Page 27 - October21T_REV

Back To The Future
Fifteen years later, déjà vu was inevitable as three uniformed Air Force enlisted men approached me head- on. One was an MP (military police) and carried a fully automatic M-16 rifle. Once again, I had stepped onto a patrolled ramp just yards away from an airplane. But this time, the G-Man saw no hurried pace, no Woodstock attire and no hippie-length hair. Instead, an Air Force officer in a flight suit with an armful of flight gear. “Good afternoon, sir,” one of the men affirmed, rendering a salute. “How was the van ride?” The Friday afternoon trip from Luke Air Force Base, Arizona, to the Gila Bend Air Force Auxiliary Field (pronounced He-La-Bend) was a tedious, two-hour, 105-degree, non-air-conditioned pain in the butt. The airman’s rhetorically sarcastic question about the van ride drew shaking heads and chuckles from all of us as I returned the salute.
Even though they poked fun about the drive, we all knew that my ride back to Luke would be a different story. “Sir, how long will it take you to fly back?” “I’m shooting for a point-three, Chief.” They looked at each other with huge grins. “Will you be doing an afterburner takeoff?” I gave them the grin right back with a yep. I hung my g-suit and parachute harness on the launcher rail at station nine (right wing tip) and set my helmet bag on the ramp. One of the men handed me the maintenance log. My Friday afternoon sortie was to retrieve a repaired F-16 from Gila Bend and fly it back to Luke.
Make This One Quick
Air Force squadrons are budgeted flying time for all non-combat missions. The time is divided into monthly allotments, and once the allotment is used up, flying stops whether the calendar time is finished or not. A flight like today’s is a cost-of-doing-business thing; it gets us nowhere in the training cycle but still uses up the allotment. The squadron commander, LTC “Rhino” Gross, a friend from my days at Nellis AFB, Nevada, had asked me to go get the jet. “Dinger, make this one quick.” “Yes, sir. See you at the O’Club.”
It wasn’t favoritism. There were simply no other F-16 instructors besides me willing to suffer through two or three
hours of crap on a Friday afternoon just to fly a hopefully repaired jet for less than 15 minutes. Who would? No air- to-air, no dropping bombs and no shooting the gun. Rhino knew someone who would fly. The same guy that, when the squadron had excess flying time to use up before the end of the month (use it or lose it), volunteered to fly lead in a two-ship of F-16s from Phoenix to Battle Creek, Michigan for a weekend of bowhunting. And a few months later, on another weekend to meet up with high school buds to drink beer and play ping-pong – anything for the USAF, don’t you know. And the same guy that would hop into the pit (the backseat of a two-seat F-16) just to get into the air and out of the office. All that guy needs is the okay and some gas.
Today, the jet has a full load of gas – enough to run the engine in afterburner (AB) all the way home if I want, and boy did I want. I have the okay of the squadron commander, maintenance and ATC to fly just below Mach until I enter the pattern at Luke. This would be my reward for enduring that crappy van ride. And the deafening AB takeoff a reward for the ground crew. Plus, it would help get me away from the ground quickly if the jet wasn’t totally fixed after all. And equally as important, my buds will already be at the Luke O’Club and a cold beer waits for no man.
Hair on Fire
You don’t get to light your hair on fire without planning and permission. Terms like maintenance test flight and tactical arrival are used in filing and on the radio. This lets ATC know that you intend to go like hell, you may blow up, and it’s Friday night at the O’Club. Not necessarily in that order. The jet is pointed down the runway with the brakes held as I slide the throttle all the way forward to military power, brakes released, then throttle around the horn and into full AB. A few seconds later, the gear is up and the jet is passing through 300 kts in a window shaking, 45-degree climb over the heads of my ground team. “Luke Approach, Sonic One is off Gila Bend, tactical to Luke.” “Roger Sonic One, Luke Approach, radar contact, no traffic observed. You’re cleared direct Luke, speed and altitude your discretion.” Damn right it is. I purposely take my hand off the throttle and watch as the groundspeed passes through 400, 500 and 600 kts. My air-to-air radar sweeps for targets and at .96 Mach I pull it out of burner. It may have been .99 Mach, but I’m not admitting to any broken windows. If there was a sonic boom, it must have been from some other hippie.
Enjoying some F-16 time.
October 2021 / TWIN & TURBINE • 25