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In Part 1 we covered the catalyst for the Korean War, the evolution of the Marine Corps night fighters and the history of the Marine night fighter squadron featured in this story, The Flying Nightmares of VMF(N)-513. We also learned about Kunsan Air Base where '513' was deployed in our story and then we finally wrapped up with the history of the aircraft we'll be flying - the Grumman F7F-3N Tigercat. Now it's time to meet the crew, brief a mission and get ready to fly into 'Harms Way' over the skies of North Korea.
Kunsan Air Base had two lives, one during the day and then a completely different persona at night. During daylight normal people with normal jobs went about their business. Cooks cooked, supply clerks work logistics issues and personnel men hammered out reams and reams of paperwork. Down on the flightlines there was a smattering of aircraft coming and going, mostly Air Force types. There were frequent test 'hops' (military jargon - a flight) out over the Yellow Sea just to the west of the field. It wasn't uncommon either to see an aircraft doing circuits in the pattern testing some system or a pilot merely getting his required takeoffs and landings logged. And while all this was going on there was normally an apparent unending convoy of dump trunks shuttling back and forth from the local quarry bringing rock fill because the base was always in some stage of repair. Local Korean day laborers could be seen at their various tasks around the base too.
While all this daylight activity was unfolding, there, in some of the tents and Quonset huts occupied by night fighter air crews, extraneous light was kept at bay with anything that would serve as a good window curtain. At the Air Force side of the base one could find some aviators, primarily B-26 crews, asleep during the day but on the east end of the field, the one occupied by the Marines of VMF(N)-513 (or simply '513'), almost all the aviators were in the sack (bed).
Captain Bradford Kingman, USMCR, slept fitfully. A tiny shaft of outside light stabbed its way around the green wool blanket hung on the window of his room in the Air Force Bachelor Officer's Quarters (BOQ) and illuminated a single spot of the wood floor. Kingman flicked on a small table lamp to check the time. It was 1400 (2:00 PM). He planned to get up in an hour anyway for the squadrons daily 1600 (4:00 PM) briefing for all squadron personnel scheduled. Kingman was on the flight schedule today for the first launch which meant that he and other crews would fly the first sorties of the night, departing around dusk on missions that ranged from escorting B-29's, reconnaissance of roads, Close Air Support (CAS), to Night Combat Air Patrols (NCAP) or anything else that fell on the schedule. There was never a dull moment. Kingman and his RO (Radar Operator) had gotten back to the base before midnight, the night before after flying up near Cho-do Island as a reserve escort aircraft for a bomb run by B-29's from Kadena Air Base on Okinawa.
Kingman turned the light back off and laid there on his cot trying to regain sleep but he couldn't. He rolled over on his side, his face away from the shaft of light and his dog tags slipped out from underneath his skivvy shirt (underwear) and clanged together. He unconsciously pushed them back under his tee-shirt. Sleep was evasive and finally, around 1420 (2:30 PM) he gave up trying and turned the light back on. First order of business was to pick up a framed picture he had prominently displayed on his nightstand - a standard issue Marine Corps footlocker box that had the top removed and stood on end. Inside the footlocker had been fashioned wooden shelves to provide some extra storage space. The picture was of his wife and young son back in Virginia. His ritual was to look at it first thing when he arose and it was the last thing he peered at when he went to sleep. Somehow it provided a grounding for him in the real world - what was most important to him. And it provided a daily reminder to him that he needed to stay alive and get back to his family in one piece. So far so good.
Capt. Kingman was on his second combat tour with the Marine Corps. When Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941 he was a senior at the University of Virginia wrapping up his civil engineering degree program. As soon as he graduated he married Christy, his high school sweetheart, and then enlisted in the Marines to be a pilot. After boot camp in Parris Island he ended up in Pensacola for his basic flight training. Upon completion of that he had been assigned to Naval Air Station (NAS) Opa Locka, just north of Miami, Florida for advanced training and field carrier landing training; students practiced landing on a carrier deck that was painted on the runway. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, he found himself assigned to a Marine Corps fighter squadron in the Pacific flying the venerable Chance-Vought F4U Corsair. The same aircraft made famous by Major "Pappy" Boyington and his 'Black Sheep' squadron. It had been one hellva experience for the young Virginian. He might as well have been on the moon as places like Guadalcanal and Bougainville, Vella Lavelle, and Espirtu Santo because they sure as hell didn't resemble the mountains around his home town of Roanoke, Virginia, nestled in the mountains of western Virginia. With the exception of one forced landing at sea when the engine quit and being picked up by a passing destroyer less than 2 hours later, Kingman's World War II experiences were relatively mild. Sure there had been some awfully hairy aerial melees but they just weren't talked about, not to family, friends or anyone else unless it was another Marine buddy. That's just the way it was. So Christy never pried and he never offered. Once the shooting stopped it seemed more important to get on with his life than to relive the past.
At the wars end Kingman was released from active duty and he and Christy had discussed the possibility of him trying to get a job with an airline. In the end though he decided to work for the biggest employer in his home town of Roanoke, the Norfolk & Western Railroad. He was hired immediately and life as a civil engineer with the railroad had been very satisfying and their life together in western Virginia, surrounded by family and life-long friends had been picture perfect. With the birth of their first child, a son, in 1949 everything seemed so perfect. Then came June 1950 and the news that North Korea had invaded South Korea. The Marines would probably need aviators and since he was still in the Marine Reserves it was only a matter of time before the letter arrived. Kingman knew it and so did his wife but it wasn't dwelled upon until the Marines actually recalled Kingman to active duty. That was over a year ago and now here he was, in a darken BOQ room, over seven thousand miles away from his wife and son, fighting in another war.
Capt. Kingman had flown the squadron's F4U-5N night fighter until they had received the F7F-3N night fighter but ever since then that had been his aircraft of choice. The cockpit wasn't as roomy as a Corsair's but its performance was better, and this was saying something if you were familiar with the 'hose-nosed' Corsair. The Tigercat was a very stable, fun aircraft to fly, with a lot of power but the biggest difference in flying it and the Corsair, other than having two engines, was the addition of another crewmember. This dictated precise coordination to ensure the completion of a mission and Kingman had gotten pretty damn good flying with his 'back-seater' (radar operator in the rear cockpit).
After throwing on his wash khaki uniform, now less than perfect with some unwanted wrinkles, he pulled on his boondockers (issued footwear worn by Marine aviators and non-aviators alike) and hurriedly laced them up. As he headed for the door he quickly flipped his cover (hat) on and made his way to the officer's mess. There he'd have the cooks throw together an egg and bacon sandwich for him, which he'd dutifully wash down with a couple cups of coffee. After chow Kingman made his way over to the Quonset hut that served as 513's Operations (OPS) Center, arriving just before the daily brief.
Inside the Ops Hut sat or stood most of the squadron "milling around smartly' as it would have been referred to in military parlance. A couple guys sat at a table and played a quick hand of pinochle while others talked in small groups. Some sat or stood alone, browsing the current, and not so current issues, of magazines kept there, such as "Life", "The Leatherneck", "The Marine Corps Gazette", "Pacific Stars & Stripes" or "Naval Aviation." All had been read hundreds of times but you could always lose yourself in the pages before flying up north to have the North Korean shoot at you for their night's entertainment. Before long the squadron 'skipper' (commanding officer, also know as the CO) came in with the 'Exec' (Executive Officer - 2nd in command) and they made some administrative announcements concerning the base, then they welcomed some new guys and bid farewell to a sergeant in the engine shop who was rotating back to the states. The skipper closed with his customary "Oorah" pep talk - trying to pump up the morale and let the squadron know how much their efforts were critical to the war effort.
After the CO finished most of the non-flying 513 personnel departed the room in a shuffle of chairs and slamming of doors. What remained where the aircrews and the operations types that would brief them for the night's missions. First up was the intelligence (Intel) officer, a mousy looking Major who was a good guy but took his job way to seriously for most of his fellow 513 mates, which, in a way, was probably a good thing. He ran through various Intel reports about possible new truck convoy routes, ground unit movements for both enemy and friendly forces and reports of moved or newly established enemy antiaircraft artillery (AAA or "triple A") batteries that had been recently reported in their operational areas (OPAREAS). The assembled crews scribbled notes as the info was briefed.
Next came the Air "Farce" (a derogatory Marine term used for anything to do with the U.S. Air Force) weather briefer, a young USAF 1st Lt. assigned to the base's metrological detachment. He droned on about system highs and lows and converging pressure ridges and everyone knew that more than likely everything he said, or at least the majority of what he said, was purely conjecture and they would find out the true weather once they got into it. Several times during his brief there were hoots and jeers but it was all in good fun and the boyish looking young officer took it in stride. Weather was an evil enemy in Korea and probably accounted for more aircraft accidents than either the North Koreans or Chinese Communist ever did. And since most of the Korean peninsula weather actually formed over Manchuria in China, where no U.S. weather observation posts were available, it was really anyone's guess what the weather would be like. It wouldn't be the first time that an intrepid weather briefer would state that precipitation that evening was doubtful and within minutes the crews could hear rain pelting the metal roof of the Ops building. Once the crews had the 'skinny' (information or data) on the weather it was the Operations Officers' (OPS or OPS Boss) turn at the podium.
The Operations Officer, another major, clad in his leather flying jacket, now mounted the stage and took his place at the podium. On the right breast of his jacket was sewn a round, 513 squadron patch and on the left breast was a small rectangular patch embroidered in gold with his rank, name, and naval aviator wings. Out of his mouth protruded the stub of a foul looking, day old cigar or at least the remnants of what had been one. He took out his pointer and taped the large tactical chart that hung behind and began his brief, "Gentlemen, tonight for your flying pleasure we have the following missions." He outlined plane by plane what the evening's missions would be. Some were missions in support of the ground controllers on Cho-do Island, as well as night combat air patrols (NCAP), close air support (CAS), and one mission was slated with a flare-dropping bomber - known as a "Firefly" sortie. With these missions briefed, the main stage was set to brief any bomber escort sorties that were on the flight schedule and tonight was the second one in two days. The first launch including four F7F-3N aircraft, one crewed by Captain Kingman and MSgt Sykes, would escort a string of B-29 Superfortresses on a strike of an industrial complex just to the northeast of the Pyongyang airport, in the capitol of North Korea.
The island of Cho-do played a critical role in the day to day operations of The Flying Nightmares. The island was behind enemy lines (N38-31 E124-50) and was only 8 miles off the North Korean coast, approximately 52 miles southwest of the North Korean capitol of Pyongyang. The operations that were conducted on this island during the Korean War were critical in the execution of combat operations. The need to collect Signal Intelligence (SIGINT) has proven vital in almost all recorded history of warfare. Knowing what the enemy is doing, why and when is invaluable in operational planning. On Cho-do there was located two units of special note; the USAF Security Services 15th Radio Squadron, Mobile (RSM) and the USAF Detachment 2, 608th Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron (AC&W). The RSM collected SIGNIT by means of radio intercept, radio direction finding, traffic analysis, and the evaluation of enemy air radio traffic, telegraph and voice traffic. They supplied the GCI controllers at the 608th with this info and they, in turned, used it to direct allied aircraft in tactical intercepts. Cho-do lies only 120 miles south of the major MiG bases that were located in Manchuria near An-Tung so a MiG scramble was normally detected by this unit before they even left the ground. Cho-do also served as a safe haven, so-to-speak, for airmen who were shot up and needed to ditch near friendly forces when they were up north. Many allied aircraft chose to ditch or bail-out in the vicinity of this island over the course of the war instead of going down over the hostile North Korean mainland.
For Kingman's escort mission, a straight line from King 8 to the target area was about 235 nm but missions weren't flown in a straight line. The bombers he would escort were stationed at Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa, 660 miles to the south of Kunsan. After they took off from their base they would make the long trudge northward towards Korea. Once they approached the southern most Korean island off the South Korean coast, Cheju-do, they would be tracked by the Marine Ground Control Intercept Squadron detachment located there. After they passed through that control area they would be passed to the parent unit of that detachment, which was located at Kunsan Air Base. The duty team in the radar control hut, located near the shore of the Yellow Sea, just to the east of the Kunsan runway, would alert the 513 duty officer when the bombers arrived at a certain point southwest of the base. Then the F7F Tigercats that were scheduled for escort would launch and rendezvous with the bombers in the vicinity of Wi-do, a small island 30 miles west southwest of the base. In addition to the actual escort aircraft, another F7F would fly northward to take station west of Cho-do Island to serve as 'spare' in case one of the escort aircraft experienced any difficulty that required them to abort the mission. This is what Kingman had done the night before, but tonight he and his RO had the lead escort slot on the (bomb) run itself. Escorts weren't the 'fun runs' where a crew got to strafe, bomb, and rocket targets, but they were essential in the war.
[Historical Note: The F7F proved to be a very ineffective escort aircraft for the B-29's and their role in that capacity was short-lived. However when '513' received the Douglas F3D Skyknight in the spring of 1952 that aircraft soon established itself as the preeminent night fighter in the world. In fact Marine Skyknights crews were so effective that at one point during the war an Air Force General, distressed by the amount of damage his bombers were taking from enemy fighters when escorted by Air Force fighters, directed that only Marine F3D Skyknights were to escort his B-29 bombers. During one brief period in 1952 The Flying Nightmares flew three distinctly different types of night fighters simultaneously; the Chance-Vought F4U-5N, the Grumman F7F-3N, and the Douglas F3D.]
Kingman, his RO and the other crews gathered around tables and examined charts and tables that contained crucial information to fly the mission. Communications data along with call signs and contingency plans in case of a comms failure were briefed. Various ground tactical control stations were covered and how they fit into the mission profile. "What if" scenarios were briefed regarding mechanical or enemy action that would result in a mission abort, diversion or an aircraft actually being shot down. Headings, altitudes, entrance and egress points, bomb run lines, expected enemy resistance, along with a lot of other info was passed. Finally with their brains and clipboards filled to capacity the briefing was completed. It was time now to kick-back as much as one could under the circumstances and wait for the launch time.
As Capt Kingman exited the OPS hut in the late afternoon he stood side by side with his RO, Master Sergeant (MSgt.) Carl Sykes. Carl took a long pull on his Marlboro cigarette and looked up at the sky above him, as did his pilot. Kingman fished a cigarette out of his flight jacket and lit it hurriedly.
"Well, it looks scattered so far..." referring to the cloud cover, "...so I guess that part of the weather 'guess' was right."
Both men stood almost shoulder to shoulder and it made for a comical picture. Kingman was over 6 feet and weighted 210 lbs. He had played football in college and everything about him exuded athletic prowess. His chiseled jaw was squared off and he wore his blonde hair 'high and tight' (typical Marine haircut). A massive, barrel chest was evident even under his uniform. Sykes, on the other hand was the complete opposite. He was less than 5 ft 8 inches and that was being generous. He weighted 130 lbs. with all his flight gear. He had a ruddy complexion and wore his brown hair rather long by Marine standards. A chain smoker, he never cared much for sports of any kind and the rigors of Marine boot camp almost did him in. In fact the reason he got into aviation in the first place was because he thought it would be far less strenuous than running around in the field toting a rifle as an infantryman. Carl and his pilot truly made an odd couple on the ground but in the night skies they melded together into a highly professional team. Size didn't matter as much as aeronautical skill and the ability to maximize the efficiency of the radar and Kingman and Sykes were among the best at both.
Still glancing skyward Kingman replied, "Well at least it isn't raining...yet. I'll see you out on the line, Sarge" and he then disappeared around the edge of the building, headed in the direction of his quarters. MSgt. Sykes angled off in the same direction, headed for the Quonset hut that he called home. The 513 crews, like other Marine crews in Korea, kept their flight gear back in their quarters and it was there that they returned to don this equipment and wait for the call to launch. It was time to suit up like a couple Roman gladiators and prepare to enter combat.
Sykes was a 'lifer' (a career serviceman). Unlike Capt. Kingman, a Marine reservist, who would return to his civilian life after the war was over, MSgt. Sykes was in it for the long haul. Carl Sykes had graduated from high school just prior to the outbreak of the war in the Pacific. Carl was a smart guy but not someone who would be called studious and though Carl's father pressed him to attend college, he wanted no part of the college scene. Carl started his civilian life working in his father's machine shop in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. With Pearl Harbor he enlisted in the Marines and after boot camp was assigned to the newly organized Marine Scout-Bomber Squadron 341 (VMSB-341) where he flew as a turret gunner in the squadron's Grumman TBF Avengers. Carl, like Captain Kingman, had jumped from island to island in the western Pacific as the Marine campaign hop scotched from one Japanese stronghold to another. He eventually ended up flying close air support during the Philippine Campaign in 1944-45. When the war was over his squadron was deactivated but Carl was fortunate enough to get selected to be trained as a Radar Operator in the new Marine Corps night fighter, the Grumman F7F Tigercat. So Carl, like his pilot, had plenty of combat experience under his belt. And since the squadron was just receiving the newer F3D Skyknight jet night fighter Carl was excited about the prospect of cross-training in that aircraft. Carl's theory was that someone was going to shoot at his butt then a hundred knots or so of additional speed had to be a good thing!
Both men returned to their respective rooms and started the ritual of layering their flight gear. This procedure had been repeated hundreds of times by both men and was done almost subconsciously. Unlike today's aviators, decked out in fire-retardant Nomex flight suits worn as the primary garment, air crews in World War II and Korea wore cotton flight coveralls or, in some cases, just their utility uniforms. And unlike modern aviators decked out in clean flight apparel the crews of yesteryear wore gear that was grimy and oil stained. Flying big, radial engined aircraft was a sure fire prescription for stains and filth and both Kingman and Sykes's equipment had plenty of both.
First order of business was to slip into your flight suit and check the zippered pockets for gloves, pens, pencils, spare lights and other items that would be normally carried. With a bomber escort came higher altitudes and colder temperatures. Sure the Tigercat had heat, but it wasn't a system that crews bragged about. In fact the RO's continually bitched about its inadequacies so this escort mission would see both Kingman and Sykes wearing their leather flight jackets. In addition to the normal yellow Navy Type Mk-2 life vest that would normally be donned next over the jacket, Kingman wore a C-1 Sustenance & Survival Vest under his life vest. This was a unique survival kit and worn as a wearable vest. The multi-pocketed vests you see worn today by tactical SWAT units are an offspring from this 1943 original design by the Army Air Corp. It was in one of the pockets of his C-1 vest that Capt. Kingman kept his Escape and Evasion map. This 40" X 41" silk chart was issued by the Air Force and covered all of South Korea up to the 38th Parallel on one side and continued north to just past the 42nd Parallel, well into China, on the reverse. Since MSgt. Sykes elected not to wear the C-1 vest he stuffed his escape chart into one of the zippered pockets of his flight suit. Unlike today's aviator with their stringent requirements for what to wear or not wear in their aircrafts, the aviators in World War II and Korean had a certain amount of 'latitude' and personal preference was factored in. Carl didn't like the bulk and cumbersome feel of the C-1 so he simply stuffed critical survival items into various pockets of his cotton flight suit.
Both men wore a faded yellow flotation life vests that had several additional storage pockets along with a pouch carrying marker dye for use in a ditching. There was also a single black pouch containing shark repellent - not exactly a survival item one would expect to use in the Yellow Sea. From a lanyard both men carried personal flashlights and on a shorter cord hung a whistle. The upper left side of the vest sported a black inflation tube that could be used to orally inflate the vest should the automatic CO2 inflation cartridge fail. Normal activation was by pulling on two hidden lanyards on the bottom of each side of the vest. This oral inflation tube was kept in place by a small loop on the vest and both men used the tube to hold their sheath survival knifes in place also. Each man also wore a .45 caliber pistol and extra clips of ammunition were stored in any available empty pouch on one of their vests. Finally, with all this gear hanging off them they would top off their ensemble with a dingy, gold colored flight helmet, oxygen (O2) mask and a pair of flight goggles.
As Kingman left his quarters he thought how eerily similar it felt to suiting up for the big Sunday football games he played years ago in college. The layering of the protective clothing was similar and so too was the churning in his stomach. However in those days the worse you could come out with after a game were a few scraps and bruises or, at worse, a broken bone. The stakes were now considerably graver. Now it was life or death.
"Try not to crash and burn!"
Capt. Kingman was joined by MSgt. Sykes outside the Line Shack next to the Maintenance Hangar. It was in this tiny hut that the crews reviewed the paperwork for the aircraft they were to fly, paying close attention to any 'gripes' (adverse comments) made by a previous crew. If there had been any then they had to ascertain if the problem warranted repair and if so, ensure it had been completed. Some issues didn't dictate an immediate fix as long as a crew was aware of the problem. Others, because they impacted safety of flight, had to be fixed prior to the aircraft being flown again. Kingman's aircraft had a clean sheet except for a previous gripe on the radar indicator in the front cockpit. It had been written up the day before after the screen presentation was lost. The guys in the Electronics Shop thought the problem was a defective element in the CRT (Cathode Ray Tube) itself; it had been replaced and the unit declared fixed. Kingman flipped through the remaining sheets satisfying himself he had a 'good bird' to fly. After signing the sheet he, along with his RO, Sgt. Rose - the Line Chief, and a lineman departed the shack and headed out to the hard stand to the assigned aircraft.
Upon arrival they exchanged words with the other crews of the accompanying escort F7F's for tonight's mission. MSgt. Sykes then walked to the right side of the aircraft, just aft of the trailing edge of the wing, and pushed the spring activated step in which in turn released the ladder from inside the fuselage and a small ladder slid down into place. Carl then mounted the aircraft, left foot first, using several spring loaded hand holds, also in the fuselage, until he was on top of the wing. He walked forward to his aft cockpit and released the finger latch on the canopy frame and pushed the Plexiglas hood up and outboard to the left. Sykes then adjusted his parachute harness before stepping down into the rear cockpit.
Soon Kingman made his way up the ladder and over the wing too and slide his canopy back to gain entrance to his cockpit. Sgt. Rose had accompanied Kingman up on the fuselage and he now assisted both crew members as they settled into their respective cockpits, helping them adjust their shoulder harnesses and lap belts. Once they were strapped in good and tight each man began to make their 'office spaces' cozy for the night's work ahead. Personal preparations were completed by pulling on leather gloves, connecting oxygen masks and plugging in their helmet microphone cords into the aircraft. Just before climbing down to the ground Sgt. Rose, kneeling on the wing by Kingman's cockpit, made his customary comment,
"Try not to crash and burn, Captain."
"We'll sure as hell try not to Sarge. See you in a couple hours."
With that the Line Chief stood up and returned to the ground to supervise the start sequence. As he walked aft over the wing, he tapped twice on Sykes closed canopy. Carl looked up briefly and gave him a 'Thumbs Up'.
From the RO's seat Sykes had an unobstructed view both left and right but absolutely no forward view except around the edges of the instrument panel. His main instrument panel occupied the entire front 'bulkhead' (wall or partition) of the rear cockpit. In the center on his instrument panel was a small, PPI (Planned Position Indicator or radar scope). Clustered around the 'scope" was an air speed indicator (ASI), outside air temperature (OAT), compass indicator, an altimeter and a clock. Along the bottom on the panel, running from left to right, were controls for the radar, a hand microphone, and IFF panel (Identification Friend from Foe), and a radio transmitter control unit. On the left side of the cockpit was his oxygen regulator, an emergency release handle for his canopy and a switch for his microphone when wearing his oxygen mask. Near his left elbow was a metal cover over the oxygen cylinder and a bungee cord that was used to secure any additional equipment that would be carried in the cockpit. On the right side of Carl's cockpit ran a couple metal tubes from just under the canopy rail down and disappearing under his seat; these were the vent lines and reserve filler necks for the reserve fuel tank. One of the 'distinctions' for the F7F-3N RO's was that they sat directly above the reserve fuel tank which contained 105 gals of fuel. Rounding out the right side was another bungee cord for stowage.
Up front Kingman's 'office' was not as austere as his RO's workplace in the rear. His view forward was outstanding - a Tigercat trait. The main panel was actually two panels containing a smaller top section and a larger bottom section separated by a pull out chartboard used for navigation when the need arose. Below the opening for the chartboard, which slid in and out on a small set of rails, were the normal instruments one would expect to see on a pilots panel in those days. In the center of this section was a radar scope used by the pilot in the final stages of an air intercept. Grouped on the left side of the radar indicator unit were the primary flight instruments. To the right of the radar were clustered the engine instruments, a radar altimeter, and gear and flap indicator. On the lower, left hand corner of the main panel resided the landing gear lever and the magnetos switches. Above the chartboard opening, on the top left of the main panel, was the armament switch panel and on the opposite side of the panel was a compass indicator and clock. Directly in the center, above a small metal box holding spare light bulbs for the gunsight, was the gunsight itself.
When Kingman slid down into his seat his boondockers had disappeared into two small openings below the main panel, coming to rest on the rudder pedals. Between his legs, just forward of the control stick, was a large center pedestal panel that ran from bottom of the main panel all the way down to the 'deck' (floor). This panel contained a plethora of controls for aircraft systems such as the carburetors, oil coolers, cowl flaps, feathering controls for the props, water injection controls, fuel tank selectors, wing fold safety lock, cockpit heater controls, and fuel gauges to name a few. Directly above this lower panel, running horizontally along the lower edge of the main panel, were four levers which were the controls used to charge the guns.
On the left side of the pilot's cockpit was the customary engine control quadrant containing throttle, prop and mixture controls along with the supercharger control. Outboard of this, perched atop the canopy rail, was a lever that controlled the flaps. Just forward of the engine control quadrant was a rocket selector switch and just aft of the quadrant were a couple large hand wheels to adjust aileron, elevator and rudder trim. On the aft portion of the left cockpit bulkhead was the emergency brake control, a fuel tank pressurizing release control, and a metal map case.
On the right side of the Kingman's cockpit was a rather disconcerting array of equipment. It was broken into two distinct areas. Running from the forward portion of the cockpit all the way aft was a small "shelve" like area. This was dominated by the pilot's switch box, which, as the name implies, was a large electrical switch panel containing switches for most of the aircraft's electrical systems. Numerous labels pockmarked the panel indicating switches for batteries, generators, and circuit breaker reset buttons to engine starters, primers, and light controls. Aft of this switch panel were controls for the hydraulic system and wing fold selector control. Wedged between the pilot's seat and this side panel was a hand control for the hydraulics pump. On the outboard bulkhead of the cockpit, just above this panel were mounted the communications controls for the pilot's radios, an IFF unit, a hand microphone and a few other miscellaneous boxes. Forward, on the canopy rail and just aft of the main instrument panel, was a hand crank that opened and closed the pilot's canopy.
While Carl enjoyed a rather 'spacious accommodations' back aft, Capt Kingman, with his football linebacker physique, found the front cockpit a bit snug. And it was tight across the shoulders for both men because the cross-section of a Tigercat was extremely small. When viewed from head on the aircraft looked merely like a small tube with wings attached from which were hung two very large, radial engines.
After Kingman got settled into this cockpit he quickly ran through his preliminary checks:
Control Locks - OFF
Ignition Switch - OFF
Mixture Controls - IDLE CUTOFF
Main Wheel Chocks - IN PLACE
Flight Controls - FREE
Seat - ADJUSTED
Battery Switch - ON
After throwing the Battery Switch various gauges came to life indicated by gauge pointers jumping off their pegs and starting to swing to and fro. Kingman now checked fuel and oil quantities, then his communications equipment, followed by the gunsight light and his oxygen equipment. Next came:
Armament Switches - OFF
Gun Charging Handles - SAFE
Altimeter - SET
He then reached forward and pulled and rotated a small recessed knob under the attitude indicator and directional gyro to uncage both instruments. With that done he glanced left and right to assure himself that the prop areas were clear of not only personnel but ground service equipment. Starting an engine and tearing through a misplaced ladder or service cart with your prop could ruin a mission before it even started. It didn't do much to improve your promotion chances either. He continued with his checks:
Cockpit and Panel Lights - SET
Exterior Lights - TESTED
Radar Unit - CHECKED
Kingman then set the engine selector value to BOTH and placed the fuel tank selector switch to the RESERVE tank detent. After switching on the Fuel Boost Pump he flicked the Primer switch to the ON position several times in rapid succession. Now he was ready to start the engines. Time was critical at this juncture because the entire join up with the bombers required him to be at a certain location at a certain time and at a certain altitude. This required a well choreographed operation between each flight crew, their respective line crews, and also with the other escorting Tigercats.
Kingman checked that the ignition switches were both off and then he turned off the battery. He motioned to Sgt Rose, who was standing outboard and forward of the number one engine (left engine) that he was ready to start. Sgt. Rose and the other lineman now hand rotated each prop. First they did the left and then the right prop. After five complete rotations they backed away to a safe distance. The Line Chief then gave a thumbs up to Kingman indicating he could start the engines.
Battery Switch - ON
Mixtures - IDLE CUTOFF
Fuel Tank Selector - Checked RESERVE
Supercharger - LOW
Carburetor Air - NORMAL
Cowl Flaps - FULL OPEN
Oil Cooler Doors - OPEN
Generators - ON
Prop Controls - FULL INCREASE
Throttle Levers -OPEN 1 inch
Fuel Booster Pump - Checked ON
When this was done Kingman shifted his attention to the Pilot's Switch Box located by his right knee. He would start the right engine first:
Primer Switch - RIGHT & ON
Ignition Switches - ON - BOTH MAGS (Magnetos) for Right Engine
Starter Switch - Right Engine and ON
Kingman now advanced the right engine mixture control to the AUTO-RICH position as the big radial sputtered a few times and then came to life. As it did, a large plume of smoke belched out of the exhaust ports on the top of the engine nacelle and from the outboard side exhausts as well. As the smoke wafted aft, the prop spun up and Kingman and Sykes could hear, even with their helmets on, the initial roar of the adjacent Tigercats as they started their engines almost simultaneously.
This process was repeated a second time and after getting the left engine up and running Capt. Kingman adjusted the throttles to idle the engines at 1000 RPM. A round of ground checks were now performed to ensure that the engines were operating within acceptable limits. The magnetos were checked along with the superchargers. Then came the propeller controls and a check of the feathering controls followed that. The carburetor idle mixture was confirmed within limits and then the engines were set to 2000 RPM and the engine instruments were checked, paying particular attention to oil and fuel pressures, cylinder head temperatures (CHT) and the Manifold Pressure (MAP). Fuel pumps, hydraulic pressure, and rudder boost control were all verified.
Now Kingman reached over with his left hand and cycled the flap lever to ensure that four trail edge flaps all moved correctly and in unison. After running through checks of the generator system he activated the pitot heater.
At this point Capt. Kingman keyed his IC (intercom) and asked MSgt. Sykes,
"You ready to go Carl?"
"Affirm, let's fly" was the quick reply.
In Part 3 we'll get airborne and rendezvous with the B-29 bombers. We'll then escort them to their target and watch the "fireworks" as the war gets a lot closer to our crew. And finally we'll try to get everyone back home safe, so tighten your lap belt and harness and get ready to rollout onto the active. It's time to takeoff.
Joe Thompson
joe308t@gmail.com
Read Part 1
Read Part 3
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