



Subject: Caterpillar Story

By Gary Barnhill







Parachutes are made of silk. So the parachute manufacturer sends a gold "caterpillar" lapel pin if you punch out of a disabled military aircraft







Got my caterpillar Sept-5-65. I was "Dodge Two", carrying 8x750 bombs on a F105D refueling at 14,000 feet over NE Thailand before heading Downtown (Hanoi). Whilst connected to the KC135 tanker (Boeing 707), "Dodge Three" (Capt John Betz), in one uninterrupted RT (Radio Transmission) stated: "Dodge Two your are gushing fuel...Dodge Two you are on fire... BAILOUT!







I closed the throttle to clear off the tanker and without a look-see or question, ejected instantly. Total time from Betz noting the gushing fuel to explosion was six seconds. My ejection beat the explosion by ONE SECOND.







Once I pulled up the seat handles, which blew the canopy and squeezed the trigger, which is literally like is being shot out of a cannon, everything function was then automatic. Lap belt auto open, seat man separator straps kicked me out of seat, instant auto chute open (lanyard connected). It was a violent jolt as I went from 450 mph to dead stop instantly, and in time to see two burning halves of my Thud enter overcast beneath me.







It's a long ride down from 14,000 feet. Got the emergency radio out and was talking to Dodge Leader (Gayle Williams-ex Thunderbird) who had aborted the bombing mission and gone RESCAP mode. I was descending in and out of cloud layer. But, Dodge flight thought I was on the ground and darn near ran over me as they homed in on the emergency beacon while I was still descending in the chute.







I was descending over a tall thick nasty forest. The prior week I nearly fainted and had to turn guard channel off (emergency radio frequency) as a medic, hanging from a rescue chopper, vividly described a pilot's crotch area to a doctor back at base. The pilot was alive but impaled on a tree and they were discussing what part of his private anatomy to cut to get him out of the tree.







That was on my mind descending. I recalled an old Sarge in Water Survival School explaining how to reach up and cut four risers to turn an elevator-stable GI parachute into a guidable sport chute. Now look, it's your first jump and you are considering cutting four of those cords holding the life saving canopy. Is that whacky or what? I looked down at those intimidating trees and decided to cut the risers. It worked beautifully and I was able to guide the chute to a small clearing in the forest. Landing was decent but I did forget to release the emergency seat pack on descent. Just as well, it might have got caught in the trees.







After landing I heard a machine gun going off. I asked Dodge to confirm friendly territory. Confirmed. I later decided it was my own 20mm Vulcan cannon cooking off somewhere in the nearby wreckage.







Dodge flight went Bingo (out of fuel, out of here) but as they departed, Gayle advised me a rescue chopper was inbound and homing on my emergency beacon. I was Golden (all is well that ends well).







What the hell, just for fun, I shot off all my emergency flares and orange smoke bombs and spread out the colorful chute canopy. I always was something of a showoff.







The chopper pilot heroically managed to land in the small clearing amongst tall trees. After jumping onboard, it was shake, rattle and roll as the heavy fuel laden chopper struggled to get airborne. Turns out, the chopper had suffered a radio failure inbound and lost my position until he saw my flares and smoke. Call it luck of the Irish.







Got delivered to Naked Fanny (Thai Air Base) where an arrogant USAF Brigadier General wearing Jump Wings chewed my a-- upon learning I had cut those risers. "...can't have out pilots cutting risers...blah, blah".







There was no transport to Takhli, so I headed off to the O'club bar. Ran into Jim, an old Aviation Cadet classmate. He kindly flew me back to Takhli in his CIA personal unmarked T-28. Actually, he let me fly it, as I had trained in T-28's at Spence Field, GA in 1956.







My captain on flight status pay on 1965, including housing and $50 combat hazard allowance was $995 a month. The unmarked T28 CIA job paid $5,000 a month. (I resigned from USAF when I got back to McConnell (Wichita) to take a CIA job, but how that got screwed up is another story.)







Back at Takhli, they reckoned the freak Thud explosion was caused by failure of the fuel to shut off after the tanks were full. The internal bomb bay tank burst and the gushing fuel was sucked into the engine hot section and blew. The safety officer wanted to hypnotize me seeking additional details and the CO wanted to send me to Clark (Philippines) for a medical checkup account some back pain. I managed to evade both initiatives.







My neck was stiff because my head had been pushed nearly under my armpit on the opening jolt. That night in my cot, every time I wanted to turn over I had to pick my head up like a watermelon and turn it over. It didn't hurt that much, I just couldn't move my head. Forty years later, my neck is still stiff.







Next day I couldn't turn my head at all. Lied my a-- off about it so I could fly a combat mission up North (Hanoi) that day. I'm a farm boy. You wanna get right back on that bronco that just threw you before you think about it too much. I wouldn't have been much help in a MIG fight, but the MIG's had not been active and anyhow, who was I to break tradition and use good judgment.







Postscript: Years later I was a co-pilot with TWA in Kansas City. Sitting in a coffee shop on a Philly layover, Flight Engineer Bill Wirstrom and I had the de rigueur "what-did-you-do-before-TWA" discussion. He had flown choppers out of Naked Fanny and picked up five Thud drivers including one incredibly lucky guy who ejected one second before his plane blew up during refueling. He remembered the date, Labor Day, 1965. So did I. Surreal.







The Kansas City Star came out and took our picture, blah, blah, blah.







Thanks, Dodge Two, John Betz, for putting your career on the line and making the gutsy ejection call.



Thanks, Dodge Lead, Gayle Williams, for RESCAP and getting the chopper inbound.



Thanks, Sarge, for the riser cutting advice.



Thanks, Chopper Pilot, Bill Wirstrom, for having more courage than I'll ever know.



Thanks, CIA Jim, for the T-28 ride home.



Thanks, CO, for letting me fly the next day.







And thanks, who ever taught me this little trick. Each flight, awaiting takeoff, pause and then instantly go through the physical motions of an emergency ejection because there won't be time to think about it when it happens. Snap heels back, throw head back, shoulders back, reach for ejection handles and practice this thought process: Throttle-Bottle-Visor-Blow and Go. (Close throttle, Actuate emergency oxygen bottle, Pull helmet visor down, Blow the canopy, and squeeze ejection trigger.)







Gary Barnhill



1912 Seadrift Dr.



Corona del Mar, CA 92625



949-644-7341



garybarnhill@sbcglobal.net



USAF Class 57U

