A very good read . The truth (again) about the 38.}:
=============================================
Stan,
This is an email I got from one of my friends that flies simulations with
me. Hilts is one my call signs, it comes from the Steve McQueen character in
the movie "The Great Escape", Captain Virgil Hilts. I cc'ed several people
on this that I thought might like to see Jeff Ethell's thoughts on flying
the P-38. I think that it was pulled from the message boards because there
is no one who would believe that the P-38 was that superior, and the
developers won't admit that it really should be that good.
I hope everyone enjoys Jeff Ethell's incredible story, I have the video of
the flight he describes.
Alan
----- Original Message -----
From: "Fry"
To: <idoxlr8@
Sent: Thursday, June 28, 2001 3:47 PM
Subject: Flying the P-38
Here you go Hilts.
By the late Jeff Ethell. From the magazine Fighters: The Best of Flight
Journal, Summer 2001.
Here's the cover photo for the article....taken over the Oregon coast near
the Tillamook NAS Museum:
http://www.airbum.com/photos/P-38Lightning8.jpg This link show's most of the pictures in the articlea:
http://www.airbum.com/photos/Warbird.htm Go down to the "Lockheed P-38, on display at Tillamook Naval Aviation Museum
in Tillamook, Oregon" section for all the photos.
Now the story:
I was excited. But it was more than that. As I sat there at the end of the
runway, my feet spread wide on the rudder pedals, left hand wrapped around
the two big red throttle knobs, right hand grasping the characteristic
control yoke, I was living out a dream. A childhood dream. I'd seen this
image in my mind a thousand times but was never sure I could make it real.
The big Allisons on either side rumbled their impatience, but the sound
wasn't of this time. It was the long-ago sound track of ""A Guy Named
Joe" - the accompaniment to the dream that someday I'd fly the fighter my
father had loved so much in WWII. Until this day, it had eluded me, but as
I started the throttles forward and felt the seat pushing against the small
of my back, I was stepping over the threshold into an adventure that would
leave its mark on me forever. More than that, it would bridge the years and
tighten the already firm bond between my father and me.
When Jack Erickson and his Tillamook NSA Museum in Oregon opened the door,
after so many years of yearning, I had to fight back the dread it wouldn't
happen, but he had <I>two</I> airworthy Lightnings on the field, so the
chances looked pretty good.
When the day arrived, I stood transfixed before the newly restored
olive-drab-and-gray P-38L-5. The P-38 defines the word "big" for WWII
fighters - 52 foot wingspan with operational weights up to 17,500 pounds, or
more if needed. Preflight is very easy; you can walk under every part of
the airplane, which sits some 10 feet off the ground on massive landing
gear. Liquid-cooled engines, four radiators, four oil coolers and the maze
of hydraulics to run landing gear and flaps, the Lightning is very complex
indeed, so there is plenty to check. Fortunately, Museum maintenance chief
Ted Ryder is as much as fanatic on mechanical perfection as Jack, so this
P-38 - after about 13 hours total time since restoration - was operating
virtually fault-free.
With a flick of a small lever, the handle for the boarding ladder pops out
of the upper rear of the central gondola; one pull and it swings the ladder
down then locks it into place. Getting up onto the airplane is then a
series of embarrassing tries at sticking feet into the rungs, falling down
and scrambling for the handhold just forward of the ladder handle. This
took more getting used to than flying the plane. The final system boils
down to right foot into the first rung, pull forward on the handle to get
centered over the ladder, left foot into the next rung and grab the handhold
to pull forward for all you're worth while swinging the right leg up onto
the wing. Everyone had his laugh for the day watching me try to cope with
this thing.
Once I was settled in the cockpit, I was taken with the vast expanse of
airplane around me. Sitting deep within the center gondola and wing, I
quickly got the impression of being buried in the machine; this would
intensify in flight. The cockpit is just about perfect in size: not too
small, not too large and very comfortable. Having memorized the Pilot's
Flight Operating Instructions, I was quickly familiar with the cockpit -
absolutely mandatory before flying. The layout is a myriad of switches, and
the labeling is often hard to read, particularly because most of the
switches sit behind the control wheel. I can see why wartime instructors
required a blindfold cockpit check before turning people loose.
Jack, as if he'd come straight out of WWII as a transition instructor, gave
me a few last-minute pointers like how to start it and what was different
from a stock P-38; then he said, "Give it a try." He turned around, slid
down the wing and climbed down the ladder, which I could hear retract with a
firm clunk. He really must have had confidence.
The most obvious difference from other wartime fighters - other than having
two of everything for the engines - is the dual pistol-grip control wheel.
Putting both hands on this thing brings a sense of complete authority. I
can see why it was so easy to haul the aircraft into tight turns; both
biceps are working. The ergonomics of the wheel are also years ahead of
their time: the grips are canted inward to the exact position of one's hands
when they're relaxed and held out in front of you. Dad absolutely loved the
wheel instead of a stick, because he could maneuver and point the four .50s
and a single 20mm like a fire hose.
The engine controls sprout from the left pedestal in all directions, so I
carefully went over each lever, switch and propeller circuit breaker (these
are Curtiss electric propellers). The large, red, round throttle knobs are
an ideal size for the left hand, completing the sense of total control given
by the wheel grips. The fuel-tank selectors are mounted on the floor, one
in front of the other, to the left of the seat - left wing fuel forward,
right wing fuel aft. This has been the cause of most P-38 accidents in the
past 30 years. Not only can one get confused about which tank one is
selecting, but the five detents include an off position that also doubles
for the drop tank. Pilots have often selected a position either between the
detents or the off/drop tank position with no tanks, starving the engines of
fuel. I took several minutes to look down and memorize the positions and
the feel of the selector handles.
With nothing else to look at, the inevitable had arrived. Before-start
checklist: battery on; fuel selectors reserve (the carburetor vapor line
returns several gallons an hour here); if carrying drop tanks, the bomb
selector switches go on with arming switch to safe, but they are not hung
today; throttles ¾-inch open; props full forward; prop selector switches
auto; mixtures idle cut-off; oil-cooler flap switches auto; generator
switches on; coolant-flap override switches off (auto); intercooler flaps
open; fuel-quantity check.
Engine start begins with the left, then the right engine boost pump on and
normal; ignition master on; magneto both; starter switch hold forward (left
engine) with middle finger of right hand until maximum inertia. Like most
Allison-powered WWII aircraft, a flywheel is spun up and then engaged.
While still holding the inertia starter, the third finger pushes the engage
switch forward at the same time the index finger holds the primer! At
first, this is a real comedy of twisted fingers and contorted muscles
because you have to reach under or over the control column to get to all
this stuff while the left hand is poised on the left mixture control. Much
to my delight, the Allison started very smoothly. I brought the mixture up,
and the engine settled down into that distinctive P-38 collected exhaust
rumble. Repeat this for the right engine (except the starter and engage
switches are held rearward), and the same satisfying start takes place. Dad
would confound his students by starting both engines at once; this had to be
a real trick. Over the next several days of flying, the sequence became
quite natural without a single mis-start. In the P-38, those Allisons start
about as a car engine, but they are more difficult to get going in the P-40
and the P-51A. I have no idea why.
Sitting there with both turbos whirling, feeling and hearing the satisfying,
deep-throated growl coming from the top of the booms (on either side of the
ears) is absolutely mesmerizing. There is no sound like it. Looking at
those spinning props, across the broad wings, I had to be dreaming.
Off the brakes and the Lightning moves easily away, even at low rpm. Like
all WWII tricycle gear types, the nosewheel is non-steerable, so it casters
in response to throttles or brakes. I quickly discovered that the rudders
pick up the prop blast at low speed, so very little brake is needed; just
push the rudder pedal, and it steers as if the nosewheel is hooked up. The
brakes don't have the bear-trap power of the B-25, but one can get a bob and
weave going when pushing on them too hard. Differential throttle is the
primary means of steering, and what a great thrill to hear the
"rrrRRRRUMMMPP" of the exhausts with each application of throttle.
Run-up at 2,300rpm (once each engine has at least 40 degree C oil temp) is
simple because the propeller selector switches are behind the prop levers:
switch to manual, pull back to decrease rpm a few hundred, push back up to
2,300 and flick the switch back to automatic. During the War, the props
were known to run away, but this was usually due to corrosion when the
aircraft were left outside. On the whole, they were very reliable, but part
of the drill is to be ready to reach up and pull them out of automatic to
manual if the rpm go above 3,000 red line.
Before takeoff: top hatch locked; side windows rolled up (they're like car
windows), and engage the locking ratchet (if left open, they create enormous
turbulence across the horizontal surfaces); props full forward; prop
selectors auto; mixtures auto rich; fuel tank selectors reserve; dive flaps
up; wing flaps up; aileron boost on; boost pumps on and emergency (this
gives about 10 pounds more fuel pressure); rudder trim 0 degrees; elevator
trim 3 degrees up.
Once lined up on the runway, the most important thing is to have the
nosewheel straight; the slightest deviation to one side will make it really
lurch when the power is applied. The view forward is wonderful; unlike in
the tailwheel types, runway visibility is totally unobstructed. Hold the
brakes, open the throttles. During the War, the drill was to go full power,
let the turbos stabilize, see if the props were going to run away, then let
go. It must have been like a rocket because all I did was go up to 30
inches manifold pressure, glance at the engine instruments, and release -
<I>wham!</I> The P-38 shot out from under me as I kept moving the power up
to 54 inches and 3,000rpm. The first thing I noticed was absolutely no
torque and perfectly straight tracking - heaven with 3,000hp screaming into
my ears and a wonderful feeling of being pressed back into my seat.
The manual recommends easing back on the control column at 70mph, lift off
between 90 and 100mph, retract the gear and accelerate to 120mph safe
single-engine speed. After what seemed like a few seconds, noting a steady
3,000rpm, I thought I'd take a look at the airspeed indicator for an
update-<I>YOW!</I> I was passing through 130mph! Unlike a tailwheel
aircraft, the Lightning must be rotated off the ground, or it will simply
stay glued to the runway. I pulled back, shot into the air and fumbled for
the gear handle on the lower portion of the engine control pedestal. The
P-38 immediately clawed for attitude as I brought the power back to 44
inches and 2,600rpm for climb. It took a couple of takeoffs to get used to
this, but eventually, I was able to react quickly enough to get the
nosewheel off the ground at the recommended speed and rotate the fighter.
It must have been a superb short-field aircraft when taking off with the
flaps halfway down.
The specter of hovering over this exhilaration is loss of an engine on
takeoff. In early 1942, when Dad and his 14th Fighter Group friends
transitioned into the P-38, they had, on the whole, absolutely no
twin-engine time. They were fighter pilots, weren't they? In short order,
pilots were getting killed when one engine quit and the P-38 rolled over
onto its back and into the ground. Soon, Lockheed test pilots Milo Burcham,
Tony LeVier, Jimmy Mattern and others were showing new P-38 pilots how to
bring back both throttles, get the nose down and maintain control while
trimming out the yaw and bringing full power back up on the good engine,
feathering the prop of the dead engine and accelerating to 120mph. This may
sound a bit daunting, but during a few single-engine drills at altitude, I
found the P-38 responds wonderfully to each input and flies away without a
whimper. A Lightning will fly single-engine at 255mph true airspeed at
20,000 feet - quite impressive indeed.
Best climb is somewhere between 140 and 180mph, and this plane really
climbs. The wartime technique was a shallow, high-speed climb, which would
outdistance almost any enemy fighter. And what a wonderful experience not
to have to hold strong right rudder; feet on the floor, relaxed, I was in
paradise. After a few tentative turns, with absolutely no pressure from the
ailerons, I was beginning to comprehend why everyone loved the Lightning so
much; it flies like a jet with no vibration and light controls.
Level off, power back to 30 inches and 2,000rpm, mixtures to auto-lean,
boost pumps to normal, fuel selectors to main tanks. What a sight! Within
the wing, I felt as if I were being absorbed by the machine - becoming a
part of it rather than riding in it. One of the weak points of the design
comes across right away: the engines and wings on each side really block the
view down. The only way to keep one's scan up is to roll the airplane into
a steep bank and then roll back, which doesn't do wingmen much good in
formation. I can see why mutual scan among flight members was so critical.
My first few turns were effortless; the aileron boost makes an enormous
difference. Unlike with a jet, the turns have to be coordinated with a firm
push on the rudders, which are stiffer than both ailerons and elevators.
Without wasting any time, I decided to do the one thing I had wanted to do
more than any other: a barrel-roll - Dad's favorite maneuver. Nose down for
a little extra speed, pull back, turn the wheel and push the rudder pedal.
The P-38 glided through just as wonderfully as I thought it would. Another,
even better. Another, perfection. With one hand on the wheel and the other
on the throttles, it's just as easy. With both hands on the wheel, I pulled
it into a tight turn and was delighted to find the elevators almost as light
as the ailerons. Making tight turns and loops was so easy that I grinned
involuntarily. When going over the top of the loop, no right rudder was
needed at all; just keep the feet on the floor. This was becoming far too
easy.
The single dominant impression is this thing is <I>smooth</I> and effortless
to fly - quite unlike the more complex warbird types. Managing both engines
quickly becomes second nature. Stalls are docile; just a rumble as the
airflow starts to break up and move toward the wingtips - no tip-stalling
tendencies. To recover, just relax backpressure and fly away while shoving
the throttles to full power with no worry of a snap-roll. At a 15,000 -
pound gross weight, a power-off gear - and - flaps - down stall is 70mph!
Those Fowler flaps are superb. While flying formation with the Cherokee Six
camera ship, I was full of trepidation. The last time I did that in a
Mustang, I held a bootful of right rudder, hanging on the ragged edge of a
reduced power-on stall. At 100mph, I could hang the P-38 on its props, feet
on the floor, and gently move the rudder to slide side to side.
Within an hour, something quite astonishing and totally unexpected began to
happen. Not only was I more than comfortable, but the plane began to
"shrink" around me in my mind. The wings seemed to get smaller, the engines
went almost unnoticed, and I was soon flying only the central pod with its
guns sticking out front. The sense of power, freedom and effortless control
movement is so visceral the machine becomes a part of you. As this dawned
on me, I was abruptly sharing the cockpit with young Lt. Erv Ethell. His
recollections of handling the P-38 in combat became my own; his hands were
my hands. The generational circle closed around me as I soared above the
Oregon coastline and I began to talk to him, even though he was 2,500 miles
away.
Without much thought, I was entering his preferred combat maneuver; power
up, I pictured a 109 on my tail and began an increasingly steep right-hand
climbing turn. In turning and twisting the 109's and 190s, Dad never got a
bullet hole in <I>Tangerine</I>, his P-38F. As the speed dropped below
150mph, I flipped the flap handle to the maneuvering stop (which can be used
up to 250mph) and steepened the turn. At this point, the 109 pilot, as full
power wit the right rudder all the way down, would have snap-rolled into a
vicious stall if he had chose to follow. I pulled the power back on the
inside (right) engine, shoved the right rudder pedal, and the Lightning
smoothly swapped ends. Not only did it turn on a dime, but it actually
rotated around its vertical axis as if spinning on a pole running through
the top of the canopy and out the bottom of the cockpit. The Maneuver was
absolutely comfortable with no heavy G-loading. As the nose came through
180 degrees, I threw the flap lever back to full up, evened the throttles
and headed downhill going through 300mph in less time than it takes to tell
it. The 109 would have been a sitting duck.
This transitional performance is what made the Lightning great in a
dogfight; it gave it far more versatility than a single-engine fighter. No
doubt, if it were flown like a single-engine fighter, it would come out on
the short end, but when a pilot learned to use everything available to him,
it was stunningly dangerous to the enemy. One final characteristic made all
this worthwhile: there was no converging fire from the wings. A P-38 pilot
could get all of his guns on target whether it was 10 feet or 1,000 yards
away. Convinced they were flying the finest fighter of the War, Bong and
McGuire were sold on this combination. They had no hesitation at going
round and round with Zeros and Oscars, which were supposedly more
maneuverable.
However, once going downhill, the other Achilles heel of the Lightning comes
out: compressibility. I never got there, but I passed 400mph in a dive
without much time to think about it. There's a dive-limit placard in the
cockpit, and observing it was absolutely mandatory. The Pilot's
Instructions state, "As the airplane approaches the critical speed, it
becomes rapidly nose-heavy and starts to buffet as if it were about to
stall. If this condition is allowed to develop, the nose-heavy condition
will become more pronounced, and it will be very difficult to pull out."
Many never pulled out. Fortunately, the P-38L had dive flaps - large
electrically driven surfaces under each outside wing that deflected no
matter what the speed. I hit the switch on the wheel and, with no pull on
the wheel at all, the plane pulled out and pitched up into a shallow climb.
When I retracted the flaps, the nose pitched down into level flight - all
with no input. Unfortunately, dive flaps did not come along until the late
J Series - about the same time as the aileron boost - but far too late for
most who had flown the P-38 in combat.
Another bugaboo with the Lightning was bailing out and hitting the
horizontal stabilizer; actually, it wasn't that prevalent. There were
several methods: (1) slow down to around 110mph with full flaps if possible,
crawl out of the cockpit and slide headfirst down the wing; Lockheed said
you'd miss the horizontal stabilizer by four feet; (2) roll over with
elevator trim forward and fall out; (3) at high speed, just pop the hatch
and get sucked out.
Reluctantly, I had to head back to Tillamook; after beating up the west
coast of Oregon, I had run out of ideas. Initial for an overhead fan break:
360 degrees overhead approach at 250mph; fuel-tank selectors on main or
reserve (whichever is fullest); mixtures to auto rich; props to 2,600rpm;
boost pumps on and emergency. Racing across the numbers, I pulled up and
left into the break. Move flap handle to the maneuver stop; gear down below
175mph; 50 percent flaps at 150mph and settle into the downwind. From base
to final, bring the power back to 18 inches and stabilize at 140mph. With
the field made, add full flaps, bleed airspeed down to 120mph; over the
fence at 100 to 110mph, but never exceed 100mph on touchdown or the P-38
will really eat up some runway. Both throttles to idle and pull the wheel
back. That first landing at around 80mph felt like setting a baby carriage
down with a satisfying squeak - way too easy. Hold the wheel back for
aerodynamic braking, then lower the nose; we haven't gone more than 2,000
feet. Absolutely amazing.
With one engine out, the landing technique is similar with the following
exceptions: 160mph and 1,600 feet on downwind, aileron boost off to conserve
hydraulic power, 50 percent flaps at 140mph; partially reduce rudder trim,
approach no slower than 130mph. At 44 inches and 2,600rpm, the P-38 will
barely hold altitude with gear down and flaps up and will not hold any
altitude even with some flaps extended. Do not extend full flap until
closing the throttle on the good engine for landing. Below 500 feet with
full flaps, you <I>must</I> land as it will not make a go-around.
Off the active; brake to a stop; flaps up; coolant flaps full open; boost
pumps off. Back to the parking area, throttles up to 1,200rpm; stabilize
temperatures; mixtures to idle cut-off; mags off; battery off. I have come
full circle. Reining back some obvious prejudice from growing up with Dad's
memories, I have come to see the P-38 in a far different light. There is
little doubt in my mind I have flow the finest American fighter of WWII. It
may have taken a little more time to master and certainly was more complex
to maintain in the field, but the options available to the Lightning pilot
were impressive. A talented, aggressive fighter pilot could clearly make
the P-38 sing. I count myself fortunate to have heard, at last, the siren
song.
THE END.
