The lessons of the Korean War led to extensive rethinking and reshaping of carrier-based naval aviation. Perhaps the prime concern was for development of a realistic night and all-weather capability, using the new jet-powered planes for both offensive and defensive naval warfare. Designing and building the carrier airplanes comprised one facet of the problem; modifying the ships to handle the jets another; and reeducating personnel a third.
Many dramatic changes soon began to show. The training command introduced a heavy emphasis on instrument flying. The term “weapon system” became a new bureaucratic buzzword in Washington, largely replacing the traditional prominence of airframes and engines. Lots of new radars, guns, rockets, and missiles were started in development, among them both the heat-seeking Sidewinder and radar- guided Sparrow, weapons which remain today as the “main batteries” of most of the Free World’s tactical fighters.
New and much larger carriers of the borrestal (CVA-59) class were laid down. The British angled carrier deck and mirror landing system were introduced apace with the new (again British) steam-powered catapult.
Unfortunately, during this same flood tide of rethinking, some radical decisions were also reached. One of the most far-fetched was to convert the Douglas F4D Skyray, then in early production, from a day fighter to a carrier-based all-weather interceptor. A less likely candidate was hard to find.
The Ford, as it was immediately dubbed by fleet pilots, turned out to be a pretty bad airplane, all things considered. It was one of those imponderable, impossible designs whose basic inconsistencies defied any happy compromise. It was built for blinding rates-of- climb, acceleration, and maneuverability. The plane had no tail, just a single, broad manta-ray shaped wing from which a vertical tail protruded. It was very short-coupled and had a solid construction and a compact design. The manta-ray wing proved to be great for turning and climbing, but it was also anathema to the turbulent shock waves of transonic air.
Night and all-weather capabilities imply lots of instrument flying for which good flight stability characteristics are needed. The F4D had almost none. All-weather flying also implies much headwork by the pilot and a lot of reference to charts, displays, radios, lights, and switches. The F4D cockpit was jammed and crammed. Switches were haphazardly located. Most of the instruments were grossly misplaced. Light reflections danced round the multifaceted windscreen and canopy like lights in a discotheque. The autopilot, which could have been a godsend to the harried pilot, never worked. The airplane was just as happy flying on its side as it was flying upright. The afterburner lit with a bang that curdled your buttocks, and the control stick was short, stubby, hesitant, halting, heavy, jerky in motion, and almost completely obscured the radar scope.
Originally planned for a relatively low-powered engine, the Ford’s designers believed that the thick wing would more or less ooze through the sonic wall. Discounting that, they believed the F4D would not fly that fast often enough to pose a big problem. Consequently, when a different, more powerful engine was substituted in the final design, the effect was devastating. The plane could, and often did, get into this speed regime, where it reacted like a sledgehammer against a sheet metal building. It would fly supersonically, and not too uncomfortably, once it got through the transonic region, but you had quite a ride—and usually downhill—to get there.
There was much consternation in the test circles about how a “fix” could be made. A case history on frustration could be written about the magic electronic trim change compensator, which was supposed to provide the aerodynamic grease to slide the airplane through to supersonics. Like so many other brave ideas for the F4D, it never worked.
The gyro-horizon, probably the most vital single instrument in a Ford, was well above and forward of the radar. Swinging your focal tubes to and from could induce some classic vertigo. The radar scope also included its own gyro- horizon, supposedly to be used during intercepts or as a backup in normal instrument flying. It rarely matched the regular gyro-horizon in pitch; the angles were impossible to read; and it had very restrictive limits. The net effect was to add confusion and more vertiginous inputs to the already overwrought pilot, since he was never completely sure which of the two gyro- horizons he should believe.
Even worse, the F4D carried little fuel but was equipped with an engine capable of emptying a tank car in minutes. The acceleration and rate of climb were phenomenally fast. However, waiting just ahead was the near-impenetrable sonic barrier, where the Ford would buck, tuck, shake, quake, hump, and bump as it tried to batter its way through on brute force alone. Fearsome enough high in a sun-filled sky, the experience at night, in rain, using instruments, or being close to a stormy ocean was sheer terror.
Notwithstanding these gruesome characteristics, the Ford was made into a first-line, carrier-based, high-performance, all-weather fighter, and served in this role for many years. The Navy and the country breathed easily and securely, not because the F4D was on duty, but because it was never called upon to produce in actual combat.
The Aero 1A weapon system, designed to provide the Ford with an all- weather capability in combat, was integrated into the airframe well after the production line was under way. This package of avionic mumbo-jumbo was crammed into a good, powerful air-to-air radar, a super-sophisticated computer, and a large cockpit display for shooting air-to-air ballistic rockets at an unseen enemy aircraft at the climax of lead-collision attack at near sonic speeds. As a result of the physics, aerodynamics, ballistics, radar, and even pilot physiology involved, these “lead- collision attacks” required maneuvering the F4D into a specific angle off the forward bow of the target at a specific speed. While holding this precise flight path, altitude, and speed, the Ford would thunder toward the enemy target, maintaining a collision course. At the last instant, a few seconds before a midair collision—when catastrophe appeared inevitable and as the radar scope flashed collapsing circles and moving bars—the pilot mashed a trigger on the stick, hurling a dozen or more fiery rockets off ahead, then manhandled the plane toward (not away from) the enemy.
If all went as planned, the rockets made contact, and the Ford skipped past just astern of the exploding debris. If not, however—if the pilot missed on any little angle, speed, or course adjustment; or if the radar was a wee bit out of alignment; or if the switches were improperly lined up; or if the rockets angled to the side instead of proceeding ahead; or if the angles of bank pitch or the G-forces were slightly misaligned; or if the airplane were Hying ever so slightly on its side—the rockets would go all for hell and gone, and only eternal faith and the good Lord would see the pilot through.
That’s a lead-collision intercept; the F4D system used other intercept methods as well called lead pursuit and pure pursuit, where both rockets and bullets could be fired. These latter methods, however, implied a tail chase, which assumed superior F4D speed, but this was usually impossible because of the transonic folderol. Consequently, the lead-pursuit and pure-pursuit intercept methods were even less likely to succeed than was the lead collision. Luckily for the Ford, the Sidewinder air-to- air, heat-seeking missile came into operational use about this time. With the Sidewinder, a computer wasn’t essential as long as the target’s hot tail pipe exhaust could be “seen” by the infrared missile head. So, in actual fleet use, Ford pilots would use both the good radar and their own eyeballs to get into a Sidewinder launch position on a target’s tail. In daylight or on a clear night, these tactics would probably have worked fairly well for actual combat. However, if it were raining or cloudy or if the target speed were in 'he transonic region, the Ford was just Mother toothless tiger.
Similarly, the Ford’s carrier landings were always interesting, memorable, and breathtaking experiences. The birds designers apparently did not Place a safe, slow-landing speed very high on their list of initial design priorities. By the time the radar, the computer, and the drop tanks had added their weight, the Ford’s landing speed escalated. When the intangible pilot “pucker factor” for night, rain, and a pitching carrier deck was also figured in, the Ford was coming on board at speeds close to 140 knots, which even experienced carrier-landing signal officers today consider close to the speed of light.
At any speed below about 170 knots, the Ford was one of the worst “Dutch Rollers” ever to fly. The basic modified delta wing, the stubby fuselage, and poor control harmony were the culprits. The wings were large for the size of the plane, fat by modern standards, and altogether too efficient at producing lift at slow speeds. The vertical tail was too small and tended to get blanked out by the wings at the high angles of attack required for slower- speed flight. As a result, the slightest disturbance induced by rough air or a rough pilot made the Ford swing from side to side on approach. As it did, the advancing wing increased its lift, the opposite one decreased its lift, and the plane started to roll. The pilot would then push the rudder (which did not help much) and put in some corrective elevon (since there was no tail, differential amounts of elevator control were used for roll control, hence, the term “elevon”). This slowed the up-wing and leveled the plane, usually just about in phase with a naturally slow tendency of the plane to correct itself. This, in turn, induced an overshoot, usually aggravated by the heavy stick movement. Low-speed flight was really a series of wallowing, half-roll, half sideslip maneuvers that made the bird look drunk.
The frugality of the fuel cells in the Ford presented serious problems in all- weather operations at sea. Drop tanks were used routinely, adding drag, weight, and even more control problems, but at least this gave the pilot a fighting chance for a few more “get- aboard” attempts on a rough night at sea.
When aerial tanking came into vogue, the Ford, while the thirstiest carrier bird in the fleet, had no provisions for a fuel probe in its original design. With the radar now hogging the nose and the cockpit area jammed with equipment, any hope of adding a probe was long past. Consequently, a new Ford drop tank was built which incorporated a probe sticking out of its nose. The pilot had to fly behind the tanker aircraft, stick his off-center, off- axis probe into a tiny dancing drogue, and take a drink. In bright sunlight and smooth air, this was a tricky but possible maneuver. On a nasty night, with a pilot already shaken by a couple of unsuccessful landing passes at the deck and being low on fuel, aerial refueling in this bird called for nerves of steel and a virtuoso of fast-moving hands and feet on the controls.
There were several other little nasties associated with the Ford:
► The control system had a built-in maze of wires and pulleys intended to be used only when the normal hydraulic power was lost, but which “idled” along all the time. This contributed to the bird’s rotten control harmony, since the control system added a built-in deadweight resistance to any movement of the stick.*
► The tail pipe had movable lids around the exit nozzle, helping to generate the engine’s push. In afterburner operation, they opened fully. At times, however, some of the lids stuck shut, and the resulting swerve of power was enough to give the pilot a wild, almost sidesaddle, ride. Coming out of afterburner would rectify the situation, but it certainly made for a real thrill on a night catshot.
► The engine’s demands for air and the fuselage’s ability to provide that air through the side inlets were often incompatible, prompting the engine to go “chug-bang, chug-bang, chug-chug- chug,’bang-bang” with a staccato frequency on rapid acceleration at lower airspeeds or when pulling a high G-force. This scared inexperienced pilots half to death but never actually hurt anyone.
► The leading edges of each wing had several free-floating slats, a common Douglas design of the era. At highspeed, low angles of attack, the slats slid solidly into the wing to form a continuously curved leading edge. Conversely, at low speed, high angles of attack, they popped out to create another little wing forward of the regular one, thereby creating more lift. The trouble was that they popped in and out when they thought they should, not necessarily at the time the pilot wanted. Sometimes one side popped, and the other side stuck. In a good Dutch Roll, they might slap in and out with each excursion in alternate cadence, adding immeasurably to the pilot’s frustrations.
► The guns were probably the worst feature of the design, however. They were situated well out in each wing, where any off-axis pull, tug, or twist was accentuated and magnified. As a result, very few pilots could hit the broad side of a barn with the damn things. Since the rocket pods normally sprayed all over the sky on their own accord, the plane was not lethal in combat, day or night, until the Sidewinder missiles came along. But, by then, the Ford’s era was fading rapidly.
Nonetheless, the Ford has some fine characteristics as well. The bird was rugged, and the J-57 Pratt & Whitney engine was a real brute with a reputation for dependability and durability unparalleled even today. The big manta-ray wing was great in a high- altitude dogfight, when it could be horsed around and still provide lift at almost any attitude. The same attribute was useful in making super-tight turns, and the tremendous power available could be used to make the Ford climb like a rocket, better than any other design—U. S. or foreign—of the time. The APQ-50 radar was one of the first really good modern airborne sets and far outshone the miserable installation and poor computer weapon system to which it was tied. The radar’s direct descendants were used in almost all the F-4 Phantom models, where they became superior performers, head and shoulders above the competition.
Along with the F3H Demon of those days, the Ford trained the cadre of pilots who were later to gain much fame in Phantoms, making all-weather fighter operation from today’s carrier an almost “no-sweat” routine. The costs were high. Many fine young men were lost in F4D accidents. But there are many more alive, kicking, and proudly pushing F-14 Tomcats through the night skies today who would not be half so professional, so competent, or so confident had it not been for the lessons learned by their predecessors in the incongruous, imponderable Douglas F4D Skyray of the mid-1950s.
* Much the same design for a backup mechanical flight control system was employed in Douglas’ little A-4 Skyhawk attack plane, then in early development. The system proved a godsend to scores of Navy and Marine pilots in Vietnam, since it enabled them to return to their carriers or bases after battle damage had ruined their hydraulics.