18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in Korea

FUEL TANK FIASCO - A Switch in Time...

South Korea is a truly beautiful country, especially in the springtime ... with the trees just turning green and a few blossoms beginning to pop out.

From the vantage point of our rear support base at Chinhae, (K-10), on the water's edge at the South coast, in mid-May, 1951, it proved a real study of contrasts ... it was so hard to realize that just an hour's flight time to the north, the Communists were in the process of launching their new attacks, the start of the major Chinese Spring Offensive. The new attacks were not unexpected ...only a question of which sector they would strike first.

I was not concerned whether there would be enough missions to keep me busy when I returned to K-16, Seoul City Airport, after just a single day's rest at Chinhae, but I did begin to wonder what we might expect with the more frequent contacts with the Russian-built MiG-15 jet fighters. They had recently been encountered along the Yalu River, close to their sanctuary in Manchuria, where our F-86 Sabres had been meeting and beating them in high-altitude dog-fighting for several weeks, but in May, 1951, they had also begun to show up as far south as Pyongyang ... in the area where many of our interdiction attacks were taking place.

The MiG-15s had made a few brief, but thus far unsuccessful attacks against some of our low-flying Mustang flights, but at that time they had not ventured as far south as the front lines, nor had they yet made any attempt to harass our ground troops. But if they should, the air war in Korea would immediately turn out to be a "whole new ball game".

We kept the North Korean airfields in a continual state of disrepair by bombing them each and every day, but still we could see evidence of their use. Pyongyang East, our short-term advanced base during November '50, and Sinuiju, specifically, showed definite signs of use, but we could never find any sign of mechanical equipment or aircraft in view.

On Saturday, 19 May '51, I was off very early flying lead in a flight of two Mustangs, heading for the central sector, where we were to search about 50 to 75 miles behind the lines for signs of resupply movement. We left before dawn, heavily loaded with two napalm bombs, six rockets and full fuel and full ammo for our six .50 cal. machine guns.

Our F-51D model Mustangs had an 80 gallon internal fuel tank mounted inside the fuselage behind the pilot's seat. When full, this tank's five hundred twenty-five pounds moved the airplane's center-of-gravity (CG) so far aft that the aircraft became dangerously tail heavy; any sudden rearward movement of the control stick could make the tail 'tuck under' dangerously ... go further down than intended.

Our normal procedure to alleviate the tuck-under hazard while in the combat area, was to plan our flights to either short-fill the fuselage tank if the extra range was not required or, on longer missions, to first use about sixty gallons of the fuel from the fuselage tank on the way into the combat zone ... getting rid of approximately 400 pounds of aft-CG weight, leaving the fuselage tank's fuel level at about 20gallons, which, in turn would allow the CG to move forward to the ideal 'over-the-wing' CG position. We would then switch to our external drop tanks, if carried, or to one of our two internal wing tanks, saving the remaining twenty gallons in the fuselage for a 'final Reserve'.

On this particular early dawn mission, carrying napalm fire-bomb tanks instead of external drop tanks, we found ourselves in the steep mountain valleys around Chorwon just as the sun was coming over the horizon. We slowed our speeds to about 200 mph for better visibility, and descended quietly to minimum altitude over the flat valley floor, criss-crossing in loose combat formation to look for truck traffic. As we'd near a ridge of hills, we'd add just enough throttle to maintain our slow speed as we topped the summit and drifted back down to the adjacent valley floor.

We'd been doing this for perhaps twenty minutes, hopping over the hills from one valley to the next, without finding much in the way of targets, when finally, as I neared the end of a long, deep and narrow valley... still at about 100' altitude, 'just ready to add power to climb over the oncoming ridge, my wingman called to say that we were being fired upon by troops from under a clump of trees on our right.

I was too close to the ridge to make a turn back, and traveling too slowly to do anything except continue straight ahead, so I called the wingman and told him to go back and hit the troops; I'd meet him over the next ridge of hills.

With that, I pushed my throttle forward but, instead of the expected surge of power, all I heard was the 'spit' and 'sputter' of a dying engine ... then silence, as my engine quit at that most inopportune time.

I reviewed my uncomfortable situation in the flash of a second: "...I might have been hit in the engine, but that would not have caused it to quit so suddenly"

Meanwhile I was looking out ahead at a little flat spot on the side of the hill where I might be able to belly-land the airplane. From there I had already made up my mind to jump out, running, toward a little wooded ravine I could see in the distance ... I had my escape route all planned in just those few brief seconds as my propeller began to windmill.

I checked my airspeed indicator, and slowing to gliding speed, I lowered half flaps to improve my glide, then looked around the cockpit for any clue to the source of my engine problem ... I then remembered the two heavy napalm bombs still shackled under my wings and, instead of taking the time to select and arm the bombs by use of the electrical switches on the lower instrument panel, so they would explode on impact, I reached quickly down to the floor near the left edge of my seat, grabbed and pulled the two Manual Bomb Release handles. The sudden removal of almost 1500 pounds of dead weight caused a slight but welcome climb, and I had to readjust my pitch attitude to maintain the best glide speed.

I still had my six big five-inch HVAR rockets under the wings, but there was no way to eject them in a Safe mode; it was either "Fire them or Keep them"... a serious omission in the design of the F-51s armament system. I presumed that they would be torn off in a belly landing and, hopefully, would not explode or set fire to any leaking fuel.

With the napalm tanks gone, and my glide speed back under control, I was finallly able to take my eyes from the airspeed indicator to resume my search of the cockpit for the cause of my problem, then I saw it....

There, between my ankles, near the floor ... the fuel tank selector handle seemed to almost jump up and hit me between the eyes ... the pointer was still set on FUSELAGE tank ... that was it!

I had been distracted while searching for targets and had not noticed my fuel level, stupidly letting my fuselage tank run completely dry, instead of switching at the 20 gallon level as I'd intended to do. The engine was simply out of fuel!

My hand shot down to the selector control, wrenched the four-inch handle to the Left Tank detent, not knowing whether the engine would 'catch' immediately, or if I had real trouble and would have to set it down on the terraced hillside.

Then, I waited ... and waited, with my heart wrapped solidly around my tonsils, adrenalin pumping, as my glide continued toward the little terraced patch of open rice paddy. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a smoky sputter came out of my exhaust, then another.

I pulled the throttle back to keep from flooding the engine ... it coughed again, weakly. Then, just as I started to flare-out my glide for a belly landing in the rice field, the engine caught again, I pushed the throttle rapidly ...but smoothly "to the firewall", and the sputter changed to a steady roar as I mushed forward ... just above stall speed, toward the rapidly-rising ridge of hills.

My speed accelerated just enough to keep me climbing faster than the hills were rising until, finally, I staggered, on the feather-edge of the stall, across the crest of the hill and was able to lower my nose ever-so-slightly to pick up flying speed.

With a great sigh of relief I watched as the hilly terrain dropped away, leaving me with a safe flying altitude.

I called my wingman to ask how he was doing ... but I was too embarassed at my stupid oversight to say anything to him about how close I'd come to losing another airplane, and having to attempt that long, dangerous walk through a hundred miles of enemy territory back to our lines.

He reported that he had made one skip-bombing pass to napalm a truck found under the trees, but couldn't see any sign of the troops who had been shooting at us earlier.

I suggested that we give it up and work closer toward home (...so my nerves could settle down); we could look for rail targets along the way, or even come back later in the afternoon if anything in the area looked promising.

We landed at Seoul's K-16 airstrip, both still carrying our rockets and, after stopping at the far end of the runway to allow the armorers to re-install the Safety Pins, taxied back to our parking area.

I thoroughly enjoyed our coffee and doughnuts while waiting for the ships to be refueled and the bombs to be reloaded;

I specifically asked for just 20 gallons of fuel in my fuselage tank ... no more, no less.

That had been my 79th Korean combat mission and, like my 69th, when I'd had a wing tank start burning after being hit by ground fire, was another "hairy" one; but this time it was my own damned fault ... the enemy 'hadn't laid a glove on me!'

Duane E. 'Bud' Biteman,
Lt. Col, USAF, Ret
‘...One of those Old, Bold Fighter Pilots’
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