“Hero or the Zero”

Chapter 1 A True Story

By COL GREGORY MARSTON (ret)

Aviation is an exciting profession that has short, intense, high-energy periods that are often followed by fairly routine and even boring phases of flight. Yet, it is important to remember always that you’re flying a machine at relatively high speeds and/or high altitudes versus other man-made equipment like a car. Your happy little pilot bubble can be interrupted in a Nano- second by the rare, heart-stopping, bowel-loosening, emergency that must be dealt with correctly, quickly and coolly or you may die. Sometimes you die, even if you do everything right! This story is about one such moment. I was leading a routine flight of two A-37B “Dragonfly” on a cool, clear and very dark, early morning at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base (DMAFB) in Tucson, Arizona on January 3rd, 1985. The A-37 was a relic from the Vietnam War, a small, green/grey camouflage, two-seat, two-engine, jet aircraft that was used for Attack (dropping bombs) or Forward Air Control (FAC – shooting rockets). As the solo Instructor Pilot (flying in the left seat) the plan was for me to takeoff first, followed 10 seconds later by my wingman (a student in the left seat and his Instructor Pilot in the right side). After takeoff, my wingman he would rejoin on me for a Close Air Support (CAS) training flight. I would lead the two-aircraft flight out to one of the massive bombing ranges located in southern Arizona. On this huge range complex, we would split up and I would act as the “fighter” for the student who was learning to be a new Forward Air Controller (FAC). He would guide me to the targets, which were actual convoys, using real vehicles, fake buildings and “villages” located all over the range. You would use the live weapons that we carried all over this vast and rugged range area. My engine run-up for takeoff was very good because of the cooler winter temperatures; I released my brakes, accelerated down the and quickly approached the takeoff speed of about 120 knots. I pulled back on the control stick (a metal pole with a handgrip and other weapons buttons on the top of it) and established the takeoff attitude of a couple degrees of nose up attitude. Due to its bulbous nose, and while the jet was in the takeoff position, I could not see the runway directly ahead of me for a few seconds. While I waited for it to lift off the runway, there suddenly there was an explosion, followed by the aircraft gyrating left and right. I was now violently skidding down the runway at about 120 knots (137 miles per hour) on a three- wheel (or maybe less) tricycle gear in my 12,000-lb. aircraft. I could not eject, because my was not powerful enough at this speed. A lot of things happened at once. I immediately applied the BOLD FACE or RED BOX procedures for an Aborted Takeoff. A BOLD FACE procedure was an emergency considered serious enough to threaten the pilot’s life and / or to cause severe damage or destruction to the aircraft. The Bold Face emergency also required immediate, swift and correct action – which is why it was memorized. Every USAF pilot had to know all the planes Bold Face procedures “Verbatim” (word for word) for his aircraft and had to be able to perform them quickly without consulting any checklist. Abort means that you are stopping the aircraft on the runway instead of taking off. An aborted takeoff is dangerous because the aircraft is at its’ heaviest weight, including fuel and weapons, at a very high speed, with much of the runway already behind the pilot because of the takeoff roll.

!1 There were about ten or so of these Bold Face procedures for the A-37B. Bold Face emergencies must be memorized and recited exactly, word by word. Knowledge of these Bold Face procedures is tested every month for every pilot. That test involved writing all these Bold Face emergencies aircrafts on a sheet of paper, which was then checked for complete accuracy. Any mistake, even by missing one word, in this test would cause the pilot to be grounded for that day. We also practiced the Bold Face procedures and other emergencies in an aircraft cockpit mockup on a regular basis.

ABORT {BOLD FACE} –idle (Lowest power setting) Speed brakes – Open (make the speed brake plate deploy downward) Wheel brakes – as required (use brakes as necessary to stop the aircraft) I could not eject because I was not at 100’ altitude above the ground. Even with this wild emergency a small, little internal voice asked, “Did I overlook something to cause this event – was it a mistake or a crime?

“ONE MISTAKE AIR FORCE” The U.S. Air Force (USAF) had lost over 2250 aircraft in the long American involvement in the Vietnam War (1963-1973). As in every other major conflict since World War II (WWII), there was a severe drawdown or shrinking of military forces after Vietnam. The USAF was no exception – it contracted dramatically and there was little money to buy new aircraft. The USAF leadership wanted to keep as many aircraft as they could and also change the “culture” of this military branch after the wild combat flying days of that conflict. Active Duty USAF operational flying units began the transformation in the 1970’s (when I started my career) with a very strict attitude toward safety and flight discipline. The flying culture became what we grimly called the “One Mistake Air Force” – which meant if you make one critical mistake, your career is over. The USAF has always had strict accountability for its flying squadrons. It was because we were flying high-performance, multimillion dollar aircraft for our nation. We had to train to fight the next war - that could come tomorrow, next week or never and yet do it in a safe manner. We were the tip of the spear for our nation, if they needed us, and as pilots we were the warriors for the Air Force. In the doldrums years after Vietnam War, the emphasis was on being very cautious and safe. The generals backed up this conservative flying approach by holding commanders strictly liable if there was an accident in their squadron. This USAF accountability meant that if a flying unit had a preventable aircraft accident, failed or did poorly on any USAF inspection, had a significant sexual harassment complaint, if the commander was convicted of an Inspector General (IG) complaint, or if anything bad happened to the squadron, the unit leaders would usually be fired. Mistakes were not tolerated. Any problems and the leadership could pay for it with the sacrifice of a minimum of one commander’s career - and it frequently would be more than one commander. In my first five years in the active duty USAF, I unfortunately was in several flying Wings where a single accident unhappily caused the firing of the entire leadership chain from the Wing Commander down to the Squadron commander. This was a tough atmosphere for operational leaders because almost no amount of positive kudos accumulated in a career could stop the quick “lynching” that followed an accident, incident or negative event. 20+ year careers vanished in an instant when one of your knucklehead pilots did something stupid, dumb, against regulations, etc. Paranoia was very high for the commanders that I served under in those days. We talked about safety, a lot. We had to listen to the USAF top brass drone on about the mythical ‘zero accident’ Air Force – in which there were no accidents across the Air Force for a year. Of course, the only possible to achieve this ridiculous goal was if we stopped flying as a

!2 service. In reality, flying and training for combat in USAF fighter aircraft was a complicated, dangerous and high-pressure occupation. As pilots, we just wanted to fly and fight. We wanted to train realistically for combat, while not making any mistakes which could end your career.

“MEET the WING COMMANDER” As a young pilot, I and all the other newbie flyers, always had a tense, introductory meeting with the Wing Commander in every USAF Wing I flew in. The Wing Commander held the rank of Colonel and was the overall leader for the wing. He was always a pilot and it took twenty years or more for him to rise to this high level in the Air Force leadership. The Wing Commander was the top boss with control over all the aircraft, personnel, buildings, and equipment for a flying wing. So, when he talked – we listened. At this point in my career, I looked at this leader with some awe and fear. During this initial meeting with the Wing Commander, they often preached the same concept. In the ultra-conservative years after the Vietnam fiasco, most of these Wing Commander gave what I called the “mistakes versus crimes” talk. Stated differently by these various wing commanders, the message was essentially the same. Any major mistake made while flying, resulting in an accident or incident, was possibly survivable, career- wise IF (and only if) you were following USAF rules and regulations. There are a lot of rules and regulations. On the other hand, a flying mistake that had any direct violation of any regulations, guidelines or policies and you would be sacked immediately as a pilot. You would have to face the dreaded Flying Evaluation Board (FEB). The FEB would say that you had committed a “crime” by violating the rules. They would take away your [flying] wings and you wouldn’t be a pilot anymore. As a non-flying wiener, you would then get a crappy ground or staff job until your miserable Air Force career mercifully ended. This oppressive, uber-safety conscious, atmosphere caused most pilots to have a mantra which was “I hope I don’t screw up” - which was a far bigger worry than crashing or dying…

DESIGN FEATURES – A-37B – HOW IT EFFECTED THIS STORY A seemingly minor mechanical aspect of this story was a small wire “cotter pin” for a bolt in the nose wheel system of the A-37 aircraft. This was a hold-over from the original T-37 design. This thin cotter pin (which looked like a “bobby pin”) kept that important bolt from unscrewing itself. When the cotter pin was missing and this bolt DID unscrew itself, the Dragonfly’s single-wheel nose gear would move around uncontrolled which would cause it to break off during takeoff or landing. Losing the nose wheel on a three-wheel aircraft was very dangerous. Yet, this little cotter pin had fallen out several times over the last decade in Dragonfly units across the country, resulting in runway accidents. Checking this pin was an important part of the aircraft preflight – a pilot’s personal inspection of the aircraft and its’ paperwork before flying the aircraft.

ANTIQUATED EJECTION SEAT TECHNOLOGY – 100 kts / 100 ft. The last bit of background mechanics of the Dragonfly was its’ old ejection seat engineering. This ejection seat used old technology and was a real throwback to the 1950’s when the original T-37 was designed. In the Dragonfly, it was referred to as a “100/100” seat (airspeed - knots / altitude above the ground - feet). You had to be flying at least 100 knots airspeed AND be over 100 feet above the ground, with no sink rate, in order to eject safely. Less than that and your parachute wouldn’t open before you hit the ground, which would most likely cause your death or major injury. Most of the USAF fighter jets and even the OV-10 “Bronco” that I had flown in

!3 South Korea had a “0/0” capability. “0/0”, meant that you could be sitting in the cockpit on the ground with no speed and safely eject – gaining enough altitude in the ejection sequence to land with a full deployment of the parachute. The Dragonfly simply did not have the ability to eject while on the ground.

BACK TO THE STORY - A WILD and DANGEROUS RIDE I was skidding down the runway on my night takeoff and I had immediately applied the Bold Face ABORT procedures. All this happened in a few seconds. I called tower and said, “One’s aborting” (I was called Nail 11 or “One” or “Lead” and my wingman was Nail 12 or “Two”), so the tower and my wingman would know what was happening to me. I had to stay on my half of the concrete runway, so my wingman could have the other side to maneuver for his takeoff. I worked both my hands and feet on the controls and throttles trying to stop the Dragonfly. I saw my wingman takeoff on the right, in my peripheral vision, as he passed by me. A few seconds later the USAF Tower Controller screamed on the radio “LEAD – BOTH YOUR ENGINES ARE ON FIRE!” I quickly glanced at the rear-facing mirrors in my canopy to see 20-30 foot flames coming out the back of the aircraft – confirming the tower’s grim assessment. As usual, I was configured with four auxiliary fuel tanks on the wings (two on each side), each filled with 100 gallons of jet fuel. These Aux tanks sat very low on the wings and were just 22 inches above the runway with a normal, extended nose gear. I suspected that the nose gear wheel might be gone on my tricycle-shaped - so how close now were those fuel tanks to the runway? I fought the very powerful urge to glance at the left wing to see if these wing fuel tanks were grinding away on the runway, but couldn’t – I was fighting to stay on my half of the runway and to stop the aircraft before it turned into a huge fireball. In my career, I ALREADY had witnessed two fatal fighter aircraft crashes that turned into huge fireballs. Both of the pilots were instantly killed in these fiery crashes. In our pilot terminology, we said that these pilots had “Bought the Farm”. Burning to death in my own fireball and “buying the farm” was not how I wanted this morning to end. I put my full attention to keeping the aircraft going straight by using the brakes which were located on the two main landing gear wheels (the back two wheels of the tricycle-shaped landing gear). These brakes were controlled separately using the top of the foot-controlled pedals. Eventually, I ground to a halt and stopped on the runway with plenty of distance left to go. I immediately did the procedure for “Ground Egress”, which was not a Bold Face procedure. It was the process for shutting down the aircraft and getting out of it safely. I shut the engines down (throttles to “off”); pulled the fire T-handles, called to tower, “One’s ground egress” (I did NOT wait for a reply), canopy switch up (canopy opens); the Battery switch off, seat belt and shoulder harness off – then stood up with the 30-40 lb. parachute on my back (I didn’t even notice its’ weight), jumped out and ran at Olympic speed (at least in my own mind) for 200 feet from the jet. I stopped and looked back. It was the quiet before the storm, as the sun came up in the desert. The nose gear WAS GONE and the aircraft nose was sitting on what was left of the speed brake under the nose (see attached A-37 picture). I was so happy to be alive and unburnt. But this was a serious accident, so guess what I began thinking about? Had I checked the nose gear cotter pin? Again, was this a mistake or a crime?

FIRE TRUCKS AND BOSSES WITH A QUESTION After leaving the aircraft, I signaled the tower with my flashlight and waited. Eventually, the base fire trucks came screaming up to the aircraft on the runway. There was no fire, so they had little to do. But the fire chief came up to me and asked me if I was all right. I told him I was ok, but I was really now starting to wonder why the nose gear had broken off my aircraft.

!4 After about 10 more minutes later, my SQUADRON COMMANDER drove up in his car. He walks over and asks me: “Are you all right?” “Yes, sir.” “What happened?” I explained, “I aborted at 120 knots, there was some kind of bang or explosion”. My squadron commander then asked, “Hey, uh, did you check that nose gear cotter pin?” My Squadron Commander was not smiling, as he asks that question. I quickly replied, “Yes sir, I’m sure I checked that on the pre-flight.” “Hmmmm… you sure?” Less quickly I said, “Yes, sir”. He concluded by saying, “OK, let’s have maintenance check it.” Next to drive up was the WING COMMANDER, who I had flown with before. He talked quickly with the Squadron Commander, then comes over to me and says, “Greg, are you all right? “Yes, sir” “What happened?” “Something happened when I was taking off, I had to abort at 120 knots” “Hmmmm…. are you sure you checked the cotter pin in the nose gear [during the pre-flight]?” Sinking feeling. “Yes sir, I’m pretty sure I checked that pin” The Wing Commander looks at me. The Squadron Commander comes over, as maintenance personnel and the WING SAFETY OFFICER drive up. Things are looking bleak – what DID happen to the nose gear?

THE ANSWER Suddenly, a BASE OPERATIONS sergeant drives up and shouts: “There’s a coyote cut in half a couple thousand feet down the runway!” My Squadron Commander looks at me, then raises both hands in the air: “ITS AN ACT OF GOD, HE’S A HERO. WAH HO!” He smiled happily. The Wing Commander also smiled and came over to shake my hand, “Good job, Excellent”. Suddenly, I felt like a 100-lb. backpack had been lifted off my shoulders. I eventually drove with the safety officer down the runway after the incident. Sure enough, there was a big coyote cut in half, as if it had been surgically sliced apart by a laser beam. When I raised the nose on takeoff I couldn’t see the coyote ambling across the runway. I guess he couldn’t see me either. The explosion was the impact of my aircraft hitting this large animal at 137 miles an hour (vaporizing part of it) and the nose gear starting to sheer off. The “fire” seen by tower was the downward opening, flat, aluminum speed brake as it was being ground down by the runway – the sparks and the sheet aluminum was actually burning as it shot sparks and flames 20-30 feet behind the tail of the jet. Extending the speed brake before the nose hit the ground had saved my life. Without a nose wheel or speed brake the aircraft would have slammed down on its’ nose and the Aux Fuel Tanks on the wings would have probably have touched the runway. Scrapping these fuel tanks on the concrete runway at such a high speed might have caused a catastrophic result as they broke open and exploded.

BACK STORY ON THE A-37B The Dragonfly was a rather hurried creation conceived during the Vietnam War, when there was a dire need for a light, yet powerful attack aircraft to bomb the enemy in the jungles of that country. The engineering solution, in the late 1960’s, was to take the venerable, side-by-side seating, Cessna-built, T-37 “Tweet” trainer and essentially, “put it on steroids”. They morphed the Tweet into a small beast that was double the weight, had twice the thrust, along with adding new weapons-carrying stations, a mini-gun, better engines, more fuel and certain structural strengthening. The Dragonfly had two models – one that could air refuel (A-37B) and one that

!5 could not (A-37A). Either way, this new aircraft could carry eight x 500 lb. unguided bombs, or rocket pods or extra fuel tanks or a mixture of all of these. It even had the same little 7.62 caliber mini-gun in the nose that Arnold Schwarzenegger used in the second “Terminator” movie. We gave this tough little aircraft to small, friendly nations all over the world, such as South Vietnam and Central / South American nations. This “baby A-10” could be used to bomb an armed insurrection or drug lord, yet was not so big or bad enough to support the invasion of another nation. In the early part of the Vietnam War, it did better than expected, performing well in the light attack role for South Vietnamese and USAF pilots. We gave the South a couple hundred of them. Unfortunately, at the end of the war, all those A-37’s were not good enough to stop the massive, tank-lead, invasion in 1975 by the North Vietnamese (NV). Unguided, dumb bombs from the Dragonflies were no match for this flood of hundreds of NV tanks. North Vietnam thus inherited the world’s largest A-37 fleet, which they kept going for many years. Ten years later in the United States, we using this quick little jet for the unsung job of Forward Air Control (FAC). As FACs, we talked to the Army commander using radios and then showed or told the fighter aircraft where the target was located, using white phosphorous rockets (which made a big white cloud of smoke). Our favorite saying was, “hit my smoke” which means our smoke rocket had hit the actual target and then all the fighter has to do is drop a bomb where the smoke was. In these pre-Global Positioning System (GPS) days, when people actually used paper maps, the fighters were fast and usually had very limited time [fuel] to look for targets. The FAC did that for him. The lightly-armed FAC showed him where the target was and made sure they didn’t hurt the good guys in the process. The FAC mission was dangerous and difficult but it was a highly necessary job. However, it was an auxiliary job – the cool guys flew fast and dropped the bombs. Mostly FAC were mostly ignored in the fighter community – until the bullets were flying and targets needed to be bombed when our Soldiers were close to the enemy. The FAC lived and worked in the world between the Army and the Air Force. Vietnam was a perfect FAC war, where the country was covered by a green blanket of jungle. Only a FAC could find a target and but that war was hard on these pilots. The enemy soldiers hated the FACs because they brought bombs down on their head and proved it by shooting down 339 lightly-armed, Forward Air Control aircraft during the war. In the big picture, the A-37 was part of the Close Air Support (CAS) world – where Air Force jets helped the Army Soldiers. Back then, CAS was a mission the Air Force disliked intensely. Fighters wanted to shoot down enemy jets or bomb a bridge - not look for tank hidden under a group of trees 200 meters from the friendlies. or carry cargo or Our A-37 was definitely even lower than the A-10 “Warthog” aircraft, a plane the generals did not understand or like. But the Dragonfly was a good teacher and its young pilots would eventually graduate from this aircraft after three years, to move up into the “real” world of front-line USAF fighters. We may be low on the totem pole but we did our job as A-37 pilots with pride and conviction. So, on this particular night takeoff, we both carried 14 x rockets, 6 x practice bombs and the mini-gun on our hot little jet.

HAPPY ENDING

After the incident, my squadron commander was so happy with the outcome that he had another pilot submit a nice article about me and the coyote incident in the base newspaper. That half-page article even had a picture of me starring grimly at the A-37 nose gear and the dreaded cotter pin. I put that newspaper article in my flight logbook, which was reviewed by all the airlines that I applied to during the early spring of 1985. I credit the article with helping me to be hired by American Airlines that year, where I had a long career culminating in becoming a

!6 Boeing 777 Captain. After leaving the active duty USAF, I also continued my military flying in the Air National Guard (ANG), eventually becoming an A-10A “Warthog” Squadron Commander and Wing Commander myself. I flew 80 A-10 combat missions over Afghanistan or Iraq and also commanded combat air bases in Afghanistan and Iraq. During my ANG career, I again saw the continued emphasis on USAF leadership accountability with the firing of all my ANG unit’s leaders, from the Wing Commander on down, following the crash of one of our jets in a preventable fatal accident in 1997. Fortunately, we no aircraft accidents during all my years as commander of my unit. I never gave the dreaded “Mistakes or Crimes” briefing to my new pilots, when I was a commander, because we only kept highly trained and responsible pilots in our Warthog unit. I wanted them to train hard for combat, without worried about the veiled threat of ending their career for a mistake. Our pilots, under my command, gave it their all and did the right thing, including all the combat flying that was required for our unit’s seven deployments to Southwest Asia to fly missions over Afghanistan and Iraq. This A-37 accident that I have described, was the most significant and dangerous emergency that I had in over 14,000 hours of military and civilian flying. I hope you like this true story, where my life and career hung in the balance, on that dark morning in 1985.

A37B - After the Vietnam War ended in 1973, the A-37B/OA-37B aircraft were moved largely into Air National Guard units, but still some flew in a few USAF units like mine in Arizona. It was used as an Airborne Forward Air Controller (AFAC), Attack aircraft, and on Combat Search

!7 and Rescue (CSAR) missions. It was retired from the American military in 1989 but a few still fly in Central and South American countries.

A-37B - Anatomy of this accident. When my aircraft hit the coyote at 137 miles per hour it broke off the nose wheel gear. Quickly deploying the speed brake, before the aircraft nose hit the ground, saved the aircraft and myself. The aircraft then skidded 4-5000’ down the runway on the speed brake – grinding it down, but keeping the auxiliary fuel tanks (on the wings) from touching the runway. If the nose of the A-37 had hit the runway, so would the fuel tanks, resulting in a fire with 400 gallons of jet fuel.

!8 A-37B Article in the Davis-Monthan base newspaper in January 1985

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