A-10s over Kosovo (illustrations removed)

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.

\Photo: Capt Rip Woodard and aircraft 956

After briefing maintenance on what had happened to aircraft 956, I moved to the spare and started getting it ready to go. Running through the after-start checklist, I saw the squadron commander pull up. He jumped out of his car and got on the maintainer’s headset to talk with me. After asking me what had happened, he told me, “Good job” and “Go ahead and shut down.” I was relieved; there was no way we could make the tanker times, and I did not feel the need to push my luck twice in one day. Fortunately for me, nobody had been able to attack any targets that morning. I only had to take grief from Buster for about 24 hours for ruining his day.

About eight months later, I was attending a safety ceremony at the Pentagon. Maj Gen Francis C. Gideon Jr., chief of Air Force Safety, was one of the generals in attendance. Coincidentally, he was the test pilot who had ejected from an A-10 after both engines flamed out while test-firing the gun. We sat and talked for a few minutes about what had happened and then discussed a few shortcomings in the boldface procedures. He asked what had helped me work through the emergency. I thought the things that contributed most to my getting through that experience were fear, luck, and divine intervention.

Chapter 8.

MY TURN IN THE BARREL

Introduction

Lt Col Chris “Kimos” Haave