Tall Man-3

TALL MAN 55 PART 3

Not every accident resulted in injury or death, fortunately. A few, we could even look back on and laugh .

Soon after retrofiting the B-58 with the encapsulated ejection seats, a navigator had a harrowing experience in the middle of a navigation training flight. As he reached for his chart that had fallen off of his lapboard and onto the floor, the clamshell door of his encapsulated ejection seat suddenly activated and tried to slam shut... right onto the middle of his broad shoulders. For several helpless minutes, he was pinned rather uncomfortably in a crouch by the pressing clamshell door, not knowing whether the rest of the ejection sequence might also be activated. Fortunately, it soon bled off the pneumatic pressure that actuated the door and he was able to push it back into the up and locked position. They then declared an emergency and returned to base for a thorough check. I'm not sure that they ever found the reason for the incident, but at least, it never happened to any of us again...Just one of those "quirks" that happen sometimes.

I believe it was navigator Virgil Carr's aircraft that later got caught in a major wind shear close to the ground on final approach into Bunker Hill AFB one stormy afternoon. They were 8-10 miles out "on final " when they were warned by the tower that the previous landing had experienced some turbulence on final. The phenomenon of wind shear has been closely studied over the years as a potential hazard to aircraft. Essentially, it can be described as a sudden change of air direction that can cause the aircraft to increase its rate of descent sharply...and often sink faster than the crew can correct for.

That is exactly the effect on Virgil Carr's aircraft. All went normally until they were about four miles out from touchdown. When the wind shifted suddenly, the del ta-winged B-58 began to sink sharply below normal safe glide path. The pilot's reaction, naturally, was to increase power to 100% thrust. Incredibly, the aircraft continued to sink, although less rapidly. He was afraid to push the throttles into the afterburner range, which would have added perhaps 50% more thrust, because of the danger at slow speed of catastrophic results if one afterburner failed to light.

The B-58 seemed finally to be catching the air and actually leveled off about the time that the extended landing gear touched down in an up sloping pig field. Looking as though it were "tip-toeing" across the field, it left light tracks of all 18 tires in the mud, all the way up the slope. At the end of the field, it slammed the landing gear right through a pig fence on the perimeter. Then as the recovering aircraft gained altitude, it hit an overhead high voltage power line with a mighty shower of sparks that not only cut electrical power to a large part of the surrounding county, but simultaneously cut all engine thrust on the number three engine.

Incredibly, the aircraft kept flying and managed to "go around" and to make an emergency landing at a nearby alternate airfield. I'm told that Virgil and his crew actually got out and "kissed the ground" after their safe arrival. It was one of those moments of "sheer terror" that always seemed to punctuate the "hours of boredom" that made up an aviator's life.

There were many more such incidents that I could describe ...It’s amazing , sometimes, when you get to thinking about it that any of us survived those many experiences in the air. We all concentrated a great deal on flying safety, but there were just so many things that were beyond anyone's control to prevent. So many times, when we studied aircraft accidents, the root causes were little, simple things that produced a sequence of events, inevitably resulting in tragedy.

Fairly early in our B-58 experience, an unfortunate incident occurred to a 43rd Bomb Wing B-58 on takeoff that would later playa very deadly part for me and my crew.

This first incident happened just seconds before the 43rd Bomb Wing crew left the ground. Normally, jet engines are started by a simple compressed air process that turns a starter turbine that in turn spins the engine turbines fast enough to continue spontaneously when fuel is introduced and ignited .When the engine turbine blades have enough rotation to sustain combustion, the flapper valve that diverts air to the starter turbine is closed, allowing the starter turbine to disengage. With the high gear ratio, failure to disengage would allow the starter turbine to "overspeed" and self-destruct .

That is exactly what happened to the 43rd Bomb Wing aircraft. Just before liftoff, and well after the point that the takeoff could have been safely aborted, there was a sharp bang, followed by a bright light coming through the cockpit windows and a sudden increase in thrust. The starter turbine had somehow engaged at the moment of maximum takeoff thrust and full afterburner power, but it was some 15-20 seconds later at the point of liftoff that the starter turbine disintegrated. A large chunk of turbine blade left the inboard side of the number three engine and penetrated the large external fuel pod hanging beneath the aircraft. Carrying more than 30,000 pounds of JP4 jet fuel, the ripped fuel tank ignited with a fury. The sudden huge plume of fire actually boosted the speed of the aircraft slightly and looked like a giant afterburner. That no one was killed or injured was absolutely miraculous. Instead, the aircraft roared on at the head of this great trailing fireball until it reached fifty feet or so of altitude and either the fuel in the tank burned out or was blown out by the onrushing air. The crew then coolly flew around and landed moments later without further incident and with no injury .

There was only one other incident of this type that I know of in either wing, but unfortunately, it happened to my own crew. The pictures shown below are of my crew being congratulated for accomplishing the "Best Score" during an Operations Readiness Inspection not too long before the incident that I'm about to describe.

PILOT - Len Sullivan

Navigator - John T. Burch

Crew being congratulated by Col. Frank O'Brien, Wing Commander

Winners of the competition after 11 hour flight. Happier days.

My pilot, Len Sullivan, Defensive Systems Operator Jim Estrada and myself had drawn the duty this day of a "test-hop" of an aircraft that had experienced heavy maintenance, including a routine change of all four engines. This was normally required to ensure that the aircraft was fully back together and functional, ready to perform it's wartime mission. It was to be a short flight of only about two hours, during which we would put the aircraft through its paces, exercising all electrical and mechanical systems and documenting that it was airworthy. Because of the short duration of the flight, we carried no external fuel pod and made a very spectacular climb as we left the runway.

After takeoff, we had climbed to an intermediate altitude of about 10-15,000 feet and cycled the gear up and down several times while gently turning back and forth to check all of the flight controls. The pilot had flipped open the refueling slipway door and closed it successfully. We then climbed to about 28,000 feet and readied the aircraft for a supersonic flight that would take us to 50,000 feet and Mach 2 speed (about 1,350 mph).

When all checklists were complete, the pilot advanced the throttles to maximum afterburner. As the airspeed increased to 600 nautical miles an hour (described as "knots") , the pilot pulled the nose up and began a steep climb, aiming toward our scheduled maximum altitude of 50,000 feet. All went normally until our speed reached 1.7 Mach as we passed through 47,000 feet. At that point, we couldn't tell exactly what happened, but there was a loud explosion and the air in the cockpit suddenly "fogged", indicating an explosive decompression. At the same time, there was a terribly loud whistling air noise that was coming over the intercom into our helmets.

This made it difficult to converse, but we each checked with the other over intercom to see if all were OK. Jim Estrada didn't answer the call and we could hear a low, long groan, just once over the noise on the intercom .

The pilot had no other indications of trouble with either engines or airframe, but turned immediately toward home base as we decelerated to subsonic speed and dove toward the field. I told the pilot that I was going to slip out of my seat and crawl aft to Jim's cockpit, about six feet behind me, but he told me that he needed me to help guide us to the runway. Fortunately, we were only about 100 miles from the base when the incident occurred and within ten minutes we were on the ground.

Fire and rescue crews were alerted within moments of our inflight explosion and had already positioned themselves by the runway to assist. As we rolled to a stop, still on the runway, firefighters immediately foamed the aircraft. We hadn't known in the air, but the forward main fuel tank was streaming fuel like Niagara Falls.

The moment that we had stopped on the runway, I slipped out of my seat belt and crawled aft to see about Jim. What I found was that he had been killed almost instantly by a wedge of starter turbine blade that left the number three engine, came through the forward main fuel tank, penetrated the right side of Jim's cockpit, pierced Jim's heart and lodged in the left sidewall of the cockpit. Just as in the 43rd Bomb Wing's incident, our starter turbine had engaged, oversped and disintegrated. This time, it resulted in a tragic fatality. The Air Force had lost a fine officer and each of us a good friend.

Since I had left my cockpit hatch closed as I went aft to see about Jim and I exited through his hatch, anyone looking at the damaged aircraft could see the navigator hatch closed and the first and third hatch open. The word got out initially that I had been the one killed. It was a sobering thought.

As we stood there, stunned at Jim's death, it occurred to me that word might soon reach my wife, Betty, about the accident and I wanted to talk to her first. Since I normally called her immediately upon getting back from a flight, I used the Operations Officer's car phone to give her a quick call, saying as I usually did, "Hi, Honey, I'm on the ground and will be home in a little while. "

I expected to have the usual maintenance debriefing for about an hour and then get home to explain in person exactly all that had happened. Jim Estrada and his wife, Jane, were good friends and I didn't want Betty to hear that news from others. What I didn't know is that there is much more involved following an aircraft accident. Besides a much longer and more complex maintenance debriefing, the pilot and myself had to undergo a standard and complete flight physical. It was to be hours later that I finally got home.

In the meantime, friends who knew what had happened and also knew that Betty did not know, "dropped by" for a visit at home. It was Lee & Sarah Thomas and Gene & Melvene Wallace from church. Lee was in charge of the Flight Control maintenance shop and Gene was a crew chief on the B-58. Because of their Air Force duties, they knew all the details about the accident, but they didn't say anything about it to Betty. They just engaged in "chit-chat", while waiting for me to get home. All four of them knew that she would be quite upset if she got the word before I reached there and they wanted to protect her from that.

If Jim Estrada's wife had been in town at the time, Betty would probably have known about the accident within a few minutes. As it was, Jane Estrada had been visiting her mother in Mississippi that week. The Air Force normally notifies the families of missing, injured or deceased members by personal visit... usually by a commanding officer, a chaplain and/or a casualty affairs officer. Because Jane was far from home and away from a military community, someone in the chain of command chose to notify her by phone. She got that shocking news that her husband had been killed, but very little information about what happened. She then had her brother call Betty for more news and to see if Sully (the pilot) and I were OK.

When the phone rang and Betty answered, it became clear immediately to Lee Thomas that this was Jane Estrada's family asking if Sully and I were OK. Betty didn't understand anything he was saying and was very flustered for a moment. Lee stepped in at once and took the phone from her, giving Jane's brother the information that they wanted and letting them know that Betty did not yet know what had happened. It was a marvelous example of friends looking out for friends, but I was in the doghouse hours later when I finally dragged in from all of the official questions. It was also a good example of the choices we face daily. We try to shield those whom we love, but it doesn’t always work out like we plan.

There was a side story to this series of events. Jane Estrada had stayed in Mississippi and Jim's body was flown there for burial. We knew that she would return to Bunker Hill AFB soon to take care of gathering her personal things before returning permanently to Mississippi, but we didn't know when.

Betty and Sara Thomas had a pleasant shopping trip planned to nearby Indianapolis, some 60 miles south of the base. I had insisted that Betty go, because this would be good therapy for her. It was an event they enjoyed together several times a year and we often laughed about it becoming such a ritual that we could predict at any moment exactly which shop where they would be and the restaurant afterward .

Lee Thomas and I had been left to keep the children that day and there was a big outing planned to the park for a picnic and playtime. Then I got an unexpected phone call that Jane Estrada was planning to fly in to Indianapolis that afternoon. She asked if I might be able to pick her up at the airport.

Wanting to do everything that I could to help Jane, I immediately conferred with Lee Thomas and he volunteered to handle the park outing alone and to take care of our children, Sharon and John, who were about six and four years old. I then drove to Indianapolis to find Betty and get to the airport in time for Jane’s arrival.

Like clockwork, I walked into the usual restaurant where the wives ate and wound down before driving home, just in time to catch Betty and inform her of our change of plans. We made it to the airport just in time to meet Jane.

When we got home, I dropped Betty and Jane off at our house, then took Sara home. A few minutes later, when I stood at their door, Lee held our four-year old John in his arms and began to apologize profusely for letting him break his arm on the "jungle gym" at the park. Lee felt much worse than John did, I'm sure. John was sporting a brand-new cast that he was quite proud of at the time. I worked far harder at calming Lee Thomas than I did at soothing son, John.

Lee told us that it was heart-warming to see all of the commotion he had caused when he called the hospital late that day to get treatment for John's arm .When the base doctors learned that it was the son of “Capt . John Burch who was a survivor of the B-58 accident,” they fell all over themselves to take care of them. Several of the doctors even left a formal dinner and still wore their formal mess dress uniforms while applying John’s cast. The Air Force truly does take care of it's own! John couldn't have gotten better care anywhere in the world !

Not wanting to worry Jane and certainly not wanting her to feel any responsibility that John's injury was in any way her fault, we whisked John off to bed where he wouldn't arouse any questions, at least for the night. As we tucked John into bed that night, he held up his little casted arm with the proud words, "the doctor told me that if it turned blue, the cast was too tight. " Fortunately, the arm appeared normal for the trauma it had experienced. And John had the pride of a new badge of honor for his age group. In the days ahead, it was well-autographed and I'm sure he was glad when he at last was able to remove it, but for now, it was a prize. Now that I think about it, perhaps this was the first influence that led John to become the orthopedic surgeon that he is today. (A side story to the side story… We recently cleaned out a closet and found in a long-forgotten box… the very cast that John had worn then!)

I had no idea that the news of our accident would get outside of our little community, but I was surprised to find that it had made the national news. Something which meant a great deal to me at the time was a call from my college roommate, Myron Rogers from Tennessee, to see if I was OK. Myron and I had been through grade school, High School and College together. It was really good to hear from him. Though I thanked him at the time for his call, I don't think he ever knew just how touched I was that he was concerned.

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