provide more control. The Dash-1 gives numerous warnings when using this system. It warns against low power settings and directs that airspeed be maintained between 200 and 300 KIAS so that the trim tabs will develop enough control authority to control large pitch changes. It now dawned on me that it was impossible to keep the power above idle during a double-engine flameout. I also realized that the aircraft was already slower than recommended, due to its having no thrust, high altitude, and a heavy combat load. Nevertheless, I had no choice other than putting the aircraft into manual reversion to regain even limited control.
As I executed manual reversion, I experienced the meaning of the words contained in the fine print of another Dash-1 warning, which said that when transitioning to manual reversion, the aircraft may pitch up or down with excessive positive or negative G forces. As I flipped the switch, the aircraft pitched violently down, threw me up, and pinned me on the canopy—“Mr. Toad’s wild ride” had begun. The standby ADI now indicated a banked, nose-low attitude, and the vertical velocity indicator (VVI) was pegged at 6,000 feet-per-minute down. I pulled myself back into the seat with the stick and then continued to pull back on it for all I was worth in an attempt to break the dive. Unable to stop the descent, I slid to the front of the ejection seat and hooked my feet on the brake pedals to get better leverage. Pulling with both arms and trimming the elevator tab to its limit failed to break the dive—I began to panic.
The altimeter was now unwinding extremely fast, and panic crept into my voice as I let Buster know what was happening. He responded with an irritatingly relaxed voice, telling me to just calm down and go through the boldface. He declared an emergency with Magic, the NAEW, and let them know I was looking for a place to make an emergency landing. For the time being, all I could do was try to gain and maintain aircraft control, and avoid entering an unusual attitude. I attempted to keep my wings level by staring at the turn-and-slip indicator. I tried to keep the DC-powered turn needle and the slip indicator’s ball centered. That ball—suspended in a curved, liquidfilled tube below the turn-needle—measures aerodynamic slip and is very reliable because it’s powered only by physics. I flew the aircraft with reference only to the turn-and-slip, airspeed, and VVIs—and waited until I reached an altitude where I would be able to start the APU.
I do not know how long the descent really took, but I seemed to pass through 20,000 feet in the blink of an eye. Hoping to improve my chances, I waited until I passed 17,000 feet before I attempted to start the APU. When I flipped the switch, the start initially looked good. However, the APU’s operating temperature then appeared to drop rapidly. I stared at the indications for some time with the sickening thought that the APU had failed. I finally realized that the APU really had started, was operating normally, and indicated cooler-than-normal operating temperature only because of the altitude and ambient conditions. I continued to modify the boldface procedure. Instead of completing the next step to start engines, I turned on the APU generator to get AC electrical power and warm up the main attitude indicator.
Passing 15,000 feet I motored the number-one engine until its temperature dropped to below 100 degrees and then brought the throttle over the hump to idle. By the time I had reached 12,500 feet, the engine had stabilized in idle, and I immediately shoved it to max. With it running at full power, I was finally able to slow my descent rate to about 4,000 feet per minute on the VVI. Now—for the first time since my engines’ compressors stalled—I realized that I might be able to fly out of this situation. The boldface ends at this point, and it would normally be time to pull out the checklist and go through the cleanup items. However, I was still in a descent and not really ready to take my hands off the controls to get out a checklist. I thought that if I could start the number- two engine I would have enough power to break the descent completely. So passing 8,000 feet I motored down the temperature and attempted a start. The second engine started and stabilized. With both engines operating normally, I bottomed out at about 6,500 feet—and, finally, the plane felt controllable.
I did not realize how pumped up I had been on adrenaline. The aircraft appeared to be flying normally now that I had both engines and could control the pitch. I failed to remember the 23–30 pounds of pressure I had to exert to move the control stick when I had tested the manual reversion system on functional check flights. After this experience, and while still using the reversion system, the stick felt light as a feather.
With the aircraft level at 6,500 feet, I told Buster I had the plane under control. He had been descending and getting emergency vectors from NAEW in an attempt to stay near and in radio contact with me. Since I was still concentrating on flying, Buster started going through the checklist to help me clean up the unfinished items. He reminded me to put the flight controls back to normal. That step reconnects the hydraulic actuators to the flight- control system. The Dash-1 gives the same warning about rapid pitch changes when returning to the normal flight- control system. As I switched the flight controls back to normal, the aircraft violently pitched up—this time forcing me heavily into the seat. I grabbed the stick and started fighting for control. I was wildly going from stop to stop on the controls, trying to find neutral. The controls were so light, it initially felt like the stick had broken off in my hand.
After thinking for a few seconds that I was going to depart controlled flight, I let go of the stick to see if the aircraft would settle down. It did. I gently took hold of the stick and focused all my attention on maintaining level flight. I was experiencing the “leans”—a condition in which my brain and my instruments disagreed on the attitude for level flight. Since I was still in the weather, there were no outside visual references to confirm which was correct. Normally the right way to fight this condition is to believe the instruments. However, knowing that they had experienced a power interruption and had been brought back on-line in other than straight and level, unaccelerated flight, I knew that their gyros might have precessed. I had less-than-full confidence that they were correct. Buster started telling me to head to steer-point alpha, a point along the Italian coast from where we could reach a divert base. Unfortunately, when the aircraft lost AC power, the INS had dumped and was useless. I had no idea where I was, or even if the aircraft-heading system was usable.
Buster started asking Magic for directions to get the two of us together and headed towards Cervia AB, our divert base located on the east coast of Italy. Magic was unable to help us; its personnel did not have me on radar, but they were able to tell us that Cervia currently had a 300-foot ceiling and one-mile visibility. I told Buster I didn’t like that option because it meant that I would have to take my eyes off the instruments to study the instrument- approach plates for a bunch of strange fields. I had the approach and radio frequencies around Aviano memorized and really wanted to go there. Magic again stated that it did not have me on radar but said Primo might.
Primo was the call sign for the 606th Expeditionary Air Control Squadron out of Spangdahlem. I had not known that the squadron was in place because it had not been operational during the first few days of the war. The Primo controller came over guard frequency loud and clear, telling Buster and me to reset our transponders so he could find us. Within seconds, he had us both identified and had started giving me vectors back towards Aviano. He did an awesome job of giving me snap headings to all the closest bases and letting me know the weather at each so I could make the decision. He also started giving vectors to Buster to get our flight, now about 20 miles apart, back together. Primo also coordinated with all the agencies along the coast so that I had to talk with him only. He got me all the way to Aviano before handing me off to the approach controller.
While flying home, I noticed that the number-two engine was running hotter than number one. I still did not know what had caused the original problem, so I set the right throttle at 85 percent and planned on flying a simulated, single-engine approach. I still had doubts about the instruments’ accuracy, and since there was a mountain range just north of the base, Aviano approach gave me no-gyro vectors to landing. During the approach, the controller said, “Turn right” or “Turn left,” when needed. I then rolled into a half-standard rate turn; he timed my turn, monitored my position on radar, and then said, “Stop turn” to control my heading and eliminate any chance that a heading error in my navigation system would cause an accident. I followed his instructions and finally broke out of the weather 500 feet above and two miles from the approach end of the runway. We had been flying for one hour and 45 minutes, and this was the first time (without depending on the instruments) that I had a reference by which I could determine my attitude.
The crash vehicles were waiting to meet me as I landed and rolled out on the runway. I taxied clear of the active and waited to shut down. The rescue crews looked at me with some confusion, not knowing what needed to be done. I was exhausted and still sweating like a pig although it was cold and rainy outside. I told them I needed to shut down and have the plane impounded. But first, I wanted a minute to talk to the squadron and get my thoughts together.
Sitting there on the taxiway—getting my stuff together—I listened as the FM radio came to life. It was Buster saying that the weather was clearing in Kosovo and we needed to hurry and get down there. He had already contacted squadron ops, located a spare aircraft for me on spot 18, and arranged for ops to warm it up. He had also coordinated for his aircraft to be hotrefueled while I moved to the spare. Still dazed and confused, I acknowledged, shut down, and got a ride to the spare.
