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Today while I was going through some of my old school papers. I found this one about my encounter with a Russian Mig-29 back in 1991. I thought I would share it with any of you who are interested, sit back and enjoy the read.
It was 4:00 a.m. and that obnoxious alarm clock was echoing through my head. I could hear my roommates rolling out of their bunks. It was time to prepare for our fourth 12+ hour flight in five days. My roommates and I were members of the U.S. Navy; we belonged to Combat Aircrew 2 in squadron Vp-50. We flew on P-3's, the U.S. Navy's primary submarine hunter aircraft. I was the inflight ordnanceman in charge of the armament and ordnance systems as well as the inflight photographer.
After a frigid shower I got dressed and grabbed my flight gear. I met up with the rest of the enlisted men on my crew in the barracks lobby. As we waited for the duty van to pick us up we could see there was a nasty storm front moving in. Once the van arrived we piled in. The officers would meet us at the hanger as usual.
The squadron was deployed to Adak island, one of the islands in Alaska's Aleutian island chain. It was pitch black out. The temp was a baumy -10 degrees with wind gusts of up to 60 mph. We knew this would make the preflight, takeoff and the flight itself difficult.
Once at the hanger,the officers (O's) who had been waiting started harping on us for taking our sweet time. We had 3 1/2 hours to preflight the plane to get it mission ready. Normally it took us about half that, so we were not in a big hurry. Besides, we were sandbagging hoping the approaching storm would cancel the flight. No such luck. When the (O's) wanted to fly, we would fly.
The preflight went smoothly, although there was one little incident. As I was standing under the belly of the plane loading sonobouys, a large gust of wind hit the plane head on lifting it up on its landing gear. I was not paying close attention, and when the wind slowed the plane settled abrupted hiting me in the head. Knocking me half silly.
We boarded the plane and received our briefing about our upcoming flight. The past three flights were fuel burners, wild goose chases. The O's told us that a Russian sub was operating in the North Berring Sea. On the earlier flights we could not locate the sub.
"Listen ....we are heading north again. We have been told that there is a good hit on the sub this time. They want us to fly up and check it out." said the pilot.
The entire crew started to grumble, anticipating that we would fly up and find nothing.
With the plane fired up, we taxied to the main runway. The wind was picking up and really rocking the plane while still on the ground. Adak is one of the most dangerous places in the world to fly out of. Large mountains and volcanoes surround the runways, and at this particular time of the year the runway is icy.
We turned onto the runway, added power and the plane jumped into the air. It was extremely bumpy during the climb out, but that's why we were paid the big bucks.
The inflight tech, looked over at me and yelled, "They expect us to find a sub in this kind of weather?!"
Once we had arrived at our cruising altitude, part of the crew met in the galley area in the rear of the plane. One of the co-pilots jumped into one of the two bunks to rest before his turn at the stick. Four of us sat at the little dinette table and started to play Spades. While joking about how ridiculous it was for us to be expected to find anything much less a sub in this kind of weather.
" Do they actually believe the Russian sub is operating in this shit? Hell he's probably gone deep to sit this storm out." One crewman remarked.
Just as he finished saying that we hit a down draft dropping us several hundred feet. Everything in the plane not strapped down including us went airborne in the gravity free environment. The plane was trashed. There was food, paper, loose flight gear everywhere. We had to get everything picked up and tied down. If we hit another down draft that loose stuff lying around it could injure someone.
Three hours into the flight I had eaten some warm food and was feeling sleepy. Looking forward to a little snooze I spread out my sleeping bag on the floor of the plane next to my station. I zipped myself in and dozed off.
I felt someone kicking my feet and telling me that we were at our search area. After rolling up the old sleeping bag, I went to the cockpit and told the pilot the cabin was freezing. He told me they had to fly up to 32,000 feet to get over the storm.
We decended down to our search altitude. The storm was behind us. The sun was out and you could see for miles. No sooner than we had reached our search altitude one of the pilots spotted the sub running on the surface.
The pilot dropped us down to 200ft. above the water which is our on-station operating altitude. We started spitting out sonobouys all aound the sub. I was called back up to the cockpit to take intel photos of the sub.
It wasn't long before the sub decided that they had, had enough. Over the planes intercom the pilot alerted us that sub was going under. We needed to stay sharp and keep on our toes. The sub commander was going to try and shake us loose. We weren't concerned. Since we had been assembled as a crew, we had never lost contact with a sub.
During the chase our navigator doesn't have much to do, and must have fallen asleep. Unknown to us we had slipped into Russian airspace. OOOPS. We realized this when a strange monotoned voice crackled into our headsets.
"Ife-ory eagle, Ife-ory eagle state chore intentions!!!" The cold monotoned voice repeated several times while we tried to figure out if he was talking to us.
Then our electronics operator yelled out that we were being tracked by several radar sites. Well a cold chill ran up my spine.
"I'm getting something else mixed in with the ground radar stations. I believe it's an aircraft." the operator yelled out.
The pilot asked. "Is he up?"
"Not that I can see on our radar!" replied the sensor operator.
In a matter of a few seconds we went from being the hunter to the hunted. I couldn't believe this could happen. Yes I could make out some mountains along the Russian coastline, but I didn't think we were in there airspace.
Out of nowhere the eletronics operator yells out, "Holy fuckin shit I've got a fast moving target on radar!!!!"
"What direction?" the pilot inquired.
"Heading 2-7-0, and coming fast."
In seconds a Russian MIG-29 was all over us. This pilot was not very friendly towards us Americans. He approached us from our six (tail), went under us then climbed out hard infront of us. We were caught in his jet wash. The turbulence threw us around and we momentarily lost our airflow, we dropped like a brick. He did this several times, we had lost a couple hundred feet of altitude. The Mig then started to come at us head on several times. I about shit my pants the first time he did this. The navigator called out begging for some assistance. The MIG pilot repeatedly buzzed us forcing us through his turbulence. Several of us thought this guys wants to force us into the sea.
In the back of my mind I could see the Navy telling my wife we were lost at sea because of engine failure or something mechanical. They would never tell her a MIG forced us into the sea. She would never know the truth. The water temp was so cold even with our survival suits we wouldn't last an hour before we would die of exposure.
The MIG shot by again. We were terrified, but we were all at our stations calling out his position to the pilots so they could fly as best as they could. Several times he locked on us with his missiles. We tried everything we could to shake him. We went as fast as we could and as slow as we could, but to no avail. How could our old 1950's designed turboprop out fly a Russian MIG-29? It never would.
With all of the excitment the radar operator hadn't noticed two more targets approaching us.
"Sir, radar. I have two more aircraft approaching fast. They are ours!" he called out.
"Distance?" shouted the pilot.
"Twenty eight nautical miles and closing quickly. You should see them off your two oclock." he answered.
The tension on our plane was so thick you could cut it with a knife. One of the crew was on the floor praying. I thought that seemed like a great idea. Thirteem of the most fearless, cockiest flyers the Navy had ever trained were turned into quivering little boys that day.
The MIG rolled towards us beginning another approach. I don't know if he saw the approaching F-15s or if they locked onto him. There was a thunderous boom as the MIG shot over top of us this time. I jumped out of my skin, for a second I thought he has shot us down. Then I realized he had gone supersonic to flee from the Eagle drivers. Hot on his tail the F-15s shot over us.
It had been about 30 minutes since we had first sent out a distress call requesting some assistance. It was here and in a big way to fully armed F-15 Eagles. The Air Force had come to our rescue. I knew we would never live this down. A Navy plane crew having to be rescued by the Air Force, you have to love those inter-service rivalries.
Our egos quickly recovered, we all boasted that we weren't scared and knew we would be fine. That was a load of bull and we all knew it.
The F-15s came along side of us. Everyone took a turn at giving them a thumbs up. I still don't know where they came from. Japan? Atka? Elmendorf? who cares I'm glad they were there.
No one slept on the flight back home. The adrenaline was pumping. I don't think there was a single sole on that plane who wasn't ready to land. Thankfully the storm was had moved on. The weather up there can change at the drop of a hat. I don't think any of us could have flown through that storm again after our tango with the MIG.
When we finally arrived back in Adak, it seemed like the whole squadron was there waiting on us. Word had spread about our little MIG encounter. We were treated like kings. Another crew downloaded our plane for us. There was beer on ice waiting for us in the hanger. To be honest I was hoping for something a little stronger that beer.
Back at the barracks we bragged and boasted to everyone who wanted to hear about our MIG intercept. I hit the rack late that night. Before I knew it that damn alarm clock was going off. Another day another flight.
For years after this happened my wife thought this was a sea story. But, after the Chinese fighters collided with the EP-3 spy plane causing it to land in China a couple of years ago. She became a believer.
My old crew still owes those two Eagle drivers a case of beer each. We never were able to locate which base they scrambled out of.
It was 4:00 a.m. and that obnoxious alarm clock was echoing through my head. I could hear my roommates rolling out of their bunks. It was time to prepare for our fourth 12+ hour flight in five days. My roommates and I were members of the U.S. Navy; we belonged to Combat Aircrew 2 in squadron Vp-50. We flew on P-3's, the U.S. Navy's primary submarine hunter aircraft. I was the inflight ordnanceman in charge of the armament and ordnance systems as well as the inflight photographer.
After a frigid shower I got dressed and grabbed my flight gear. I met up with the rest of the enlisted men on my crew in the barracks lobby. As we waited for the duty van to pick us up we could see there was a nasty storm front moving in. Once the van arrived we piled in. The officers would meet us at the hanger as usual.
The squadron was deployed to Adak island, one of the islands in Alaska's Aleutian island chain. It was pitch black out. The temp was a baumy -10 degrees with wind gusts of up to 60 mph. We knew this would make the preflight, takeoff and the flight itself difficult.
Once at the hanger,the officers (O's) who had been waiting started harping on us for taking our sweet time. We had 3 1/2 hours to preflight the plane to get it mission ready. Normally it took us about half that, so we were not in a big hurry. Besides, we were sandbagging hoping the approaching storm would cancel the flight. No such luck. When the (O's) wanted to fly, we would fly.
The preflight went smoothly, although there was one little incident. As I was standing under the belly of the plane loading sonobouys, a large gust of wind hit the plane head on lifting it up on its landing gear. I was not paying close attention, and when the wind slowed the plane settled abrupted hiting me in the head. Knocking me half silly.
We boarded the plane and received our briefing about our upcoming flight. The past three flights were fuel burners, wild goose chases. The O's told us that a Russian sub was operating in the North Berring Sea. On the earlier flights we could not locate the sub.
"Listen ....we are heading north again. We have been told that there is a good hit on the sub this time. They want us to fly up and check it out." said the pilot.
The entire crew started to grumble, anticipating that we would fly up and find nothing.
With the plane fired up, we taxied to the main runway. The wind was picking up and really rocking the plane while still on the ground. Adak is one of the most dangerous places in the world to fly out of. Large mountains and volcanoes surround the runways, and at this particular time of the year the runway is icy.
We turned onto the runway, added power and the plane jumped into the air. It was extremely bumpy during the climb out, but that's why we were paid the big bucks.
The inflight tech, looked over at me and yelled, "They expect us to find a sub in this kind of weather?!"
Once we had arrived at our cruising altitude, part of the crew met in the galley area in the rear of the plane. One of the co-pilots jumped into one of the two bunks to rest before his turn at the stick. Four of us sat at the little dinette table and started to play Spades. While joking about how ridiculous it was for us to be expected to find anything much less a sub in this kind of weather.
" Do they actually believe the Russian sub is operating in this shit? Hell he's probably gone deep to sit this storm out." One crewman remarked.
Just as he finished saying that we hit a down draft dropping us several hundred feet. Everything in the plane not strapped down including us went airborne in the gravity free environment. The plane was trashed. There was food, paper, loose flight gear everywhere. We had to get everything picked up and tied down. If we hit another down draft that loose stuff lying around it could injure someone.
Three hours into the flight I had eaten some warm food and was feeling sleepy. Looking forward to a little snooze I spread out my sleeping bag on the floor of the plane next to my station. I zipped myself in and dozed off.
I felt someone kicking my feet and telling me that we were at our search area. After rolling up the old sleeping bag, I went to the cockpit and told the pilot the cabin was freezing. He told me they had to fly up to 32,000 feet to get over the storm.
We decended down to our search altitude. The storm was behind us. The sun was out and you could see for miles. No sooner than we had reached our search altitude one of the pilots spotted the sub running on the surface.
The pilot dropped us down to 200ft. above the water which is our on-station operating altitude. We started spitting out sonobouys all aound the sub. I was called back up to the cockpit to take intel photos of the sub.
It wasn't long before the sub decided that they had, had enough. Over the planes intercom the pilot alerted us that sub was going under. We needed to stay sharp and keep on our toes. The sub commander was going to try and shake us loose. We weren't concerned. Since we had been assembled as a crew, we had never lost contact with a sub.
During the chase our navigator doesn't have much to do, and must have fallen asleep. Unknown to us we had slipped into Russian airspace. OOOPS. We realized this when a strange monotoned voice crackled into our headsets.
"Ife-ory eagle, Ife-ory eagle state chore intentions!!!" The cold monotoned voice repeated several times while we tried to figure out if he was talking to us.
Then our electronics operator yelled out that we were being tracked by several radar sites. Well a cold chill ran up my spine.
"I'm getting something else mixed in with the ground radar stations. I believe it's an aircraft." the operator yelled out.
The pilot asked. "Is he up?"
"Not that I can see on our radar!" replied the sensor operator.
In a matter of a few seconds we went from being the hunter to the hunted. I couldn't believe this could happen. Yes I could make out some mountains along the Russian coastline, but I didn't think we were in there airspace.
Out of nowhere the eletronics operator yells out, "Holy fuckin shit I've got a fast moving target on radar!!!!"
"What direction?" the pilot inquired.
"Heading 2-7-0, and coming fast."
In seconds a Russian MIG-29 was all over us. This pilot was not very friendly towards us Americans. He approached us from our six (tail), went under us then climbed out hard infront of us. We were caught in his jet wash. The turbulence threw us around and we momentarily lost our airflow, we dropped like a brick. He did this several times, we had lost a couple hundred feet of altitude. The Mig then started to come at us head on several times. I about shit my pants the first time he did this. The navigator called out begging for some assistance. The MIG pilot repeatedly buzzed us forcing us through his turbulence. Several of us thought this guys wants to force us into the sea.
In the back of my mind I could see the Navy telling my wife we were lost at sea because of engine failure or something mechanical. They would never tell her a MIG forced us into the sea. She would never know the truth. The water temp was so cold even with our survival suits we wouldn't last an hour before we would die of exposure.
The MIG shot by again. We were terrified, but we were all at our stations calling out his position to the pilots so they could fly as best as they could. Several times he locked on us with his missiles. We tried everything we could to shake him. We went as fast as we could and as slow as we could, but to no avail. How could our old 1950's designed turboprop out fly a Russian MIG-29? It never would.
With all of the excitment the radar operator hadn't noticed two more targets approaching us.
"Sir, radar. I have two more aircraft approaching fast. They are ours!" he called out.
"Distance?" shouted the pilot.
"Twenty eight nautical miles and closing quickly. You should see them off your two oclock." he answered.
The tension on our plane was so thick you could cut it with a knife. One of the crew was on the floor praying. I thought that seemed like a great idea. Thirteem of the most fearless, cockiest flyers the Navy had ever trained were turned into quivering little boys that day.
The MIG rolled towards us beginning another approach. I don't know if he saw the approaching F-15s or if they locked onto him. There was a thunderous boom as the MIG shot over top of us this time. I jumped out of my skin, for a second I thought he has shot us down. Then I realized he had gone supersonic to flee from the Eagle drivers. Hot on his tail the F-15s shot over us.
It had been about 30 minutes since we had first sent out a distress call requesting some assistance. It was here and in a big way to fully armed F-15 Eagles. The Air Force had come to our rescue. I knew we would never live this down. A Navy plane crew having to be rescued by the Air Force, you have to love those inter-service rivalries.
Our egos quickly recovered, we all boasted that we weren't scared and knew we would be fine. That was a load of bull and we all knew it.
The F-15s came along side of us. Everyone took a turn at giving them a thumbs up. I still don't know where they came from. Japan? Atka? Elmendorf? who cares I'm glad they were there.
No one slept on the flight back home. The adrenaline was pumping. I don't think there was a single sole on that plane who wasn't ready to land. Thankfully the storm was had moved on. The weather up there can change at the drop of a hat. I don't think any of us could have flown through that storm again after our tango with the MIG.
When we finally arrived back in Adak, it seemed like the whole squadron was there waiting on us. Word had spread about our little MIG encounter. We were treated like kings. Another crew downloaded our plane for us. There was beer on ice waiting for us in the hanger. To be honest I was hoping for something a little stronger that beer.
Back at the barracks we bragged and boasted to everyone who wanted to hear about our MIG intercept. I hit the rack late that night. Before I knew it that damn alarm clock was going off. Another day another flight.
For years after this happened my wife thought this was a sea story. But, after the Chinese fighters collided with the EP-3 spy plane causing it to land in China a couple of years ago. She became a believer.
My old crew still owes those two Eagle drivers a case of beer each. We never were able to locate which base they scrambled out of.
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