You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em

There is a reason wings fold on Navy aircraft. The flight deck is a crowded place. Space is at an absolute premium.
An airport might have several 10,000′ runways and multitudinous ramps and parking areas.
Not so on an aircraft carrier. There is maybe 1,000′ feet for 4 catapults and nearly 100 airplanes. The same spot may be where a jet takes off, lands, or is tied down for the night. It’s real estate that comes at a premium price, an airplane needs to fit in tightly.
There is also a need for precise control of airplanes moving around the flight deck. The men who guide the planes around the deck must be precise to the nth degree. Inches separate wingtips and tails, props and exhausts.
For this reason, the Navy and the Air Force have a different mindset about who is responsible for a moving aircraft. The AF pilot who follows a taxi director and hits another airplane will be the responsible party when tickets are handed out and insurance claims are made.

The Navy’s attitude is that the person giving the directions for taxiing on a flight deck is the responsible party. The pilot follows the directions precisely. Period. Hit another airplane following the director and it’s the taxi director’s fault. Nighttime deck ops validate the need to follow directions precisely, there is a level of trust that can’t be explained to someone who hasn’t been there. Think about following directions from two flashlight wands with a background of total blackness. Think about taxiing upwards of 30 tons of airplane on a flight deck with one main mount rubbing along the slightly raised deck edge. Think about taxiing toward the bow in the middle of the night and all that can be seen is those two little cones of brightness in front of you. You have no idea where the bow ends and the eternity of the ocean begins. You know pilots think about that.

Dang. I’m starting to sweat just thinking about what it was like. Whew.

On occasion things happen, and therein lies the tale of 503 and 507.

503 and 507 were A-6′s, A-6′s of the A-6E variety, the Navy’s latest and greatest iteration of the venerable Ugly jet. One night these jets were scheduled for the last launch of the evening, a late night cat shot followed by a late night recovery after the latest exercise at sea for this at sea period was concluded.

It’s also germane to this tale to know that these two Uglies were the last two flyable airplanes the squadron owned for that night. There were several still airborne and many that had flown already and were in the hands of maintenance to bring back to life for the next day’s sorties. Should either 503 or 507 go down for whatever reason, the crews had no backup aircraft.

Both aircraft were parked side by side in front of the island on the Connie, inches apart, with the wings folded, on the starboard side facing inboard, with the tails hanging over the water. Preflight and man up went without incident, although everything was done with flashlights.

It was dark. Really dark. Overcast. No moon. It’s always like that.

Both jets started at the same time, the sound of the engines whining up hidden in the noise of flight ops. 503 is ready to go first, the chain gang takes the restraints off the gear and the A-6 is no longer tethered to the flight deck. The yellow wands give the taxi forward signal and the jet moves forward. The crew of 507 watches the crossed wands of their director to await their signal to taxi as well

As 503, to the left of 507, moves forward and ahead of 507 the B/N in 507, who is a cagey and very alert guy, gets the sensation that all is not right, something is happening that shouldn’t be happening. He looks up, over the pilot’s helmet, and sees that the port wing on 507 is unfolding. He hasn’t touched the wing fold handle. What the ??

He quickly grabs the wing fold handle that is in the console between the ejection seats and hauls back on it with all his strength. The wing hesitates for a second and then returns to the folded position.

There is a convention of flashlights off the port side of 507 and even more flashlights around the right tip of 503′s horizontal stabilizer. What happened was bizarre–as 503 moved forward 503′s right horizontal stab caught in the exposed wing fold mechanism on 507. And actuated the mechanism. Like a giant nutcracker 507′s port wing had eaten a portion of the offending horizontal stabilizer. And suffered no damage in doing so. 503 was not so lucky, the stab was crushed on one edge.

Maintenance confers and the radio net to the air boss crackles: “Boss, 503 is down.”

The Boss, who hasn’t seen all that happened in the dark but has been apprised of what occurred over a separate frequency, radios back: “503, hold your position, we’ll push you back after we launch 507.”

503 sets the parking brake and the yellow shirt taxi director in front of 507 gives the chains free and release the brake signal. 507 powers up and moves forward toward the catapult. When the Intruder is as close to the upright jet blast deflector as it can be, the taxi director gives the stop signal and then a sweeping 2 hand signal simulating wings unfolding, the signal to configure the jet, unfold the wings. The B/N in 507 moves the wing fold handle forward and the wings start to unfold.

In the dark nobody picked up on the fact that 507 wasn’t quite clear of 503 yet.

507′s port wing comes down smartly on the radome of the already wounded 503. Somehow the wing misses the inflight refueling probe but nails the radome.

And in doing so the trailing edge devices on the wing of 507 are toast.

The flashlights confer again, this time around the nose of 503, but not too close, with everyone being cautious of the intakes that are looking for the unwary.

The obvious decision is made and again the air boss is notified: “Boss, 507 is down.”

All is quiet for a moment as the Boss looks at the scene from his perch above the flight deck and comprehends the sequence of events.

And then he comes up on the radio: “I can’t believe it. The last two up airplanes on the deck and you beat each other to death.”

Final Hog Sortie in Europe.

The Cold War ended more than 20 years ago and things like this still make me realize just how much things have changed.

SPANGDAHLEM AIR BASE, Germany – The U.S. Air Force launched the final A-10 Thunderbolt II tactical sortie in Europe at Spangdahlem AB May 14, 2013.
The airframe belongs to the 52nd Fighter Wing’s 81st Fighter Squadron, which inactivates in June.
“I’m proud to be a part of the last sortie,” said Lt. Col. Jeff Hogan, 81st director of operations and a pilot from today’s flight. “It’s definitely a sad day for the (81st) as we end 20 years of A-10 operations here. I’m just proud to take part in this historic event.”

The A-10 has been a Cold War icon in Europe for over 20 years and was originally deployed to stop the hordes of Soviet armor across the Fulda Gap in then West Germany (amongst other places).

I’d always pictured that operations would look something like this:

Speaking of Soviet Armor, English Russia has an interesting feature on the Armoured Repair Plant №61 in St. Petersburg.

On a side note there’s, as of yet, there is no comment from DoD on whether or not the 81st Fighter Squadron will be reactivated and deployed to counter the “cat-tank” threat that has recently emerged in the Chicago loop (the vid was sent to me by a friend as I was working on this post. She works here.).

Prolly Old News To Most Lexicans…

… in that the majority of us already read The Duffel Blog.  But here’s a sample, just in case the blog is new to you.

From The Duffel Blog…

MINNEAPOLIS, MN – Officials from the Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles have confirmed approval of a new policy making it mandatory for all active-duty and military veterans to register their status with the agency. The move will require all veterans to have a special “Vet” designation on their drivers’ licenses and state identification cards.

[...]

“We’ve seen what these savages are capable of all over CNN and MSNBC,” says DMV director, Greg Olson. “Out of all the millions of men and women who have deployed to combat zones this past decade, there are literally a dozen, perhaps even two,  who have come home and committed atrocious acts. That’s way too big a chance. We can’t risk having these people hidden in our community and will be making sure they’re easily identifiable to law enforcement personnel and citizens in general.”

The new strategy will most likely result in changed police escalation-of-force procedure when dealing with veterans during routine traffic stops.

According to Olson, law enforcement officers will be given more opportunity to defend themselves against a perceived threat.

“Phase One will consist of the officer identifying an individual’s vet status on his or her driver’s license,” he says. “Once the officer realizes what he or she is dealing with, Phase Two will kick in and they will immediately unsheathe their pistol and drawdown on the potential psychopath. Then, at Phase Three, the officer will be given free reign to search the individual’s vehicle for weapons and dead bodies. If, and only if, the officer doesn’t find anything, then he will subsequently release the veteran and thank them for their service.”

RTWT.  The WSJ, among others*, have praised the Duffel Blog’s satire as cutting edge, and it most certainly IS.

Good stuff, Maynard.

* “others” includes a number of general officers, not the least o’ which is retired Marine Gen. James “Mad Dog” Mattis

Cross-posted from EIP.

The United States navy, circa 1812

There I was sat up in bed this morning, reading my current bedtime read of Patrick O’Brian, when I came upon a passage that I thought I must share with my Lexican pals, for t’was they – well the Navy guys anyway -  it made me think of and smile when I read it:

Picture the time, it is 1812 during the reluctant Britain/America `war that should never have happened` and a British warship under the command of the legendary Captain Jack Aubery (aka “Lucky Jack”) is on the trail of an American warship that has been raiding whalers in the South Atlantic. A sail is spotted on the horizon and crafty Captain Jack reduces sail to remain just below the horizon, plotting a course to intercept the next day.

At first dawn there she lay, placidly holding her course under the low grey sky……. Jack was on deck in his nightshirt……his whole heart and soul had been turned to the chase – he had been engaged in naval war for more than twenty years and he was very much of a sea-predator, perfectly single-minded when there was the near liklihood of violent action – and now in his most natural voice in the world he said, “Good day to you, master gunner. I fear there will be no great chance of expending your stores this morning.”                    The rising sun proved that he was right: It showed a line of figures leaning along the stranger’s rail in easy attitudes, some with moustaches, some smoking cigars. The United States Navy, though easy-going and even at times verging upon the democratic, never went to such extremes as this; and indeed the chase turned out to be the `Estrella Polar`, a Spanish merchantman from Lima  for the River Plate and Spain.

Yes, `easy going verging upon the democratic` is one thing, but leaning along the rail, moustachio’d and smoking cigars?  No, not The United States Navy.

I enjoyed that.

Iterating With the Diametric Leg

Pulled this from the Spam Filter this morning, too weird (and bizarre) to just throw away and not share. Or something to that effect…

Now, one time this bade is dry trading floor, then Iterate
with the diametric leg. They fifty-fifty own the car been more
than set aside seen by the USCG outset, not put out in circulation for the
executive chairs fourth part backs to shell forth with their condemnations.

Yeah, bro’. Don’t be shelling forth with those condemnations. Otherwise…

Huh?

Well, they DID mention the Coast Guard (I think) so yeah, it’s relevant.

“Wibble”

I enjoyed reading Old Air Force Sarge’s last post. I think I can see from whither the man cometh. I wish to add to his musing a take on the theory of  current political `leadership` and have come up with what I feel is an interesting example of  the current style of `crisis management`.

For those unfamiliar with the series of comaedic plays that went by the name of “Blackadder” on BBC TV, the below example from the final series, set in France during WW1, was greatly appreciated by many surviving veterans of `the trenches` who managed to remain alive long enough to enjoy it and who are now greatly missed by my generation.

(As a footnote, I just wanted to say that although we are not in touch as much as we once were, I still think of Lex’s commenteers and rapporteurs, whose company I enjoyed immensely and still do – that means you!)
Hogday.

Incidentally, the term `Wibble` found its way into British police jargon and is still popular, occasionally being heard over the r/t when difficult questions passed over the airwaves are followed by long moments of silence

File Missing

Got this from a facebook friend………………………..

Couldn’t pass it up……………………..

A Bit O’ Silliness

A PROCLAMATION THROUGHOUT THE LAND

Let it be known that: As it is my wont to frequent these environs and that I do post herein most frequently, that I do hereby and forthwith…

Volunteer to ensure that any information and/or witty repartee contained upon the Neptunus Lex Facebook page which is of interest to all and sundry who call themselves Lexicans (or Lexians if ye so prefer it) shall be posted on this here blog known as “The Lexicans”.

This is meant to succor and delight those amongst the Lexican/Lexian tribe who wouldn’t deign to do the “Facebook thang” (as it be known amongst them and others of that ilk), under any circumstances various and divers that may exist.

Let it also be known that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion. I shall endeavor (or endeavour, should ye so prefer) to perform said duty with consistency, alacrity and accuracy until such time as I should depart this vale of tears or become so senile as to forget or otherwise neglect these, my sacred duties, perish the thought. Knock on wood (so sayeth the Sarge while tapping knuckles upon noggin.)

Said by me, the Old AF Sarge, on this 18th day of December, in the Year of Our Lord Two-Thousand and Twelve.

So let it be written, so let it be done!

Next Week’s Weather

From a G+ post by Chris Aultman on #EndOfTheWorld.  There’s some funny stuff at that hashtag.

Cross-posted at EIP.

A Marine Story

A note here to begin: I thought a bit about posting this, the timing being close to the Lex birthday and maybe folks having thoughts to post about that and reflecting on what’s lost. Then the brain percolated a bit and you know, we all have good memories about lots of things, and this is about the Connie, Lex’s favorite BGB (big grey boat), and we need to smile and keep going! So there.

It being the Marine Birthday and all, it’s time to share a story about Marines. That’s capital M with intent. Marines. You can’t get anyone better to cover you. You can’t find anyone better to go in first. You simply can’t find anyone better. Marines are superbly trained and follow their orders. Precisely. OORAH!
We were on board the Connie, CV-64, in the mid-70′s, the Connie had been in the yards for some mods, most of which involved the transition from CVA-64 to CV-64. You could look it up, lots of changes to BGB #64.
Connie was at sea for an extensive period of time after all the modifications, undergoing numerous trials and training, most of which came under the title of REFTRA (Refresher Training). My squadron was aboard the Connie for several months during this evolution. Traps were scarce, boredom was rampant, and the crew of the Connie were subject to endless drills and training. That’s what the Navy is all about. Be prepared. For anything.
General Quarters sounded frequently, one never knew if the alarm was for real or for training. When GQ sounds, all hands race to their battle stations, wherever that is. The narrow passageways quickly fill with sailors in a hurry to get in position.
Those of us with the air wing had no battle stations. The best solution for airedales was to keep out of the way when all the scurrying about began. Our skipper made it clear for us, if you are in the ready room, good. Stay put. If you are in your stateroom, good. Stay put. Stay put seemed to cover our position well.
The Marines on ship had a specific assignment. Yes, there were Marines on the Connie, a detachment of Marines for security purposes dwelt within the bowels of the carrier and I assume they still do the same on all aircraft carriers. Their presence helps to maintain good will and order, and if that fails the Marines are in charge of the ship’s brig.
When GQ sounds the Marines have an assignment they take seriously: the Marines guard the weaponry spaces on the ship, wherein are kept the things that are scary and go Boom in a big way.
The standing orders for the Marines, so the story goes (I did get all this second hand, I was in the ready room when all this occurred, and you know you just can’t make this up) is upon hearing the alarm for GQ the Marines will stop whatever it is they are doing at that instant, grab their weapons, and IMMEDIATELY proceed to the weapons spaces where the things that go Boom in a big way are. Guard the weapons. Be in position quickly.
The parties that relayed this story to me were squadron mates who happened to be in the wardroom for chow when GQ sounded. The wardroom, for those of you who are not familiar with the term, is the chow hall for officers. Don’t know what the protocol is today, but at that time no flight suits were allowed in the wardroom, so if you were an airedale most of the time you were in the dirty shirt wardroom up forward. Only the officers of the ship’s company and air wing officers in the uniform of the day were in the wardroom. It was upscale. Table cloths and all that.
A few of my aviator compadres were not on the schedule for the day, therefore they were in the uni of the day and basking in the more polite company of the non dirty shirt crowd.
The event, as they described it, went like this. GQ sounds, most of the blackshoe crowd in the wardroom gets up and heads out the doorways en route to their stations. My compadres settle in for a bit more morning coffee.
A few minutes later a Commander enters the wardroom. His uniform is wet, wet with what appear to be footprints in various places. All going the same direction. The Commander was smiling and shaking his head.
What happened to him? What’s with the footprints?
Well, it was that the Commander was walking down a main passageway, minding his own business, when GQ sounded. The Marines had just finished morning calisthenics and were all in the shower cleaning up. The Commander was in the passageway just outside the Marine quarters just a few seconds after the GQ alarm went off.
That’s when the first barefoot nekkid wet Marine with an M16 in his hands and a towel around his neck came out of the Marine showers, made a sharp turn, knocked down the Commander, and ran over him. There were 11 more nekkid wet Marines with M16′s behind the first one, and they all followed the first Marine. Headed for the weapons spaces. They all ran over the Commander. Quickly.

Marines.  OORAH!