet.

Before you ask… no, I didn’t just make that up.

This is also how you can tell if your commercial airline pilot is ex-Navy or ex-Air Force. The Air Force pilot brings the airliner in nice and easy. The Navy pilot brings it down quick and hard—“we’re here!”

Like always, my flight deck “station” during recovery is next to the Crash tractor, parked & idling alongside the “foul line.” There are four of us from Crash hanging out here, plus the Air Bos’n—Bos’n Tyrone Robuck. For me, this is the place to be during recovery. We’re nearby in case… you know… the unthinkable happens.

That hasn’t happened on this cruise… yet.

The Phantom is on final approach. He’s getting guidance from the LSO (Landing Safety Officer) as well as the “meatball”—an aircraft landing light system positioned on the port side of the ship. Between the LSO and the meatball, the pilot should have everything he needs to make a safe landing.

I look toward the bow and see a fairly constant horizon. Good—the ship is not in rough weather with a pitching deck. Those are not fun, especially at night… with hard, pounding rain… and an approaching aircraft where you can’t see their landing lights until they’re right over the fantail. And… it happens to be an E-2 Hawkeye with a wingspan that clears the recovery area by only about 20 feet.

But I digress…

For you civilians, Kitty Hawk had 4 aircraft arresting gear wires stretched across the landing area. #1 was closest to the fantail—not a good trap because that means you’re too low coming in and risk a ramp strike, as they call it. #4 was the farthest from the fantail—also, not a good trap because that means this is your last chance before either bolting (missing the landing altogether) or paying a personal visit to Davy Jones.

This’ll be a walk in the park for this approaching Phantom. I turn to Gary Borne, a fellow Crash third class petty officer. We also served together at my first duty station, NAS Agana, Guam. “Five bucks says he grabs #3 wire.”

Number three wire was the goal.

Gary looks at me, glances at the approaching aircraft, turns to look at the bow to see if there’s a pitching deck—all the same calculations I did—and states with his eastern seaboard cocky smile, “You’re on.”

We do this all the time. Nobody knows how much the other owes, but it’s a cat & mouse game we’ve played on the flight deck time and time again.

In smooth sea conditions like this, the landing aircraft just seems to float in. But I know in the back of my mind he’s traveling about 150 knots when he catches the #2 wire. The hydraulics of the arresting gear wire smoothly slow the Phantom down to a complete stop in three seconds in less than three hundred feet. I can see both pilot and RIO strain forward against their seat straps because of the sudden deceleration.

I look forward and my good friend, Jimmy Smith, the Fly 3 Yellow shirt Director in the “Crotch,” runs out to greet the recovered aircraft, both arms up over his head, opening and closing his hands signaling the pilot to cut back on the throttle and release the brakes—he’s onboard and he’s safe.

Through another series of hand signals, Smitty “tells” the pilot to raise his tail hook, taxi forward, fold his wings, and turn toward starboard to get out of the recovery area. He looks over and passes the pilot over to another Yellow Shirt director.

Why hurry this recovery operation, you dare ask?

Because the next aircraft is right behind him, 30-45 seconds away from his own recovery. Then the next one, the next one and so on, until we recover all 18 aircraft we’d launched an hour and a half ago.

It’s 1975 and I’m only twenty years old. And you know what’s so great about all this?

We get to do it again and again and again: 16-18 hours of flight operations all day, every day.

God, I love the Navy!

Until we meet again,
Andy

Previous Posts Mentioned in this Blog:

• #94—Flight Deck Operations: Aircraft Launch
• #54—Westpac ’75 Aircraft Squadrons
• #61—There’s a Reason for the Flight Deck Foul Line
• #10—You Light ’em, We Fight ’em
• #53—You Always Remember Your First
• #3—Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Answers

1. An Internet meme shows Winnie the Pooh telling this to Piglet as they walk along the trail. It’s actually attributed to the French writer and philosopher Albert Camus, who was awarded a Nobel Prize in 1957.
2. Aliens (1986), Sgt. Apone (Al Matthews).
3. Hot Fun in the Summertime (1970), Sly and the Family Stone; written by Sylvester Stewart.

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Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.