I was the “student instructor” in a McDonnell Douglas RF-4C on February 19, 1980. During this mission, the instructor pilot, Captain Tom Carl, observed me performing basic instrument and aerobatic manoeuvres from the back seat. After completing an instrument approach to McIntyre ANG Base in South Carolina, we proceeded to the Shaw AFB Military Operating Area (MOA) for a series of aerobatic manoeuvres typical of student missions I would fly as an instructor.
As I later learned, certified instructor pilots can sometimes become quite bored during these missions. To relieve the monotony, and under the guise of “demonstrating” a manoeuvre, Captain Carl informed me that he was going to take control of the aircraft and demonstrate an accelerated stall. As a student, this was welcome since when the instructor is flying, the student is not being graded.
Captain Carl set up the manoeuvre perfectly and began smoothly applying “G” forces to the aircraft, which should have resulted in a “rocking” of the wings — a precursor to a full stall and the signal to relieve the “G” force by reducing back pressure on the control stick. However, the aircraft did not display the usual “wing rock.” Instead, it violently entered a barrel roll and then a flat spin.
Initially, I thought Captain Carl was demonstrating a situation that sometimes occurs in RF-4 student flights, which requires a quick instructor response. But as I heard his surprised voice and saw him quickly executing procedures to recover from the spin, I realised this was not planned. Unfortunately, the RF-4 was known to be incapable of recovering from a flat spin, as clearly stated in the pilot’s operating manual. Despite this, Captain Carl attempted the prescribed emergency procedures for a normal spin, but they proved ineffective.
For the first few seconds, I still assumed the spin was intentional and we would soon recover, noting how smooth the ride was despite descending at over 20,000 feet per minute. One of the steps in the “Spin Recovery” procedure was to deploy the drag parachute. As Captain Carl deployed the parachute, I thought about how embarrassing it would be to return to base with it having been deployed and jettisoned — something that rarely happens and is usually an awkward mistake by a pilot. Little did I know, mere seconds later, we would be “jettisoning” the entire aircraft.
Realising the aircraft was not recovering and seeing our altitude rapidly descend from 19,000 feet to under 9,000 feet, I recalled the pilot’s manual warning: “IF THE AIRCRAFT IS OUT OF CONTROL BELOW 10,000 feet AGL — EJECT.” At this point, Captain Carl advised me to prepare for a dual-sequenced ejection, which he would initiate from the front seat. I quickly responded, “I AM READY.” Having been in charge of a squadron life support section, I was remarkably familiar with the Martin-Baker ejection seat and trusted it completely.
Milliseconds after confirming my readiness, I gripped opposite sides of my flight suit to keep my arms tucked in for the ejection. As I did, I noticed the canopy separating from the fuselage. Unlike those who report seeing the aircraft drop away beneath them, I blacked out from the G-force. I remained fully conscious of what was happening but could not see until after the seat automatically separated from me.
Contrary to the Hollywood portrayal of ejections, I did not recover my vision and expertly grab the parachute risers. My arms hung by my side, and when I looked down, I was shocked to see a massive forest fire raging below. For a moment, I thought, “MY GOD — WHAT AWFUL LUCK! WE EJECTED FROM A MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR AIRCRAFT AND NOW WE’RE ABOUT TO LAND IN A FOREST FIRE!” I soon realised the fire had been ignited by the crashing aircraft, which fell directly beneath us while I was blacked out. I steered my parachute away from the flames using the four-riser line jettison technique. A few seconds later, I landed safely in a ploughed farmer’s field, which could not have been a better outcome, given how many times fate could have intervened.
The Martin-Baker ejection system worked flawlessly. I am forever grateful to the men and women whose dedication ensured my survival. A special thank you to my wife and daughter for encouraging me to take the time — after postponing it for over 40 years — to share this story.
As is customary in military aviation, every student mission is documented in a student logbook, detailing the mission objectives and how well (or poorly) the student achieved them. Captain Carl dutifully completed the entry in my logbook, describing the flight with what can only be described as the ultimate understatement: “Captain Fowler flew mission xxxx in the RF-4 Instructor Pilot syllabus today. The mission was ‘INCOMPLETE’ due to an out-of-control condition that resulted in the loss of the aircraft.” A massive understatement.
