Welcome back to more memories of a peace time pilot. I started pilot training in September of 1973 and dropped my last practice bomb in 1989. The closest I got to anything resembling combat was orders to Korat, Thailand, in 1976. Those were cancelled and I went to England AFB, Louisiana in the A-7.

In 1978 at the ripe old age of 27 with less than 1000 hours under my belt I was offered the opportunity to fly the A-10. The truth is, I wanted to fly F-16s but didn’t want to endure a tour as an ALO (Air Liaison Officer), a standard “follow on” assignment for many first-assignment attack pilots. I called MPC (Military Personnel Command), asked the fighter assignments guys what my options were, and was offered an A-10 IP (instructor pilot) job at Davis Monthan AFB near Tucson AZ. I spent 1975 – 76 at DM checking out in the A-7 and flying with an operational squadron and like the area. I was glad to go back. By June 1981 when I left active duty I had logged just over 1000 hours in the Hog.

Conversion Course and IP School

After a transition course to learn how to fly the “Hog” and drop bombs and shoot bullets from its well known GAU-8 30 mm cannon, I attended the IP course to learn how to instruct. The A-7 was the finest bomb and bullet delivery platform during its heyday in the 70s. Its computed weapons delivery system was a technological miracle that, when employed by a pilot who knew how to make it work, was capable of unparalleled accuracy. The USAF-wide bombing competitions of the 70s and early 80s were dominated by the A-7.

Moving from that to the A-10 which had no computer (at that time; it does now) took some getting use to. Flying slower and with a nice “hard sight” HUD (heads up display), I was able drop some pretty good bombs in the “low angle” events, but a 45 degree dive delivery (release at 3 or 4 thousand feet as I recall = slant range of more than a mile) was a challenge. The gun, on the other hand, was point and shoot. Yes, some Kentucky windage was required on a long distance shot (8,000 feet slant range – no one but the A-10 dared shoot the gun that far out) but in close it was hard to miss. And, oh, the sound of that gun! Not so much from in the cockpit, but from the ground it was a thrill to hear and watch it work.

One of the nice things about the A-10 which is true to this day: There are no two-seaters. How does one instruct without a two-seater? Of course, all of the trainees were already pilots who had flown at least one airplane that is harder to fly than the A-10 – that is, the T-38. So, we as instructors did not teach our charges how to fly as much as we were in their subconscious (via FM radio which was used for airplane to airplane communications) as we coaxed them through maneuvers. In the early flights where they just got the feel of the A-10 and in the early air-to-ground rides we would fly a close “fighting wing” position so we could tell what their airplane was doing – which is why I am so good at formation flying in the T-34. J In later flights, the student would fly wing and be pretty much on their own; we would lead the flight and drop our own bombs and shoot our own gun. So I had 600 or 700 hours as an IP and never once had to share the stick with the student.

There is at least one thing I would like to put in my T-34 that the A-10 had: a radio mike button that you could push fore and aft vs. just in. Forward was for transmitting on the UHF radio and aft was for talking on the FM for inter-flight communication. No more calls on the wrong radio because you didn’t mash the right button on the intercom panel. I’m sure it is out there; some day I will put one in N12281.

Two-Seat A-10

Actually, there was one two-seat A-10. It was built by Fairchild and pitched by them as a close support platform that could operate in marginal weather and at night. The Air Force evaluated it in the early 80s but didn’t buy it. I ran across this lone two-seater in 1997 when Tracy (my wife and fellow Mentor pilot) and I flew into Edwards AFB. After doing a touch and go on their 5 mile long runway in our rented T-41, we landed near the Edwards Aero Club in a quiet corner of the base. On the ramp next to the club was one of just about every late model USAF airplane including an F-16, F-4, A-7, even an SR-71, and the only two-seat A-10 ever built. Not only did we walk among the museum pieces, we climbed on them and no one seemed to mind which is where this picture of Tracy came from.

Bicycle Lake

One of the more enjoyable TDYs (temporary duty) we had was a three-week “Red Flag” at Fort Irwin in California. Ft Irwin is about 50 miles northeast of Barstow CA which if you are familiar with that neck of the woods is pretty much in the middle of no where. As an Army fort it had seen better days. There must have been a hundred houses on base – all were empty. We stayed in the “Q” (Visiting Officer Quarters) – as opposed to the Army troops who were participating in the same exercise; they left on Monday morning and spent the week living in pup-tents “in the field”.

The nice thing about the exercise, of course, was the flying. We flew off of Bicycle Lake next to Ft Irwin. It wasn’t like the WWII days when the Spitfires and Hurricanes took off any direction they pleased. There was a runway plowed out of the dry lake bed. We always took off single ship. Lead would start a turn right after take off and do a wide 360 over the lake at about 500 feet while his wingman took the runway. It was easy for lead to time his turn so that he rolled out about a mile wide in line abreast from the wingman so the flight was in “tactical formation” immediately after takeoff. We would routinely fly the entire mission at under 500 feet. (This was in the days when low altitude was thought to be the best way to fly the A-10 – under the radar.)

Nose Low

One day, the squadron ops office was leading a two ship on a typical mission. His aircraft had just been worked on by the maintenance folks – something which involved putting the gear handle in the up position while on the ground. They did put it back down (it was down when he did his before start checks said the pilot) but apparently not down far enough and for some reason the nose gear was not pinned per standard procedures. As he fired up the #1 engine, as soon as there was enough hydraulic pressure, the nose gear obeyed what it was commanded to do and folded up. For some reason the mains didn’t retract (perhaps they were pinned) so the A-10 nose hit the hard dirt ramp area driving the gun into the ground. Somehow they picked the nose up, dropped the gear and pinned it. Except for the dirt in some of the seven barrels of the GAU-8, it looked like all of the other A-10s. The exercise ended a few days later and we flew it home with the landing gear down. (I flew on the crippled Hog’s wing on the way home. I anticipated having lots of fun making “high speed” passes on the stiff-legged A-10, but it wasn’t mean to be. The ground crew, instructed to leave the gear pinned on the injured A-10, did the same to mine. When I raised the gear handle nothing happened, and I flew home with gear extended as well.)

Shooting Cadillac’s

Somehow I was selected to fire a Maverick missile during a live fire demonstration. It was staged for success. Thanks to 50 mile visibility and the dark tank on the sandy desert I could pick up the target from miles away. I flew directly at the target at low altitude. At about 4 miles out, I pulled up and then bunted over to point my nose at the target area. All I had to do at that point was put the HUD pipper near the target, look in the TV display in the cockpit which displayed what the Maverick’s camera was seeing, lock on to the tank, and fire. Well, though the viz was 50 miles, there was a pesky rain shower along the path I had chosen to approach the target. The front windscreen on the A-10 is flat. The rain piled up on the windscreen making it impossible for me to make anything out through the HUD. I droned on for what seemed like 10 seconds but was probably on 3 until I left the rainy area. The windscreen cleared in a few more moments, I picked up the tank, pointed at it, found it in the soda-straw view of the Maverick’s camera, locked on, and pressed the “pickle” button. More long moments passed and finally the Maverick whooshed off of the rail on my right wing. I turned left and dove for the ground and didn’t see what happened. They tell me the Maverick, which at that time cost about $10,000 – the price of a new Cadillac, nailed the target.

The Ground Always Wins

Back in Tucson, to get to the bombing ranges (due south of Gila Bend -- a hundred miles from Tucson?) as soon as we were clear of controlled airspace, we dropped down low. There were published low level training routes that lead to the range but there were also MOAs (Military Operating Areas) and Restricted Areas that basically allowed us to fly wherever we wanted between Tucson and the four “conventional ranges” (bomb circle and range crew calling scores) and three “tactical ranges” (wide open country with plywood tanks and airplanes) that surrounded Ajo AZ. In the early days we had a quick “step down” program where a pilot demonstrated that he could fly at lower and lower altitudes which got us down to 100’ AGL. We would fly that low at the tactical ranges, too: Fly behind some hills to a spot near where the bad guy tanks were, and then come busting out from between a couple of bumps at 100’ doing 300 knots until it “looked right” at which time we’d pop up to deliver our simulated high-drag bombs on a 15 degree dive pass, or better yet, a 5 or 10 degree strafing pass, then down in the weeds again for a hasty exit between the closest hills. Even the students were flying at 100 feet by the time they were nearing the end of training. Until we started losing students. Three of them in the course of a few months as I recall. It usually happened on the tactical range which was generally unscripted shoot-em-up fun. A rookie might have been looking back to see where his bombs hit and didn’t notice the ground coming up fast. Low level training went up to 500’ (which felt like a medium altitude cross-country) and it took a long time and much more intensive “step down” training before we were allowed down to 100’ again.

Ridge Crossing

I came within a few seconds of becoming one of those low level statistics when I was flying back from the range one day. The Baboquivari Range, a north-south range – Kitt Peak and its famous telescopes are at the north end of this range, is about 50 miles southwest of Tucson. We approached it from the west side as we flew home at low level. Normally we go around such a high range (several thousand feet higher than the desert floor) but that day we did a frontal assault. Up, up, up the west side and, before reaching the crest, I rolled over so I could pull the nose down as I crossed the ridge. That all worked fine; however, when it came time to roll right side up again, I discovered that my roll rate was not as snappy as I expected it to me – due, no doubt, to much lower airspeed than I normally flew such maneuvers at while dodging the smaller hills in our low level playground. Obviously, I did manage to get right side up before schmucking into the side of the mountain, but I will always remember that day as the time I almost bought the mountain.

Acro in Manual Reversion

The A-10 has lots of survivability built in as Kim “KC” Campbell demonstrated back in April 2003 when she brought an A-10 back without any hydraulics. (Google “Killer Chick” to find plenty of reading about Capt Campbell’s adventure.) No hydraulics? No problem. Just fly on home thanks to Manual Reversion.

To familiarize pilots with what it’s like to fly in manual reversion, we did it on purpose. Flip a switch and you intentionally turn the hydraulics to all flight controls off. In manual reversion the stick moves the trim tabs in the opposite direction you are use to seeing things move. Stick right moves the right trim tab down, not up. Through some sort of aerodynamic magic, when you move the trim tab down, the aileron goes up and viola, you get what you were expecting – a roll to the right. The main difference? No power steering. Very stiff controls. Very sluggish response.

One day I took a LtCol up (I was a Captain) on his 2nd or 3rd ride and per the syllabus we did the manual reversion exercise. He says to me over the FM “OK if I do an aileron roll?” “Why not?” I thought never having done such a maneuver myself before. “He’s an old head. He knows what he is doing.” I thought. “Go ahead”, I said. Big mistake. He did the aileron roll. Thank goodness he pulled the nose up a bunch before he started. His roll rate was so slow that even with what I’m sure was full lateral throw on the stick, he ended up with the nose buried and rapidly building airspeed. Trouble is, high speed and manual reversion don’t get along too well. He had a heck of a time pulling out of the dive, and I never let a student do something I hadn’t done before after that.

Rapid Opening Parachute

All of the IPs had an aircraft assigned to us: Name on the side and the whole bit. That doesn’t mean we flew it much. Which airplane you flew was a “luck of the draw” thing. Nevertheless, “513” had my name under the canopy.

One day, a student and his instructor were out on one of those early rides in the Tombstone Area (southeastern corner of Arizona). I don’t remember what the student was doing (aileron roll in manual reversion? -- could be), but he ended up pointing down, was not recovering, and his instructor told him to punch out which he did.

The A-10 has the ACES II ejection seat which has two hand grips just outside of your knees on both sides. Pull up on either handle and away you go. As happens many (all?) times in aviation accidents, a series of things “go wrong” that lead to tragedy. Apparently the student pulled with his left hand and had a firm grip on the stick with his right hand which imparted a twisting motion on the seat as it left the A-10. The parachute trailed out “behind” him in the slip steam but due to the twisting motion, he was facing backwards when all of the slack was taken up in the shroud lines. When that happens, a charge of some kind is triggered which blows the canopy open quickly. (The idea is that you want the canopy to open as quickly as possible with a low altitude ejection.) The sudden opening of the canopy while the pilot was “turned around” resulted in a tremendous yank on the straps attached to his harness. His head apparently whipped back so quickly due to the yank, that it broken his neck and he was dead before he hit the ground.

Something like that happened; I’m not positive of the details. Bottom line: A man died and “my” A-10 ended up in a smoking hole in southeastern Arizona.

Cross-Country Low-Level

One of the nice things about the A-10 was that we could cruise at 240 knots. That makes for a nice even 4 nm a minute…and legal to fly just about anywhere at low altitude in the USA.

At least that was our interpretation. If you cruised at more than 240K, you could only fly low levels along defined low level routes. Such routes are everywhere around the United States, but the hassle of figuring out where the routes are on a “TPC” chart (comparable to a sectional I think) made it a pain to fly a low level route at other than your home base (where someone else created the low level maps for you).

In the A-10 if we kept it under 240K we could go anywhere as long as we abided by the “no closer than 500’ bubble around people and structures” rule.

I will never forget the time that Tim Baxter and I flew on what was probably out last cross country in the A-10. We left Tucson and dropped down to our 100’ cruising altitude somewhere north of Mount Lemon. We weaved this way and that with map in hand taking advantage of any valley or ridge to hide in or behind. I was leading (with Tim flying in extended trail since our dodging and weaving made flying line abreast impractical) as we approached the northeast corner of Arizona. After turning this way and that along the route I had penciled drawn on my chart before the flight, at the last minute I popped up so we would sail over the four-corner area at more than 500’ so as not to disturb the tourists gathered around that unique spot in the USA.

All of this was done without inertial navigation system, moving map display or GPS, of course, and that’s why I am such a good map reader…or use to be before I got a GPS.

Cross-Country High-Level

Those huge engine nacelles on the A-10 are about 80% air. The little turbojet that spins the big fan that is up front is only about 20% of the volume that you see. Small engines and big fans mean nice mileage.

As squadron scheduler I had my pick of flights. When a flight to McClellan AFB up by Sacramento came along I took it. Single ship doesn’t happen very often so it is time to do what you want to do vs. worry about what the other guy wants to do. That day I wanted to play around with max range. In a jet with an angle of attack gauge that’s easy to do. Climb up to something about 20,000 and pull it back until you reach max range AOA (angle of attack). In the A-10 that put the fuel flows down to about 200 PPH (pounds per hour) per engine and 200 KIAS which was around 300 KTAS. The A-10 holds 10,500# of JP4. Leaving 1500# for reserve and 2000# for STTO (Start, Taxi, and Takeoff) and climb, I figured I could have stayed up there for…17 hours!? That can’t be right. Well, it’s a long time. I ended up flying over to NAS North Island where I did a no-shit GCA (never saw the ground), then climbed back up to altitude for the cruise to Sacramento. I was in the cockpit for five hours and had plenty of gas when I landed.

One More Story

Whew, pretty tame stuff. Thank you for allowing me to reminisce about my days in the A-10. I have one more contemporary A-10 story to tell you before I spare you any further agony.

I went to three days of Oshkosh last year. The first two days I was tied up in meetings all day. On the third day I finally had time to walk along the flight line. I made it all the way down to the ultra lights and was headed back to the Warbird area when I saw an A-10 on the ramp where the military jets are parked. I hadn’t seen an A-10 up close in a number of years and love to stand near the jet, listen to people talk about it, and kick in with my two cents when the situation presents itself. As I approached the Hog, I noticed two figures in green flight suits milling about under the plane. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I could talk the Hog jocks into letting an old Hog jock take a look at the cockpit. I walked up to one of the pilots who was opening panels on the bottom to expose the innards of the GAU-8 gun. He had his back to me and I could see a word sewn into the back of his baseball hat. It said “McGruff”. From 8 years or so of moderating the T-34 Email List and 10 years of reading the Mentor Monitor, I have come to know, but have never met, a lot of T-34 people. McGruff, I knew as the call sign for Jamie Hunt, T-34 Association member and A-10 pilot. I said “Jamie!?” He turned around, I introduced myself, and much to the chagrin of the general public that had gathered around the A-10 that afternoon, only one person got an up close view of the cockpit of the A-10. (There are about 20% more switches and dials in it now vs. when I flew it. How do they keep track of all of that stuff? J)