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The
Marine Corps used the KC-130 for aerial refueling. It employs the “probe and drogue”
method. The C-130 became a KC-130,
when two refueling pods were added to the wings, outboard of the
engines. Each pod contains a hose,
reel and a refueling drogue. The
drogue stabilizes the hose and coupling; it is the target for the
probe. The drogue collapses when
stored and opens as it is reeled out.
The receiver aircraft has a probe fixed to the aircraft, which the
pilot flies into a drogue. The
drogue has a coupling with spring-loaded latches to hang onto the probe,
once the pilot has flown it into the drogue. The hose had to move into the pod six
feet to start fuel flow. The C-130
has four turboprop engines, and is not fast. Jet aircraft must slow to fly formation
and refuel from the tanker. The
technique is to fly formation on the tanker and move forward flying the
probe into the drogue. On the F4
Phantom and F8 Crusader, the refueling probe is behind the pilot’s head,
making refueling a challenge, even for good pilots. The refueling probe is visible to the
pilot on both the A4 Skyhawk and A6.
Even so, in-flight refueling requires good airmanship. Refueling at night was, is and shall
remain, more difficult. The drogue
has three "iso-lights" that glow dimly at night. The three dots of light, in an
equilateral triangle, form a visual target for the probe.
Our
squadron mate "Igor" (pronounced "EE'gore") was on
the tanker. We came up on a perch
and checked in with the tanker.
They cleared one of us on to the other side of Igor, and the other
was to stay on the perch. Hearing
this Igor transmitted, "That's OK, send them both, I am
leaving." Then he changed his
voice and said slowly, “IGOR - NOT - DO - TOO - GOOD!" His last transmission did not bode
well. Igor and I were just out of
flight school; if Igor found this difficult, I was in for a hard
night. I was not worried about the
Major; he had refueled F-8’s, a difficult task. I moved into position on the left side
of the tanker and tried to see the drogue. The sky was moonless, with a high, thin
overcast. The overcast partially
obscured the stars; they appeared faint and blurred. On this night, the iso-lights were
indistinguishable from the stars.
I flailed around, trying to plug into several stars, only to find
the drogue unexpectedly coming out of the dark.
My
anti-smash light bothered the Major; he asked me to turn it off. I did.
However, in the process of trying to fly the bird, at slow speed,
in formation with the tanker, while simultaneously feeling around the
panel for the light switches, low on my left side; I mistakenly turned my
position lights to OFF, rather than DIM.
I think the Major, or the C-130 stated my lights were off (which I
deemed confirmation of switching off the anti-smash).
Steve
recognized what had happened and tried to tell me. However, I was totally occupied. I did not listen; I misunderstood and
misinterpreted his comment.
Indeed, I did not know what he said, but I took it as a statement
reflecting adversely on my ability as a pilot. We did not know each other and he was
out of line to comment on my flying.
True, I was not at my best; perhaps approaching the unskilled
level denoted as a “plumber”, the ultimate insult to a pilot. I was not sure what Steve said, but I
was offended and growled, fiercely, “SHUT-UP”. Steve didn't say anything more.
I
persisted on the tanker, trying to plug.
It was bad that night. It
was impossible to see the drogue.
It would appear from nowhere, always in the wrong place. Sometimes the probe would hit the rim
of the drogue, causing the drogue to tip off and jump away. Or tip off and hit the aircraft. Once, it even went all the way around
the radome, making an awful sound and causing minor compressor stalls as
it blinded the inlet. It hit the
windscreen. Once, it tapped the
canopy over Steve’s head. All this
time Steve did not say anything.
The
Major left. I stayed. Finally I plugged. I moved forward, flying formation on
the tanker and stabilized in the refueling position. I wondered to myself, “What would
happen if I was “bingo - minus” (critical low fuel)?” I backed out; the drogue disengaged and
disappeared into the night. Then,
I tried again … and again … and again.
I could not plug again. I
was really depressed at my lack of skill.
Eventually I gave up and headed back to MCAS Cherry Point. I called Approach Control for Radar
Vectors to a GCA. With my skills
as a pilot sorely challenged in refueling; I concentrated on the
approach. That may have been the
smoothest GCA I ever flew. I was
right on the vectors and altitudes.
The call to "Begin normal rate of descent” was followed only
by "you are on glideslope, you are on centerline," until the
final controller said, “The Tower does not have you in sight.” I landed and they still could not see
me.
Having
been quiet throughout this ordeal, Steve said, "I think the lights
are off." I turned the lights
on and taxied in. After
post-flight, and signing the yellow sheets; we climbed the stairs to the
Ready Room. I dreaded to admit my
failings as a pilot. As I feared,
the Major and “Igor” were waiting for me.
They asked, "How many times did you plug?" I was embarrassed, ashamed and
dejected. I responded, "God
it was awful, I could only plug once." They said, "You did? Neither of us could plug!” That experience was forty years ago. I remember it well.
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