17th Bomb Group

 Richard Ahrens

Navigator/Bombardier 34th Bomb Squadron, 17th Bomb Wing (Tactical)

Hurlburt Field, Florida

I graduated from Mather (B/RB57/66) on 18 July 1955 and was sent to the 34th Bomb Squadron at Hurlburt, arriving with shiny new wings and a total 294:05 hours of student time.

During the rest of 1955, I logged 48:50 hours in flights in B-26s, T-33s, and once in a T-29 while TDY back at Mather. These were all logged as observer or navigator, with O-1, O-2, O-9, O-13, O-14, O-15, O-16, O-17 and R-2 mission symbols (whatever they were).

In early 1956, I logged 86:50 in B-26 and T-33, and three B-57 flights. These were all logged as observer or navigator, with mission symbols of O-1, O-2, O-3, O-6, O-7, O-9, O-14, O-16, B-1, B-2, and X-3.

Parenthetically, there were three new navigation graduates and the rest of the navigators had come back from Korea with the squadron. The "old hands" were not about to let the new kids into the new shiny jet bombers unless they had to. Thus all the B-26 and transition T-33 time.

On 19 April 1956 I was transfered to Shaw AFB to the 43rd Tactical Recon Squadron. Shaw's B-57s had been grounded, so my time at Shaw started with C-45, T-33, T-29, and H-19 time. I was sent TDY to Lowry and got some B-25 time.

Back at Shaw, in October 1956, I finally went to work, in RB-66Bs, with time out for an RC-121, and several H-19, and L-20 flights. All of my 1957 time was in RB-66Bs, until I got out on 15 August 1957.

What did I know? From nothing. I enjoyed each and every flight. The B-26 flights were to keep the squadron sort of at "combat ready" until the transition was underway. The T-33 flights were for pilot transition to jets, and that was all fun. Many times, the pilots agreed upon where to meet, and did so to practice jet fighter tactics on each other.

The B-57 was a pilot's airplane par excellence. At half fuel and no armament it could be off the ground in 1200 feet and climb to 8000 feet by the end of a 10,000-foot runway. Landing at low to minimum fuel meant over-the-fence at 90 knots and stopped in 1200 feet. The English Electric version held the world's altitude record for eight years. One pilot with a cold took us up unpressurized to 55,000 feet so that he could empty his sinuses. The only navigation equipment we had was a Shoran that we were forbidden to turn on because it arced and started fires at altitude (obviously designed before high altitude aircraft became available). The navigator's compartment below, behind, and to the right of the pilot in the A-model was spacious and comfortable. I never did crawl out to the bombardier's nose window. Navigation: DR and radio-compass.

The RB-66 was just the opposite. It was not a pilot's airplane. Takeoff had to be calculated every time. At Albuquerque I calculated a 11,600 feet takeoff roll on a 11,200-foot runway. Then I calculated the indicated speeds at each 1,000-foot marker. The reject decision had to be made before the 3,000-foot marker in order to get it stopped before the end of the runway. It had a top altitude of 35, 000 feet. One pilot got one all the way up to 37,000 feet by putting out the flaps.

The navigator had everything he could possibly ask for. Good radar, and even Doppler radar (amazing for the day), a complete set-up for camera work, day or night with photoflash rockets or photoflash bombs, driftmeter, sextant port, full instrumentation. And the navigator, in back, could tell the pilot what he was doing badly on landing, for the pilot had no visual clues about how level he was holding the plane during descent.

Richard Ahrens

Navigator/Bombardier 34th Bomb Squadron, 17th Bomb Wing (Tactical)

Hurlburt Field, Florida

I was first stationed at Hurlburt Field, also known as Eglin AFB Auxiliary Number 9. The squadron I joined straight out of navigation school had just returned from Korea and was transitioning from the Douglas B-26, through the T-33, to B-57 Canberras. I was assigned to crew with Ralph Beaton, who was considered a crazy man, a wild Indian from Oklahoma, by the other navigators.

 After several introductory flights, I was requested to actually navigate the T-33 from Hurlburt Field to Houston, and return. Mission: climb to Mobile, cruise to Houston, return to Mobile, descend to Hurlburt, a few touch-and-goes for the pilot, debriefing for the new navigator.

A good takeoff, a good climb, found Mobile, gave Ralph a heading and ETA for Houston, so far, so good. Then Ralph started to roll the T-33 counterclockwise. We proceeded to Houston, continuously rolling. I noticed that whenever we happened to be right-side-up, the compass heading was dead on target. There was Houston right at my ETA. A nice 8G turn, and when I awoke I gave my heading and ETA to Mobile. We rolled clockwise continuously back to Mobile and arrived dead on target, right on my ETA.

At the debriefing, I described the bare bones of the flight to the lead navigator. Takeoff time, headings, ETAs, arrival times, weather observations, but not a word about flight attitudes.

The debriefer had only this one question, "How many rolls from Mobile to Houston?" Ralph may have been a crazy man, but he was predictable. Oh, by the way, the answer is 70.