Pinned

Approach,  June, 2000  by Edwin Brush

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My last two hops in flight school. I would be wearing Wings of Gold the next day. If weather, maintenance, or the alignment of Jupiter prevented me from getting the "X", it didn't matter. When my mother flew in, I showed her around the ready room and introduced her to some of the instructors. My father and sister were flying down to Texas from the northeast.

The flight schedule showed ACM 12 and 13, two good-deal rage-ex's from which every student returned smiling from ear to ear. After the last flight would come the traditional dousing of water, then the icing on the cake when the CO or another available instructor rips off your student patch and gingerly places "soft wings" on your chest. The anticipation was incredible.

When I approached the jet for preflight, the plane captain was someone I had never seen. He seemed rushed and many of the pins were still in the jet, which was unusual. I was trying to approach the day slowly and more meticulously than usual. I wanted to be disciplined, take pride in my habit patterns and demonstrate all I had learned.

On my first takeoff out of Kingsville, I lined up on the runway as Dash 3. I watched as the lead and Dash 2 (flown by two instructors) let go of the brakes and sped off in section down the runway. I remember seeing the dried grass standing straight up along the edge of the runway and hearing the no-winds call from tower. Ten seconds later, I released my brakes and the plane accelerated.

As I tracked down the right side of the runway, everything felt normal. Suddenly, the aircraft swerved to the right, so I countered with rudder, making the aircraft swerve left centerline. A glance at airspeed showed the aircraft accelerating through 100 knots.

"I'm going flying," I thought. Though rotation speed was 120 knots, I believed it is much easier to go from 100 to 120 than 100 to zero.

After a few more lateral excursions, I got airborne. I came up with several reasons why the plane might swerve, including pilot-induced oscillation, weather or jet wash from my lead. I couldn't tell if there was truly a problem with my jet, so I said nothing. Besides, I needed to compartmentalize and fly a good rendezvous.

Our flight in the area went well. As we approached NALF Orange Grove, I felt a little doubt gnawing at my soul. I remember ATIS telling me there was no arresting gear on the active runway. No problem. If the jet swerved after touchdown, I'd simply take off again, set up for a downwind to the other runway and take a trap there. I still didn't say anything to the lead. After all, it was way too late to tell him now, because his first question would be, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

My lead landed and rolled out on his side of the runway. I touched down, expecting the worst, ready to move the throttles to military thrust. Ever suspicious as I slowed through 100 knots, I was ready for the worst, but nothing happened. As I cleared the runway, I tried to set up the cockpit for the next flight and stay ahead of the game. I dismissed the takeoff as something I must have caused.

We debriefed over breakfast and briefed for the next flight, where I would be the fighter lead. Yet another missed chance to tell the instructors about my first takeoff. I walked out to the jet, preflighted, strapped in, started up, ran through my takeoff checks, and taxied out to the hold-short.

This time, I was Dash 2 of the section takeoff. I was on the right and lead was on the left. Dash 3 held at the hold short. Again, no winds. I remember the lead's signal to run up the engines. We both went to military thrust. When his arm fell beneath the canopy rail in a karate chop, we released the brakes and started the takeoff roll.

I looked down the front of his wingline (the formation-bearing line) staying in position by pulling a little power off, anticipating my jet having more power than his. I glanced down the runway a few times to check drift, but my primary scan was the bearing line.

Many things happened faster than it takes to read this paragraph. I felt a side-to-side motion like a car taking a corner. There was a quick movement away from lead and another one even more pronounced back toward him. My perspective on the lead's jet changed. It wasn't off my left shoulder anymore but much farther forward on my canopy. The jet felt fast as I pulled back on the stick. Take off! Get away or over them. I remember seeing the instructor in the back seat of lead's jet looking up and ducking as I flew above him, I lost sight of him as lead's plane passed under the nose of my jet. I felt a thud and saw the lead's plane disappear to the left out of sight.

I was in the air, but it wasn't going to be for long. I felt like I was sitting much too far back in the seat and the angle of attack was way too high. Adverse-yaw departure coming. Get out now. I pulled the handle with both hands, looking right down at the handle (that would have been good for my neck). The next instant, the jet was on its side, still airborne, but in a steep bank. I heard, "Eject! Eject! Eject!" over the radio. It vindicated my thought process. I looked down at the handle as the jet somehow touched down upright. I didn't feel it land in the soft mud, but I did feel it accelerating along in the dirt, and I yanked the throttle off. I tried to keep it tracking straight through the mud.