Stories of the 68th AREFS
Page 4
"OPERATION BIG STICK"
In November 1956, the 68th Air Refueling Squadron was on temporary duty (TDY) from its base in Lake Charles, Louisiana and half buried in snow at Goose Air Base, Labrador. We were flying ( so-called ) normal missions refueling B-47s over the North Atlantic, the area around Eastern Canada and over the Gulf of St Lawrence between Quebec and Newfoundland. Some of these sorties consisted of formations of six or more tankers offloading to 4 to 6 bombers. There were times when these numbers were doubled with larger groups of bombers and tankers separated by ten miles in parallel tracks. The operations people called these "Tanker Task Force Operations" or "Large Scale Air Refueling Support"; we called them "Mass Gas". I was "lead" navigator in several of these missions having been baptized during similar missions on earlier TDYs. Heck, I was a seasoned veteran by this time at the age of 22.
At this time, the Hungarian people were struggling with their Soviet puppet government, trying to overthrow their masters and take back their country. We were a bit oblivious to all this until we got word that the Strategic Air Command ( SAC ) was deploying two additional tanker squadrons to Goose. We had 21 planes and each of the other units had at least 20 aircraft so that meant there was going to be over 60 tankers at Goose. When they arrived and were all lined up along the parking aprons, it was a sight to behold. It was a big problem bedding down all the extra people. Back then, when your unit deployed, you took along your own aircraft maintenance guys, engine guys, some electronics people, clerks, operations people and you name it. On this particular TDY, we even had a Chaplain who went with us. His name was Szabo, of Hungarian descent. We also did not know that SAC had been planning a B-52 circumnavigation of the earth as a demonstration of US power and the ability of the B-52 to strike any target, anywhere in the world. They also planned a "feasibility study" for this idea by doing a practice mission. I don't know whether the US Government or SAC planned it, but when the tankers were deployed to Goose and to other forward bases around the world, the Soviets actually backed down for a few days and the Hungarians got the impression that Americans were preparing to come to their aid.
On the 24th of November, we gathered in the mission briefing room and were aghast to see thirty or more crews jammed into the room with us. An officer soon decided to send everyone out of the room except for pilots, navigators and flight engineers. Then the place was called to attention and a general and his staff came in and took seats in the front of the room. Some colonel introduced the general as a SAC weenie who was going to tell us about the importance of the mission of the day. At this time it was snowing and we were aware that a major storm was coming our way; we didn't think we were going anywhere.
So, the general, alluding to Teddy Roosevelt's famous quote,"Walk softly and carry a big stick!", said we were going to fly "Operation Big Stick" ( 93rd Bomb Wing history refers to this as operation"Quick Kick" ); that B-52s from Castle Air Force Base's 93rd Bomb Wing were going to get fuel from us that would enable them to fly over the North Pole, thumb their noses at the Soviet radar defenses and return to sunny California. All in one day. The general said that our mission was the most important mission ever flown, etc, etc. This to a room full of WWII bomber and fighter pilots and pilots who had been flying the Berlin Airlift and a couple of other little things like that.
When the general sat down, the ops people began telling us that three parallel tracks were set up to the West and Northwest of Goose for no less than 18 tankers to fly in cells of six planes each to give fuel to three cells with three B-52s per cell. Two tankers were planned for each bomber to be able to offload as much fuel as needed. A 44,000 pound offload was about the best we could do for one tanker's offload. Further, two spare ( air spares as we called them ) aircraft would be in each cell in case there were problems. Additionally, there were to be several ground spares assigned to sit on the end of the runway "run up area" to be ready to takeoff if needed. Gee, it is starting to sound like SAC is getting serious about this thing.
When the ops guys got into discussing our fuel loads and our takeoff gross weight, the flight engineers interrupted to say that there wouldn't be "available torque" to allow the heavily laden ships to get off the ground. "Available torque" was the term for the power the engines could be expected to produce under given atmospheric conditions, aircraft gross weight and some other voodoo factors. What it boiled down to was that the generals and the planners only thought in terms of loading the tankers up with all the JP-4 ( Jet fuel ) they would hold and tell the crews to go fly with it. The pilots and the flight engineers were familiar with heavy weight takeoffs and knew better.
Do you think the general and the staff weenies heard any of this? Hell no. They sent us out to the planes and told us the B-52s were in the air over California and on their way. So the biggest armada of over-laden flying machines you can imagine started engines and began taxiing to the runway. There was some difficulty getting the ships lined up in order of their assigned routes but it didn't make any difference as it turned out.
I was flying as a substitute Nav for Captain "Dutch" Imhof; I don't remember why this was, but there I was positioned to lead the middle group. As the first plane in the first cell ran up engines and released brakes, we all watched to see whether he would make takeoff power. He didn't. He stomped on his brakes and taxied off the far end of the runway while his number two filled in on the runway. the second plane also aborted his takeoff for lack of power. And so it went, each plane's pilot gave it that old college try, running up close to 80 or 90 knots before deciding to abort. Meanwhile, the Command Post was busy reassigning each of us a new cell position as we lined up for our "go" at the takeoff attempt. As we aborted our takeoff, I found myself reassigned from lead of the middle cell to ground spare. Then as every plane went through the abort ritual, I was lead ship of the first cell, then number two ship in the second or third cell, etc. Some guys were dumping some of the JP-4 to lighten their ships and we did too. Being lined up, nose to tail of the guy in front of you gave everybody a big sniff of the JP-4 and the fumes could be seen rising above the long line of tankers. Finally one of the planes in front of us got off the ground and others began getting off to join him. By the time we got back up to our third attempt, there were probably 20 tankers airborne. As we broke ground and the pilot called in to tell of our successful takeoff, the Command Post was issuing new route assignments. The air refueling tracks were being moved to a clearer area away from the approaching blizzard. I will never forget the Command Post radioing us that our new track was "+ **&&^%^$%& miles North and +&^% miles West..........". Dutch asked me, "Did you get that, Nav?" to which I replied, "Hell No". Radio communication just left us for the day and we were not able to raise the Command Post until much later in the afternoon.
I made a guess at where we were supposed to join up with our formation and that we were probably flying as an "Air Spare", but I didn't know for sure. We got to where I thought we were supposed to be and began looking for airplanes that looked like us. The visibility was ........well, there wasn't any. Flying at 1000 feet above the scheduled air refueling altitude, we searched up and down the course and did see a B-52 briefly, below us, heading Northeasterly. From listening in on different frequencies set up for the operation, we were finally convinced that all the bombers got fuel and began climbing back up to high altitudes and on with their Polar Mission. Now to try to land someplace.
We already knew that Goose was going to be weathered out for recovering our planes and when we got through to the Command Post, we were told that other ships were being diverted to Loring AFB, Maine, Sept Iles RCAF Base, Quebec and to Ernest E. Harmon AB, Newfoundland. We had already dumped all the JP-4 we had carried all day and were assessing how much aviation gas we had. Imhof asked me to figure out which alternate base was closest and he asked the flight engineer how much flying time we had in terms of remaining fuel. When I announced that Sept Iles (Seven Islands) was closest, the Flight engineer said we had three hours of fuel. I told them it was 3 hours and twenty minutes to our new alternate destination. I already had us on a Southwesterly heading for Seven Islands. By now, the sun was down and we were in total darkness.
The pilot and flight engineer worked together to lean out mixtures and adjust prop pitch to give the best fuel consumption rate for each engine. At this "best cruise" configuration, you could almost count the prop rotations. This also increased the flying time to our destination. The flight engineer carefully moved fuel to tanks at the outboard ends of the wing in order to keep the airplane's balance at optimum as another measure to assure best cruise. The rest of us waited. I steered us directly to the Sept Iles base on the North bank of the St Lawrence River and after an agonizing three plus hours we descended and lined up for a landing. On the final approach, Dutch decided to make a go-around because he wasn't lined up just right for the runway. When we came around for the landing, one engine was sputtering and quit running right after touchdown and before we turned off the runway, a second engine stopped from fuel starvation. Besides having very few runway and approach lights, there were almost no lights on the parking aprons or taxiways. We were happy to put our feet on the ground even if it was dark and we didn't know where we were.
Sept Isles, Sep Teel. That's how you pronounce the name of this Canadian air base. Seven Islands is what we called it. There was a French Canadian radio station in that area that we called to give our position reports named Mont Joli. Supposed to be pronounced MON JO LEE. They were terribly flabbergasted, insulted and NOT amused as we persisted in calling them MOUNT JOLLY. Apologies to our French Canadain friends.
As we taxied (on two engines ) off the runway we followed a truck toward a big open area. The airplane slid around all over the place as Imhof tried to line it up beside the other KC-97s on that icy parking apron. There were already three tankers there and we heard on the radio that more were coming in. The flight engineer asked Dutch whether he wanted him to use a dipstick to measure the remaining fuel in the tanks and Dutch, without hesitating, said "No!" I didn't want to know either. We knew that the only fuel on board was a small amount in the center wing tank and maybe a bit in two other fuel cells nearest the center wing.
Being a small base, there were no transports or buses there to meet us, to give us a ride to the base operations building, which we could see about a quarter mile away on the other side of a big snow field. So we hoofed it . We were greeted by a couple of Royal Canadian Officers who had almost no warning that a flock of heavy but empty American planes was about to descend on them immediately following the big blizzard. This storm had abated some time before we landed there and we were told that the entire eastern half of Canada, from the St Lawrence to as far North as Baffin Island, was covered by more than a foot of new snow.
I suppose we were fed but I don't remember. We were escorted to a barracks building and soon stretched out on make-shift cots and were fast asleep. Then came a knocking on the door. Seems as how some of the RCAF boys thought they should meet and greet us. They insisted that we get our flying coveralls back on ( smelly as they were ) and join them at their club. I guess they thought we were all wealthy or at least had some cash on us because it didn't take long for these guys to get us into throwing darts. Just for drinks at first, but it turned into betting and losing what money we had on us. Fun guys. I remember one fellow kept telling me how much my aim was improving with each loss. Not toss, LOSS. At one point, I noticed some of our guys playing Black Jack at a table in the corner of the room. One of our guys picked up a Canadian Quarter and made the observation that it must be difficult to use it in a coin toss ( It had Queen Elizabeth on one side and the head of a caribou on the other ) because, as he said, "It has a moose on both sides". Now, the 68th was well known for getting into fights and I thought things were going to break open when one of the RCAF men jumped to his feet. He said, "Look you can call the queen anything you like, but don't insult our caribou". That story got spread all over SAC and probably the RCAF too. Over the next several years, I heard it attributed to a lot of different outfits and given a lot of different locales.
One of our guys got a call in to his wife back in Lake Charles and learned that a KC-97 crashed during takeoff at Goose that afternoon and that everybody back home had been on pins and needles to find out which crew it might have been and were there injuries or deaths, etc. This is the first we heard of it and we couldn't imagine at the time that this occurred right after our takeoff. We were the last airplane to takeoff that day. The Canadians told us about rumors of our "Great Exploit", that we had saved all humanity from the Red Menace, etc, etc. Yeah, Yeah.
Next morning, we found that the Canadians had been in consultation through the night with USAF over how to refuel us and get us on our way back to Goose. Seems as how we put a huge dent in their fuel stock, so a SAC headquarters weenie figured out a minimum fuel load that would get us back and the Canadians obliged and had our planes gassed up and ready for us when we stirred from our bunks. The flight to Goose was uneventful until we got back and saw the wreckage at the side of the runway and the extra heavy blanket of new snow.
We were met by our Commander, L/Col Ernest Turner and the OPs officer, Major Sam Fonda and the FlightSurgeon dispensing "Combat Whiskey" that had gone unused the night before. There were two labels that USAF bought for the traditional after mission drink; "Old Methusalah" and "Old Overholt" and I often wondered whether it was the same used during WWII. You were expected to enjoy this nasty stuff. They told us about the success of the mission, the takeoff crash by one of the 376th planes, that not one tanker was recovered at Goose because of the blizzard, and that the B-52s had a totally successful mission.
They didn't know about a lot of things that would have been important for us to know. Like hundreds of refugees from Hungary were streaming into the Goose Airport and into St John's and Harmon Airfields in Newfoundland, on their way to the U.S. seeking political assylum. The Red Army had returned with their tanks and conducted open warfare against the civilian population of Budapest. They didn't know that we had performed a critical "rehearsal" for the astounding circumnavigation of the earth to be staged just a few weeks later. And one other thing they failed to convey to us:
We didn't know at that time, that one great contributing factor in the success and safe completion of this dangerous mission was the fact that Col Turner had ordered our maintenance people to change all the spark plugs in all of our engines. Let me tell you what a monumental task this amounted to. We had 21 aircraft with four engines each. Each engine had 28 cylinders with two spark plugs per cylinder. 4704 spark plugs! 4704 spark plugs! These guys started this job and forgot about trying to go for some rest. Forgot about going for some hot food. They ate the rations out of the K-Ration tins and they caught cat naps in the corners of the hangers. They didn't stop until the last plug was properly screwed into the last cylinder of the last airplane engine and the job was done a day and a half later.
Sure, our engines developed the takeoff power that was needed; sure, the pilots were skilled and professional; sure the Navigators were Magnificent ( forgive me ) but the guys who entrusted us to fly their airplanes, who anxiously waited for us to bring them home,were HEROIC. Nothing short of HEROIC. I'll never forget the flight engineer tweaking those throttles, adjusting pitch controls to get every ounce of power out of every drop of gas. It wouldn't have been possible unless each engine was running at peak performance and we owe that to those great men of the 68th Maintenance Organization.
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