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Aviation History
1962
1962 - 1224.PDF
100 Air Boss of the Big "I" ... catapult-cutoff switches with everything under control in Pri-fly. He did not have occasion to use any of the switches, and exactly seven minutes after the first launch was able to report a" ready deck"— ready, that is, to recover the aircraft which had been launched 90 minutes previously and were now due back on board. Before the last group of launches had begun, he had looked at the list of aircraft and had given the air operations officer an esti mated "ready deck" time. This estimate had been seven minutes past the hour, exactly correct, and had been used as a target time by the controllers down below in the darkened carrier controlled approach (CCA) room in the careful process of feeding the aircraft in towards their landings. Typical approaches by the jet aircraft would begin from a circular holding pattern perhaps 35 miles behind the ship at a height of 20,000ft. A steady descent at 250kt to 1,000ft at a distance of six miles, under CCA talkdown the while, would be followed by a further descent to 600ft, with the talkdown continuing until the pilot picked up the "meatball" light of the mirror sight. On final approach the pilot repeatedly checks his line-up with the angled deck, his 4° glide-path as indicated by the meatball, his angle of attack and speed. The talk-down is passed from CCA to the landing signal officer who, standing at the side of the deck near the touchdown point, uses voice communication by radio in place of the old-time bats' signals. In the event of an approach which was perfect in every way, the LSO would say nothing: his role is simply to provide an extra check, and to give the pilot an instant warning of variations which might not be immediately apparent. "You see the meatball flash to the left and you're right in the spaghetti"—this gastronomic nightmare was the Air Operations Officer's account of how it feels when one makes a perfect touch down on a carrier. The meatball is the reflection of the main source- light seen in the mirror, and the spaghetti consists of the four arrester wires which must seem a pretty small target (if one looked at them during the approach, which one doesn't) from an angle of 4°. The margins are small—130ft from the ship's ramp to the first wire, and 100ft from the first wire to the last. An ideal approach means hooking No 3 wire, and the constant run-out arrester gear brings an aircraft to a stop in about 310ft. Arrester gear tension must be adjusted for each particular air craft, and again the line of communication goes directly back to Pri-fly—not to the Air Boss himself, but to a man who stands behind the Assistant Air Boss. Knowing the basic weight of each aircraft type, and the amount of fuel which individual aircraft have remaining, he reports to the arrester-gear personnel the appropriate landing weight before each touchdown, and checks that the four wires are set accordingly—by keeping a careful eye on four small repeater dials, one for each wire, whose pointers might well swing from 10,0001b to 49,0001b between consecutive landings. Landings are a brutal affair. Not only is there no flare-out before touchdown but full power is added as the aircraft comes over the ramp—just in case the pilot misses a wire and has to "bolt" round again. Only when the actual tug of the wire is felt does the pilot's hand pull back on the power lever. If he forgets to retract his air brakes after unhooking and moving forward, the Air Boss is ready with a quiet reminder—"Speed brakes, 303." As soon as the recovery is complete, the aircraft would normally be re-spotted in readiness for the next launch. Today, however, the Air Boss calls over the deck-address system "Keep on station— we're holding a ready deck." He has had word from the Captain that the Shangri-La, another carrier which is operating nearby, "may have troubles" and might need to land some of her aircraft aboard Independence. The trouble does not materialise, however, and soon the call "Clear to re-spot" is given. In the relative lull between completing one recovery and beginning the next launch, the aircraft are re-positioned, refuelled and re armed. Once a day the huge yellow cherry-picker crane will proceed slowly backwards along the deck, pulling out each of the landing wires to its full extent in turn for a thorough examination. In between each recovery and the next launch, the wires are examined in place. Some of the deck crews can relax in the sun, leaning on vehicles or parts of aircraft; others have work to do. The parked aircraft seem to sport a bright array of medieval pennants, fluttering from refuelling probes, landing gear, jet pipes, intakes, control- surface locks and pitots; one almost expects the Air Boss to call "Let joust begin." FLIGHT International, 19 July 1962 Twentieth-century carrier-borne jousting, however, takes Strange forms. As well as the co-ordinated attacks on Filfla Rock, the week's operations included normal navigation and instrumem- flying training, radar bombing of Naples by the A3Ds, divebombing and rocketry on a target towed 600yd behind the ship, and Side winder missile practice with a newly devised "flomb"—a gasolim - filled practice bomb attached to a parachute flare. At night, the programme included some NATO exercises, some navigation ("You could call it that" said the Air Operations Officer) and inter ceptions of the returning aircraft by combat air patrols defending the ship. Ship defence remained the prime mission of the Fords and the Crusaders, notwithstanding the use of the Crusaders >n the fighter-support role in the Filfla attacks. At all times during these exercises, the ship had a certain number of alert aircraft and crews ready to take off in earnest, if needed, at 30 minutes' notice. This applied in harbour, also, as I discovered later when I endeavoured to examine a deck-parked A3D at leisure after the ship had dropped anchor off Cannes. "I'm sorry, sir," said the gentleman standing next to the aircraft with a rifle, "You can't look at this one. No sir, it's a special plane. But you can look at that one over there." Few things can beat carrier night-flying for sheer dramatic impact, and an invitation from the Air Boss to watch night oper ations from Pri-fly gave us a privileged grandstand for the occasion. As the sky grew dark, the red-light floodlights which softly illum inate the central part of the deck from the island were switched on. Just beneath us, the white underside of a Skyraider's folded wings blushed a subtle pink. Shadowy, ghostlike figures moved about the deck. A destroyer closed in behind to take over planeguard duties for the night from the HUP helicopters. USS Randolph's HUS helicopters were out and about, however, flashing their beacon lights and dipping their anti-submarine sonars in the distance. Above, one of the ship's elephants, alias an A3D, is picketed down on deck. Below, not all hands on deck can watch the flying—some have work to do
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