Lucky 7

Author: Chip Sanches

When I was a T-38 instructor, each UPT training squadron consisted of 8 to 10 sub-units, called flights. Each flight had a commander, usually a senior Captain, and six to eight instructors. Each instructor pilot was assigned three to four students. Each instructor had additional duties, such as scheduling, but the primary job of an instructor was to fly with and train his or her students. We generally flew only with our three or four students, though we occasionally flew with students assigned to another instructor.

One of my fellow instructors approached me one morning and asked if I would fly with one of his students that day. He explained that he needed a break from this particular student. They apparently had a bit of a personality conflict, which was not unusual in the high-stress UPT environment. According to the instructor, the student was a pretty good “stick,” but he was a chatterbox and wouldn’t shut up to save his life. I figured I could survive one day with the student and then give him back to his instructor, so I agreed.

This particular student (I’ll call him “Mike” for simplicity – NOT his real name) was in the basic navigation phase of training. Our mission for the day was to flight plan and fly an “out and back.” Out-and-backs consisted of leaving Columbus, flying to another base, landing, refueling, and returning that same day. We generally planned flights to relatively close outlying bases so that we would have enough fuel to practice several unfamiliar instrument approaches at those airfields. Since we were located in northern Mississippi, we frequently went to places like Barksdale in Bossier City, Louisiana, Blytheville in eastern Arkansas, or Warner Robins in Georgia.

Mike and I took the five-minute walk to the Base Operations building to begin our flight planning. First, we went to the weather desk and received a general briefing from the meteorologist so we could start looking at potential destinations. We always tried to plan out and back in good weather because the T-38 wasn’t built to fly in adverse weather conditions. We decided that Barksdale looked good, so we proceeded to the map table to begin the actual flight planning. Thoroughly planning a student out-and-back sortie generally took a little more than an hour due to the amount of instruction required. If student training was not involved, the actual flight planning could be completed by an experienced pilot in 15 to 20 minutes. Mike and I had just picked out a good route when an airman walked over and asked if I was Lieutenant Sanches. When I said that I was, he indicated I had a phone call at the Base Operations desk.

The person on the other end of the line was the T-38 squadron Supervisor of Flying (SOF). The SOF is the officer responsible for the minute-to-minute operation of the squadron. He works directly for the squadron commander, and when he speaks, he is effectively the “voice” of the commander. He said he had just gotten a phone call from the Wing Commander at Whiteman AFB. The Whiteman Commander had told the SOF that he needed our help. He said that Whiteman had not had a single aircraft land or take off from their runway in almost a month. He indicated that if his control tower and Traffic Control (TRACON) staff didn’t “control” an aircraft within the next 48 hours, they would all lose their currency and have to go through re-certification. Even a young lieutenant like me could imagine what a headache that would cause. 

The Wing Commander asked whether Columbus had any student sorties planned that could be routed to Whiteman to update currencies. The SOF said that since Mike and I were the only out-and-back scheduled for the day, we were going to go to Whiteman and “save” them. I felt a little bit like a hero, even though I was being ordered to fly to Whiteman. Since I had never been to or even heard of Whiteman, I asked the SOF where it was. He said he thought it was in Missouri, but wasn’t sure. He expressed confidence in my ability to find it and said goodbye.

I hurried back over to the map table and told Mike of the change of plans. We found Whiteman on the map. Located about 100 miles southeast of Kansas City, it was near the town of Knob Noster. A Strategic Air Command base, its primary mission was to support the ICBM launch sites that surrounded it. There were no active flying units attached to the base at that time, but they had a 12,000-foot runway and all of the transient aircraft support capabilities we required. The distance to Whiteman was a bit longer than I would have liked for a training flight, but orders were orders.

Mike and I finished our flight plan, received our formal weather briefing, and filed it. We walked back to the squadron, grabbed our parachutes and helmets, preflighted our T-38, and blasted off towards Whiteman. The weather was great, and the flight went well. I had been forewarned about the student and, as expected, he talked non-stop. On more than one occasion, I reminded myself that I only had to deal with his chatter for one day. I was thankful he wasn’t mine for the entire six months of his T-38 training.

In all of my years of flying, I’ve never talked to air traffic controllers who were as excited and accommodating as the Whiteman controllers were that day. When we initially checked in with them after leaving Kansas City Center airspace, we were basically given carte blanche to do whatever we wanted. We only had enough fuel to fly a couple of approaches, but I had the impression that if we had unlimited fuel, we’d be cleared to do whatever we wanted for as long as we wanted. As could have been predicted, each radio transmission to us featured a different voice. I pictured a long line of controllers in the TRACON and tower facility quickly and efficiently shuffling forward to grab the microphone and utter a clearance, “Cuddy21, turn left to 270 degrees and descend to 3,500 feet.” or maybe just a quick “Roger.” I was just fine with whatever they had to do to maintain their currency.

After we landed and taxied toward the large transient ramp, which was totally devoid of other aircraft, I noticed a blue Air Force staff car waiting near the airmen who were marshalling us to our parking spot. As we stopped and were chocked, I saw an airman exit the driver’s seat and open the rear door of the car. Out stepped a full Colonel in dress blue uniform carrying two small boxes. He strode directly to the side of our airplane as we climbed down from the cockpit. I barely had time to snap off a quick salute before he started pumping my hand while he profusely thanked me for helping him out. I was at a loss for words. All we did was fly from Columbus to Knob Noster, and I thought he was going to give us a medal! As it turned out, the two boxes he gave us did not contain medals; they only contained standard Air Force box lunches. He apparently felt the least he could do was to feed us lunch. I suspect it is the only time in Air Force history that a full colonel served lunch to two second lieutenants. Very cool!

The Colonel walked with us to Whiteman’s Base Operations building. He seemed to be in a festive mood. I didn’t understand why until he said that he had put out the word that a “special” T-38 was flying through Whiteman that day and would be putting on an air show for the base personnel. He said that a bunch of military personnel and their families were coming out to the flight line shortly to watch us take off and perform a departure air show. Being a fairly new second lieutenant instructor pilot, I had never done a departure air show nor had I been trained to do one. But, since the Colonel was ordering me to put on a show, who was I to disobey a direct order? Besides, I was already a virtual legend and hero at Whiteman, so why would I want to disappoint all these people who worshipped me?

As Mike and I flight planned to go back to Columbus, I rehearsed the departure show in my mind. Of course, I would fly, and Mike would spectate from the rear seat. No doubt he would be speechless when he saw how masterful my performance was. I submerged the brief thought that I might end the show by creating a smoking hole near the Whiteman runway to the disappointment of all my new fans. I felt that a couple of high-speed passes (500 knots in a T-38 close to the ground is pretty doggone spectacular AND a bit noisy), followed by a sharp pull-up to the vertical with multiple aileron rolls as icing on the cake, and “VOILA!” my mission would be complete. Frankly, none of the things I planned were that difficult or risky. I began to feel that, on balance, this whole Whiteman event was turning out to be a really fun experience.

After finishing our planning and stuffing down our lunches, Mike and I walked out of Base Operations to pre-flight our airplane. That’s when I realized that this was no small deal. There wasn’t a band or vendors selling cotton candy, but there must have been two hundred people out on the edge of the ramp to watch the show. There were even women and children in lawn chairs. I wondered if they had dismissed school for the day because of the event. I got even more excited by the prospect of entertaining all of these folks. This could be the biggest event of the year at Whiteman AFB!

We finished our pre-flight, strapped in, started both engines, waved to the crowd (some of them actually waved back), and taxied out for take-off. Our take-off clearance included the phrase “You own the runway and the airspace within ten miles of the runway and up to 50,000 feet for as long as you want it.” My heart rate increased slightly, and my breathing became more rapid and shallow. The die was cast: let the show begin.

We moved into the takeoff position and stopped. I pressed down hard on the brakes and moved both throttles forward to military (100%) power. The T-38 shook and thundered, ready to leap forward and hurtle down the runway. I did the required final check of the engine instruments in preparation for brake release. Everything looked perfect. I took a deep breath and smoothly came off the brakes. The aircraft began to roll forward. I pushed the throttles forward to the mechanical stop into full afterburner. In the afterburner mode, raw fuel is dumped directly into the burner section of each engine. This throttle setting provides an additional 30% of thrust above military power almost instantly. The T-38 jumped forward, and we were pressed back into our seats by the acceleration.

My euphoria lasted for a split second and then was supplanted by a resounding “OH SHIT!” A sudden cascade of events occurred so quickly that I’m not sure which happened first. A tumultuous BOOM rocked the airplane. Fire shot forward out of the left engine air intake, visible just below the canopy rail at our left elbows. The left engine fire warning light came on. The T-38 veered suddenly to the left.

In moments like these, a pilot hopes and prays that all the training we endure will surface and lead to a safe outcome. Without taking the time to analyze and make a decision, I simply reacted. I snatched both throttles to idle, steered the airplane back toward the runway centerline, and began applying the brakes. We probably had only accelerated to 60 or 70 knots, and with the long runway in front of us, there was no need to stomp on the brakes and potentially blow tires. As I brought the aircraft back under control, I glanced at the left engine fire light and, lo and behold, it went out. At that same time, the Whiteman tower controller called on the radio and said there was smoke trailing our aircraft. In light of what had occurred, I followed the emergency procedure steps by pulling the left engine fire handle and shutting the engine down.

As we coasted down the runway towards the first available taxiway turnoff, I heard the tower controller say that he had fire trucks on the way to assist us. I acknowledged and declared an emergency just to be on the safe side. The fire trucks pulled up just as we cleared the runway and disgorged a bunch of folks wearing heavy coats, boots, and helmets who immediately circled our plane. After a couple of minutes, they reported through the tower that the fire appeared to be out, but they would follow us back to the ramp just in case. I don’t know if Air Force firemen have currency requirements, but maybe they were hoping for a small fire so they could update their currencies, just like the air traffic controllers had done!

As we taxied back to the ramp and approached our parking spot, my feeling of relief that we had cheated death ebbed, replaced by the realization that we had probably disappointed a lot of people. My vision that they would erect a statue of me at the front gate went up in a puff of smoke. Sure enough, there was the Wing Commander standing by his staff car. At least he looked more concerned than angry. We climbed down to the ramp, and he approached and asked if we were OK. After we responded in the affirmative, he shook our hands, wished us good luck, and then departed in his car. He was probably off putting out the word that there would be no air show that day.

Thus began a very interesting stay at Whiteman AFB. We realized quickly that we had nothing in the way of personal stuff with us. We were planning to be back in Columbus for dinner. We had no change of clothes, toothbrush, razor, or money. I dug out my credit card, arranged for a cash advance, and we went to the base store (the BX). We bought the essentials we needed, including gym shorts. Thank goodness the base transient quarters had a washer and a dryer. Our routine devolved into eating at the airman’s dining hall, watching the black and white TV in the lobby of the transient quarters, and washing our smelly flight suits and underwear each night.

Just as I was about to throttle the student on the second day to shut him up, he let it slip that he had grandparents in Sedalia, Missouri, which was only 30 minutes away. Not believing my good fortune, I “invited” him to go and visit them. Mike called them, and they agreed to come and pick him up. As he left, I promised to call him when the airplane was fixed. In my mind, this was a great solution compared to murder.

Needless to say, there were no T-38 engines lying around at Whiteman AFB. Arrangements were eventually completed on our second day to have an engine trucked in from Vance AFB in Enid, Oklahoma. When the engine arrived in the late afternoon on day three, it was on the back of a flatbed truck driven by a lone Air Force mechanic. He informed me that it was too late to start the engine change that afternoon and, besides, he had been driving all day and was tired. He estimated that he could complete the required engine change the next day as long as I was willing to help. What? Me help? I was a pilot, not a mechanic. But he assured me he could use my help, and I realized we might get out of Missouri sooner if I pitched in. We completed the engine change the next day. I was actually able to help, but I reaffirmed my belief that being a pilot suited me better than being a mechanic. I did, however, develop a deep appreciation for the work that the “wrench turners” do.

The spectator throng did not reappear for our eventual departure on the afternoon of our fourth day. Maybe the sight of an exploding, smoking T-38 aborting its takeoff sated their need for excitement. The Wing Commander didn’t make an appearance either. Maybe he watched our departure from the relative safety of his office. Despite the lack of an audience, I did follow through on my end of the bargain. I lifted off, sucked up the landing gear, and held the aircraft at 15 to 20 feet above the ground. We were smoking along at 420 knots by the time we reached the end of the runway. At that point, I did a five “G” pull-up to the vertical and did aileron rolls until we leveled out at 10,000 feet.

Our arrival back at Columbus was without fanfare. At least my wife was happy to see me. Several weeks later, I received a copy of a nice letter from the Commander at Whiteman, thanking us for our help, addressed to our Columbus AFB Wing Commander. All of the controllers successfully updated their currencies thanks to our visit. I did get one additional unexpected thanks. The instructor who asked me to fly with Mike shook my hand gratefully. He appreciated me taking Mike off his plate for an entire week so much that I drank at the Officer’s Club for free whenever he was present! I never flew to Whiteman again. I’m sure they didn’t miss me.