So, my alert bud and I are sitting a 24hr alert cycle at Minot. We’ve eaten at the squadron kitchen, and are sitting around the squadron digesting and BSing with guys that are still around late in the winter afternoon. We are allowed to hang out in the squadron during normal duty day hours. The alert barn is a short 100 yard dash from the front door of the squadron to our two Six’s which are cocked and ready to go. It’s mid winter, about 4 o’clock in the afternoon when the sun goes down up on the northern tier. We are sitting in the dining area of the kitchen when the klaxon starts blaring. The two of us jump up and charge to the front door. The same rule applies in the squadron as in the alert facility when the klaxon goes off. Everyone except the pilots and crew chiefs stays put and clear of the stairs and doorways.
Our alert car is sitting at the curb with the passenger side door open and keys in the ignition. The drill is for the first guy out the front door of the squadron to dive in the open door, slide across the bench seat, start the engine, and start driving once the second guy was in. My bud was a couple of nano seconds behind when I dove in and slid across. I put it in “DRIVE” and punch it! We get out of the parking area in front of the squadron area and have to make about a 120 degree left turn to aim at the back of the alert facility. Did I mention most everything was covered with patches of snow and ice?
So, when I hook us left, we were of course on a patch of ice and immediately do a left sliding 360. Because of our momentum, the car was sliding in the general direction across the ramp toward our “target”. I somehow get the car straightened out and aim at the middle of the alert ramp behind our two jets. All this time my pal is howling with laughter as we traverse the icy ramp. Now we’ve got up a reasonable head of steam and are vectoring in the right direction. Getting stopped required some artistic talent judging the patches of ice and semi dry, but cold concrete. I start getting on the brakes and magically come to a sliding stop nearly equal distance between the back of our two jets. The car goes into “PARK”, and we run to the jets.
Up the ladder, strap in, helmet on, and crank it up. My bud was first out of the barn and so, the formation lead.
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We burner climb up in clear, cold air in two ship formation, level off at the assigned altitude, and take up GCI’s vector for this real world scramble. Lead comes on the radio and advises that he’s got a thumping sound in the engine, has no abnormal engine instrument indications, and asks me to close in tight and look him over for loose panels, etc. By now, it’s pitch dark. The Six was covered with a glossy grey paint that made it relatively easy to see the whole jet in the dark up close, especially with the upper and lower rotating beacons operating. I move in tight and check his jet thoroughly both sides, top, and bottom. Nothing out or the ordinary. I report this to him. He says the thumping seems to be tied to engine rpm and airspeed. Push the throttle up, increase speed, and the thumping increases. Pull power back and the frequency of the thumping decreases. He decides to continue the intercept since there’s nothing obvious and this is a real world active air scramble.
As we approach the target area, GCI reports the target is now intermittent and may be at low altitude. We each sweep a pre briefed sector of sky with our radar and Mark 1 eyeballs and see nothing. We extend past the target area, reverse, and come back for another pass. Nothing. GCI now advises the target has faded and may be a radar anomaly. GCI directs us to RTB.
His thumping sound continues all the way back to the traffic pattern. After he extended landing gear, I gave him the once over again. Nothing. We then spit up for single ship approaches and landing. Both of us landed, taxied back to the barn, and shut down. I unbuckled and walked over to his jet to see if he figured out what was going on. He was standing there with kind of a sheepish embarrassed grin. When I ask what happened, in his adrenaline charged rush strapping in, he forgot the right shoulder harness.
When we set up on alert, it was standard to leave the shoulder harnesses on each side laying across the canopy rail for quick grab and go. The crew chief handed him the left side shoulder harness, as was normal. Then, we would grab the right side and secure it. About 18 inches of his right side remained over the canopy rail through engine start, taxi, takeoff, intercept, RTB, landing and taxi back to park. When he went to unbuckle his lap belt and shoulder harness, he discovered the right one still hanging over the canopy rail.
So, the mysterious thumping was a foot and a half of shoulder harness thumping the right side fuselage in concert with the airspeed.
We made our five minutes or less airborne requirement. Our time was two minutes and thirty seven seconds from the klaxon first sounding to airborne, from the squadron kitchen dining area.
Amazing what a liberal dose of adrenaline can do.
Close as I can get...and STILL NOT EVEN as close as the E Warren-Native American DNA result :rofl- would be BUCK FEVER :aok So, I sort of understnd :uhoh Those straps are pretty thick...wow. I had a Walmart Bag get caught on my trucks transfer case once. Thought the truck was going to come apart! :O Can only imagine a Shoulder strap flapping at Mach2 :rofl Hopefully this was AN POOPY SUIT free filght? :rofl
No, no poopy suits. But, we did wear winter flights suits which were akin to a snowmobile suit. The typical winter ensemble started with top and bottom thermal underwear, then a summer weight flight suit, winter nomex flight jacket, standard survival vest, over size leather gloves with wool inserts, and what we called “Rusky Hat” with ear flaps and chinstrap, then “Muckluks” which were calf length canvas material that had nonslip soles with thick flannel inserts. We wore the Muckluks overcalf crew socks instead of our standard leather flight boots. As a new guy, I asked the standard question of “Won’t wearing these cause a broken ankle or worse after landing in a parachute after an ejection?” The answer was “would you rather have a possible broken ankle or frostbite and lose your foot(s)?” I wore the muckluks all three winters up there and never had cold feet. We would wear the gloves and Rusky hat for the preflight and then stuff them in between our survival vest and winter flight jacket for quick access later and to keep them somewhat warm. With all this stuff on we were reminiscent of green pilsbry dough boys waddling around on the ramp.
Typical garb while preflighting with the crew chief inside the heated pod. The pods were heated all the way up to 35 degrees, which was plenty warm after hiking the short distance from the squadron to the pods.
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