Did I Do That?

Approach, Oct, 2000 by Mike Worthington

The incident I'm about to describe could yield three Approach articles, even though it wasn't a mishap. Here's one of the articles. I'll have to write the others after I leave the service.

One of the dangers of operating from a small inland base, under busy Class B airspace, is conducting functional check flights (FCFs) without the benefit of a dedicated working area. Here at NAS Atlanta (a.k.a. Dobbins ARB), the entire FA-18 checkflight is conducted under positive control, using a triangular, 350-mile, point-to-point stereo route. The route is one-way with little time to re-check items or correct mistakes.

Considerable interaction with the ARTCC is the norm, as every altitude or course deviation must be requested. The good news is that there is no transit time to and from the working area, and no need to wait for scheduled airspace. The bad news is that a Pro-A (full system check), with all its detail, is intense; a possible violation or noise complaint hangs in the balance. Still, we've successfully flown hundreds of these flights.

Not long ago, during just such a flight, I confronted the dreaded, high-hour, been-there-to-done-that aviator disease. I had been at this station for three years and had flown the profile route more than 60 times. However, I'd been out of the cockpit for more than 60 days, and had recently only flown the simulator, a 1 v 0 and a low level. This would be my third flight. (Article #2: "Can Do! And the Trouble It Brings.")

As it happened, I wasn't scheduled for the flight. I was scheduled to fly a Profile C, a relatively simple flight, but that jet wasn't ready. The MO was going to fly the hangar queen (422 days of shelter) on its Profile A. The day was filling up for him with meetings, so I thought I would step up and help out, while putting his flight time in my logbook. We made the exchange in the passageway.

The plane was slick--no pylons, no tanks, a beautiful sight, rarely seen in the fleet. Both the fuel and drag were less than normal. I was confident I could do the whole profile with the benefit of the reduced drag.

The flight went as a planned until I asked for the FL350-450 block from point B to point C for the supersonic checks. That leg must be flown over that specific path because it is the only approved supersonic route over the taxpayers below. That day Center was having a hard time, assigning me various vectors and slowly stepping me up. By the time I was assigned FL310, I had eaten up half the track. Still, with 50 miles left, I was back on the profile and could complete the check.

My bingo bug went off, and I moved it down from 6.0 to 4.5. It seemed I might be playing the fuel a little close. Just after having FL350 assigned, a FUEL LO caution illuminated. I looked at the fuel total again; the caution made no sense to me with this much fuel. Usually you won't see a FUEL LO until 2.5 or less. I quickly passed it off as an anomaly, attributable to the jet's long down time. My bucket was full, but I was finally in position to do the supersonic run, so I pressed.

Could I still squeak it out and coast back to base? I looked again and was surprised to see 4.5 total fuel. Had I used that much in the last 2,000 feet of climb? "I must be a ham fist!" I thought. I was just passing the point of the leg closest to my base, about 75 miles. I looked again to the fuel, this time it was 4.0! Bingo time.

I told Center I had a request and started leaning toward my base. When they came back, I changed my flight plan and headed back to base. By the time the verbal exchange was over, with the obligatory frequency change, I had 3.0 total fuel.

I was pointed in the right direction at FL350; I had on-deck fuel plus 1,000 pounds. I had very low drag and 75 miles to go. I also had to sneak under the nation's busiest Class B airspace, but that didn't worry me too much, because my base was on the near side of the civilian airport.

The next moment, I actually saw the fuel indicator roll to 2900, then 2800. Now came a full dose of that feeling in the pit of my stomach ... I declared an emergency and, looking down on this bright beautiful day, saw the Chattanooga airport 30,000 feet below. I declared my intention to land there.

Center quickly gave me FL220 and a turn back, direct. I went to idle, over-banked and worked my steep, arcing turn to line up with the long runway. I needed to lose the altitude and energy quickly, because I didn't want to pass by the long runway. My descent continued with another controller to 12,000 feet. I was given the tower frequency, and I asked how long the runway was.

My options were gone. I would land on this runway. Whatever its length, it was longer than any other within 75 miles. I had been at idle the entire descent, the engines hadn't hiccuped, and my only indications were the FUEL LO and BINGO cautions and a falling fuel-quantity gage.

At 5 miles and 3,000 feet, I was told the runway was 7,000 feet long, and with clearance to land, I did quick fight and left 4G pulls to get below gear speed. On centerline, I finally looked at my feed-tank quantities and unhappily saw 000 in the left and 1200 in the fight.