photograph its return flight and
landing. Central Control signaled
us to take off shortly after noon.
With us was another jet, the
"director aircraft." Its job was to
take over radio control of the
missile and bring it back in.
Central Control vectored us
into a position where we could
rendezvous with the "bird."
That's a ticklish moment. You
always hope those fellows on the
ground know what they're doing.
Sometimes we can spot the "bird"
at 10 miles or more. At other
times, we can see it only two or
three miles ahead, depending
upon visibility and other factors.
This happened to be a perfect
day with a clear blue sky and
big, billowy patches of clouds
spotted here and there. At 30,000
feet we were well above the
clouds. We saw the '"bird" in
' plenty of time, its bright-red
paint glistening in the early after
noon sun and contrasting sharply
with the dark-blue Atlantic.
"Tally ho!" pierced my headset.
That was the pilot's signal to the
director aircraft and Central Con
trol that we had the "bird" in
sight. He radioed bur position as
we went into a sharp left bank.
The "bird" shot by and the chase
was on.
It wasn't wasting any time that
day, so Central Control slowed it
down for us. The director aircraft
moved in on the right rear of
the "bird" while we moved to
the left. I was all set to shoot
motion pictures with my B-1A,
a hand-carried camera specially
designed for aerial work.
We were flying a few feet be
low and about 125 feet to the
side of the "bird" when I started
shooting. I filmed for about 30
seconds from this angle and then
signaled the pilot to pull up level
with the "bird's" wing and move
in closer 50 to 75 feet. I had no
trouble at all reading the fine
print on the missile's surface!
Then, over our radio headsets,
came instructions from Central
Control: "In 20 seconds, Dial
31." That meant that in 20 sec
onds the director aircraft would
lower the landing skids on the
"bird" to create drag and burn
up excess fuel. It would be dan
gerous to set down on the landing
strip with too much fuel aboard.
' "Dial 31!" The skids started
down and I was taking one of
the shots I had come after. Then,
in a finger snap, something flew
off the "bird." The missile lurched
abruptly to the left, heading
right for us!
I was peering through my view-
finder, and suddenly it got too
crowded. My legs and arms went
rubbery.
We Banked sharply left and up
and then right in an evasive
maneuver, hoping the erratic mis
sile would pass under us. For one
long, trembling moment it seemed
as if we had made it. But then
there was a heavy thud right
under our seats, and our plane
bounced crazily in the air.
My first reaction was to grope
for the seat-ejection handle. But
our plane still seemed to be op
erating normally. I scanned the
fire-warning lights, but nothing
showed up.
Then the right wing caught my
glance. Around it was wrapped
a huge silver needle!
I didn't know what it was, but I
knew it didn't belong there.
Looking back over the wing, I
could see the "bird" itself spin
ning down into the ocean.
The pilot signaled that our
controls were not acting properly,
but he still had control of the
plane. The fuel tank on our right
wing was shaking badly, and
looked as if it might fall off. We
cut our speed so as not to do any
more damage to the wing.
"Are you okay?" radioed the
director aircraft. "Are you going
to have to ditch?" We were about
125 miles at sea a long swim.
"We're going to try to make it."
With resignation, I settled back
in my seat. I studied the silver
needle twisted around the wing
and finally realized it was the
nose of the missile, known tech
nically as the instrumentation
boom. We had sheared it right
off. I shot some " pictures of it
just for the record.
We joked on the way back, but
only to cover our nervousness.
As the minutes went by, I real
ized what had almost happened,
and what still might happen!
We didn't know about our
landing gear. The pilot didn't
want to toy with it because it
might work just once, and that
once had to count.
When we finally reached Pat
rick, we didn't bother with our
usual "break-away" over the
tower. It was a straight-in ap
proach. Ambulances and fire
trucks were standing by.
The panel lights "three in the
green" told us our wheels were
down and locked. Our landing
was pretty neat, considering the'
shape we were in.
Did being hit by a missile sour
me on "chase photography"? Not
at all. I was back chasing another
"bird" three days later, and I've
been doing it ever since.
Family Weekly, April 20, 195
27
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