* * * * *
UH-OH,
AN RB 47 ADVENTURE
My crew flew to
As far as our Raven
Three was concerned, the KC-97 was instantaneous transportation. His mode of
operation was to hit a bar, get blind staggering drunk as quickly as he could.
We would pour him back on board the plane and he would pass out for the duration
of that leg. He would wake up when we landed at the next stop and repeat the
cycle. He said, as far as he was concerned, no time passed between stops, cause
he was in ‘la la land’. So, it was instant transportation in his mind.
We took an engine
specialist along with us to Kadena. He went to work on the RB-47H soon after
arrival and reported some very bad news. His inspection indicated that five of
the engines had been operated for extended periods in overheat condition – thus
requiring all five engines to be changed. So, we had a week off to enjoy
When the engine changes
were completed, a test hop was required before we could fly an operational
mission. The entire crew went along on the test hop so as to check out all the
recon systems.
We were lined up on the
runway with all engines at 100%. Water-alcohol injection was activated and
brakes released. The old girl had a very light fuel load, so leapt away and
accelerated rapidly. On reaching about half the speed needed for take-off, all
three engines on the left wing abruptly quit. The water-alcohol was
contaminated; this killed the engines. The plane went down the runway like a
Frisbee, finally stopping on a taxiway.
Three more engine
changes and extensive landing gear maintenance were required. More down time for
the crew. We were becoming well known in the local joints.
Ten days later we flew
another test hop without incident. Drat it. Looked like we were finally going to
have to go to work.
We were anxious to get
our first operational mission behind us as we would get our theater spot
promotions for the tour only after completing the initial sortie.
We lined up and roared
down the runway trailing heavy, black smoke from the water injection. We were
nearing takeoff speed and the water was still good. It looked like a go,
finally.
Our AC was a very quiet
guy known as “Silent George,” and a great pilot. He remained as cool under any
circumstance. Nothing rattled George. He had been a B-17 pilot during WWII and
had had three planes shot from under him. Then he had flown the
The number six engine
(the only one that had not been changed) had frozen up and broken off. When it
did so, it also snapped part of the wing off at the engine mount. George trimmed
the airplane and climbed out as best the old bird would do. We were being
bombarded by calls from the tower, telling us we had left a
good bit of our airplane on the field.
George had not yet declared an emergency, nor had he decided to abort the
mission, so we were still under strict radio silence.
He leveled at a medium altitude and had the copilot compute our fuel
consumption to see if we could fly the mission. The fuel was being sucked up
fast, so George decided to abort. We had to bore holes for hours in order to
burn enough fuel to get the aircraft light enough to land (a situation all B-47
types are familiar with). Once we were on the ground, we again had down time in
which to terrorize the natives for another three days waiting for a replacement
aircraft to arrive.
We were now so far behind schedule that when we at last got under way,
we planned and briefed four missions at once then flew four days in a row. Took
one day to plan and brief four more missions, then flew those. We lived on that
routine for the next three weeks to get caught up. The local economy suffered
badly during that period.