Profile 100—JUST STARTED: "Our Mary," the Republic P-47D as flown by Edwin Cottrell, 48th FG

"The end of a matter is better than its beginning and patience is better than pride."
                                                                            Ecclesiastes 7:8 NIV

Stuff gets heavy when you quote the Old Testament, doesn't it?  Well, this is a heavy story.  Not woeful heavy or sentimentally heavy.  More like "make you think 'heavy'."

But before we get into that, have a look above.  It's my opening sketch of a P-47D-23 named "Our Mary" that belonged to the 493rd Squadron of the 48th Fighter Group.  As an image, the airplane is just another of the 1,000's of P-47-shaped cogs in the WWII war machine. But after this story is finished, "Our Mary" will represent one those not-uncommon but certainly impossible moments of humane inhumanity.

How's THAT for heavy?!

Well, have a look at the photo below.  When I first started this project, it was the only known photo of the airplane and all I had between my questions and her pilot's recollections.  Though I think we're going to be ok in bringing Our Mary back to life, old warriors seem to have much better recollection regarding people rather than things.

In other words, Our Mary's pilot remembers more about the guy on the wing*, (Crew Chief, Red Nichols), the regular pilot of the airplane (George Pullis) and the two guys who died on December 17, 1944 (James Watson and Art Sommer) than the color of the words painted on the cowl.

It's time to meet Lt. Edwin Cottrell.

"That was a long time ago, John," Ed says.  "I'm afraid I wasn't paying that much attention to the markings on the airplane.  But I remember the day very well."   And well he should because he was on the edge of America's most costly battle of WWII, The Battle of the Bulge.

Over the past 24 hours,  German infantry and armored units sprung their audacious sledge-hammer-like swing through Belgium in a spectacular fury.  Taken off guard, American forces faced the Blitzkrieg-style war that had gobbled up France, Belgium, Poland, the Ukraine and (parts of) Russia in the war's early years.

Of course, it was a stupid move, especially with the 20:20 hindsight that time inevitably provides.  But in the moment, chaos reigned and the Germans prevailed.

Ok, hold that thought.  I need to take a tangent; it'll make sense later on.

I remember a conversation with WWII ace Walker "Bud" Mahurin where he seemed to be almost apologetic of the Luftwaffe's failure to protect Germany.  He explained how the Nazis made certain Luftwaffe leaders into scapegoats for loss of aerial superiority.  Never mind the Nazi's ridiculous strategies, tactics and inability to wage war against the rest of the world.  Of course many of the German pilots resented it and switched their loyalty to a kind of code of honor rather than the regime.

Yeah, it's tough to humanize anyone wearing that logo (i.e. swastika).  But fellow P-47 pilot Morrie Magnuson explained war like this, "War is conducted by leaders and acted out by followers. It doesn't make the followers innocent.  It just makes the leaders more responsible."

Indeed, Ed recalls the words of a friend who survived the infamously cruel Bataan Death March. "He said that 99% of the Japanese were vicious.  Just vicious.  But it was that 1%—that 1%—that made life bearable, if even just enough to survive."

Got that?  Ok.  Back to the story.

It was a dreary morning even without the hammering of retreat going on just a few miles away.  At the rough forward-airfield of Sint Troiden (St. Trond to the Ami's) days of icy rain created bone-chilling puddles that sloshed into leather boots and flying suits.  A sodden blanket of gray blocked out the sun and snow fell from the sky in big, wet flakes, leaving the P-47s of the 493rd Fighter Squadron to soak up the cold out in the open.  In spite of it all, it was going to be a hot day and everyone knew it.

Being a "new" pilot, Ed hadn't the seniority to rate his own airplane.  On this day, he drew "Our Mary," the regular mount of George Pullis.  To George, the woman on the nose had enough significance to warrant the pinup.  But to Ed, Our Mary was simply a tool of the trade.  And he was going to put her to work somewhere near Koblenz, Germany.

The 48th FG was part of the 9th Air Force.  And though there were plenty of tangles between the Luftwaffe, the majority of the 9th's work was tactical, close-air support.  "Trains, tanks and trucks," as it's often said, and the P-47 was particularly effective in eliminating them.  Armed with eight .50 calibre machine guns and able to carry 2,000+lbs of bombs, P-47s scrubbed the countryside of anything that moved.

When asked for specifics, Ed paused for a moment, then stated, "Our target?  I believe they were tanks.  Yes...we were attacking tanks.  I'm pretty sure they were going to be going up toward The Bulge and we had to stop that."   And so, the 493rd was tasked with pinching off the flow of German equipment towards the north.

So, while the starters whined, the engines coughed and the cold aluminum skin vibrated to life, Ed's mind was not so much on meeting the Luftwaffe as he was steeling his mind to get in low, put the bombs on target and get back to base.

Which he did.

But no one would have guessed how.

Stay tuned to the next post because things are going to move very quickly from here on out.

*Nichols is on the wing to help direct the taxiing of the big-nosed airplane around the airfield.  Kind of a cool job if you ask me...

12-26-14 UPDATE:  WHOO HOO!  Significant Progress Alert!!   Man, this is turning out to be a fantastic project...

Profile 95: FINISHED—"176" the B-24M as flown by the RAAF

It's done!  At least 'on paper.'

Have a look at "176"—the RAAF B-24M being restored in Australia, right now.    My artwork will be used by the B-24 Liberator Memorial Australia to help fund their operations.  It's not my place to announce plans—watch their Facebook page.  But I do know this: the "B-24LMA" are ON IT and it's going to be cool.  ;)  I hope they raise a bundle.  They need to.

I don't think I need to go into detail about how restoring an antique airplane—albeit a four engined bomber—is somewhat less complicated than creating life on another planet.  But suffice it to state, the process started in 1988.   Since then, the Aussies have taken 176's crusty hulk and gone from this:

To this!

Source:  Judy Gilbert, B-24 Liberator Memorial Australia

The quantity of time, energy and money that has gone into this restoration is staggering and the quality of it all is even more so.  In fact, consider...

...the process started in 1988.  2015 will be the group's 27th year.
...the B24LMA puts 14,500 hours into 179's restoration, annually.
...30+ volunteers work on the restoration.
...179 will be flyable with all the systems working but it won't fly.*
...the total tab for restoration will be north of $750,000.**
...it'll be done when it's done (not much longer though as they have 90% of the parts).

So, while (we're) all waiting for her completion,  have a look at the graphic below.  It's the summation of all the proofs, leading into the finished piece.  In relation to everyone else's work, I had the easiest go of it, don't you think?

Source: Me.  Timelapse of about 30 days of work.

I got to interact a bit with the volunteer team and had to ask, "Why do you do this?!"  For a group with such a pointed focus, the motives were diverse.  Love of aviation history, national pride, mechanical joy, social interaction and the time-honored "get's me out of the house" were all offered as answers.

But there's an unspoken reason, too. They all get it.

"Get what?"  Good question.  But before I answer that,  I've got a really funny joke about what it's like to teach History in America. But I've been told not to post it due to the fact that it could considered "offensive."  Of course, it doesn't have anything to do with race, sexual orientation, legal status, income, political affiliation or physical attributes.  Instead, it's about the priority that our average school system places on the subject.

I'm not here to offend.  But the fact is, History, as a subject matter, is all-too-often given short shrift.  Specifically, how it's taught.  Too often, the study is a rote-learning of names, dates and places then tested with forgettable multiple-choice answers of little or no consequence to anything other than a semester grade.

Source:  Me and some image I found.  Who drew Frank?! Whoever you are, you're awesome.

That's why bringing "176" to life is so brilliant:  it's a tangible expression of how human life on earth works.

For example.

• The B-24's secret to long range and load carrying capability was due to one persistent freelance inventor and a large corporation willing to listen to a "little guy's" big idea.

• B-24s were built by women who entered the labor force to support the war effort.  In the process, they made an immeasurable impact toward the advancement of equal rights.

• B-24s were crewed by ten people; a team of individual expertise where life or death could hinge on the performance of the weakest link.

• B-24s were very "green" - of the 18,000+ made, only about 20 remain.  The rest were recycled into toaster ovens, cars and beer cans.  Swords into ploughshares, eh?

• Operating 50 Aussie B-24s required the skills of 5,000 people in just one town in Australia (Tocumwal).  When the war was over, their experience helped them find new work elsewhere.

And most importantly...

• The cruel and intolerant culture of WW2 Japanese imperialism was squashed.

See, 176 isn't just an old airplane.  It's fresh inspiration.  And that's the "get it" that binds all of us who know the value of connecting the past to the present.  We've discovered when we pay attention to the past, the payoff is a better future.

And here's to the future of 176!

(raises a rivet gun in toast)

Source:  Anthony Potter Collection via Getty Images

*Judy Gilbert, B24LMA Secretary, stated, "If we took it up and bent it, we'd get lynched!"  And the costs of Airworthy Certificates, maintenance and fuel would be staggering.

**$750,000 is raw cost.  Add labor?  All the donated this'n that?  You're talking millions.

Profile 94: UPDATE—the U-2R as flown by Stan Rauch, 5th RS

You can't meet a U-2 pilot without wondering, "So what did you really do?"

After all, it's a top-secret aircraft carrying top-secret gadgetry on top-secret missions...and what about that little capsule of cyanide that every U-2 pilot is rumored to have in his pocket?

I had to ask.  And Stan immediately answered with a detailed analysis of the U-2's handling characteristics.  Repeat.  Handling characteristics.  That wasn't what I asked.

Ooookay then.  But what did I expect—his flight log?!  Don't get me wrong.  I'd love to have a look.  And maybe with my Minox camera, too.  But whether we like it or not, there are secrets best kept.  As an "almost Millenial" I get the persistent need-to-know and effervescent demand for transparency.  But I'm old enough and experienced enough to know when such needs are reasonable.   I didn't push it.

Thankfully, Stan knows when to throw the dog a bone.

Minox spy camera.  Yep. I got one! Don't know what I'm going to do with it but if I ever need to break into an office and take pictures of letters, I'm set.

"Well, there's a mission that I think you'd find interesting."

"Really?  Do tell!"

"Ever hear of the Mayaguez?"

Hold that thought for a minute so I can bring you up to speed.  Have a look at the progress-shot above.  Though it looks basically done, it's a long way from it.  The rough, black, radar-absorbing finish is diabolically tricky to recreate and there's much more research to do to make sure I get all the right bumps, curves and lines that conceal the U-2R's stash of techno sorcery.  I figure there's at least 15 more hours to go.  Which is just a few hours more than a typical U-2 mission.

Typical?  Well, in terms of initial goal, yes.  There are two basic missions a U-2 will fly:  Photographic and SIGINT.

Photographic missions shouldn't need explanation.  However, as a visualization, have a look at the picture below.  It was actually taken in 1944 by an F-5* flying recon over southern France.  The original photo is about 12" square and so detailed, it just begs to be examined with a magnifying glass.  You can well imagine how imaging technology has increased since then!     Yet, a photo pass is essentially the same process as when the first cameras were put in WWI biplanes.  Fly, point, click, run home with the evidence.

Photo courtesy Burt Hawley, 23rd PRS

SIGINT is a different story.  The acronym stands for SIGnals INTelligence and a SIGINT mission is a complicated, involved and carefully choreographed exercise in which the U-2 plays but a link in a long chain.  SIGINT is all about finding, capturing and interpreting the myriad of signals that emanate from a country, a group or even an individual.   Signals like radio.  Television.  Microwave.  Radiation.  Cell phones.  Even the signals thrown off by electrical grids.  On a SIGINT mission, the U-2 is actually the middle-man between the source and the interpreter.

Ok.  Have another look at the drawing on top.  See those black cylinders taking shape under the wing?  Those, as well as the nose, are full of tech that are accessed and manipulated, not by the U-2 pilot, but by men and women in downlink stations hundreds if not thousands of miles away.

Like this.

Not to scale, of course.  If it was, that'd mean the U-2's wingspan would be about 2,000 miles wide.

These missions are grueling; eight, ten, twelve hours of sitting, clad in a restrictive space suit, flying a precision course to relay invisible data to gawd-knows-where.  And the U-2 pilot isn't up there simply holding the antennae. The sub-space environment and narrow flight envelope call for tremendous focus and extraordinary skills (more about that the next post!).

Now's a perfect time to get back to the Mayaguez.

On May 12, 1975, the Vietnam War may have been "over," but it was still smoldering sparks.  One of those sparks was just getting ready to roar into its own hellish inferno in Cambodia.  The country's communist contingent, the Khmer Rouge, were spoiling for a fight.

Emboldened by the fall of South Vietnam, the Khmer Rouge "Navy*" discovered an American cargo ship en route to Thailand from (the former) South Vietnam.  They seized the ship, imprisoned the crew and flipped President Ford the bird.

Click here.

A little context is in order here.  The U.S. was still bleeding from the various wounds of the Vietnam War.  On one side, it hurt to see former promises come to naught with the fall of South Vietnam.  On the other, American Might had weakened and was being taunted by virtually anyone with a rock to throw.  Including the barbaric Khmer Rouge.

Therefore, when the KR commandeered the Mayaguez, President Ford was in no mood to take anyone's spit.  Two days later, the KR's navy port was bombed and a team of Marines were sent in to rescue the prisoners.

It didn't go smoothly.

In the end, at least sixty died**, three choppers were lost, diplomatic relations with Thailand were damaged...but President Ford's approval rating rose 11 points on account of his unwillingness to take any grief.  It was a tough call but the crew came home safe.

(There really should be a movie about this).

But above it all, Stan Rauch orbited in his U-2.  On May 15, during the heat of the conflict, he was "on the spot," as the only airborne U-2 in that part of the planet.  At the time, he didn't know what to expect, only that the pre-mission briefing included going to a specific radio frequency and personally relaying information relating to the Mayaguez.  In other words, for all the high-tech at his disposal, he was going to have a very personal but low-tech role.

"So what did you do?"

"I relayed transmissions received from a Command and Control entity onto an unknown entity."

"You mean your U-2 was transmitting..."

"No.  I physically relayed information.  Everything I heard, I transmitted."

"Via voice?!"

"Yes.  What I heard, I spoke.  The relayed transmissions were boosted long-range as the result of the (U-2's) high altitude."

"For how long?"

"About eight hours."

"To whom?!"

"I don't know."

"Didn't they say, 'thanks' or..."

"No."

"Nothing?!"

"Nothing."

"So this 'unknown entity'...they remained unknown for the whole mission?"

(pause)

"Yes." (laughs) "I just transmitted (on the pre-briefed frequency).  It was an unusual mission for sure!"

This is a still from the tv show, "Green Acres."  Remember it?  I didn't.  Just like I didn't remember the Mayaguez.

But evidently, in Green Acres, you dressed up like James Bond before climbing a telephone pole to make a phone call.

Well, so much for the glamor of international intrigue.  Stan played telephone operator.  For eight hours.  And for those eight hours, he was probably the most highly paid, highly valued and certainly highest-altitude telephone operator, ever.   I asked him if he remembered anything specific that he spoke and he said that it seemed like play-by-play stuff; "...forces moving into position,"  "ready to board ship..." Really, read about the incident by clicking here and you'll know a hell of a lot more than Stan did at the time.

There was also the time the Egyptians "painted" Stan's U-2 while flying recon missions in support of the Camp David accords of 1977-78.***  Stan recalls flying down the Suez Canal area and seeing the tell-tale lights blink-on as Egyptian missile sites 'greeted' him... I probably could have pressed him for more mission info but I know what happens when amateurs trifle with pros.

That is, until he let me in on a little known secret that the U-2 would actually carry skid fif0w 3249 hifi a89d,,l1! a523... (transmission fades)

Stand by.   I'll have this U-2 finished in about a week and in my final post, Stan will describe the complexities and nuances of flying this incredible airplane.

Have a look below.  Looks like fun, yes?  Evidently it is.  If you're capable in the first place...

*Of course, the erudite among us know the F-5 was a P-38 Lightning fighter turned into a photo recon machine by switching out the machine guns with cameras.  Want to know more?  Click here.

**Though I can make a good case they weren't actually human beings, I'm including Khmer Rouge in the number in addition to the 38 Americans soldiers that were killed—15 in combat action and 23 more when one of the rescue helicopters crashed. 50 more Americans were wounded for a total casualty-count of approximately 130.

***Of course you remember the famous Camp David accords, don't you?  That was when peace finally came to the Middle East and everyone became fast friends. (cough cough).

Profile 97: JUST STARTED— the "Pave Knife" pod of the 433rd TFS

From what I know, there are three things taxpayers don't want from their military:  too much power, too many losses and waste.

And there are three things the military doesn't want from the people it serves:  weak leadership, weak support and weak kit.

Have a look at the sketch above.  It's a partial drawing of an F-4 Phantom with a pod hanging from one of the hardpoint rails. It's called "Pave Knife."  And it's also a warm-fuzzy moment between taxpayer and military—one of those weapons that really did everything it was supposed to do at little cost, high efficiency and amazing effectiveness.  In fact, Pave Knife paved much of the way for today's 'smart weapons.'

Over the next post or two, I'm going to explain Pave Knife's operation and success via Air Force personnel who used the thing in SEA*, one of whom is Weapons Systems Officer (WSO) Dean Failor, 433rd TFS to give first-hand account.

"You're acquired and locked, Dean.  Pickle away!"

This is Dean in front of an F-4 from the 334th during a later TDY in 1972.

*SEA = South East Asia.

Profile 95: JUST STARTED—"176" the B-24M as flown by the RAAF

It all begins here—a quick pencil sketch.

It's pretty crude, but if you think about it, this scrawl is crucial because it marks the all-important first step.  It means I'm committed and there's no moving back...and when it comes to drawing B-24s, I have cowardly tendencies to toss what I've done and go back to simpler things like P-40s and U-2 spy planes.

See, B-24s are complicated airplanes. With nearly 18,500 made, the B-24 is the most produced multi-engine bomber, ever.  But within that number are a bewildering assortment of variations, sub-variations and field modifications that make doing a specific airplane with any kind of accuracy, difficult.

But, there's good news in that "176" doesn't just exist on paper, it also exists in metal, too!  Right now, she's being restored by The B-24 Liberator Memorial Fund of Australia Incorporated as a testimony to their country's WWII history and the people behind it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about my task.  Mine is easy.  the LMFA's is...not so much. Founded in 1988, they've been cutting, scouting, riveting, polishing, begging, borrowing and whatever else you do to bring their bonafide RAAF B-24 into public view.   That's nearly 30 years!  Yet, when she's complete, "176" will be the only B-24 in the southern hemisphere and one of only about 16 in existence (that's a .0009% survival rate)!

Over the next 5-6 weeks, I'll be sharing my progress and also my conversation with RAAF B-24 crew.   I can guarantee my rendering of 176 will be ready for public viewing before the real thing is ready.  But, judging by the smiling faces and glimmering aluminum in the picture below, Australia won't have that much long to wait.

Source:  B-24 Liberator Memorial Facebook Page

You can find a TON more photos of the restoration project by clicking on 176's Facebook page.

In the meantime, I've got a little catch-up to do with folks Down Under...I'm only about 10% done.

Profile 93: FINISHED— "The greatest weapon never fired." - the Minuteman I missile

Behold, the Greatest Weapon Never Fired.

Hold that thought.

By the time I reached school, 99.9% of American schools were no longer practicing Civil Defense nuke drills.  But mine did.

See, growing up in North Dakota, we all suffered under the bumpkin anxiety that came from having one of the smallest populations, worst climates and most sheltered cultures in the nation.  Never mind that we were sitting on a bajillion dollars in oil or that you could leave the front door open while on vacation.  North Dakota basically sucked.  Except for one detail in which we were all extraordinarily and diabolically proud:  if North Dakota seceded from the rest of the Union, we'd be the THIRD.  MOST.  POWERFUL.  NATION.  ON.  EARTH.

Why?

Missiles.  Specifically, the nuke missiles that were poked into silos all across the state.  And the clinched nuke missile is the venerable LGM-30 Minuteman family.

Have a look up top—it's the LGM-30B Minuteman* I (MM I) missile, the first in a 3-version lineage that not only made North Dakota (almost) almighty but also proved out the bizarre reality that you can win a war by not firing a shot.

Minuteman missile sites.

Courtesy: National Park Service

First deployed near Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana in 1962, 800 of the MM I's were eventually planted in South Dakota, Missouri, Wyoming and of course, North Dakota.  And though they were capable of reaching their targets (presumably in Russia) in about 30 minutes, their real job was to scare the hell out of everyone.  Which they did.

Remember "The Cuban Missile Crisis"?**   It was the Minuteman I that gave President Kennedy the extra confidence to draw a red line through Cuba and tell the Russians to go home.  Can you imagine Russian nukes pointed at us from 90 miles away?  I can't and am glad Kennedy couldn't either.

I remember as a kid listening to an adult scoff at the idea of 'Mutually Assured Destruction' (or MAD).  "Mad?!  More like Madness!  We need to get rid of these (nukes) right now!" he exclaimed.

Movie still from War of the Worlds (1953) where the pastor doesn't use

the sense God gave him

and tries reasoning with the aliens by singing hymns.  He got fried.

The reality is that nukes won't be going away any time soon.  The machinery of diplomacy, national pride and human nature is so complicated, it's going to take decades—maybe more—to truly dismantle the world's nuclear weapons systems***.  Whereas this is a fantastic goal, it's just not realistic right now.  So, in the words of Stanley Kubric's Dr. Strangelove poster, we need to "stop worrying and love the bomb."

"Love? The bomb?!"

Sure!  And it's easy, too.  Follow along.  :)

First, every once in a while, look north and salute the men and women who are making sure that the all-important deterrent factor is real, ready and sharp.  They're called Missileers and though you'll never see their work at an air show (that'd be cool though), they have to serve-out the ironic existence of being able to do what they don't want to do in order that it never happens.

I asked Missileer Col Charlie Simpson (ret) how he processed this peculiar, last-act mission and he stated, "My real mission was ensuring that this (last act) never happened!  Throughout my service, and still today, those of us involved in strategic deterrence know that the real key is to have a force so strong, so flexible and so dedicated to the mission that an enemy would never consider starting a nuclear war."

Second, forget the idea that nukes have only been used twice—once each on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Instead, know that nuclear weapons have been used every day since and flawlessly, too.  This is where the word "deterrence" comes in.  We don't need a mushroom cloud to know nukes are doing their job.

Thirdly, whenever your talking-head of choice utters the words "Foreign Policy," listen carefully and ask questions until you have an opinion.  The world is a dangerous place and one of a nation's supreme duties is to protect its future from unwanted outside influence.  There's no saying when the next Cuban Missile Crisis is going to pop up but if/when it does, our leaders will be carrying a mega-ton burden.  On our backs.

Next up:  The mighty Atlas missile!

Blast doors of the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site

Click here.

*Why the name Minuteman?  The LGM-30's predecessors used liquid fuel propellants that took time to prepare for launch.  In the case of the Atlas and Titan I missiles, about 15 minutes for each one.  The Minuteman used solid fuel propellant that could be ignited right away.  As a Missileer about "Guaranteed delivery in 30 minutes or less."

**Kennedy vs. Khrushchev/Castro.  Click here.

***And this is why it's so important that no new nations get nuke tech, too.

Profile 94: JUST STARTED—the U-2R as flown by Stan Rauch, 5th RS

Whoa... (repeat) whoa!

                   "The Dragon Lady" is here...
                                                ...and I'm drawing her!

From Jonny Quest (1965):  quite possibly the best cartoon ever made.

The U-2 is right-up-there (pun intended) with the SR-71 in terms of cloak and dagger mystery.  Granted, it doesn't fly Mach 3+ and doesn't look like an alien spaceship but when it comes to drama, intrigue and triple-dog-dare secrecy, she is the slinky siren of aircraft.

And to top it off, the only airplane currently flying that demands more from her pilot is the...maybe...well..there is none.   A U-2 rating is the kind of pedigree that silences a bar full of rowdies like the sudden slapping of swinging doors and the jangle of spurs.  Don't believe me?  Watch this space and I'll illustrate why over the coming weeks.

Drawing all-black aircraft is a terrific challenge, so I am going to be taking my time.  We'll be done before year-end though.

In the meantime, I recognize that this is a rarified opportunity for all of us to find out what it's really like to fly this amazing aircraft on missions that are even more so.  So.  If you have a good question, send it to me and if I use it, it'll be answered here and you'll get a pilot-signed print of my artwork as a memento.

In the meantime, in case the U-2's peculiar lines aren't unique enough, have a look at the picture below.  That's our man, suited up and ready to go...somewhere.

Shhhh.

PS - my email:  john@johnmollison.com

Profile 92: FINISHED— "444" the F-102A Delta Dagger as flown by Jim Eisenmenger, 509th FIS

Done!

Ya'know, the Deuce illustrates the old adage that, "Wars aren't finished with the same weapons that started them."

As stated before, the F-102 was a purely Cold War creation—designed to fire Falcon missiles into the butt-end of a Soviet bomber stream.  Period.   How it got to Vietnam is purely an exercise in Preparedness.  And that's a good thing.

WWII ace Don Bryan explained to me the differences between Planning vs. Preparedness.   In Planning, the process addresses a defined set of expectations and desired outcomes.  In Preparedness, the process addresses a variety of expectations and diverse outcomes.  One process honors focus, the other the ability to adapt.  Don was a bigger fan of the later but that's a different post altogether...

Anyway...

That an Interceptor designed to fire missiles at a bombers ended up in the highly tactical and mobile environment of Vietnam was definitely not part of the overall plan.  But it did show excellent preparedness.  After all, what if the Ruskies had given the North Vietnamese a squadron of Tu-95s*?!

It doesn't matter. The NVAF never mounted a strategic bombing campaign.  So, Deuce drivers like Lt. Jim Eisenmenger flew almost all of their missions escorting B-52s during the "ARC LIGHT" close-air-support strikes on targets below the DMZ.

B-52 angles away, probably back to Guam.

Courtesy: Jim Eisenmenger

Jim explained to me what a typical mission was like; two 102's would take off from their base in Udorn, Thailand and join a three-ship B-52 strike inbound from Anderson AFB in Guam.  Once they met-up, the scene was straight out of WWII in that the escort would curve above the bombers in order to slow down their ground-track to meet the B-52s.

"They were about .78 Mach and though the 102 had really great slow speed handling, we had to be ready to act so we S-turned over them so we could keep our speed up."

Operations over SEA required a higher level of navigational awareness than the preceding conflicts of WWII and Korea.  The faster speeds, narrow boundaries and complicated "rules of engagement," only added to the complexity of using the big Deuce in-country.

Here.  Have a look at the map below. It's a general map of Vietnam that Jim had tucked away in his G-suit.  It may be vintage 1969,  but it provides a unique glimpse into what it was like to fly ops over there.  The markings are courtesy of some unknown, unsung intelligence officer.

GCI Map of Vietnam

Courtesy: Jim Eisenmenger

First, notice the red dotted arcs radiating south of "Bullseye," otherwise known as Ha Noi.  They're 50 miles apart.  To give you an idea of how fast things could change, an F-102 flying at with a ground speed of 500mph would cover the distance between the DMZ and Ha Noi in about 15 minutes.  And, at it's narrowest point, Vietnam is only about 30 miles wide.  Just a blink.

The black radii and peculiar names like "Point Crab" and "Waterboy" are actually Ground Control Intercept (GCI) stations that helped interceptors like the 102 locate, track and intercept targets.  The 509th was based at Udorn, about 100 miles west of the Thai/Laos border.  If you locate the center of the map, move up to find the GCI station, "Invert," Udorn is where the number 70 is written.  Jim & Co. were indeed, well-prepared for the attacks that would never come.

However, look at the crudely colored black solid and hashed areas.  Those are areas judged to be 'more desirable' in the event of having to ditch or bail out.  I asked Jim what the significance of each area meant and he laughed.  "I have no idea.  And I don't think (the Intel guys) had any idea either!"  He did note that they looked nice on the map, however. "It's nice to know where and where not to bail out," he said with a wry smile.

Jim flew 52 combat missions and only one of those crossed the DMZ.  When I asked if any particular ones were notable, he was quick to say that none really were.  Of course, he could recall the tiny flashes of AAA against the black jungle during night missions but he was also quick to state the flashes were more interesting than dangerous; I got the impression that for Jim, flying the F-102 was rather routine.   In 1969, the routine ended.  SEA '102s were ordered home; their intended mission simply wasn't going to happen.

"When the 102s were being pulled out, I was happy to go home.  But later—now—I wish I would have stayed."

"Why?"

Sometimes you need to bring your own table decor to coffee.

If you want one, click here.

"I don't know..." he thought for a moment, then offered, "Maybe I wanted to get my 100 missions?" He took another drink of iced tea, then self-consciously adjusted the plastic stand that held the die-cast model of 444 that he'd bought as a memento.   "But I was qualified for the 102 and that's what I flew."  I wondered if there wasn't a hint of regret that he couldn't tell me something spectacular...

But "spectacular" isn't the point.  After so many years of listening to "c-stories," I've come to appreciate people's whole story as more important than just the exclamation points.  Perhaps that's more of a function of talking to old warriors in their 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s—they not only remember the wars but the "peaces" in between.

Months later, over another cup, Jim was more interested in talking about the changes that have taken place since his Deuce days.

"Back then, we were graduating (thousands) of pilots a year.  We were probably killing more pilots in accidents and such than there are actually flying fighters today!" he quipped.   Indeed, there are less than 200 of the tech-bursting F-22 Raptors in service right now compared to the 1,000 F-102s that were built.   And the Raptor not only does the job of the Deuce, it also replaces the rest of the Vietnam-era suite like the F-4 (5,000+ made), the F-105 (800+ made) and, if pin-point efficiency is worth anything, maybe even the B-52.** (700+ made). It's an imprecise statement, but in many ways, one airplane today is doing what thirty used to do.

Progress, eh?  But the progress of efficiency hasn't come cheaply.  In adjusted dollars, the $1 million dollar price tag of the 1963 F-102 would be more like $10 million dollars today.  A lot of money, sure, but not nearly as much as the F-22's current price of $150 million.  We're doing more with fewer folks but paying over ten times the price to do so.

Is it worth it?  Who knows?!  The next war will reveal that when it happens.  In the meantime, I hope you see the irony in the pictures below.  It looks like we should have kept a few '102 around.

F-102 vs Tu-95    F-22 vs Tu-95

The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh?  ;)

*Actually, the NVAF had a handful of Russian Il-28 "Beagle" medium bombers.  But all things considered, they wouldn't have gotten much past that first dotted red line on Jim's map...

**Just checkin' if you're awake.  Nothing replaces the B-52.  Ever.

Profile 89: FINISHED—"Shirley" - Curtiss P-40N as flown by Cliff Long, 51st FG

“Old men have no more dreams.  Instead we have memories.”
Hold that thought.

Finished—“Shirley,” the P-40N flown by Lt. Clifford Long, 51st FG, Baoshon, China, circa late 1944.

King Solomon, the wisest man ever to have lived, is alleged to have written, “The end of a thing is better than its beginning.” Perhaps it’s my own foolishness but I can’t agree here.  This particular commission has been so rewarding, it’s a shame to mark it “finished.”

The art really turned out well.  “Shirley” was one of the last P-40s to see combat in WWII and therefore had to look the part—tired, used, but still vital and deadly. The standard olive-drab paint was notorious for “chalking” under the pressure of nature’s elements and in the process, became a better surface for collecting dirt and oil stains, too.  “Shirley” was no hangar queen, that’s for sure.

Have a look at the photo below to get an idea of her natural surroundings.  It’s one of, if not the only, known color photos of 51st FG P-40s.   And the circled airplane is “Shirley” herself.  But if you squint just a little and let your mind go, you can hear the blare of the idling ’40 in the foreground and feel the warmth and dryness of the sun-warmed Chinese air.

Yet, again, “Shirley” is not about the art.  She’s about the story.  And if the art is good, the story is better (it always is).

Beginning a project has many parallels to building a model airplane.  The initial phone call, letter or handshake is like piercing the cellophane that surrounds the box, crinkling it up into a ball and  sliding the lid up off the bottom.  With a gentle “pphhumph” of vacuum, the contents are revealed and the plastic ‘trees’ of pieces are inspected.

In this case, the first “piece” I got to experience was not with Cliff, but his wife.  In the small-talk, I made a quick mental calculation and figured that they’d been married nearly seventy years.  It’s a fairly startling number and I couldn’t help but blurt, “What has been your secret to success?!”  She hesitated for a moment, obviously in thought, and then stated with a matter-of-factness that made it all seem so simple, “We help each other.”

One of my buddies has a phrase for ideas that pop in your head and wiggle around as they're being cogitated—he calls them “brain worms.”   Pop!  Though we chatted idly about weather and family, Shirley’s brain worm didn’t just wiggle, it struck camp…but I’ll get to that later.

Anyways, my interview with Cliff began shortly thereafter and the “model” begun.

Armchair historians like to poo-poo the P-40 as an also-ran piece of Allied aerial kit.  Citing lackluster performance stats and the superiority of contemporary equipment, these critics only show their ignorance.  Instead, the P-40 possessed the greatest qualities of any weapon of war:  availability and ease of use.  With nearly 14,000 produced, the P-40 series was built in numbers greater than the technically superior Corsair and the iconic B-17.   Durable and powerfully armed (no differently than the P-51 Mustang, F6F Hellcat and Corsair), the P-40 was also easy to fly.  Pilots qualified on the P-40 with regular ease.

How regular?  And how easy?  This is were Cliff weighs in.  At age 18, the Army Air Force felt confident enough in his abilities to give him wings and throw him the keys to the thing…and at age 19, they sent him to China where he would then take the '40 into mortal combat.

Though the P-40 was used in every theatre of WWII, “China” is where it’s most often identified. First-used in the famous American “Flying Tigers” mercenary group, the P-40, its branded “shark mouth” paint scheme and leaping tiger emblem have become permanently identified as symbols of the CBI (China-Burma-India theatre of operations).

By 1944, when Cliff arrived, the P-40 was being phased out of front-line combat in favor of the faster, more powerful and longer-ranged P-51.  But such a transition took time and the 51st FG was somehow low on priority list and all the while, Cliff racked up missions in the P-40.

Of course, there are marked distinctions between types of missions:  recon, escort, ground attack…each one requires a certain set of skills and faces a certain number of dangers.   By summer of 1944, Allied air superiority was well established.  The same could not be said for the war beneath the clouds, however.  In the jungles, hills, crags and steppe of southwest China, northern Burma and eastern India, the Japanese prevailed, arguably up until the last minutes of the war.

“Close air support” (not unlike the future war in Vietnam) was relied upon to destroy Japanese positions.  Armed with bombs (and sometimes rockets) the 51st used their P-40s as dive bombers.  The risk was, of course, huge.  Anti-aircraft fire could be withering and the liquid-cooled engine stopped cold with a single slice of shrapnel to the coolant line. It’s tough, impersonal work to run such a gauntlet.  It’s much more satisfying to pit skill against another man in an aerial dogfight.  At least the ‘luck’ factor is mitigated by the controllable quality of ‘skill.’  Right?

Cliff didn’t necessarily think so.  “John, the best tool for the job is the one you know best.  Our work, any work, demands focus and attention.  That I had so much experience in the P-40 was a factor in my success.  I knew the dynamics of that airplane and it was that knowledge that kept me alive.”

Recalling the moment where his Commanding Officer asked for volunteers to transition to P-51s, Cliff said all-hands shot up but not his.  Training and practice were times to learn.  Combat, on the other hand, was a time to fight.  As a bomb-delivery device, the P-40 was excellent and as long as that was the mission at-hand, the P-40 would be the mount.  He described how two highly experienced pilots but fresh with P-51s met their deaths in combat situations that may have been different had they stayed in more familiar aircraft.

“The P-40 brought me through 104 combat missions.  Of course it's my favorite airplane.  Why wouldn’t it be?!” he chuckled.   “But I’ll tell you something else about those missions,” he stated cooly, “103 of them were before I turned twenty.  I was just nineteen.”  Cliff emphasizes his age, still amazed that such youth could have been entrusted with such circumstances.  “I flew my 104th and last combat mission on my birthday.” (March 3, 1945).



Cliff left the combat arena with 2 Distinguished Flying Crosses, 4 Air Medals and the confidence that comes from survival and peer respect (he was regularly selected as a Flight Leader). “I never liked combat,” he said.  “To me, it was a time where I just gritted and prayed.  But I was proud that I’d passed the tests and made the grade.”  Transferred to Karachi, India in April of 1945, Cliff trained newbie pilots two and three years older than he in the ways of the wild and this further reinforced that the days to come would only be great.   But it wasn’t to be so.

“I am afraid that my main memory of WWII is a bitter one,” he said softly.  “When I came back, I had an offer to lead a Training Command and another to join the first operational P-80 squadron (the first operational American jet fighter).  But all this time, what I wanted to do most was get my girlfriend back-home out of circulation and go to college.  To me, the GI Bill offered the greater opportunity than the military.  So I left the service, got married and signed up for college at Penn State for Fall Semester, 1945.”   It was here that Cliff met a roadblock that is at once fascinating for its novelty and tragic in its commonality.

A little backtracking is in order.  

Cliff grew up as the second youngest in a family of eleven.   The Great Depression was in full-force and caring for the large family was Earl Long’s daily mission.  He held two jobs, the main one being a Tinsmith for one of the railroads.  “One of my father’s jobs was to make and repair cutlery for the trains.  Cutlery!” Cliff exclaims in emphasis.   It was a good job in that it was stable but the railroad still couldn’t bridge the gap between income and expenses.  “But dad need still needed to work two jobs.  So, he had an old truck that he used to haul coal off-hours.”

“One day, my father’s supervisor approached him and explained that the railroad was trying to keep as many people employed as it could and dad’s second job wasn’t fair to those who hadn’t any.  He was given the choice to quit the railroad or quit hauling coal.” Earl Long jumped the rails.

“I learned then that life was about discipline.  Not the switch kind (i.e. branch or stick used for beatings) but the discipline of your own life.  No one is going to look out for you.  You have to do it yourself.  And to do it yourself, it took discipline.”  The Long family’s pocketbook shrunk tight and Cliff remembers pitching in on deliveries of the black stuff.  But in time, one truck grew to two and coal delivery more than filled in any deficit caused by the loss of rail service.   His father’s example of risk and responsibility went to Cliff’s core; it is therefore no surprise that during his last year of High School, Cliff decided his time was better spent learning to fly airplanes than wood shop.  He left.

Fast forward back to Penn State.

Newly married, highly decorated, flush with confidence and backed by the G.I. Bill, Cliff was not prepared to hear that his admission to college was denied on account of his lack of a High School diploma.  “A High School diploma!” Cliff exclaimed.  “The service had taught me aeronautics, navigation, leadership and I’d passed the toughest tests a man can have only to have some 4-Fs in an office say I needed to finish…High School?!  I was twenty years old!”

The Altoona High School annual circa 1943.  Cliff was supposed to graduate in '43.  He didn't.

Cliff lost his place in college; the swell of returning vets filled the spot in a blink.  With a new bride, a life to start and of course, bills to pay, Cliff resigned to finding a job.  “After the war, there were no jobs.  There were so many people returning, there was nothing to do.”  Though he eventually found a spot working in a coal-crusted foundry (ironically for the railroad), his depression and bewilderment was so strong, it took decades for him to process it.

“At the time, I just buckled down and moved forward*. But as I got older, all of my life’s dreams have turned into memories.  And when I (finally had the chance in life to see) how my dream of college was blunted,”—Cliff’s voice trails for a moment—“I saw where that young man (himself) was let down and I understood the disappointment.”  He sighed.

Hold that thought.

If I’ve learned anything about interviewing “old guys,” its this:  Life is a trajectory that arcs from a definite beginning and ending. Along the way, highly personal circumstances are continually shaping, bumping and altering that trajectory.  At the beginning, life is about the goal.  But towards the end, the question, “How did I get here?” inevitably comes to mind and those one-time mercurial circumstances are now analyzed.  At once the “Old Guy” becomes satisfied—if not energized—by the clarity of understanding and frustrated at realizing exactly how much (or how little) a moment ended up shaping their life.

All us whippersnappers, are hereby put on notice, too.

Don’t get the impression that Cliff Long is angry.   I prompted his response when I asked him what the over-riding memory of WWII was.  He answered truthfully—he could accept the rules of war but somehow, the injustice of being held back for lack of a pedigree knocked his path in ways that it took decades to fully understand.  I took note to use care myself in how I might impact someone else’s trajectory, too.

“You asked,” he laughed. “But you know that P-40 represents the best (thing that had happened to me) don’t you?  It’s how I can also say I have so many good memories.” 

Of course, I did.  “Shirley” was named after the girlfriend that later became his wife.  

Off in the background, I heard her say something, Cliff acknowledged and then announced, “Well, that’s enough for today.  I have to go give my girlfriend a kiss goodnight.”

In my journal, I have written two sentences that, read apart, are thought provoking.  But together is the kind of advice that can lead a man through war, disappointment, success and a marriage that lasts seven decades:  

                       Remember that your dreams become memories…
                                            …and help each other.

By the way, during the print-signing, Shirley signed her name on top of the cowl.  Rightfully.



*Cliff eventually worked his way into a Sr. executive position for a large oil company with the predictable success that came from a man who learned discipline and leadership at an early age.

Profile 92: UPDATE—"444" the F-102A Delta Dagger as flown by Jim Eisenmenger, 509th FIS

Oh it LOOKS like I'm more than half-done.  But I'm not.  I'd say a third-the-way-there.

It's a quirky bugger to draw—the simple shapes are almost always so because in aircraft design, very little is left to chance.  The days of aircraft drawn purely for aesthetics crashed with the Great Depression.  By 1952, when the designers at Convair were nerding-out over their slide rules, flight was a definite science, especially due to the increased speeds afforded by jet power and expanded missions demanded by the growing Red Threat.

When I was a little kid, I remember checking a book out from the library and reading about how the "Duece" prototype was not able to go supersonic (in spite of its looks).  However, when the fuselage was "pinched," the drag created by the flow of air around the fuselage was sufficiently reduced to the point where the extra "oomph" to break Mach was within reach of the throttle.  Funny how things like that go, but that little factoid helped me understand drag and aerodynamics a lot more.

Have a look and imagine the airflow and resultant pressure gradients yourself... (if you're bored).

Though you can't really "see" the pinched fuselage in my profile drawing, it will need to be there in subtle shading and contour.  I haven't quite figured how to do it yet.  But I will.  I have to.  "444"'s pilot is definitely one of those slide-rule pilots who can do density-altitude, weight-balance and speed calculations while he's shaking hands and introducing himself.  If I've learned anything about pilots from the 1960s it's that they're especially preoccupied with the technicalities.

Anyway, it's rather amusing to do this F-102 because it ended up so out-of-place in Vietnam.  As an interceptor, it was designed to be a true fighting "system" in that it was purpose-built to climb fast, use radar and launch missiles at attacking bombers.  In Vietnam, the 102s were (mostly*) armed with AIM-4 "Falcon" missiles.

Like the Duece itself, the AIM-4 wasn't suited for the type of aerial combat that was commonly encountered in Vietnam.  For one, it had a contact-fuse.  That meant it had to physically 'hit' the target; others with proximity fuses blew up once they got within a specified radius of the target.  Against an invading Tupolev flying heavy, slow and level, the AIM-4 would work just fine.  But against the small and bee-like MiGs?  The AIM-4 was like the chubby kid in the middle of a game of keep-away.

According to one source, during a three month period between 1967 and 1968, 54 AIM-4's were launched against North Vietnamese fighters.  Four hit.  That's a 7% hit rate.  With six Falcons on board, it'd take more than two F-102 launching their entire missile bay to get one victory.   Ouch.

Photo: an AIM-4 being man-handled by a bunch of North Dakota ANG airwomen.

Source unknown but I'd sure like to know what Mr. Cameraman was thinking...

If you've been following this particular project—and judging by the statistics, more than a couple of you are—I'm guessing you're not here to read F-102 bashing.  That's not my aim anyway.  Instead, I hope to show how the airplane, in fact, kicked butt!  Only it's going to take Jim's slide-rule brain to help me.

Love this airplane.  :)

*The F-102 flew a comparatively small number of air-to-ground missions in Vietnam.  During these missions, rockets were also used. 

Profile 93: JUST STARTED—LGM-30B Minuteman I missile as flown by The Missileers of the USAF

It's MISSILE TIME AGAIN!

Have a look at the pencil sketch above—sharp eyes will know immediately that it's actually a Minuteman II, or, to the unenlightened, the LGM-30F.   But it represents the LGM-30A/B, the "almost" indistinguishable godfather to the incredible Minuteman Missile program.  Please trust me, the MM I will be a brand-new drawing and as accurate as can be considering the things were never supposed to be seen in the first place!

This past month, two patrons have made their case that I need to do the Minuteman I to round out my Minuteman II and III drawings.  They made their point and the MM I has temporarily bumped a B-29, an F-111 and a strange Polish airplane (more later) off my desk.

So many people are ignorant of the Missileer's service.  Until I was commissioned to do the LGM-30G of a certain Minot AFB Captain, I was too. The more I've learned about Missiles, the more impressed and grateful I've become of the devices and the men and women who make sure they're ready for the unthinkable.  But suffice it to state, it can be argued that the American ICBM system is the most successful weapon system ever created.  

Don't believe me?  Watch this space.

And have a look at my drawings of the MMII and MMIII below.   The MM I may not end up looking much different than the MM II but to the thousands of Missileers out there, II and III don't add up unless you start with I.

In the meantime, tonight's a great time to go outside, take a breath of clean, fresh, non-radioactive air.  And when you do, snap a salute towards the men and women in concrete vaults buried far below who have helped make it happen.