“We’d rather have the Russians come up after us. At least they were half-way responsible because they would have to check (with their military authority) before firing.”
Packed inside the jet's windowless belly, I could only imagine the muffled staccato of cannon fire, the bangs of explosions and windup of g-forces as the burning Stratofortress spun into the sea below. It had to be a horror.
Here. Have a look at my pen-drawing below.
See that capsule-like area that has the arrows pointing toward the fuselage? That’s where the Raven’s worked. Originally intended as the bomb bay, the R versions of the B-47 had the space repurposed by sealing it up, adding aft-facing ejection seats (they were to blow out the bottom) and whatever technological gadgetry was useful at the time. It was cramped space, too. But not airliner-cramped where you rub shoulders with a stranger. Instead, think of cramped more like being in an international shipping container full of tractor parts.
The Raven's Office. Claustrophics and Interior Designers need not apply
Source: Raven Bruce Bailey
Ok. Have another look at my pen-drawing. This time, notice the MiGs. Specifically, those are MiG-17s and if you look really, really close, squint your eyes and take a shot of bourbon, you can see the insignias are North Korean...
...in other words, I found a Raven who could tell me what it was like to get shot at by MiGs. This time, the date is April 28, 1965, nearly five years AFTER Bruce's incident.
Ok - stop there for a second.
We so need a revamp of our educational system and it needs to start with History teachers. Stories like these provide valuable insight into the human experience. Though I haven't been alive for very long, it's mystifying when people (leaders and followers alike) react to normal events as if they just discovered Bigfoot.
Human nature isn't going to be changing any time soon, but when it does, it will be because we trust that the lessons of our past can be learned to affect a better future.
Rant switched to: OFF. Back to the story.
Have a look at the artwork below. It's a painting by a guy named George Back, depicting the April '65 event. The location was over the international waters off Wonsan Harbor, North Korea. George is also responsible for the quote at the beginning of this story—he's an authority on being a Raven and also what it is like to take enemy fire because he was "Raven 2" on said mission.
It was George's first—repeat, first—operational sortie. Taking off from Yokota AFB (by Tokyo), the mission was routine. Head west, sniff around, come home. Nestled into his windowless, gadget-covered cocoon, George did just that. Until 6 hours into the flight, the airplane violently pitched nose-down and the inter-phone came alive..."The son of a bitches are shooting at us!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The experience was completely discombobulating; the chaotic maneuver and the pilot's call, "We're hit and going down!" triggered trained response; though thoroughly stunned, George reflexed the depressurization process and armed his seat for ejection.
"MAY DAY! MAY DAY!—REQUEST PERMISSION TO FIRE—SHOOT THE BASTARD DOWN! MAY DAY! GET ME A HEADING THE HELL OUT OF HERE!—TAKE A ONE EIGHTY! WILL REFINE IN A SECOND! —MAY DAY!"
The RB was hit—badly—and plummeting like a silver dart. Her pilot, Lt. Col. Hobart "Matt" Mattison struggled to maintain controlled flight and, as he had exclaimed, 'Get the hell out of (there)!' Co-pilot, Lt. Henry (Hank) Dubuy worked the 20mm tail stingers, chattering off tracer-less streams at the buzzing MiGs and Navigator Capt. Bob Rogers worked the new course—'the hell out of here!'
Meanwhile, the three Ravens could do little more than wait for the order to eject.
Pass after pass, the MiG's made their runs. The physics of 3D motion, slow-firing cannon and unpredictable flight paths bent the enemy's aim, but when they're shooting 30mm, it doesn't take many to destroy a plane even as big as a Stratojet. Amidst the muffled chatter of Dubuy's defensive fire, loud bangs and metallic screams signaled definite hits.
Hydraulics failed. The tail caught fire. #3 engine was down. Then #2. Then #4. #5 still made thrust but shook like a washer loaded with bricks...and this on a six-engine airplane.
"Hank! Get out the Dash-1* and get to the Emergency page! "Which one?!?" "Any one!"
Trailing fire and smoke, the psychotic bullies left. Arcing toward's the ocean, they must have thought the RB was dead to rights. But "Matt" wasn't dead. Neither were anyone else. In fact, they weren't even wounded. Additionally, in all this chaos, no one "left their post" to the temptation of panic. Instead, training and self-control resulted in a complete reversal of direction, 15,000 foot decent and resurrection of the bleeding, burning jet. Leveling off around 12,000 feet, they had one more pressing decision—where to next?
The crew had three options: 1. Bail out. 2. Head to an emergency field in South Korea. Or 3. attempt to return to Yokota.
Bailing out was out of the question. The ocean was no place for airmen, especially when the enemy was closer than than the sharks. The South Korean emergency field required turning back and the six men knew what awaited them along the way. The only real choice was to head East.
The flight ticked off in interminably long seconds. Shuddering and trailing her precious fluids, the airplane reenacted a scene from nearly 30 years prior when damaged B-17s would ache and pray their way home to England. The crew's fates rested solely in Boeing's craft, a pilot's judgement and God-only-knows-what.
"Matt briefed us all on how bad the landing could be and asked if we wanted to bail out. The answer was unanimous. 'No sir!"
Matt's leadership had accomplished that peculiar thing that happens when things go wrong, it gave the rest confidence. Confidence to stick together, confidence to trust, confidence to accept what would come next.
Of course, Yokota was waiting. Imagine the scene: fire trucks, ambulances and a helicopter with a belly full of fire retardant...and the elegant shape of the wounded bird skews her way in a smokey, cockeyed approach... there could be no go-around.
BANG! The RB-47H slammed onto the runway with such power, the Newtonian response launched her carcass back into the air. That would not do! Running out of runway and covering care of the ground crews, Matt pushed her back onto the concrete, ordering Hank to pop the chute and stand—stand—on the brakes...
Photo courtesy Bruce Bailey
Safe.Man, I wanted a picture of what that must have looked like. But none exist. The broken '47 in the photo above is from another story but add a little smoke, a few more holes and you get the picture.
Ok. It's time to check back in with Bruce, finish his RB and put a bow on the story.
In the meantime, the next time you read a story like this one, think about the Ravens and RB-47 crews of the Cold War. It's a tough world out there...stay alert.
*Amazing coincidence...
