‘I did the only thing I could: quickly descended to below control tower catwalk, “stroked” the afterburner, pulled hard left at 7g, and ripped eastbound between the active runway and taxiway. I could see GAF C-160s with their props turning, moving about the airfield,’ Dave Jurkowski, former CF-104 Pilot.
The following story originally appeared on the Vintage Wings of Canada website.
Dave Jurkowski on Cold War Flying and a Close Call at Kaufbeuren
Seems a long time since we had enemies we could trust! The Cold War was real: a long, bipolar stand-off stretching from the end of the Second World War until 1989 – when the time was right for The Wall to be taken down. It was a time fraught with a real uncertainty and both real and perceived risks affecting the entire world under the sword of nuclear deterrence. The period was really a measure of why the RCAF and Canadian Army were stationed at bases and casernes across Western Europe. After all the sacrifices of the Second World War, they had to continue their air and ground presence and readiness to swiftly counter the Eastern Bloc nuclear and conventional threat.
Like those before them in the Sword (F-86 Sabre), Clunk (CF-100 Canuck) and real warfighter eras, Canadians strapped into CF-104 Starfighters* daily and consistently demonstrated the highest levels of combat effectiveness, achieving top scores on Annual NATO Tactical Evaluations and winning NATO-wide weapons and reconnaissance competitions. In the early 104 days, Canadian fighter pilots were well-trained to fly long-range, high-speed, low-level, visual, or—more often—all-weather missions to deliver nuclear “buckets of sunshine” to selected targets well into Warsaw Pact territory. A number of squadrons were also unsurpassed in their ability to fly reconnaissance missions. The DNA for both skill sets was handed down to those who continued to fly the Zipper—as the 104 was sometimes called—in the conventional role after the transition to the conventional role in the early ’70s. As a consequence, they were well trained to deliver conventional weapons at 540 Knots Indicated Air Speed (KIAS) a few hundred feet above ground level (AGL) on selected targets with tolerances of plus or minus three seconds and plus or minus 100 feet either side of designated bomb impact point. While they flew with the LN3 inertial navigation system in the early days, they really relied on watch-map-ground techniques to make their time-of-day deliveries. And, they were good at it.
And so, it was serious business. That said, there were many lighter moments, and this is one “war story” worth telling from which lessons might still be learned.
Believe it or not, one of a handful of principles to which many fighter pilots subscribe is humility. The willingness to be on “receive” rather than “transmit” is critical to understanding one’s abilities and shortcomings in air-to-air combat or while racing along a few hundred feet AGL in poor visibility at 900 feet a second. A pilot had better know exactly where he is and what he’s doing. He had better be constantly in the self-analysis mode if he erred. But sometimes, it was hard to be humble, especially when one was a young CF-104 pilot cut loose in Europe; especially when one was taught high-speed, low-level navigation techniques over tough European terrain by the best in the business: reconnaissance (recce) trained RCAF pilots like Bud Berntson, Dan Graham, Larry Kinch, Roy DeWolfe and Gord Dejong.
Then, it happened. During the late summer of 1973. It was a single ship, low level, three-quarter clockwise sortie around Munich in pretty good weather. Notwithstanding navigation skill prowess, it was always prudent to dial in the TACAN frequencies of suitable Brit, US, and Luftwaffe air bases along the route in case of emergencies. The bearings and distances of the non-precision Tactical Air Navigation (TACAN) systems could always be useful for a swift recovery in this single-engine fighter. A reliable but occasionally fallible system.
Turning south from a westerly heading with the German Air Force (GAF) Base Fuerstenfeldbruek on the left wing, the pilot could see the tree line on the banks of the north/south Leck River through the haze on the right. All was “in ordnung” at 800 ft AGL and 450 KIAS ground speed. But strangely, the “Fuersty” TACAN showed on the nose for a scant 10 nautical miles (NM). It ought to have been off the left wing for about 15 NM! After double and triple-checking ground references, the pilot quickly confirmed he was bang on track. After the distance ran down to five, then quickly to zero NM, no airfield emerged out of the haze. Must have been the occasional “40-degree lock-off” error. Another navigational mystery was solved. A confident sigh of relief.
But, preoccupied with not running down an air base that might have been on the nose, the pilot had instinctively slowed and was now some 30 seconds late! Unacceptable! And tough to make up in just a few minutes before the next leg. Too easy, he thought – he could just make up time by accelerating and cutting the next corner of his slick two-inch-wide map over familiar territory. Approaching the point where he had planned to turn northeast, then south, then west, he would instead fly south off his map, turn west at the appropriate time and regain track and time.
Now in life, there are reasons for everything. Rules of Engagement. Hard and soft decks in air-to-air combat training. Standard Operating Procedures. Squadron Flying Orders. All there for good reason. So too are circuitous turns to the east, south, and then to the west: Kaufbeuren!! A GAF C-160 transport base!!
Happily making up time now at over 900 feet per second, the pilot was jolted to see the Kaufbeuren control tower and runway at 90 degrees to his flight path on the nose at about 2 NM – a scant 12,000 feet and closing rapidly! No time to turn short. The best he could do was, well, just hope for the best!
As if he could tiptoe unnoticed around Kaufbeuren in a screaming Zipper and – good grief – a large bright yellow squadron tiger painted on his tail!! He did the only thing he could: quickly descended to below the control tower catwalk, “stroked” the afterburner, pulled hard left at 7g, and ripped eastbound between the active runway and taxiway. He could see GAF C-160s with their props turning moving about the airfield. He swore he saw exclamation marks and “vas ist los?!!!” word balloons over their flight decks.
Burner cooking and now heading east in the weeds at near supersonic speed in a sea of acute awareness, the pilot clearly heard the heavily accented tower controller calmly transmit on Guard frequency for the whole world to hear: “Nize goink Tiger! Skip Hit!!”
Normally reserved for successfully lobbing napalm into a 50′ X 200′ “skip pit” target on controlled weapons ranges, the expression seemed mildly droll on an active airfield. Anyway, how could he have seen the tiger on the tail when all he could possibly see was the inside of the cockpit?!
The pilot’s career was surely ended! How could he have let this happen? And just when he knew where he was! And just when it would be tough to learn more!
Back home an hour later, the pilot waited nervously for the phone call which would signal the airspace violation, but more worrisome, the revelation to colleagues. Derision would follow. The ego was already sore. Fate was cruel but unfair!
The call never came, but did the pilot learn something? Yes indeed. At least three things: don’t get ahead of one’s headlights in life; there’s a reason for everything; and, there’s still enough paper to go around for maps wider than two inches!
The pilot was never uncertain of his position again. Well, hardly ever.
*Starfighter pilots wore boot spurs. These spurs, which were strapped to his boots, were wired to the ejection seat and automatically pulled the pilot’s heels into the seat in the event of an ejection, thereby saving a possible amputation of the pilot’s legs.
Photo by U.S. Navy and John Davies via Wikipedia
