Nukin’ Chik Do Island
A childhood dream to fly the F-4 Phantom originated at age 6 during my first solo walk the block and a half to to my first grade elementary school. As I turned the corner that day, a flight of 4 Phantoms passed low overhead. In that instant, it’s decided. I want to fly one of those some day.
Fast forward 26 years. After an F-4 fighter transition course at Homestead AFB, Florida, I am now in the the Republic of Korea at Osan AFB assigned to the 36 Tactical Fighter Squadron, aka “The Fantastic Flying Fiends”, primarily an air to air squadron. Yes, we go out everyday to dogfight each other or anyone else that we can round up. It is the ultimate assignment for me, flying the Phantom, dogfighting the jet to the outer edges of the envelope, and learning ways to make the those outer edges bow out in certain instances. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
Several months into my tour during a typical winter day in Korea, an odd twist in the norm comes my way. Our squadron Ops Officer comes wondering down the hall and asks if I want to fly. Why, “YES, of course” I reply, and ask what’s up. He says the munitions guys have some BDU-33 practice bombs that are nearing the end of shelf life and they didn’t want to go through the normal disposal process. So, they’ve offered our squadron the opportunity to “dispose” of them by an easier method. So, my mission is to take a load of BDUs and employ (get rid of) them in a safe manner. Since the Fiends have a primary air to air mission status, there was little in the way of mud beatin’ proficiency in the squadron, other than a very small group of guys who were laser guided bomb qualified, which didn’t include me.
So, I round up my assigned back seater, call sign “Hooter” and explain what we are up to. He, like I, hasn’t dropped bombs since the Phantom schoolhouse. Neither of us have any mil settings (used by the pilot for visual aiming through the gunsight) for any type of bomb delivery. That being the case, we start canvassing everyone in the squadron for mil settings. After a thorough search and explaining to everyone why we need mil settings, we find one guy who has some for nuclear, lay down deliveries. Since this is a level delivery at 500 feet above the ground and 500 knots, it will be relatively safe way for use to dispose of the BDUs.
Hooter and I huddle up in a briefing room to talk about our single ship (another of the growing out of the ordinary occurrences for the day) “nuclear strike mission”. Remember, we are primary air to air, fire breathing, highly proficient, members of a dog fight squadron. Feel the day’s weird factor starting to build? Hooter and I have been flying together for months and our crew chemistry is uncanny. So, the routine “fly the Phantom” part of our briefing is smooth and quick. We spend most of our time talking about the nuke deliveries we are about to perform. With the extreme lack of proficiency we both have in this type event, the primary goal is SAFETY and coming back without the the load of BDUs.
With briefing finished, we step to the ops desk, reconfirm our Rhino tail number, parking spot, get an update on the weather, head downstairs to life support, and round up our flying gear. Once “dressed” we hop in life support’s blue bread truck for a ride to our jet.
At the jet, we greet the crew chief who’s going to let us borrow his jet for an hour or so, review the aircraft logbook with him, and start the preflight inspection process. Hooter and I both climb up and check our respective cockpits are properly setup and safe (ejection seat safety pins installed). Then, we walk around the jet with the crew chief and accomplish the external preflight inspection. Next, it’s time to strap on the Rhino, set up our cockpits, and wake up the beast.
As the Phantom rumbles to life, we both complete after start checklists, I call for taxi, and give the crew chief the “pull chocks” signal. His assistant crew chief pulls the wheel chocks, he guides us out of the parking spot, and salutes us on our way. We salute in return and taxi out for takeoff.
Arriving at the EOR (end of runway), a waiting group of crew chiefs marshal us into a spot, places wheel chocks around our main landing gear tires to prevent the jet from moving while they do a quick last chance look for leaks and open panels on our ride. With a thumbs up from the Crew Chief and my pull chocks signal, we salute him, power out of EOR, and call tower for takeoff. The tower controller clears us for takeoff, I drive us onto the runway, line up on the centerline, stop, do the run up, release brakes, and stroke the afterburners to the forward stops. The J79s respond instantly with the characteristic acceleration (which never gets old and I miss dearly to this day) and sends us down the runway and into the cold, overcast February sky.
The cloud layer is above our planned enroute cruise altitude and the winds are dead calm, making the ocean glassy smooth for the short flight to our bombing target, Chik Do Island (or “The Rock”), off the southwest coast of the ROK. The combination of dark overcast, characteristic Korean winter ondol haze, and the flat, glassy water surface makes for an eerie visual condition that leaves the horizon line almost non existent. This is going take extra vigilance and attention to detail at 500’ above the water.
We pass over the island, which is little more than a long rock outcropping in the ocean, to make sure there are no fishing boats in the area. Then we descend to approximately 1,000 feet above the water and make a clearing pass on our intended run in line to the “target”. All clear. From here, I pull the nose up and start a left hand turn to establish our downwind leg at 1,500 feet, select “SINGLE” on the weapons control panel, and arm the system for the first delivery. Hooter has the radar tuned up and is scanning for targets on the water as a last check before we get with it. He has the lion’s share of the work on this type delivery. He radar identifies the target, locks it up, and sets the bomb release system for the delivery. I pretty much fly and push the bomb release button to release our “nuke” at the predetermined range. My job is to fly the jet and establish the delivery parameters (500 feet and 500 knots) on the run in line.
So, we start the first pass. I carefully and mechanically start a descending left hand turn to level out at 500’ feet above the water on our desired run in line. This is accomplished by turning 90 degrees to the left, cross checking the altimeter for about 750 feet half way through the descending turn to final, turning another 90 degrees left, down to 500 feet, and roll out on the run in line heading. Hooter has the bomb release system dialed in and ready to roll. We race toward the “target” at 500ish knots, the timer ticks down, and bomb away! And the little blue bomb attacks the island. I fly us through the escape maneuver and exchange airspeed for altitude up to 1,500 feet and roll out on the downwind leg. We discuss the pass and are comfortable with how it went in spite of the marginal visual conditions this low over the water. We do three more identical passes and are getting more at ease and comfortable (and a tad complacent).
On the next pass, we are feeling more proficient at this. At the perch point, turning from downwind to the run in line, I feel comfortable and confident at looking out the left side while descending and visualizing the intersection of the run in line and our roll out point from the base turn, unlike the more mechanical steps taken in the previous passes. In the midst of the downwind to final turn, the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I look inside at my instruments, and am instantly startled. Instantaneously, I roll wings level, pitch the nose up, and slam the throttles of the J79s to maximum afterburner. The Phantom is shaking vigorously as Hooter, who is head down in the radar boot setting up the next pass shouts, “WTF is going on!” I answer, “Check at your altimeter!” We are in “full grunt” climbing up through 200 feet above the water and scared sh**less. My complacency in the marginal visual conditions has nearly turned us into fish food.
As we get higher, I relax my aggressive pull up, the Phantom settles down, and I deselect afterburner. I ask Hooter what he thinks about climbing up and rippling the rest of the BDUs off over the island and calling it a day. “Go for it!” So, we climb up over the island, dump the remaining “nukes”, and RTB with a huge, near fatal lesson learned in hand.
Complacency, always there, always a threat. But, God was definitely watching out for this fire breathin’, heathen Fighter Pilot and his WSO (Weapons System Officer, i.e. backseater) today.
