T-Tail-Tall-Tail:
PASSING THE HOURS
Dick Reichelt
Here it is 1967, and I am a proud MAC crew member
flying C-141's with the
20th MAS out of Dover AFB Delaware. I am an A/C on
the best dang airplane
anyone can imagine, and all I have to do is fly. I
don't need a parachute and I
don't stand alert (anymore - SAC 1958-1963). I really
ate this up. Thanks Uncle
Sam! Thank you Lockheed!
On the subject of eating, I hope the ladies and
airmen in all the flight
kitchens got their deserved accolades. Considering
all the flight lunches they
had to crank out, they did a magnificent job. Now
it's true, gourmet meals they
were not. But, when you consider their contribution
to our being able to while
away the hours, looking straight ahead at the world
slowly going by, AND having
something to do, they deserve the credit due them.
The white box, ideal for writing on, doodles, notes,
composing light fantasy,
poking at with the ball point in frustration, all
that leading up to the
anticipatory euphoria; the Christmas/Birthday
attitude of getting to open THE
BOX.
You had a choice of 5 combinations when you ordered.
I usually got the dry
over-cooked roast beef sandwich AND the ham and limp
American cheese combo. You
could then consolidate all the meat onto one
sandwich, add the mustard and mayo
from the squish packs, and the lettuce provided the
munch--lunch. Milk, juice,
fruit, and a candy bar, all for $1.85. How many do
you want? One of the combos
included steak bits to replace one of the
sandwiches. If the meat was good,
great! If it was a little tough, great! You got to
chew longer and still look
outside the window lounge.
In those days, after passing Dillingham Alaska
heading west over water, we were
tasked with monitoring the high frequency (HF)
radio, (a good one) and
providing weather data with hourly position reports.
Sometimes reception was
awful due to atmospheric conditions. Sometimes you
could talk to Guam or
Washington D.C. better than Elmendorf. We were
supposed to monitor the HF to
retain communications across the pond, which on one
hand was comforting to know
we were in touch, on the other hand it was more
often than not just too dang
scratchy.
What I liked to do was refer to 'my book' of
numbers, good channels, gleaned
from hours of dial twisting to listen to 'stuff'. I
would beg off the channel
for a while to listen-eavesdrop if you will, to
places all over the world.
15060 MHz was radio Peking, spouting Communist
propaganda to the west coast of
America, in pure Oxford English mind you. Some real
BS in those days. The Ausies had some good music. HEY! We're
looking for stuff to do here, I
mean besides studying the Dash-1, and Regs., and
stuff. Yeah, Right!
If you were westbound into the sun it was a bit of
misery until the sun went
below the horizon, then it became a lingering,
orange beautiful Pacific sunset.
It lingered because the sun was going 'away' from us
at 900mph (speed of
earth's rotation) but we were almost 'keeping up' at
500-600mph The trick was
to look for that little grey dot on the horizon. It
might be your first glimpse
of a contrail, a C-141 coming out of the east. Ever
so slowly it would draw
closer. In these conditions, it could be 45 minutes
in coming. Figuring a
closure speed of 1100 mph, us 500 them 600, it meant
you could spot someone
from 800 miles away! Of course you held your breath
to see if you would have
'HIT' if you had been at the same altitude. Swish!
You pass, 'lookin' good!' on UHF GUARD. 'You too!'
Now, I shouldn't be telling you this but another fun
pastime was when we ended
up flying the same tracks at the same time, 4000
feet apart; one of us at
35,000, one at 31,000. Sometimes the jet stream's
winds were fickle enough to
give one of us an advantage. The race would be on.
Normal power was set to
hold .76 mach. If destination weather was good and
fuel was good, just a wee
but more throttle might do it. Of course if they
detected you, they could do
the same. The objective was to get to Tokyo Approach
ten miles ahead so you
would be let down first, through their lower
altitude (and thereby win the
race). A higher Mach setting just sucked the fuel,
and hardly made any
difference. It was like two snails racing along a
sidewalk. I don't remember
how many 'races' I won, but I do remember Tokyo
Approach control giving us some
time-consuming zigzags to get back where we
belonged! Oh well, what can I say?
Eight hours is a long time to be sitting doing
nothing.
09/18/2004
Richard (Dick) Reichelt richreichelt@msn.com