Preparation moved forward with the
usual Navy precision. This was the last practice day before the show. The
Florida weather was its usual balmy self with high cumulus clouds and a light
southeasterly wind. Dick’s plane
captain, Chief Daniel David, busied himself with final prep. “Everything is four-oh really,” he thought
to himself, his fussing mainly habit.
Shortly after six Dick pulled into his reserved spot by the fence. As he climbed out of his car, Dick heard a
Hornet running at ground idle. Chief
David saw him. The two exchanged salutes
but relaxed after that.
“Thanks for coming down early Mr.
Cheye,” said David.
“No problem Danny, what’s up?”
Always drops handles, thought David
appreciatively. Not like most of these-carrot-up-the-butt
types. “Wellsir, Number 8's due for some
down time and. . .”
“That’s no problem Danny,” Dick
interrupted. “I can fly the back up.”
Chief David let out his
breath. “That’s her you hear running,
just a systems check,” he said. “Figured
you like a familiarization hop before practice.” The Chief knew his boss.
As Dick taxied toward the duty
runway for takeoff, the plane thumped and jostled as it rolled over the expansion
joints in the concrete. It was already getting hot and he was thankful that
Danny had turned on the cockpit AC. His blue flight suit and gloves contrasted
sharply with the yellow inflatable survival vest worn as a concession to
Pensacola’s inevitable over water flights.
He ran down the checklist and asked the tower for takeoff clearance. Traffic
was light at oh-six twenty so the wait was brief. Dick turned the F18 onto the
runway and braked to a stop. With his left hand Dick advanced the throttles to
the stops and toggled the IFF to transmit.
The engines spooled up to military
power and the nose dipped as thrust compressed the nose-gear oleo. Dick waggled
the stick gently, checked his mirrors for stabilator movement and waited for peak
engine temps. Satisfied, he released the brakes to begin his roll.
The nose oleo rebounded and the
Hornet gathered speed. The expansion
strip thumps came faster and faster. When the needle on the airspeed indicator
reached 165, Dick eased back on the stick and the nose came smoothly off the
ground. The thumping stopped. The
landing gear came up followed by the flaps and slats as the fighter worked its
way through 200 knots. They flashed out over Little Lagoon, already dotted with
fishing boats, then went vertical when they cleared the beach. The plane
performed flawlessly as Dick worked through a short routine. After about twenty minutes he turned and dove
for the beach. The wind had shifted around to the North so the tower directed
him to an over water approach. Five
miles out, he dropped the gear to scrub off speed, eased out some flap and
lowered the slats. Though not at sea, Dick instinctively checked for a safe
hook indicator. As he looked back up, his vision swam. Thinking he was
experiencing vertigo, Dick dropped his head again and closed his eyes. That was when the impact occurred.
The Hornet was designed to handle a
bird strike but the high angle of attack he was using proved his undoing. The
seagulls were sucked enmasse into both engines, with a couple lodged in the
port slat. Warnings whooped as the blue
jet began to stall and rolled over. Dick was staring straight down into a
cluster of boats. He could see them
pointing up, some were jumping over the side, for all the good it would do
them. Suddenly, control returned and Dick
snapped the plane upright. She was coming up from vertical, but Dick knew that
he had to keep pulling if he was going to save those people; he could not
eject. He decided to aim the dying jet
at the small island. If he hit on the backside, the dune would shield them from
the worst of it.
Witnesses said that the Dick’s ship
hit at about a 30-degree angle, probably at more than 250 knots. The impact
with the dune top snapped the nose off at the cockpit. The fuselage bent
forward, firing the pilot through the canopy like a canon shot. Somehow at the
last microsecond before impact, Dick had reflexively pulled the ejection
handle. The ejection rocket fired
augmented by the violent upward bending of the airframe, the pilot arced over
the North Island passage, across the boat yard and up toward the runway. The plane spent its energy in a huge
explosion, parts falling, as Dick had hoped, onto the side of the island
passage away from the boaters. As Dick
crossed the roadway the seat pack fell away creasing the roof of a FedEx van
just entering the base. The chute opened
parallel with the ground, like a drag chute.
Dick began to slide up the steep embankment at the south end of the
runway, arms and legs flapping, entangling unconsciously in the shrouds as he
was once again launched into the air.
His final inertia was spent in a ten-foot drop back to the tarmac he had
quitted only 20 minutes before.
