The Bandido
"Star Light, Star Bright, Which Direction Will I Fly Tonight" (Chap 5 continued)
Chico was due for an OER, covering July 16 to October 31. Duty assignment, Flight Commander (1124A), John Taylor, the author:
Lt. Solis is a diamond in the rough individual. He is somewhat outspoken at times and on occasion shows a lack of tact and diplomacy. Considerable improvement has been made on this score during this reporting period. He is youthful in his exuberance, [and is] extremely interested in flying and his duties as flight commander. Lt. Solis consistently strives to improve himself and his knowledge of his job. He is a competent pilot, a cool and effective combat leader. Given more time he should develop into a well-rounded, very effective officer. This officer exercises to an above average degree of judgment in economical management of personnel and resources under his supervision, commensurate with his responsibilities.
Now, harken back to OER number one where Lenfest used words like immature, rash and impetuous … competent, cool, and effective were a world apart. I’m certain some wondered, shaking their heads, about his survival in the Air Force, not from an inability to fly, but actions. His exuberance after flight school wanting to prove his abilities precluded the use of discretion. At the time the above OER was written, Chico no longer feared the boot, while the words John used conjure up images of fighter-pilot cool. One secure in the knowledge he knew what he was doing. In six months, Chico had gone from constantly hearing “DAMN IT, SOLIS” to “Damn, Solis.” No more its, and, oh the inflection!
Combat also changed him into a leader and fighter. One focused on the mission, capable of leading flights into combat and returning. He’d survived earlier mishaps and transformed from a hotshot misfit to a full-fledged fighter pilot after having earned his wings. Chet’s initial impression: “He was almost as good as he thought he was.” And in six months, he had become so. Chet and Chico built a friendship lasting a lifetime. Both were flight commanders, highly experienced, and thought alike, understanding that flying combat required quick, instinctive thinking; while not allowing emotions to control one’s mindset was part of Lead’s job. Hierarchy dictated the other three in the flight depended on him to get the flight through. If Lead was out, Element commanded: redundancy to ensure survival.
Well, on one mission, Chet wound up with engine problems. In the process, he had to glide and land dead stick (no thrust) at K-13 to obtain repairs. Being terminally grounded engine-wise, he caught a ride back to K-2. Then the message came; the fighter was ready. He needed to pick it up. Chet: One time, I lost an engine north of the lines. I glided the airplane into K-13, put it on the ground, and a couple of days later, had a new engine installed. They told me to get the thing. I was in, ready to go, but I don’t think Chico was. Anyway, Chico and I were going up in a T-bird (T-33). It was instrument condition weather. We were both sitting in the cockpit right in front of operations while I was copying the instrument clearance. All of a sudden, the tip tanks dropped to the ground, sounding with a stereophonic clunk. I said, “What in the world happened there?” Well, Chico was moving around in the back seat and decided to look behind him. His knee hit the salvo button. We didn’t have tip tanks anymore, but fortunately, we were both in combat. That didn’t seem to be too big a deal. We had fun!
While some call it luck, others say God has His hands in things. Chet’s engine failure was one of those lucky moments, or, you know who got him into K-13. After completing a mission, Chet’s flight left the target area, climbing to altitude. At approximately 37,500 feet, he felt a terrible rumble. The fire warning light illuminated, and he shut down his engine. Over a hundred miles north of the frontlines, no thrust was not a good thing. The F-84 on a good day could glide maybe eighty miles from an altitude of forty thousand feet. In their ascent, the flight climbed through a layer of cirrus clouds. Chet, having lost all power, watched Three zip past as Element Lead radioed out, “What happened?” Chet informed him of engine failure and to alert air-sea rescue. If he couldn’t make it back over the frontlines, he’d turn west and bail over open water. Shutting off his electrical power, Chet utilized the altimeter, compass, and airspeed indicator. With three pieces of equipment, gliding, he wound up in a 250-knot jet stream tailwind.
Poking out of the clouds at twenty thousand, he crossed the frontlines at sixteen thousand sailing home, but having shut down electrical posed a problem; he could not communicate. Heading towards K-14, air-sea had launched a rescue plane, but Chet couldn’t see anything either because his canopy had iced over. Blind to the outside world, he was in the not so enviable position waiting for it to clear while descending into warmer air. As he neared K-14, the base nearest the frontline, he was still at fourteen thousand. He opted for K-13, another thirty miles south, including one brand new nine-thousand-foot-long gleaming white concrete runway. With his canopy finally clearing, K-13 came into view around eight thousand feet of altitude. Turning his electrical on to make radio contact, he turned 180 degrees north, put his gear down, and floated in heading north on the runway.
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So, even though Chet and Chico were “having fun,” others wished the same, especially when things went awry. During attacks, the skies were usually filled with MiGs hunting them, along with anti-aircraft and ground fire directed their way. It truly was a miracle anybody returned. We can think glory, skipping negatives, but needless deaths occurred. Families were destroyed because upper echelon wanted to forewarn. Instead of non-combatants vacating, more guns arrived, and fighter pilots paid the ultimate price by decisions made of those who did not have to partake:
“We seldom recovered pilots; they were either prisoner or killed. We had a bunch of guys we knew were alive when they hit the ground because they talked on the radio. We couldn’t get to them, and they never came out, they weren’t prisoners either. We had one guy, a friend of mine, Dom Martin, [who] got shot down. He bailed out, and we talked on the radio. They went up and looked for him and couldn’t find him; and the next day, they dropped a drop tank with survival stuff in it. He never came out and was never heard from again.
We had another pilot named Dick Voss. Everybody saw him and the airplane go in and didn’t see a parachute. He came out a prisoner. A guy went down one day, and we were talking to him on the radio. He was running up a hill. I guess he ran all the way up and said, ‘I can’t go any farther, I’m too tired, I’m beat.’ We never saw him again.” - Roland X. Solis
When Dick repatriated, his story surprised all. Flying close air support in Anne’s Bad Penny, he was shot down and bailed out over enemy territory. His parachute did not deploy until the last minute. Opened, it slowed his accelerated descent, keeping him alive but not enough from having both legs compound fractured. He was behind a hill when his chute opened, and he was given up as KIA (killed in action). He laid on the ground three days until the Chinese grabbed him, making him a POW (prisoner of war). There were more days still before he received any medical attention. By then, gangrene had set in. Dick watched while the Chinese placed maggots on his wounds to eat away the deteriorating flesh, allowing him to start healing.