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EXCERPT TWO FROM THE MISTY BOOK STROBE 01 EJECTION I can still remember it vividly today, as if in slow motion. The aft canopy of the F-4 Phantom opened and separated cleanly, clearing the tail by a good 20 feet, then the seat started up the rails. Just as the bottom of the seat cleared the canopy seal, the rocket motor ignited, burned for 1.2 seconds and the seat went straight up, very stable. When the rocket stopped, the drogue chute came out and the seat rotated back 90 degrees, eyeballs straight up, flat on his back, as he cleared the tail. Now, looking back over my right shoulder, the main C-9 canopy came out and as it started to open/inflate, the seat separated and kept right on going. Now, with the canopy fully open, the pilot swung back underneath. The whole thing was neat as hell, I thought. But, when I looked back to the stricken aircraft, I could not believe the horror I saw. The front cockpit was totally engulfed in fire. Only a white dot of the pilot's helmet was visible through the smoke and flames. He was sitting straight up as before, was motionless, and seemed totally oblivious to what was happening. It looked like two huge blowtorches were coming up from the rudder pedal wells through the front cockpit around the pilot and out the now open rear cockpit. The fire was streaming out and over the back of the Phantom, turning into a dense black smoke trail that obscured the tail. But, the aircraft flew on undisturbed; not even a burble. The pilot was still not moving; still seemed unaware, as if he was enjoying the flight. The whole thing was surreal; almost dream-like. How could this be? For a moment I thought he might not be aware of the fire, and I must tell him to eject. So I began hollering on the radio "Strobe 01! Bail out! Bail out!" I called two or three times more, but still nothing happened. The wings were level but now the aircraft started a shallow descent. "My God!" I screamed. "Why doesn't he eject? How can he just sit there? What in the hell is wrong?" Then I figured it out. It became obvious we were too far away (route formation) and he couldn't hear me. So, I drove the Hun right up next to the burning cockpit and continued calling, "Strobe 01! Bail out! Bail out!" This time with more desperation in my screams. Harland calls, "Oh my God! Look at it burn!" More desperate now, I drove closer; so close that the air pressure between the two aircraft caused the fiery ball to roll up in a right bank. As I pulled back, he rolled wings level, now pointed directly at the beach in a slightly steeper descent. By this time, the intense heat had charred Strobe's canopy and we could no longer see the pilot's white helmet. The paint began to blister, and there were a few small explosions that blew some of the panels loose and sent others flying off (LOX Dewars and pressure bottles, I recall). Now, the whole nose was a charcoal mess. The flames subsided, and dense, thick smoke streamed from the nose area. For some strange reason I just couldn't let go and continued to call Strobe, nearly begging him to get out. At about 500' AGL and still close on his wing, the old Phantom gave one last dying gasp. It pitched up a little and then dove straight into the beach, hitting about 100 yards feet dry. For some strange reason, I still couldn't let go. Harland screamed, "Goddammit Dick! Pull Up!" I always felt if it had not been for Harland's stern direction, I would have crashed right beside him; I would have just followed him in. I pulled up left and told Waterboy, "Strobe 01 just impacted on the beach." A few minutes later, Waterboy called and asked if there was any chance of survival. My sad reply was "Negative survival, negative survival." |