Posted on 03/15/2008 7:18:33 PM PDT by struwwelpeter
Aircraft number 61-2664 was built in 1961 at Boeing's sprawling Seattle works in Washington state. A variant of the commerical 707 airliner, the aircraft was first fitted out to perform the tasks of weather reconnaissance for Military Airlift Command. She performed these tasks for almost a decade.
In 1972, WC-135 number 61-2664 was refitted to serve as a strategic reconnaissance platform. Dozens of other C-135s had been converted to comically long-nosed RC-135s over the decades, but 61-2664 was to join a specially small fraternity: Cobra Ball. Two RC-135 S-models were produced, both stationed at Eielson AFB, Alaska. Their highly classified mission: await satellite confirmation of missile launches from Soviet test ranges in Kazakhstan, then dash from their staging base in the Aleutians and fly as close to the impact area on the Kamchatka Penninsula as Soviet air defenses would allow.
On a normal mission, eighteen crewmembers manned the "Ball." On the flight deck were two pilots and two navigators. The "co-pilot" of the aircraft was an already experienced C-135 pilot, learning the idiosyncrasies of these heavy, off-balance reconnaissance platforms. The double navigation crew was to prevent errors, since mistakes in position could be lethal in the areas where they would fly.
Nine electronic warfare and reconnaissance systems officers, called "Ravens", sat facing the starboard (right) side of the aircraft, manning a bank of consoles running along that side. In front of the Ravens were racks of cathode-ray tubes and radio tuners, analyzing radar signals intercepted by dozens of lumps and bumps protruding from the skin of the aircraft. Also on the starboard side, between the flight deck and Raven postions, were large windows fitted with special optical equipment. These were for observing and recording Soviet missiles as they re-entered the atmosphere, and analysis of the missiles' spectra provided insights into the construction of the Soviet weapons. To reduce interference from glare, the starboard side wing was painted black.
At the Raven's immediate right sat the enlisted crew, their positions almost back to the tail. A Morse operator, several linguists, and a cryptographic specialist monitored the radio frequencies of the Soviet air defenses, attentive to activities which could endanger the mission - and their own lives. Though most missions were almost routine, during the four-decade history of the Cold War more than forty military aircraft were lost taking part in the "Peacetime Aerial Reconnaissance Program."
Past the liguists, in the very rear off the aircraft, by the galley and head, sat a busy in-flight maintenance crewmember. During many missions he almost continually hurried from position to position in order to keep the "Ball's" sophisticated and crotchety electronics on-line.
For almost a decade, Cobra Ball II logged tens of thousands of flying hours in the "sensitive" area of the Kamchatka missile test range. After thousands of secret missions, she brought her crews home safely. Yet, though Cobra Ball's radios and radars may have given her the advantage over SAMs and interceptors, the unforgiving weather of the far north could not be outsmarted.
Cobra Ball's forward base, tiny Shemya, was the closest US installation to the Kamchatka penninsula. A tiny volcanic island at the far end of the Aleutians, Shemya was home to some of the worst weather in the world. Here the cold waters of the Barents Sea meet the warm Japan current. Fog with sixty knot winds - a meteorological impossibility - were commonplace on "the Black Pearl of the Aleutians."
On March 15th, 1981, Cobra Ball II departed Eielson AFB, Alaska, with twenty-four souls on board. The crew had spent a sleepless night on alert, waiting for weather at Shemya to clear. Ironically, their quarters were Amber Hall - named for a reconnaissance aircraft which had disappeared without a trace over the Bering Sea twelve years earlier.
A KC-135 tanker aircraft proceded the "Ball" by three hours, landing in good weather. By the time the Ball started her descent, however, the weather was going bad quickly, and Shemya was now below minimums with fog, blowing snow, and sleet. Strong crosswinds also complicated the situation.
Shemya tower cleared the aircraft to land in marginal conditions. Wracked by turbulence, she descended through the pitch-black murk, seeking a tiny rock among the heaving seas. Over the interphone, the crew heard someone on the flight deck shout that they were too low and off to the left of the runway. Too late to take it around, the pilot started a shallow right turn, but the big reconnaissance plane was just too heavy. The black starboard wing of Cobra Ball struck the ground at over two hundred miles per hour, her number three and four engines exploding on impact. The big jet careened down the runway, mortally wounded. Overweight with tons of electronic equipment never invisioned by draftsmen at Boeing, the aft fuselage broke off, miraculously sparing more than a dozen men from the ensuing explosion and fire. These "back enders" were strewn over the snow-covered landing strip, still strapped into their seats.
Technical sergeants Gerke and Wood were among the lucky ones to find themselves suddenly outside the aircraft. Wood's first thought as he regained consciousness was to get as far away from the burning wreck as quickly as possible. As he was struggling to his feet in the knee-deep snow, he thought he heard a cry for help from the debris. Straining to hear in the howling wind, he heard it again. It was Lieutenant Loren Ginter, an electronic warfare officer who sat a few positions from Wood. Ginter was still trapped in a part of the ruined fuselage, covered with burning fuel. Wood, in spite of severe injuries, made his way through the blowing snow. In pain from four broken ribs, and on the verge of unconsciousness, Wood did not have the strength to pull the big lieutenant out of the flames. Instead, he tried to put out the fire by throwing snow on the burning officer.
A few feet away, Gerke came to. He released the safety belt holding him to his seat and started uncertainly through the waist-deep snow-drifts toward the lights of approaching rescue vehicles. Over his shoulder, he noticed shadows backlit by flames in the wreck. Disregarding his personal safety, he hurried to their assistance.
Gerke told Wood to grab Ginter's shoulders and pull while he worked to free the lieutenant's legs. With the lieutenant almost free, a second explosion hit Gerke full in the face, inflicting severe burns and blowing him completely out of the torn fuselage.
Ignoring the pain, Gerke made his way back to the crash scene and continued working on the trapped officer. Somehow he and Wood managed to drag the lieutenant out of the fire. Then, while Wood remained with the critically injured man, Gerke fought his way through the heavy, wet snow toward the oncoming rescue vehicles.
Only after he was sure the rescue crews knew where to find Wood and Ginter, Gerke allowed himself to be taken to the base dispensary. Medical technicians did what they could to care for Gerke's burns, which threatened to cut off his breathing, and for Wood's and Ginter's injuries.
Because of the small size of Shemya's permanently assigned base contingient, only two emergency medical technicians were on the island to treat the critically burned and injured crewmembers. They worked through the night with their limited resources, resting only after being relieved by physicians flown in the next day, after the weather had improved.
Technical Sergeant Wood was able to return to duty in a month, but Gerke spent months at the burn clinic of Letterman Army Medical Center in San Francisco, and finally invalided from the service. Lieutenant Ginter, for whom they had risked their lives, succumbed to his injuries, the sixth to die from the crash.
Shortly after the tragedy, a monument was placed on Shemya as a memorial to the aircraft and its crew, and another C-135 was converted to the Cobra Ball configuration. The mission was to continue.
In 1994, however, a presidential directive ordered the cecessation of such "special reconnaissance" missions from Shemya, and the island and its facilities were to be given to native tribes in the region. Thirty-one year Cold War history of Cobra Ball operations from Shemya was over.
Before the handover, Cobra Ball II's marker was transported from Shemya to Offutt Air Force Base, and rededicated on the fifteenth anniversary of the crash. It now it resides in the main hallway of the 97th Intelligence Squadron in a special place of honor.
God Bless all the people who made the program work.
Cold Warriors BTTT !
The Cold War military has been disparaged by some, but it should be recognized instead for what it was: A guardian of the free world while most others slept.
The men who were injured and whom died in this accident, as well as those who displayed bravery as real as any warrior under fire deserve to be remembered with respect.
Wasn’t there a Cobra Ball flight up on Sept 1, 1983, the night KAL007 was shot down by the Russkies?
Thanks for posting this. I worked on some of the on-board software for RJ/Cobra Ball/Combat Sent as a young engineer with E-Systems in Greenville, TX. It was amazing how cramped that huge plane was due to all the equipment crammed on board. Some of my senior colleagues got to go on test flights and a select (unlucky?) few even went to Shemya. Thank goodness I didn’t have enough knowledge or experience to get sent on those trips.
How did I manage to miss that Bastard Bill giving away Shemya AFS?
As our great nieces would say "Oh Man".
I can still see 664 sliding down the runway on fire after all these years. I also have a dream about going back to Shemya one in a while, no nightmares, just dreams. It was 27 years ago but the mememory is still vivid. You really can’t explain to someone who wasn’t there or especially one who hasn’t served how it was. Looking to hear from anyone who was there. RIP Ball and Crew.
Steve Hiott (Crew Chief, April 1980 to the end)
I was an Instructor Nav 1 on The Ball from 1974 - 1976. When I heard about Ball II’s demise, it felt like I had lost a very close friend. I still feel that way today.
Operating from “The Rock” was very difficult due to the rapidly changing weather conditions. One night, the first approach to landing was in solid overcast and we broke out looking up at very “red-over-red” approach lights and a severe crosswind. We went around and the second approach was in severe clear and totally calm winds to a VFR landing. From “missed approach” to “final landing” took a total of about 10 minutes! Another time we took off in an absolute, 100 knot head wind. No kidding ... the pilots’ normal “90 knot” airspeed cross check was at 100 knots, and completed before brake release! With “rotate” around 130 knots, we had a very short ground roll. But with all of the challenges we faced, the crew members I flew with were dedicated to doing what it took to accomplish the mission ... safely!
Steve, I concur with you when you say, “RIP Ball and Crew.”
IIRC, there was a Captain King who was the aircraft commander of that flight. I had flown with him out of Eielson and Elmendorff a few times. He was stationed at Offutt in Omaha, NE. I remember him as a nice guy and an excellent pilot. I couldn’t believe that he was in a crash. That guy was in the air more than on the ground. I don’t know what ever happened to him.
32-year bump.
Nother bump.
Please see:
http://www.rc135.com/0023/INDEX045.HTM
For personal account of the accident along with updates.
The story, Cobra Ball II’s Last Flight, is not entirely precise. This is certainly understandable as there was much confusion during and post crash. Going through King Hawes’s library of reports is really the best way to fully understand. The actions of the two airmen were incredibly brave, but Lt. Ginter was not really pulled anywhere. Loren was a big man. What seemed to be movement away from the wreckage was actually the wind keeping flames off due to the fact the aircraft fuselage had turned 180 degrees, and, thus, the sheared off end of the fuselage was facing into the heavy wind. Lt. Ginter was found by fellow MT and his own instructor, Capt Van Horn (I came in after Bill) actually next to his crew seat, but when the entire section was a mangled, strewn mess, where the fuselage ended and the environment began was pretty loose. There was a debris field around and the scene was a horror of twisted burning metal, fuel, snow drifts and so on. The bravery of the two airmen ended with getting Loren out of his chair, and that was bravery enough, especially considering the wounds and the conditions. Without the actions of getting Loren free, the result actually would have resulted in more deaths as others would have been involved in getting that action done just as the main explosion hit. The story’s omission of the actions of a number of others does the truth of that night no justice. No mention is made of the incredible bravery of Captain Jim O’Leary and others, for example. Or Homer Hall’s quick reaction to jump up and open the overwing hatch in time to prevent a pile up and those folks caught up in the explosion is an action of where coolness under pressure and training kick in. Lives were saved by this single, swift, sure act. That is why sites, such as King’s, allows for the full facts to emerge as time and reports and other input processes combine to create the true mosaic of events. No one single account can adequately tell the story. People like King and Steve and Rob Jensik, and Robert Brown and so many true scribes and commentators keep alive this hidden hole in our nation’s past. Today, as I can barely move from the injuries caused by that event 33 years ago, it is not something I can forget, no matter how hard I try. My body will not let me. And around our country, there are even worse stories of all the pain and anguish our service men and woman have endured and the efforts their families make to try and make them whole again. My thoughts are of Bruce Carson, who survived, only to be lost some years later as his magnificent mind was not matched by the wounded body. And others forgotten from our so-called Cold War. Bless you all.
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