Sonic Boom Salesman
Adventures of a Cold War Interceptor Pilot
THE COLD WAR ESSENTIALLY GUARANTEED that all human nerves in the USA and USSR would be on edge. Tensions were on steroids for nearly two decades. Ubiquitous fallout shelters and air-raid sirens were the norm, designed for wary civilians that periodically trained for possible incoming airraid onslaughts. The USA and the USSR had missiles, fighters, and bombers loaded for bear and poised to fly at a moment’s notice. This was not only near the U.S. borders but also scattered throughout the entire country. Meet Capt. Danny Cox, a U.S. Air Force (USAF) Cold War interceptor pilot, a breed that was a major factor in America’s defensive war plan.
Cox joined the USAF in February 1957 and learned to fly in barealuminum Beech T-34A Mentors and North American T-28A Trojans at Moore Air Force Base (AFB) in Texas. Later he flew Lockheed T-33A Shooting Stars at Greenville AFB in Mississippi for jet qualifications, and received his wings mid-1958. Cox, standing at a towering height of 5 feet 4 inches, barely met the minimum height requirement to fly fighters at the time, but ended up logging more than 2,400 hours of fighter time throughout his career. A product of his height, he had earned call signs such as “Two Cushion,” “Mighty Mouse,” “Madison Avenue Midget,” and “Compact Crusader.” Having had the opportunity to work closely with Cox for this feature, I noted that he has the admirable quality of being humble about his height and carries no chip on his shoulder. In fact, he pitches in on the fun if there is an opportunity to bring up “shorty” jokes or comments. In the fighter communities, his small frame meant that he could withstand and recover from G-forces much better than his alpha-male peers. Being short is a desired trait when flinging around fast movers.
D-Model Sabres
The next stop for Cox was at Moody AFB in Georgia, where he flew the T-33A again, with a strong emphasis on “under the bag” instrument flying. He then learned to fly the F-86L and was fully checked out in the Sabre by the end of 1958. Although the L-model was a bit more advanced than the D, it had to do with the aircraft-type transition schedule and squadron requirements. “The F-86L was a single-seat-only aircraft, so my first flight was my solo flight. I had an instructor wingman,” Cox notes. He continues, “While learning on the F-86L, I was able to go supersonic for the first time. I’d go to 43,000 feet and then dive straight down in full throttle and afterburner. The F-86 was like driving around a little sports car. It was agile and equipped with auto maneuvering slats; however, the jet was old and had some weird flying characteristics.” For his first operational assignment, Cox was assigned to Clark Air Base in the Philippines in January 1959, flying the F-86D with the 26th Fighter Interceptor Squadron (FIS). “On my first-ever F-86D flight, I took the runway, advanced the throttle, lit the burner, and pulled back on the stick to rotate at about 150mph. Much to my horror, the stick would not come fully back, and I had trouble climbing. I quickly used the trim switch to gain some altitude and just made it over the barrier cables at the end of the runway. I lowered the seat, completed my mission, and landed. “It turned out the issue was I had the seat adjusted up as far as it could go, due to my height, and that actually blocks the stick rearward motion. Unlike the F-86L, the F-86D had a rear-facing jog in the stick; it was D-model specific. With the seat lowered, my eyes were just above the canopy rail. From then on, I compensated, and it was two extra seat cushions in that aircraft for me. My nickname then became ‘Two Cushion.’ “For our F-86D weapon of choice, we used 24 high-explosive unguided rockets that were located in an internal-weapons racklike pod we would lower from the belly in flight. We did a lot of firing practice with rockets, and they would go in a multitude of different trajectories and headings; it is not what you would call ‘accurate.’ “One memorable mission occurred during a detachment we made to Tainan, Formosa (now known as Taiwan). We typically flew around the Strait of Formosa, and the Chinese would usually have MiGs paralleling us. I was flying an F-86D solo, without a wingman
“I looked to my right and behind, and I saw a glistening bare-aluminum Chinese MiG. I immediately took evasive maneuvers, dove, and went to full throttle and burner.”
and under strict GCI [ground-controlled interception] from a Taiwanese controller. With that came a language barrier. I was vectored to fly a heading of 270 for a long while. Eventually, I started seeing Chinese islands and then the mainland appeared through the haze below. I reported this to the controller and quickly made a correction to a heading of 180, due south, on my own. “The controller told me in broken English to be advised that I had a ‘stranger’ off my right wing. I looked to my right and behind, and I saw a glistening bare-aluminum Chinese MiG (probably a MiG-15 or -17) about 400 yards away. I immediately took evasive maneuvers, dove, went to full throttle and burner, and turned hard to break off any potential engagement. I leveled out at 2,000 feet above the ocean, saw Formosa ahead, and called the tower, declaring a lowfuel emergency. I did a straight-in landing. Turning off the runway, the engine flamed out from lack of fuel.”
The Deuce
“In 1960, the 26th FIS reformed as the 509th FIS, effectively transitioning to the F-102A Delta Dagger (known as the ‘Deuce’), operating from the same Philippines’ base. The 509th was the same F-102A unit that later participated in the Vietnam War, their aircraft having been repainted in a Southeast Asia– style camouflage around 1964. Interestingly, the F-102As not only provided air cover in Vietnam but also attacked ground targets using rockets. For the air-to-air role, F-102As carried heat-seeking or radar-guided AIM-4 Falcon air-to-air missiles. “One day, I was operating over the Lingayen Gulf near the west coast in the Philippines, flying an F-102A on a beautiful sunny day with a low cloud cover,” comments Cox. “I looked off to my left and saw a big black smoke cloud in the air; I knew something wasn’t right. I lit the burner, immediately headed over there, and saw a crippled Philippine Air Force F-86F in a slow spiral headed downward. I slid in on him, pulled alongside and could see the pilot slumped in the seat. The aircraft appeared to look fairly intact. I attempted to reach him on an air-to-air frequency, followed by the guard channel, encouraging him to eject, but there was no response and he didn’t move. I accelerated my Delta Dagger ahead of the crippled fighter and crossed right in front of him, trying to get his attention—still no luck. “The Sabre descended into the clouds below, and I broke away from his wing at that point. There had been a midair collision, and both pilots were killed. The wreckage of the Sabre I had chased was found two days later. Sadly, I only knew one pilot in the Philippine Air Force and he had been my friend. I was awarded the Chapel of Four Chaplains Legion of Honor Award, which, in a nutshell, is given for doing a selfless and risky act to try to save others. “Early one morning, the ‘Scramble’ horn sounded at 5 a.m. I quickly manned my Deuce, leapt into the air, and was vectored to northern Luzon; the bogey turned out to be a Philippine airliner. I turned around and headed back to base, and all of a sudden, the nose pitched up. I moved the stick forward, and nothing happened. It stalled and picked up airspeed. I regained control, and it did it again and again. Finally, it behaved better at lower altitudes. The problem worked itself out some, and I was finally able to land it. It was a humid there, and it turned out to be corrosion in an elevon control actuator. “The F-102A had a problem with canopy reflections and runway lights at night, so it had an anti-reflection plate located on centerline straddling the flat-paned windscreens. The TF-102As didn’t have it due to being a side-by-side two-seat model, so we tended to avoid flying those at night. In the air, the TF-102 wallowed a bit and the canopy was flimsy, so it had to be closed and locked before taxiing; the greenhouse effect was terrible in the hot-humid Philippines. “The Deuce was fairly agile and had a pretty good kick to it when you lit the burner. I really liked the airplane. It did have an aerodynamic issue that had to be carefully watched. If you had the nose too high up
on landing approach, you could lose lift and enter an aggressively high sink rate. The only response was to shove the stick forward, which can be dicey if you were low on final. I enjoyed my time in the Philippines and didn’t want to leave. It had good food and great people, and was an excellent assignment.” After about 250 flight hours or so in the Deuce, Cox departed the 509th on April 30, 1961, for his next assignment: flying the F-101B Voodoo.
Tucson and the Voodoo
Cox and the Voodoo were introduced to each other in 1961, with Air Defense Command’s 15th FIS at Davis-Monthan AFB in Arizona. The squadron had 16 two-seat F-101Bs and a pair of twin-stick F-101Fs, which was typical of most Voodoo units. The guy in the back was known as the radar officer, or RO for short. One beautiful crystal-clear cloudless Arizona morning, Cox was tasked for a special mission. His job: to practice a high-altitude intercept against a U-2 spy plane, which was operating above 60,000 feet. Davis-Monthan was also a U-2 base, so it was a local mission. They acquired the U-2 on radar, and the trick was to build up speed to about Mach 1.5 at 45,000 feet, then make a 4G pitch up to about where the U-2 should be when the F-101 arrives there; it was called a “snap-up” attack. All was well until his Voodoo was passing through 56,000 feet, and the aircraft decided to violently depart from controlled flight. “The F-101 was tumbling in a severe wing-over-wing roll and creating significant negative Gs,” adds Cox. “As we plummeted down, eating up precious altitude, I was still unable to regain control after battling with the stick. I neutralized the controls and actuated the drag chute, being the procedure in this case. That reduced our roll rate and terminal velocity, and I regained the wildly bucking Voodoo at 26,000 feet after falling through 30,000 feet. It was something like a scene out of The Right Stuff. I accelerated to tear away the chute (happens at about
250 knots) and headed back to base. Upon landing and not having a drag chute, I employed aerodynamic braking, keeping the nose high until the speed lowered to 100 knots. The excessive negative G-forces had burst some blood vessels in my eyes. The canopy had to be replaced because my helmet had beaten it up, and unfortunately my head had been in that helmet during the pounding. “During the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962, our Voodoos were nestled around the country, standing ready in alert barns, armed with live 9-foot-8-inch-long, 822-pound AIR-2 Genie missiles with a 1.5-kiloton W25 nuclear warhead. They also were armed with the standard AIM-4 Falcon radar and heat-seeker air-to-air missiles. The Genies were unguided, but essentially the plan was to fire the missile at any incoming masses of Soviet warplanes, neutralizing an entire air space area. We lived by the television, watching as the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolded, standing ready to scramble at a moment’s notice. A side note: When we flew without a Genie, we needed an internal ballast weight to keep the aircraft center of gravity intact. “After the Cuban crisis, we were tasked to test a new ground-control radar system at Luke AFB in Arizona. This entailed flying at minimum altitude and 700mph in restricted airspace to check if the system would work for very-low-flying high-performance jets. Although it was a very bumpy ride, we took it down to 50 feet at first and then down 25 feet AGL [above ground level] for a while. I had no idea how teeth chattering the turbulence would be! Then I climbed up to 100 feet, and we went supersonic. I had never been that fast and that low before; it was quite a ride. This explains the great number of deaf coyotes in the Arizona desert!”
Ohio and the 87th
Following his stint with the 15th FIS, Cox then transferred to the 87th FIS at Lockbourne AFB in Ohio (today, Lockbourne is known as Rickenbacker Air National Guard Base) in January of 1965. Cox was the squadron public information officer, and was usually armed with a ball cap, a robust cigar, and a flight scarf. He would travel to a variety of places in his split-window Corvette Stingray to explain why sonic booms were a necessary component of training, all while promoting the Air Force and its mission. His speech title was “Better Boomed than Bombed.” He could be found addressing various clubs, schools, churches, and similar groups. He was dubbed the “Sonic Boom Salesman,” specializing in educating them on the need for speed and how it all worked and why. He was also assigned to fly media folks; as a deterrent to keep them from losing their cookies, Cox would remind them that, should they let loose, they’d be the very first media guy to puke. Also, they were reminded that they would have to carry the used bag back to base in their hand since there was nowhere to put it. Pride and motivation persevered, and no media types ever vomited with Cox at the helm. Cox says, “I had the opportunity to fire an
He was dubbed the “Sonic Boom Salesman,” specializing in educating them on the need for speed and how it all worked and why.
inert Genie over the Gulf of Mexico. We were supersonic and had a lock on the target drone using our radar weapons system. The missile left us like you couldn’t believe and was gone in a flash. The exhaust smoke came into the air system, creating a burnt smell, but it was a real thrill. Later, we were tasked to go to Holloman AFB in New Mexico to test a new AIR-2 Genie version. Basically, the test missile was modified from the usual liquid fuel to a newer solid fuel. We were there for a week and they had four cameras, but there were multiple technical issues with the camera systems, delaying our Genie launch. “After the week ended, we swapped out with a replacement crew from Hamilton AFB in California, and we returned back to Tucson. They finally got the missile off, but tragically, the solid propellant motor in that Genie had a crack in it and it blew the entire bottom out of their Voodoo. Both of the crew were able to eject and live, but they had been seriously burned in the process. “The F-101 had a very quick roll rate (400 degrees per second). It was fast and truly a dream to fly. To save my back, I’d make sure I was always sitting up straight in my seat when I lit the afterburners. The acceleration delivered some serious transverse Gs—not bad for a 22.5-ton fighter that could climb from sea level to 35,000 feet in one minute and 32 seconds! “On alert, we were to be airborne in no later than five minutes. I got it down to two and a half minutes during the day, and at night, from being sound asleep to airborne, to just three and a half minutes. We’d have everything preflighted and hooked up to the jet, so we’d slip into our gear strategically placed throughout the cockpit, while our arm/hand motions would initiate the startup; it was choreography. During my alert career, the aircraft I’d most commonly intercept were, fortunately, American pilots that neglected to file flight plans or those that had strayed off course.” Cox separated from the Air Force in March 1967. He worked in the real-estate industry for the following 10 years and then became a professional speaker, having given more than 3,000 presentations to date. He was inducted into the Speaker Hall of Fame in 1984. He is a member of the Sons of the American Revolution, being a blood relative of a patriot that fought for our independence in the 1770s.