During my three winter survival tour in the F-106 at Minot AFB, ND, we took all of the Sixes to Tyndall AFB, Fl once a year to re-certify the jet’s nuclear surety status. Typically, these deployments occurred during the winter months for the obvious reason. We would schedule for two weeks, with the first week to get scoreable “hits” with the nuclear capable Genie rocket, the F-106’s primary weapon. We typically qualified the entire squadron’s compliment of jets in 3-4 days. We were motivated to finish early the first week, leaving more off time for the beach. The second week, we had DACT (Dissimilar Air Combat Training) scheduled. This was always great fun. It gave us valuable experience against dissimilar fighters, a chance to get the fangs out, and eliminate any cabin fever left over from the first week of flying.
For the flight down to Tyndall, tankers would be scheduled for AAR (Air to Air Refueling) training, even though the Six could easily fly the distance unrefueled and arrive at Tyndall with plenty of fuel to work the pattern. For my first deployment, I was flying on my Flight Commander’s wing, he a crusty ol’ Major, me a shiny First Lieutenant. We hit the tanker about half way down and continued cruising toward the warmth of Florida. As we got close to top of descent, I remembered what he said in the preflight briefing about preheating the severely cold soaked canopy before starting down, to prevent it from frosting over. So, I turned up the heat, not wanting to do something boneheaded before we got to Tyndall. A few minutes later, ATC gave us our first descent assignment and down we went. We had been cruising in the low 40 thousand foot altitudes. More than just a tad cold up there in the winter months. As we descended through the low 30s, I noticed something odd on the Boss’s canopy. There was a dull white substance at the rear of his canopy, and it was steadily creeping forward. When it had covered about have of his canopy, he keys up the radio and says “Do you see what’s happening over here?” I reply “Roger that”. He replies “Be ready to lead a formation approach and landing”. I gave him a visual thumbs up as the frost continued creeping past him to the canopy bow. Post flight, he admitted completely spacing his own reminder and forgot to preheat. Anyhow, his entire canopy and windscreen frosted over shortly thereafter. At that point, I hear on the radio, “Two, you’ve got the lead.” I reply, “Two has the lead”. As we changed positions, I could see him vigorously rubbing a small porthole in the frost so he could see me. We continue toward Tyndall, set up for the approach, land in formation, clear the runway, and raise our canopies to the warm, humid Florida air.
This was my first trip to “shoot the nukes” at Tyndall. It was an exciting time knowing that I was actually going to live fire “The Great White Hope” as we nick named the Genie. We launched in two ship formations, each with a live, but inert, Genie rocket loaded in the weapons bay. Each pilot would fly a GCI guided intercept at a drone for a fly up and face shot, with the second guy flying a loose wing chase position. Watching my bud’s weapons bay doors snap open, the Genie drop down, and fly away at a near instantaneous Mach 3.0 speed was a spectacular sight. By the way, we were flying at about Mach 1.5ish to launch the Genie.
My excitement level was even more pumped up after seeing this. Now, it was my turn. I followed the GCI guidance, selected and armed the Genie, got a radar contact on the drone, locked the radar on it, and called a “JUDY”, meaning I had the lock and was taking over the intercept from here. With the radar locked on and the system set to fire the Genie at a safe distance for my survival of the impending (simulated) nuclear blast, all I had to do was fly a dot within an ever smaller guidance circle on my radar scope until an X displayed, indicating the Genie was on its way. Well, I was determined to make this shot perfect and had the “dot in the hole” perfectly. As the guidance circle got progressively smaller and was about to turn to the X, I took a peak over the nose to see this beast raging outbound. The X flashed and away it went, so fast, that I couldn’t see the Genie, only its contrail clear out to the horizon. Then, a small puff of smoke indicating the simulated nuclear detonation of the 1.5 kiloton warhead. That was way cool to see!
The Six recorded all the flight and radar parameters to determine a scoreable hit. Post flight, these were examined to confirm the system was working correctly. After evaluating the recordings for my jet, it was determined that the dot jumped out of the guidance circle just before the X flashed. In my excitement to see the Genie, I inadvertently put forward pressure on the stick, forcing the dot to drift out the top of the guidance ring. I had missed with a Nuke! How embarrassing! Fortunately, I was scheduled to fly the jet the next day and redeem myself. This time I kept my head down in the radar scope and maintained the dot in the hole until the X flashed and disappeared. The roar of the Genie leaving also confirmed it was now safe to take a peek. Again, a contrail out to the horizon and the small puff of smoke. This time it was a valid hit.
By the way, I wasn’t the first guy to ever do that.
