The Long Journey of the Turkish Huns
By J.R. Alley
Many of our society’s members, after retirement from their military careers,
went on to second careers flying civilian fighter jets (Sabres and/or Super
Sabres) operated by companies like Tracor Flight Systems in support of
military training or weapon systems development. Most of those members had
flown the Hun in their military careers, but J.R. is a notable exception—he
never flew the Hun before joining Tracor! Rather, he had a commendable
military career, beginning as an Air Guardsman, flying F-89Js after
graduating first in his class at pilot training. He was recalled to active duty in
1963 and assigned to Vance AFB as a T-33/T-38 Instructor Pilot. He escaped
to F-4s in 1966 and flew the Phantom for the rest of his storied career, retiring
in 1979. As J.R. puts it in his SSS Bio, “Flying the F-100 eluded me for my
entire Air Guard and Air Force career.” Well, as you will see in this tale, he
got his Hun spurs the old fashioned way—he earned them. Ed.
It was the middle of July, 1989, and I was flying
commercial from Las Vegas, Nevada to Ankara, Turkey. I
had met up with two other Tracor (formerly Flight
Systems, Inc.) pilots, Duke Fredricks from Mojave,
California and Larry Counts from Alamogordo, New
Mexico. I had agreed to be part of a three-man team to fly
three former Turkish F-100s all the way from Konya Air
Base, Turkey, across Europe, the North Atlantic Ocean to
Labrador and across Canada and the United States to
Tracor’s main base of operations at Mojave. Earlier that
year Tracor, with U.S. Army concurrence, had made
arrangements with the Turkish Air Force to buy and
transport 25 Turkish F-100s from their bone yard at
Konya to Mojave. There, they would be converted into
QF-100s to be targets for missile testing.
Tracor would send a maintenance team to Konya to
select three F-100s and make them airworthy. They could
then be flown to Mojave. I had only recently checked out
in the F-100, because I had never flown it during my Air
Force career. I had but 12 hours total experience in it, and
I was on my way to fly a Hun halfway around the world!
The last leg of our journey to Turkey was a severalhour-long, hot bus ride from Ankara to Konya. We arrived
safe and sound and went to the hotel where the Tracor
maintenance team was staying. We met up with their team
chief, Don Curtiss, who advised us it would be a few more
days before the three birds (a C, D, and F-model) would
be ready for functional check flights (FCFs). That gave us
time to get used to the area and work on our flight
planning for the long journey of the Turkish Huns.
Early the next morning, we jumped on our contract
bus for the ride to Konya AB a few miles north of the city.
As we pulled onto the north flight line loop where all 25
F-100s were parked, Duke, Larry and I looked at each
other in awe, and Don smiled. These Huns weren’t a very
pretty sight, but Don assured us that our three weren’t in
J.R. in a FSI Hun.
(Tracor had bought FSI.)
too bad of shape. But a lot of spare parts, including
engines, had to be cannibalized from other birds to make
our three operational. The three of us, besides doing our
flight planning, pitched in to assist the maintenance guys
in any way we could.
The weather was August hot, and the Turkish Air
Force hospitality was generous. We were served multicourse lunches at the officers club each day. Having to go
back to work on the hot flight line without some siesta
time was difficult, but the team worked through it.
Nearly a week after our arrival, Don said he was
ready for us to fly the FCFs. It was agreed that Duke
would fly the C, Larry the F (with Pete Hayward, a
mechanic, in the rear seat) and I would fly the D. If the
flight across the North Atlantic was anything like the
FCF’s, the trip would be more than just an adventure.
The TACANs (old ARN-21s) and the ADFs in all
three birds wouldn’t pick up any stations except for the
on-base Konya TACAN and the powerful commercial low
frequency stations up in Ankara. On landing roll from my
first flight in 3-888, I lost my drag chute, my brakes failed,
and the shoe on the tail hook broke off when I extended
the tail hook to engage the barrier. I had a rough trip off
the end of the runway at 100-plus knots for about a quarter
of a mile in a huge cloud of dust. The good side was the
landing gear held strong and there appeared to be no
damage to the aircraft. Another shoe was installed on the
tail hook, the brakes and the anti-skid were repaired, and
another drag chute was installed and inspected.
All the nav black boxes were taken back to the
Turkish shops and ops checked OK, same as before. We
felt second FCFs were required to build our confidence in
the aircraft and re-check the nav systems. Combined, the
two FCFs per bird were successful, aircraft-wise, but the
nav systems’ performance remained the same, very weak.
After some deliberation and coordination, it was decided
that we would fly the birds to Stansted Airport, just north
of London, and have an avionics company who had
experience on those older systems inspect and repair them.
Time had come to begin the long trip. Duke had been
coordinating the first leg of our trip with Flight Planning
International. He came to Larry and me with a big smile
on his face and said he had a plan and it was approved.
However, the USAF Wing Commander at Aviano AB
refused our request to land and refuel, but we were
approved to land at Falconera Airport, an Italian civilian
airport about 100 miles south of Aviano on the Adriatic
Sea. That still would put us in range of Stansted on our
second leg.
The weather was forecast to be reasonably good for
the next few days all the way to England. That sounded
good until Duke dropped the bomb on us. He said he had
received approval to fly across Bulgaria and Yugoslavia,
which was the most direct route to Falconera. Larry and I
looked at each other in amazement, and after some
emotional expletives, we asked Duke how we would keep
from being shot down. Duke assured us that all the
diplomatic clearances had been approved and there would
be no problems. At that time, there had been some serious
political problems between the Turks and the Bulgarians
over immigration. Here we come, flying former Turkish
fighters using our company tactical-type call signs; in this
case, “Hawk Flight.” That Bulgar-Yugo crossing was
going to be interesting to say the least. Larry, the eternal
pessimist, kept saying we all were going to die from being
shot down and rotting in a Bulgarian prison.
After all the emotions settled down, we decided to
give it a go. That afternoon, the maintenance team did full
engine runs and checked out all three birds. Everything
seemed ready for our departure the next morning, August
1, except we had no idea how the nav equipment would
work.
The Turkish Huns ready to begin the long journey from
Konya AB to Mojave, California.
Credit-Mike Freer
Our flight plan was filed, the weather was good, and
our bags were stowed in the former ammo bays along with
extra cans of engine oil, hydraulic fluid, a spare UHF
radio and an extra drag chute for each aircraft. Even
though Pete, our mechanic, would be with us, all three of
us pilots took lessons and practiced how to pack and
install drag chutes. The birds had two full 335s and our
oxygen systems were full, too.
It was time to strap-in and begin the long journey
with Larry leading in the F. We did not have the luxury
and safety of having an Air Force Air Delivery Group
representative with operational control over us to provide
flight plans, en-route maps, emergency rescue assistance
and mission monitoring. We did have a large send-off
party consisting of our team and a lot of Turkish base
personnel. Our takeoffs went well, we quickly joined up,
and we were on our way to Istanbul.
All went well until we tried to tune in the Istanbul
TACAN and NDB (Non Directional Beacon) stations.
None of us had any luck for some time. Finally, about 50
miles out, one of us, and then another, received the
TACAN, but this was not good performance for systems
that should lock on a high power station at 199 miles.
Approaching Istanbul, we began getting the NDB
identifiers and bearing information on our ADFs, but only
just before entering the cone of silence over the top of the
station. Shaky navs!
Istanbul handed us over to Bulgaria’s Sofia Control
as we entered the buffer zone between the two countries.
After Larry contacted Sofia and gave them our diplomatic
clearance number, the controller came back in a very
threatening voice, saying, “Hawk Flight, you are not
cleared into Bulgarian airspace. You turn around. You go
back now! Do you hear me?”
At that point, it sounded as if he was alerting the
Bulgarian Air Defense System for possible intruders. He
repeated that same transmission again. Larry immediately
turned us around and headed us back to Istanbul. Just as
we were leaving the buffer zone, we heard Sofia calling
Hawk Flight: something about having found our
clearance. But Larry had had it, and wouldn’t have
answered on a bet!
Since we didn’t have diplomatic clearance to fly over
Greece, we returned to Konya. Our maintenance team was
relieved that we were not aborting because of aircraft
problems, notwithstanding our poor nav equipment. With
the assistance of the Turkish General at Konya, we
received approval to over-fly Greece three days later, but
we had to fly a southern and longer route around the
islands to Falconera. We could not make it in one hop, so
we were approved to land at Cigli AB, a Turkish base near
Izmir on the Mediterranean coast, to refuel.
That leg was just over 200 miles. Surprisingly, we
were met and welcomed by what seemed like all the Cigli
Turkish base personnel. After we shut down our engines,
senior NCOs and pilots were putting our chocks in-place,
installing safety pins, hooking up grounding wires, and we
even had a fuel truck standing by to refuel. They had all
either worked on or flown F-100s years before and they
were excited to see the Huns again. They couldn’t believe
we were going to fly them all the way across the Atlantic
Ocean. We too found that hard to believe.
After a short time on the ground, we were fully
refueled, airborne and on our way to Falconera. With good
weather and cooperation from Greek and Italian airspace
controlers, we landed at Falconera with very little fuel to
spare. An Italian Flight Planning International
representative, who had coordinated our refueling,
servicing and hotel arrangements for the night, met and
greeted us. The refueling went well, but my oxygen
system had depleted to one liter remaining. There had to
be a leak, because the full five liters should have gotten
me nearly to the U.S. Our Italian rep said he could service
my system and we could make it on to England.
Shortly, a vehicle pulled up to my airplane with a
strange looking, milk bottle-shaped tank. Pete and all of us
scratched our heads; we had never seen a liquid oxygen
cart like that. The Italian servicing man looked puzzled
when he discovered that his hose fitting would not fit the
aircraft’s oxygen receptacle. Looking at the oxygen tank,
we saw the stenciled label said INDUSTRIAL OXYGEN,
not AVIATOR’S BREATHING OXGEN. That operation
was stopped immediately. Thank goodness the fittings
were not compatible, because that oxygen would have
totally contaminated my system. I told Duke and Larry,
with the one liter I had remaining, I could make it on to
Stansted.
Our rep met us early the next morning at the hotel
and drove us to the airport. He was excited to tell us he
had solved my oxygen problem. He had received approval
for us to land at Aviano AB and fill up. I shook my head
and told him no thanks; we could not do that. We had a
full load of fuel, and to burn it down for a landing just 100
miles north was not the answer. We were going on to
Stansted, England.
Our ground ops took a while because we had only
one power unit, and Pete had to do all three saddle-back
hydraulic checks after engine starts, and then strap in
Larry’s back seat. The flight across Italy, part of
Switzerland and France went well, except for having to
get used to the French controllers accents. It was a
pleasant feeling to enter British airspace and talk with a
Brit controller. When we landed at Stansted, there was a
lot of excitement among the Brits at the airport because F100s had been very popular in and over England for many
years.
Everyone was helpful in getting us parked and set up
for a couple of days. Don Curtiss had sent a small en-route
team to help us with our nav repairs and get us on our
way. Two days turned into four because the avionics
company had to pull the boxes and take them to their shop
for analysis and repair. After checking all systems and
wiring, up to and including the antennas, they told us our
equipment was not repairable. They were too old. That set
us back. We had to re-plan the really tough part of the trip,
agreeing that we would launch and take one day or flight
at a time.
(Note: We couldn’t make Keflavik, Iceland, in one
flight from Stansted because the distance was over 900
miles, and we were faced with 100-knot head winds. The
North Atlantic Region’s Shannon, Reykjavik and Gander
Oceanic Control Sectors would not permit us to fly above
27,000 feet unless we had dual long range navigation
systems and high frequency (HF) comm radios. The way
our systems were performing, we had ESRNS on-board
(extremely short range navigations systems) at best.)
At Stansted, our mechanic, Pete Hayward, works on our
“ESRNS” in the back seat.
Credit: Richard Vandervord
After four days at Stansted, with a few minor items
missing from the birds as souvenirs, we were sent on our
way by a large crowd of Brits standing and waving as we
taxied and took-off for Prestwick, Scotland. Not
surprisingly, our forecasted en-route weather conditions
required more flying under instrument conditions and
close formation. The drag chutes worked properly, but got
soaking wet. After our servicing was completed, we
installed our spare drag chutes, stowed the wet ones and
stayed overnight in beautiful Prestwick, where nearby
Royal Troon Golf Club is the periodic home to the British
Open Golf Tournament.
This day would be a long one because we hoped to
land, refuel at Keflavik and press on to Sondestrom AB,
which at that time was an American base located in a large
fjord on the west coast of Greenland. The weather
conditions at Kef were reasonably good with cloud
ceilings of 2,000 feet, two-three miles visibility, with
occasional rain showers and forecast to remain the same
for our landing time. Again, having only one ground
power unit, our engine start and ground ops took longer
than normal. Pete did the saddle-back checks again, got
strapped in, and was able to sit back and relax for the next
couple of hours. Once we left Scottish Mil Control in
northern Scotland, we had no voice contact with anyone
for several hundred miles. Finally, with the assistance of a
close-in TACAN lock-on and the help of air traffic
control, we landed at Kef in moderate rain with no
problems. Keflavik was a busy airport, but we did get our
refueling and servicing completed in short order, and we
were on our way to Sondestrom by mid-afternoon. We
wouldn’t have to deal with darkness that far north that
time of year. It would be light all night.
The flight to Sondestrom was nearly 700 miles and
we ended up in clouds or over an under-cast most of the
way. With limited TACAN reception to establish a good
track out-bound from Keflavik, we had to do some serious
dead reckoning (DR) to get us close to Sonde.
Additionally, we were out of UHF voice control for a
major portion of the flight. They had an Approach Control
Radar and two TACANs, one up on top of the fjord for
area navigation and one down in the fjord close to the
airfield for descending and final approach to landing.
When we were within 100 miles of Sonde, we made radio
contact with American G.I.’s. They identified our IFF and
offered us radar-controlled descents into Sonde. We gladly
accepted.
The uphill approach to Sondestrom was a welcome sight to
the Huns, as seen here from a C-124. Credit: Donald Huff
The airfield was in visual conditions so we made a
three ship low pass, at the tower controller’s request, and a
pull up to downwind. The runway was at the end of the
fjord with a good upslope for landing, and being dry, we
did not deploy our drag chutes. We taxied into the parking
ramp and were met by a Danish crew led by a gentleman
named Peter Bjerre. Peter and his crew were very helpful
in getting our birds serviced and put to bed for the night
and getting us set up in the Kangerlussuaq Airport hotel
positioned on the upslope of the fjord. I was down to less
than one liter of oxygen, but they would wait till the next
morning to service my system. Much of it could leak out
during the night. Peter offered to take our wet drag chutes
and hang them up to dry inside his maintenance building.
We could repack them the next morning before we
departed for Goose Bay, Labrador. That would give us the
two drag chutes we would need to get to Goose Bay and
on to Bangor, Maine for the next night.
Peter Bjerre met us early in the morning and said his
guys were servicing my oxygen at the time. All we had to
do was pack our drag chutes, file our flight plan, and we
would be ready for the 900-plus mile leg to Goose Bay.
Peter had two ground power units so our engine starts
wouldn’t take as much time, but Pete still had to do all the
saddle-back checks before we could taxi out. We said our
good byes to Peter and his crew, and we on our way. The
takeoff was opposite our landing direction, on the down
slope, and the weather was good for our join up and climb.
Our routing took us southbound down the Greenland
coastline to Godthab, then southwest for the long 700 mile
over-water leg direct to Goose Bay. Since we were still
flying in the Gander Oceanic Control airspace, we could
not fly above 27,000 feet.
We were outbound from Godthab for about an hour,
in the clear, all settled down in our wide three ship cruise
formation, when Duke called out that he had smoke in his
cockpit which was getting very hot, and he was shutting
down the cooling turbine to prevent possible engine
damage. That meant he lost his cabin pressurization as
well. Larry was in the lead and we immediately descended
to 18,000 feet. We were not in radio contact with any
agency, the weather was good, so we continued on to
Goose Bay because we had plenty of fuel remaining.
Goose Bay had been a former SAC base with a long
runway and good Radar Approach Control. We landed
without any difficulties, but it was evident that Duke
would not continue as planned until his cabin air turbine
was replaced. After coordinating with Mojave operations
for some time, it was determined that Larry and I would
continue on and Duke would fly commercial back home.
They directed that Pete fly commercial back to England
because one of our company F-100Fs had run off the end
of the runway at Hurn Airport south of London, and he
was needed to help with the repairs. Larry and I would be
by ourselves. That was okay because we were past the
long ocean crossings.
We did not have to use our drag chutes on landing at
Goose, so we were refueled, I had my oxygen serviced,
and we were on our way to Bangor, where we were met
by our company chief of maintenance, Stan Brooks. He
had all the paper work required to register the birds with
the FAA inspector at Bangor. After landing, and as we
taxied to parking, we could see the expressions on Stan’s
face as he looked at our two F-100s. He had worked on F100s during his Air Force career and for several years with
Flight Systems. He just shook his head in amazement that
we had come from far away Turkey. Our plan was that if
the inspection went satisfactorily, we’d over-night at
Bangor and three hop it on to Mojave the next day. By the
end of that afternoon, the FAA inspector gave us the
thumbs-up, and Stan spray painted the new U.S.
registration numbers on the side of each aircraft: N2011V
for Larry’s F and N2011U for my D. The numbers were
much larger than those normally required and were rather
unsightly, but I guess they fit in well with the condition of
the paint on the birds.
We all had a good Maine lobster dinner that night,
and a couple drinks before turning in early because we had
a long day ahead of us. To our dismay, the weather had
moved in overnight and the ceiling and visibility for our
departure time was less than 500 feet and one half mile in
light rain and fog and forecast to get worse and remain so
for a couple of days. We decided to take off with a good
thirty seconds separation and use Departure Control’s
radar vectors to keep us in-trail until we climbed on top of
the clouds. The clouds extended higher than forecast, and
we barely climbed into the clear by our cruise altitude.
Needless to say, there were moments of serious concerns
during that departure and climb. One good thing we
noticed was our TACANs received the higher-powered
ground stations from Goose Bay and Bangor at greater
distances from those we’d previously used. As we flew
around the southern Great Lakes area, we were back in
clear weather conditions and landed at Grissom AFB with
no problems.
On Saturday, August 12, we were refueled and on our
way to Tinker AFB, because we couldn’t fly the entire
distance from Grissom to Mojave. I gave up on refilling
the oxygen, with my usual one liter or less remaining,
since the leg to Tinker was a short one. The weather was
clear and the flight to Tinker was a piece of cake. With the
long runway at Tinker, we did not have to use our drag
chutes. The turn-around was quick, and we were soon into
our climb for the final leg of our journey. So far, both
birds were performing well, though that wouldn’t last
long.
When we were about an hour out of Tinker, Larry,
leading in the F model, called out that he had an engine
fire light. I quickly closed in tight to look him over, but
could see no evidence of smoke or fire. Larry pulled his
throttle back to see if the light would go out. I still saw no
smoke or fire. He said the light went out, and slowly
pushed his throttle forward to mil power and then backed
off to cruise setting. The light did not come back on. He
tested his circuit and it checked OK. We were not far out
of Holloman AFB, and we could have landed there, but
after talking it over, we decided to continue on to Mojave.
Google Earth view of Mojave, California, Tracor’s main base
of operations and home to three tired Turkish Huns…for a
long while. Then came resurrection day!
The weather was clear the rest of the way and it felt
good to be back in familiar flying territories. Finally, we
were in Edwards Approach Control’s airspace and began
our descent for landing at Mojave, just a short distance
from Edwards. We had strong cross winds during our
landing, but it was a good feeling to be on the runway rollout and then taxiing to the parking ramp. Saturday was not
a normal company work day, and two men were there to
meet and park us. One was a mechanic, and the other was
Tim O’Keefe Jr., who had retired from the Air Force and
recently joined our management staff. I noticed Tim’s
eyes as he was guiding me to my parking spot. He kept
looking at me and then back underneath my aircraft. After
I shut down and he put the ladder up for me, he said I had
hydraulic fluid pouring out of the underside of my bird.
We determined a line in my utility hydraulic system had
broken some time after I had lowered my landing gear and
before I had shut down the engine. How lucky I was to
have that happen after my final landing!
It was time to open up the panels, unpack, complete
the paper work, get a rental car, and make the drive back
to Las Vegas and home. I thought the long trip was over
for me and was looking forward to relaxing for a while.
But….
The following Friday, I received a phone call from
my boss, Jim Wood, at Mojave. He asked me if I would be
available to fly one of our company F-100Fs from Mojave
back to Decimomannu AB, Sardinia, Italy. Our target tow
operation for the German Air Force, managed by Jim
Brasier, required four aircraft to maintain operations.
After the one went off the runway at Hurn Airfield in the
U.K., and sustained considerable damage, it had to be
replaced. I asked Jim if that meant I would be flying by
myself, solo? He said I would, but I would have a
mechanic in my back seat. I needed some time to think
that one over.
I had to check with my military program boss, my
home boss (wife), and consider how I would do it with all
the planning required. It was late August and the weather
across the North Atlantic was still reasonably good. After
a couple of days, I called Jim and told him I would make
the trip and that I would need several days to do the
planning and coordinating. Then Jim told me it would be a
couple more weeks before they had the turbine cooler for
the C model at Goose Bay and would I, on my return from
Sardinia, go to Goose Bay and fly it to Mojave? I think I
went into overload at that time. I didn’t have that much
flying experience in the F-100 and I had never flown a Cmodel. It had no flaps, landed fast, and the electrical
system was different from the D and F-models. However,
that system was more like the F-86, in which I had a lot of
experience and was very current. Finally, I agreed.
On August 29, 1989, Neal Kendall, one of our
company aircraft mechanics, and I departed Mojave
Airport in the F-model for the long trip across the North
Atlantic. After fifteen hours of flying time, with periods of
serious concerns for safety, we arrived at Sembach AB,
Germany, four days later. The bird had to be inspected and
re-registered from the Experimental Category to the
Restricted Category by an FAA inspector before it could
be flown on to Sardinia. It did not pass the FAA
inspection and it would be several days before the
discrepancies were fixed. It was agreed that Jim Brasier
would come up and fly the bird back to Deci. Neal and I
would proceed on back to Goose Bay.
We were back at Goose Bay on the September 3.
The cockpit cooling turbine had arrived and was ready for
Neal to install. By the end of the next day, Neal had the
turbine installed. We made a very thorough engine ground
run and systems checks for several reasons. The aircraft
had sat there for nearly a month and there had been heavy
rains. Also, I had to get myself fully comfortable with the
cockpit and controls before I took off. On top of that, I did
not know if the TACAN would work and was now a
single ship, on my own. Maybe it would work better using
the higher-powered ground stations in the U.S. as did the
D and F-model’s TACANs. Early morning on September
5, I was on my way to Bangor to meet up with Stan
Brooks again. We would have to go through the same
registration process with the FAA that Larry and I did
before.
En-route to Bangor, I flew through some washed out
thunderstorms from the afternoon before. I didn’t think
much about it and I made sure my pitot heat was turned
on. Shortly after I penetrated the cloud, it became very
dark, but the turbulence was light and there was no
lightning. After a couple of minutes, I came out of the
dark area and could see my entire canopy was covered
with ice. I looked down at my instruments and I noticed
my airspeed read zero. I rechecked my pitot heat as On,
and turned on the engine guide vane and windshield heat.
All sorts of things began racing through my mind. If I
didn’t get my airspeed back, how was I going to land the
bird, especially with no flaps? It would be a matter of
good pitch and power control from a nice long straight-in
approach. After a few more minutes, I flew out of that
cloud and back into daylight, where I soon noticed the ice
melting off the canopy. I could see the leading edges of
the wings and they were covered with ice, but it was
melting too, and was finally gone. After several more
minutes contemplating my landing, I saw my airspeed
indicator needle pointed at what I hoped was the correct
indicated airspeed. I had to make sure that after I landed at
Bangor, Stan fully drained the pitot static system.
After I landed and met Stan, we went through the
aircraft inspection and registration process with the FAA
inspector. Super Sabre 3- 091 was now N2011M. The next
day I flew to Grissom and Amarillo Airport for refueling
stops, landing at Mojave late that afternoon. The long
journey of all the Turkish Huns was finally over!
One might ask, “What about the twenty two other
Turkish Huns that were to be brought to Mojave?” It so
happened that the U.S. Army backed out of the deal and
decided they didn’t want them after all.
The three Turkish F-100s sat on the Mojave flight
line for many years. After some time, the F-model was
bought, found a home in Fort Wayne, Indiana, was
beautifully restored, and is still flying. In discussions with
the owner’s mechanic, I learned the fire warning light
Larry had was a real hot condition. Considerable repairs
had to be made to fix the problem.
F and D-model Turkish Huns arrived Mohave first and later
became privately owned and operated.
Credit Roel Reijne
The D-model was later bought, fully restored, and
flown for several years. It is presently at Stead Airport, but
apparently has not been flown since 2007. The C-model
never flew again, and is now a beautiful static display at
the Yanks Air Museum at Chino, California.
The C-model Turkish Hun finally joined the F and D-models
at Mohave, and later morphed into a static display at Chino
in Northern California.
Credit Roel Reijne
As for me, I didn’t think I would ever be flying
across the North Atlantic again. But, in the middle of
October, 1992, we had another tragic crash of one of our
F-100s in Germany that killed a very good friend of mine,
Chuck Bradley. Again, I was asked if I would fly a
replacement F-model from Mojave to Wittmund AB, to
meet the four aircraft requirement of Harv Damschen’s
target towing operation. I agreed one more time.
It was into November when Pete Hayward and I
departed Mojave. We had to deal with snow at Goose Bay.
I fell off the wing twice sweeping snow and ice off the
wings. We looked down at icebergs over the North
Atlantic; it was colder than you know what at Sondestrom,
and we landed on an icy runway at night at Keflavik.
GPSs had been installed in our birds by that time and
navigation was now a piece of cake. The trip might have
been different without the GPS because the Air Force had
pulled out of Sondestrom and took the TACANs with
them. Sonde was now back to only a low frequency NDB
navigation facility. We did not have ADFs in our company
birds. After all was said and done, I guess I was the last
jock to fly an F-100C (Sept. 6 1989) and the only one to
fly an F-100 across the North Atlantic solo twice, if
having a mechanic in the back seat meets the solo
requirement.
As for my Turkish ferry-flight mates, Duke Fredricks
was killed in an F-4E crash while performing a fly-by for
a Bar Stooler Reunion at Pahrump, Nevada in the early
‘90s. Larry Counts, four days after he and I had returned
from a Navy Aegis missile exercise flying F-4s out of
Hawaii in March of 1997, had a fatal heart attack while
running. Pete Hayward, who flew two trips in our back
seats, works at Edwards AFB and lives in Tehachapi,
California.
I must thank Mr. Oguz Kugusoglu from Turkey who
provided the photo of the Turkish F-100 bone yard at
Konya AB, Turkey for the Spring 2010 edition of the
“Intake.” He was of great assistance in leading me to the
professional photographers who took pictures of our three
Turkish F-100s at Stansted and Mojave. I did not take
pictures during the trip, Larry and Duke did, but, sadly,
they are no longer with us. ◘
The End Games of the Turkish Hun Trio after their Long Journey
F-model Turkish Hun resurrected to flight operations duties
based at Fort Wayne, Indiana.
D-model Turkish Hun also resurrected to flight operations
duties for a time, now at Stead Airport. Credit: Steve Nation
C-model Turkish Hun morphed into a beautiful static display
machine at Yanks Air Museum, California.