Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [160]
Suddenly, “Scramble Red, vector 275°” sent us to our jet, “Leaping Lena.”
Rogers snapped the canopy shut as he revved up the engine. We went through our checklist and pulled onto the runway after receiving clearance from the tower. Those living close to the runway had their sleep interrupted by the roar of our afterburners.
After setting our course, an ominous voice from GCI (Ground Control Intercept) said, “Bogey at 11 o’clock, sixteen miles, angels unknown.” Our bogey was near the Straits of Tsushima. Ground control advised us (several minutes later) that “the blips had merged.” However, we couldn’t see the bogey. As we began a 360° turn—for a visual check—Rogers spotted the bird literally “on the deck.” He then told control, “We’ve got it Frogman (control’s call sign), we’re going down to investigate.”
I heard Rogers charge the guns as we crept up on the bogie’s tail. I was ready to read range distances for an accurate firing. Easing along the starboard side of his tail, we noticed the British insignia—another ally who did not file a flight plan. Flying alongside the flying boat, at almost a stall, we heard this interesting VHF message: “Why don’t ye join us for tea, Yanks?”
We waggled our wings in recognition of their message, then hit the afterburners and headed back to Itazuke.
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Suddenly, the loudspeaker blares, “Scramble Blue and Wingman,” sending ground crews, pilots, and their radar observers running. Men climbed into their cockpits, engines started, canopies snapped closed, and the surrounding silence was soon cracked by the roar of afterburners.
As they flew over the fog-shrouded sea, the F-94’s were vectored to an approaching bogey, by electronics experts on the ground. When reaching a certain point, the radar observer took over for the final interception of the approaching aircraft.
The weather was no hindrance in making interceptions. There were days when you could see fifteen miles in every direction; then there were days you had to penetrate black thunderheads.
Imagine yourself in the pilot’s seat on a misty pre-dawn morning when the “scramble” orders blare over the loudspeaker. A quick check of the weather reveals murky skies with “soup” all the way down to the deck. While looking for your “bogey” at 500mph, you see nothing but fog and scattered patches of water.
After take-off you lose all visual contact with the earth. As you watch your instruments, you receive instructions from the all-seeing radar men on the ground. And as the “bogey” approaches, the radar observer takes over. Now, your attention is divided between instrument flying and listening to your observer; both of you function as a perfectly coordinated team.
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During operations briefings, Operational Readiness Inspections always caused a bit of excitement. In one of these gaggles, Captain William Anthony and I were scrambled from Itazuke to intercept a bogey coming in from the north. My radar was working fine, as was my height range indicator, or “C” scan. I locked on to an object and we both noticed the “C” scan would not break lock, so I called “Punch” to Bill, who did not believe the call at first because he couldn’t see anything. A minute or so later, he called “Judy” to GCI, thereby thwarting plans of the ORI team to sneak past us.
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During my time at Misawa, I flew in both the F-82G and F-94B, as Radar Intercept Officer; my pilot was First Lieutenant James Albright.
Later, during a night scramble, Albright and his R/O, Lt. Jerry Baldwin, went to check out a passing submarine in the Straits of Tsushima—they disappeared from the radar screen.
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My time in Korea was split: my first tour of twenty night missions took place in 1951. My second tour took place in March of 1953, when I flew eleven missions. My first tour was in the F94B all-weather fighter with its six .50 caliber