Library Reference Number: 137
Poorly Pilot
It was night over the North Sea - you guessed it, it was winter and the weather was rubbish! My Royal Navy exchange pilot and I were flying number two in a flight of two for the purposes of carrying out some routine night intercept training.
We had been split by the GCI controller and were heading north-east when my pilot asked if I was feeling alright.
Nice of him to ask, I thought!
I told him I was fine then inquired as to his health. He said he didn't feel very good and on further cross-examination, announced that he thought he was going to pass out!
'Ah ha!'
There's nothing quite concentrates the mind like an imminent parachute descent into cold inky blackness. For those unfamiliar with the F4 Phantom, there was only one stick in the majority of squadron aircraft. Even the one-aircraft-per squadron two-stickers had limited capability for complete independent flight from the rear seat and I wasn't in one of them!
We checked out the oxygen system and everything else that might influence the air in the cabin but everything seemed fine. I felt fine so it was more likely that the man up front had some sort of personal problem.
Like a shrink trying to encourage a potential suicide victim to remove the gun from the side of their head, I realised that I was going to have to keep the pilot awake by sheer talking! I never considered myself much of a talker - more the strong silent type! In addition to the mouth music, I would have to do everything possible to get the aircraft somewhere close to base without direct use of sticks, ropes, pulleys or bellcranks!
I advised the lead of our situation and asked him to join up with us and provide a visual reference for my pilot to follow. Meanwhile, we turned to face the coast which seemed an awful long way ahead of us and selected altitude and heading hold modes of the autopilot. If he passed out now, at least the aircraft would continue in the general direction of home. If the worst came to the worst, I would hopefully punch out over land. Unfortunately, the F4 did not possess any form of command ejection.
We discussed his symptoms; we talked about our wives and families. I told him a joke. Soon enough, the lead aircraft passed by slowly on our starboard and took up position a few hundred yards ahead of us. His friendly winking lights provided a beacon of hope to guide us home.
'Did I tell you the one about the Jaguar pilot? What's the difference between a Jaguar pilot and a 1000 lb bomb?'
There was a grunt from the front seat.
'Not all 1000 lb bombs are retarded!'
Range to the coast and to base reduced. Eventually, the lights of the runway appeared and we made a normal landing. A full emergency had been declared at base and we were both whisked off by an ambulance to the medical centre for examination but my pilot had recovered following the landing back at base and we were both quickly released.
It would be nice to provide a reason as to the pilot's feelings of incapacitation but there was none except for the possibility of hyperventilation brought on by stress.
It was quite late by the time I got home and my good wife was asleep in bed. I crept in quietly without putting on the light but she woke up.
'You back then? How was it?'
'I came rather close to ejecting tonight! My pilot nearly passed out.'
'I hope you don't have to get up too early in the morning?'
'Goodnight, darling!'