At Least I Wasn't the Only One Who Didn't Know Where I Was Going

Approach, June, 2001 by David Silkey

We had just heard a blow-by-blow account of an FA-18 pilot's ride in the nylon, following a night ejection during a JDAM strike into the Fallon Range Complex. He drove home the fact that an ejection from 35,000 feet on a dark winter's night over the deserts of Nevada was an extremely cold undertaking! Before he separated from the seat, the cold had forced him into the fetal position several times in an attempt to keep his arms and legs warm. This sobering discussion left me with a healthy respect for a high-altitude winter ejection.

Two days later, I was fragged for a post-maintenance check flight on one of our Lot 18 Hornets. The jet's right engine had been replaced recently, which meant it should have been a straightforward PMCF. The maintenance brief covered the engine swap, as well as a flight-control adjustment, Which had been done in response to a pilot's recent concern over the jet's handling characteristics in high-speed flight regimes. I hadn't been aware of this flight-control problem, so I made a mental note and signed the book.

There were two PMCF hops on our schedule at the same time, so we discussed airspace deconfliction and dry-suit requirements. The water was between 50 and 60 degrees and the air temp was above the minimum for exposure suits. The combination of those temperatures made the use of dry suits "optional," according to our SOP. We opted for comfort.

Start, taxi, takeoff and the PMCF portion of the hop were uneventful. I wrapped up the final checks and pointed her home as I began cleaning up the cockpit. It was a beautifully clear autumn day, and I had just settled in for an enjoyable flight home when Betty sang, "Deedle ... deedle ... engine right ... engine right." In the Hornet, Betty usually doesn't offer good news, and this was no exception; my right engine had flamed out. I wasn't worried, because the Hornet flies effortlessly single-engine. However, as the hydraulics on the right side began to fall off line, I was warned of a right leading-edge-flap lockout. Now I was very interested.

After a failed attempt at a flight-control reset, I called base to let them know what was up. By this time, our other airborne PMCF had joined on me to help. A quick check of my nay display showed me 75 miles from home plate, most of which was feet wet. As I gazed down at a chilly and angry Atlantic, I remembered the story about the freezing ejection, and I longed for the discomfort of my poopie suit.

The over-water transit was uneventful. Approaching the beach, I prepared to emergency extend the gear (in the Hornet without the right-side hydraulics, emergency extension is required to get the gear down). You have to slow to below 180 knots, but as I decelerated below 190 knots. the jet yawed to the left and I didn't have enough rudder authority to counter it. I accelerated and climbed. With the leading-edge flap locked out the consensus from the ready room was that I could not slow down enough to "blow" down the gear. I continued to explore the slow-flight characteristics to get a feel for how she was going to land. I decided that hanging out over the Atlantic was not the best option, so we headed south to a nearby bombing range. If I was going to give this one back to the taxpayers. I was going to do it over land or as close as possible!

The leading-edge-flap lockout would not reset and, because the jet kept yawing significantly as I slowed through 190 knots, I couldn't get slow enough to drop the gear. The NATOPS peanut gallery, all cozy and warm in the ready room, advised me to rotate the right-engine core in an attempt to reestablish the right-side hydraulic pressure, which should allow a reset of the flight controls. It worked like a charm, and I dirtied up normally and turned toward the field for what I hoped would be a "normal" arrestment to runway 5L at NAS Oceana. I couldn't trap on the right because an F-14 had just trapped with a hydraulic failure.

As luck would have it the pattern was saturated with Tomcats in the FCLP pattern, as well as multiple Hornets that were returning from a bounce period at a nearby outlying field. In short, tower's bucket was lull. At 10 miles I was concerned that the Toms in the FCLP pattern would further crush the tower, so I was relieved when I heard the tower tell all the Tomcats, "Delta overhead at 2K." Perfect--I could trap and be out of everybody's way.

My jet was still acting squirrelly as my wingman and I tried to avoid the many populated areas on the approach. Coming out of 2,000 feet and decelerating through 180 knots, the jet yawed so much to the left that I felt it was on the verge of departing controlled flight. I hit the mil stop with the left throttle, arresting my rate of descent, and slowly climbed away as I regained control of the aircraft. As I approached 1,500 feet on the climbout, I found myself beak-to-beak with the F-14s established overhead in the Delta pattern.

As we climbed away, my wingman said that it appeared the right engine was beginning to smoke and that I should probably secure the rotating right-engine core, which I did. My mind was reverting to "brain stem" power, and I needed to land the jet ASAP. Heading northbound, I wrestled with the notion of button-hooking back to runway 23, but when I looked at the approach corridor, I changed my mind: It was nothing but high-rise hotels. I began to subconsciously include populated areas into my decision matrix for available runways. Out of ideas and fuel (1.9 on the IFEI), I chose to arc for a runway 32L arrestment.