by EyeFly » Wed Feb 11, 2009 9:27 pm
Congrats Tonefishin' !!
If the contest is still alive, I’d like to throw my hat in the ring with a little different spin on a “cliffhanger” story. Judge for yourself as to whether it fits here.
It was a brisk 14 January 1983 day in Enid, Oklahoma. What could possibly happen in the flattest part of the whole USA, you ask? Read further.
I was a brand new Air Force first lieutenant stationed at Vance Air Force Base with about 200 hours of instructor time logged in the T-38 Talon, the Air Force’s supersonic trainer. It was a Friday and the afternoon was clear and cold with winds blowing from the north at 25 gusts to 35 knots. We were slated to go cross country that afternoon to McGee Tyson Air National Guard Base in Knoxville, Tennessee.
I accomplished the take-off to the north from the back seat, the instructor position, and just after lift off while moving the throttles out of afterburner; there was a loud bang and a severe grinding noise emanating from the rear of the aircraft. I continued to fly straight ahead, analyzed the situation, and recognized by the engine instruments that the right engine had failed. A quick glance out of the rear showed us trailing a heavy plume of smoke. While preparing to make an immediate left turn to attempt an opposite direction landing on one of the parallel runways, I noted that the fire light illuminated on the left engine. Almost immediately, the flight controls became inoperable and the aircraft began an un-commanded roll to the left over the town of Enid itself.
I initiated the ejection from the rear seat and the front seater ejected milliseconds later. Investigation would later show that a turbine wheel in the right engine failed catastrophically sending fragments of searing metal through the bulkhead separating the two engines resulting in a fire in the left engine as well. The hydraulic lines, which ran between the two engines, served to control the flight control surfaces and were severed causing a total hydraulic failure with subsequent loss of all flight controls. There are no mechanical back-up flight controls on the T-38. We had been airborne approximately 12 seconds and were less than 150 feet above the ground at the time of ejection. The aircraft impacted just short of the local K-Mart destroying two homes in its trajectory. Watching that fully fueled aircraft hit the ground in a residential area with the ensuing vertical conflagration definitely left a large lump in my throat. Thankfully, there were no injuries. However, that’s just the prelude to the “Cliffhanger”.
The ejection itself is what I would label as a “violent” experience. It’s a ride on a rocket for sure; kind of like being tossed high into the air like a rag doll. Immediately after seat separation, I went through my post egress check list just as each of us was well trained to do:canopy, visor, mask, seat kit, LPU, four line jettison, steer into the wind, and prepare for a PLF (parachute landing fall). I still recall it verbatim. As I said, we were well trained. The canopy (parachute) opened automatically as advertised for a low altitude ejection. I raised my visor, discarded my oxygen mask, and continued down the checklist. The four line jettison allows air to “escape” from the back of the parachute making it more steerable. After pulling the four line jettison, I easily steered the parachute into the wind. Once turned into the wind, I prepared for a nice soft parachute landing on the flat plains of Oklahoma, or so I thought.
During the short descent, I noticed I was moving quite rapidly from north to south over the ground. If you recall, the winds were from the north at 25 gusts to 35 knots. If you have any parachute experience, you’ll know that moving with the wind over the ground at 30 knots is haulin’. I took a last look over my shoulder at my landing area, a big flat wheat field but to my dismay there was one obstacle yet to clear. There was a set of large above ground power lines running east/west and they were directly in my north to south flight path. I attempted to raise my legs as I approached the power lines but, as luck would have it, I hit the wires with my back then slid below while my parachute went over the lines. I was carried backward by momentum and momentarily contacted my parachute at the apogee of my pendulum swing. As I started to swing forward, I noted that I was about to become intimately familiar with one of the power poles that supported those particular power lines. I extended my feet in a rappelling fashion, bent my knees to cushion the impact, hit, and then grabbed the pole for everything I was worth. The parachute, at this time draped over the power lines above me and still “filled” with 30 knots of wind, began pulling me UP the pole. After a couple of feet of upward “splinter trolling” and nearing power line entanglement again, I managed to release one side of the parachute from my harness while maintaining my grasp on the pole. This deflated the parachute.
There was a small metal flange on the side of the pole, perhaps four inches in size, that I managed to perch myself on while ascertaining the extent of my injuries. A few bumps and bruises but nothing of a serious nature. So, while the townspeople gathered at the base of the pole, my pole, I waited on that small island of metal flange for the fire department to roll in with a cherry picker and pluck me from my lofty perch.
That’s my Cliffhanger, for what its worth. Should make for a good laugh for all you Forumites even if it doesn’t exactly adhere to the exact intent of the thread.
There was, by sheer serendipity, a gentleman taking pictures of aircraft taking off that day and there is a photograph, very poorly focused and grainy, with the pilotless aircraft in a left bank and two small parachutes visible below. I have it electronically but not sure how to post it. I can email it to someone for posting if you’re at all interested.
cork
