Grostenquin, France

The first RCAF (NATO) airfield to start up on the European Continent was at Grostenquin France, home of 2 (F) Wing, which arrived in early October 1952. At the time, Grostenquin was still a mud hole, with many facilities unfinished or unequipped, and mud, mud everywhere. The station was being built from scratch, and, it would seem, the Wing, (416, 421 and 430 Squadrons) was a bit early. They found bare-bones quarters, no hangars, and such surprises as contaminated fuel and runways so slippery that the Sabres had to de-camp the first summer to temporary locations while the runways were being re-surfaced. G/C JKF MacDonald was the first station commander at Grostenquin, but in November 1952 was replaced by G/C ME "Mike" Pollard.

One of those who winged into Grostenquin on Operation Leapfrog II was F/O John Greatrix, who remembers, "Mud was everywhere and deep water-filled trenches lined the roads. There was no lighting. so after dark it was not unknown for personnel to tumble into these ditches. The contractor had thoughtfully installed wooden ladders for those unfortunates. Otherwise there was no way out! For daily use we were supplied with rubber boots. These were so essential that they were actually authorized as fit for the mess. Our barracks had no heat, often no water, and the lights were famous for failing. We kept Herman Nelson heaters outside hooked up to big canvas tubes. These were fired up at night and poured heat into the corridors of our "H" huts. But the heaters would invariably run out of fuel long before morning. We’d wake up huddled in our great-coats and buried in our blankets, frozen stiff. In spite of all these wonderful features of camping in the wilderness, our spirits were always high".

From early August to late October 1953, 2 Wing was dispersed pending runway improvements at Grostenquin. 416 at first deployed to Marville and later to Zweibrucken. In between it visited bases in Denmark and Norway. In December 1953, 416 participated in a mass flypast as Grostenquin celebrated its first anniversary of RCAF Operations. In early 1954 it went on its first deployment to Rabat Sale in Morocco, recently established as the Air Division’s gunnery centre. Rabat was an old French base, which France was happy to let the RCAF use. For some years, until the opening in July 1957 of the range on Sardinia (Deci), Rabat would serve as a much-liked place to get away for some sun, not to mention the business of live firing by the Sabre boys.

Many a Sabre incident, from close call to Category A accident, was the result of weather. Though a flight may have launched into fair skies, on return to the station, or arrival elsewhere, weather was sometimes near or even below minimums. July 13, 1955, F/L GW Patterson of 416 Squadron found himself in this situation. He was an old hand on the Sabre, with over 540 hours on type at the time. Patterson described what happened:

"I took off at approximately 1605 local as number two of a four-aircraft section, Catfish Charley. The exercise was carried out as briefed, with #3 and #4 being sent home early. With 1300 pounds #1 and #2 returned to base at 43,000 feet and were required to orbit once to allow separation for another element ahead, before commencing descent. At this time #1’s radio failed, and I took control of the element for letdown and landing. In procedure turn I was instructed to contact GCA on "A" channel. My transmitter elicited no response, so I returned to approach frequency, visually signalling channel changes to #1. The letdown and approach were carried out under ADF control. No contact was made with the aerodrome or ground (this was my first indication that weather had deteriorated, and that it was below aerodrome limits) on the first passage at 2500 feet, so a circular pattern was set up, reducing altitude to minimum safe, still under ADF control and made a new approach, missing the aerodrome. On my third attempt GCA cut in and gave direction, and it was while under GCA direction that #1 left me. I continued my approach, informing GCA that #1 had broken away, and further reduced my altitude because I was instructed that I was south of the field, and consequently clear of obstacles. With GCA aid, I arrived over the aerodrome approach lights at 150-200 feet. Realizing a visual approach impossible I asked GCA for a square circuit, and it was while I was downwind at 175 IAS at 2000 feet indicated that GCA informed me that his precision scope had failed. I informed GCA I was climbing for bailout, and climbed as instructed on a heading of 140 degrees. I undid the seat harness and all other connections but the radio, and when the engine failed at 10,000 feet, at 210 IAS, from fuel starvation, I informed GCA that I was abandoning, and did so forthwith.

"After freeing myself from the seat, I pulled the ripcord, and the parachute streamed but did not open. The second attempt to billow the canopy was successful and I noted the time as 1706 local".

W/C WM Foster, then acting CO of 2 Wing, summarized what caused Patterson’s predicament: "The three other aircraft of Catfish Charley section and one other aircraft which was airborne at the same time managed to land at 2 (F) Wing, Grostenquin, only by the narrowest of margins. The principal reason for the loss of this aircraft was an amazingly quick deterioration in the weather, which decreased from an indefinite ceiling at about 2600 feet, visibility 1 ½ miles, to a ceiling of 300 feet, visibility ¼ mile in heavy snow, in the space of about 7 minutes, after all aircraft were on the let-down or in the circuit and were committed to land."

F/L EC Tuckey of 416 Squadron describes his own weather crisis and inevitable bail-out 20 miles north of 2 Wing:

"On the 9 September 1955 at approximately 1530 hours I took off in Sabre 23086 as number two man in a two plane formation. The leader was F/O GF Gower, and our exercise was phase training #14. After climbing to height (45,000 feet) and executing several practice turns we engaged in combat with two Sabres. During the ensuing hassle the leader was kept well in sight and the fuel was passed to him as laid down in the briefing. The code word "bingo" denoting 1200 lbs. left, and the code word "joker" denoting 700 lbs. left were used. Our initial altitude of 45,000 feet was rapidly lowered during the hassle until we were fighting just above the cloud top. My leader made one last pull up with an aircraft on his tail. It was at this point that I gave my fuel state as "joker". I positioned myself behind the second aircraft and followed both of them straight down in a dive into the cloud. I would estimate the top of the cloud at 15,000 feet. I was a sufficient distance behind that I did not fear collision. Therefore, I maintained the same course in the cloud and pulled out of the cloud on the same heading. While in the cloud my leader informed that he had broken clear of cloud at 9000 feet and very shortly after this I did likewise. I could not see either of the other aircraft. I heard my leader call 2 (F) Wing homer for a check steer to base. He was given a heading of 240 degrees. I realized that I must have been in the same immediate area as my leader as I was also 240 degrees, everything appeared OK.

My radio compass being tuned into 2 (F) Wing and placed on the compass position read off 90 degrees to the left, thus showing a relative bearing of 2 (F) Wing at 270 degrees. I checked my stand-by compass and found it to be reading within 10 degrees of 240 degrees. At this time I contacted 2 (F) Wing homer and was given an identical steer of 240 degrees. My fuel by this time was reading slightly less than 500 lbs. Knowing there were CBs in the vicinity I chose to follow the steer course and ignore the radio compass. I immediately throttled back to 75%. Also at this time I passed over an airfield with a black top runway and a large hospital building to one side with a huge red cross painted on the roof. I thought at the time that this was Zweibrucken and therefore pressed on feeling that I had ample fuel to reach base. I continued to call 2 (F) Wing homer and obtained at least two more check steers, these steers were within several degrees of the original. I think I can recall one as being 250 degrees. This course was held for several minutes with a gradual deterioration of the weather occurring. During these minutes the radio compass continued to read a full 90 degrees off to the left. I was down to 5000 feet indicated with occasional rainy patches being flown through. By this time my fuel gauge showed approximately 250 lbs. I realized things were getting desperate. At this time I received instructions from 2 (F) Wing tower to go over to channel "C" and declare "May Day". I compiled and requested a check steer to 2 (F) Wing as I realized I was somewhere in the vicinity. Cornbeef or Yellowjack replied, asked for my call sign, asked for a long count, and gave me a course of 160 degrees to fly to 2 (F) Wing. I am not at all positive of this course but I am positive that I turned on the course given. After a second long count they confirmed my course and placed my position as 11 miles out of 2 (F) Wing. At this time I was 4500 feet indicated flying through patches and eagerly glancing ahead for 2 (F) Wing. The engine coughed two or three times, the fuel gauge read empty. I noticed de-acceleration taking place, I informed my controlling agency that "she" was quitting and that I was getting out. I pulled the nose gently back to 5000 feet (just below ceiling) and ejected.

Countless technicalities plagued the Sabre during its years in service, and the following incident is typical. The pilot involved was F/O LB Marion: "On the morning of 27 Jan 1956 I was flying Sabre 5 23168 as a No. 2 in a two-plane training flight. We were returning to base with 800 lbs. of fuel. We did a normal pitch-out, and on base I called tower advising them I had three wheels down and locked as the indicators showed. On final I was by runway monitor to overshoot because my right main wheel was not down. On the overshoot I selected wheels up, but all that happened was the indicators for nose and left wheel showed down. The undercarriage light came on and the right wheel showed unsafe. The utility hydraulics showed 3000 lbs. Despite pulling all undercarriage circuit breakers and replacing them and trying the emergency handle for 20 seconds, the indicators and undercarriage warning light remained the same. I then tried bouncing the aircraft on the runway with no success. I dropped the drop tanks on the downwind leg and was advised by the Commanding Officer 2 (F) Wing to bail out. I climbed to 5200 feet and did a normal ejection. The rest of the trip was uneventful".

A mid-air occurred in 1955 when three Sabres from 2 Wing got badly tangled up. F/O GL Howarth’s pilot’s statement gives some details of what happened: "The section was signed out and briefed for phase training #15 and #17 on 21 Jul 55. F/O Donald as #1, F/O Allingham as #2, F/O Noel as #3 and myself as #4. The section took off and climbed to 40,000 feet for practice battle formation. After completing the exercise we descended in loose line astern at 80% power setting and speed brakes out. The leader called the section into box formation. While joining up, #3 was slow in moving to his position on the port and told me to move ahead. As I was approaching my position #3 passed in front of me giving me quite a scare. I then proceeded to take my position in the formation. At this time we were at 85% power setting, airspeed of 320 to 340 knots, and approximately 1000 feet above ground. The section then did a 180-degree turn to starboard and was flying parallel to the railway tracks at Faulquemont heading west."

I noticed that #3’s flying was quite erratic, although his flying previously to this had been quite smooth. Suddenly #3 disappeared below my range of vision. After an interval of 5 to 8 seconds #1 seemed to explode. I saw a bright flash of flame and ducked my head. I felt a few jars as I flew through the debris. Then I noticed I had approximately 100 degrees of starboard bank and was near stalling. I then recovered from this position and had started to climb when I noticed I was flamed out and my canopy was shattered. I could also hear a deep rumbling and gathered that some of the debris had entered my engine. I then saw what looked like the aerodrome. I headed towards it and confirmed this steer with an ADF homing. By then my airspeed was very low and I saw a field, so I locked my harness and force-landed. When I had stopped I smelt smoke, so I blew my canopy and departed in great haste. I then left some airman to guard the aircraft, stopped an Air Force vehicle that was passing on the road and reported to the Station hospital".

The aircraft involved in this incident had been finishing up their exercise with a flypast over the local railway station to salute some friends. The flypast turned to disaster as Howarth (in 23130), Noel (23099) and Donald (23154) all went down. Noel and Donald didn’t make it. Allingham’s Sabre suffered considerable damage but he did get it back to base. The Air Div lost another Sabre that day when F/L EL Fine of 441 Squadron pranged while landing in 23109. Fortunately Fine got away with it.

During the first days at Grostenquin there was no flying to speak of, as heavy rains added to the mess there. The Red Indians (421) quickly flew off to North Luffenham for a gunsight modification program to their Swords, and while there the Squadron had its first overseas Category A. F/O Buzik suffered an electrical failure in flight and had to make a forced landing at the USAF base at Sculthorpe. As his Sabre barrelled along the turf it apparently broke up a card game and sent airmen scrambling for their lives. Nobody was hurt, but AX-350 was a write-off. Several other prangs followed, but there were no fatalities until June 9, 1953, when F/O Cloutier ejected too low from 19365. The minimum safe height for ejection from the early Sabre seats was 3000 feet. Below that, pilots were taking their chances, as the escape process, other than actually getting fired out, was manual.

Regular air defence exercises kept 421 and the other squadrons busy in the early years at Grostenquin. A big one in 1953 was Coronet, and Rebound followed in October. In between, 421 had to deploy to Zweibrucken pending further runway refinishing at GT. Magna Flux was flown in February 1954, with 421 and other Air Div units deployed to the French base at Cambrai.

F/O Don Ackert writes of one Magna Flux happening. "We took off en masse on the first sweep, and in sections of four penetrated England at 35,000-40,000 feet. A fantastic battle ensued involving Meteors, Vampires, Venoms and our own magnificent Sabres. Although we routed the English defence force completely, our enthusiasm precluded disengagement with adequate diversion fuel. As a result, 36 Sabres arrived over Cambrai with emergency fuel. The French controller was unprepared for what followed as he could barely speak English. A snow squall was moving through at the time, reducing ceilings to less than 1000 feet and visibility to less than a mile. The R/T erupted with calls for immediate letdowns. Cursing and disorder followed. My own section lead, F/O Des Peters, calmly directed us to our squadron frequency and, homing in on the unreliable Cambrai beacon, carried out a rapid innovative letdown in a "relatively" safe quadrant. This quick action put us over the base for a tight but safe circuit and landing. This recovery smozzle was over quickly, but two 4 Wingers descended by parachute following flame-out, and one flamed out on final. Needless to say, other orders of battle (including approach procedures) were implemented for ensuing Magna Flux operations." On March 19, 1954, 421 flew to Rabat via Istres and Oran on its first Weapon Fire (gunnery camp) at the newly opened RCAF range in Morocco. CO at Rabat was a former 421 boss, W/C RTP Davidson.

In March 1954 Sabre 5s began arriving at 2 Wing, and the 2s were quickly ferried to the UK for overhaul under MAP for the Greeks and Turks. During the shake-down period with the new Sabres, there was a total grounding for replacement of defective fuel pumps. In 1955, 2 Wing formed the first edition of the Sky Lancers aerobatic team, with two pilots each from 421 and 430 Squadron, and the spare from 416. The team was a roaring success and plans were made at HQ to continue in 1956, with a team from 4 Wing. Later in 1955 421 Squadron undertook its first Zulu alert – the NATO readiness alert whereby eight Sabres were committed, four fuelled and armed for immediate takeoff, the others on short standby.

Sabres 6s began arriving in April 1955, so the 5s were short lived at GT and were soon being shipped back to Canada for use with the auxiliaries and the OUT. Meanwhile all usual activities continued, including squadron exchanges. In October 1956, 421 deployed to RAF Celle, Germany, while an RAF Vampire squadron visited Grostenquin. In late 1956, 416 began gearing down, as it has been reassigned as a NORAD CF-100 squadron. Meanwhile, the NATO policy of adding all-weather fighter capability began taking shape. In November 1956 W/C Irish Ireland led 445 Squadron’s CF-100s into Marville, and in February 1957 the clunks of 423 Squadron descended on Grostenquin to replace 416’s Sabres.

The CF-100s brought a new element to the Air Division and new competitiveness. This often took the form of Sabres and Clunk crews totally ignoring each other, that is, when they weren’t busy insulting each other. Trained all-weather boys, the Clunk crews were amazed at the foul weather in which the Sabres actually flew. Many a Clunk driver was soon angling for a ride in a Sabre. Not many Sabre chaps lined up to fly the homely straight-winged Clunk, though at least two came close. Perhaps the first Sabre pilot in the Air Div to try his hand on the Clunk got as far as the taxi strip, then promptly totalled it by driving into a ditch. Sharpshooter Bob Paul didn’t even get that far. While he was sitting in a Clunk the ejection seat fired. Paul was hurled out. In some kind of one-in-a-million chance, he landed in the seat on the tarmac and lived to tell about it!

Armament technician Bob Jones, served at 2 Wing in the fifties, and looks back on a few of the events he experienced:

In March 1954 I was transferred from the Central Experimental and Proving Establishment, Ottawa, to 430 Squadron at 2 (F) Wing, Grostenquin as a weapons mechanic. For some reason the Armament Officer came to believe that my previous posting had made me an expert on the 50 calibre machine gun and shortly after my arrival he outlines to me an interesting problem.

Evidently the Eastern Bloc had been sending a photo plane across the Iron Curtain at about 45,000 feet on a regular basis. Since our old Mark 4 Sabres could not operate much above 42,000 the spy plane felt safe enough. Even so, our pilots thought we should take a crack at this invader. The main problems were altitude, and the fact that the guns of our F-86s had a piece of T-shaped aluminum inserted in the breech of each gun which prevented them from being fired, even though ammunition was fed right to the gun. This "T" piece could only be removed while the aircraft was on the ground, effectively stopping any hot headed pilot from shooting down another aircraft, either friend or foe. The armament officer proposed that I try to find a way for the pilot to clear the "T" piece while airborne, and therefore be able to get at least one firing pass at the spy plane before it could get away.

I was given a small space in an equipment tent to try my experiments, but I soon realized that the problem was hopeless. The Sabre gun installations had been designed so that a pilot could advance ammunition to the guns and clear stoppages by means of activating switches in the cockpit which, in turn, activated pneumatic "gun chargers". With the "T" pieced inserted, the gun chargers would not operate properly and only managed to jam the guns. Obviously, the engineer who designed the "T" pieces knew what he was doing!

After a day or two I admitted defeat and advised the armament officer; he accepted my results with good humour and I never heard any more about the Russian spy plane. I never did figure out if he was just testing my ingenuity or whether he really wanted me to help start the Third World War!

The Mark 2 and 4 Sabres had a mechanical linkage to fire the canopy ejection cartridge. The canopy rails pointed right at the aircraft tail and we always wondered whether an ejected canopy would hit the tail; one day we found out.

In order to insert the ground safety pin for the cartridge the armourer had to kneel on the pilot’s seat, facing aft. He then had to jam his head, one arm, a shoulder and the upper part of his body between the head rest and the inside of the canopy in order to insert the safety pin in the ejection cartridge – all the time being very careful not to touch the mechanical linkage which would fire the canopy ejection cartridge. At 430 Squadron dispersal one day a careless armourer hit the linkage while trying to insert the safety pin. The canopy was fired straight back, but either from hitting the airman who was still kneeling on the seat, or whether through design, it sailed over the port horizontal stabilizer and landed in the grass. The unhappy airman was not hurt.

The pilots of Air Division were a mixture of wartime veterans and new members, some of the latter barely a year or two out of high school. These young pilots sometimes had experiences of what would later be called "the generation gap" in exchanges with some of the older NCO ground crew. In a daily maintenance log for a Sabre, one entry by a pilot read, "Strange noise behind seat, please check". A grizzled NCO entered the following rectifying comment, "Noise okay, that’s the engine".

On another occasion, at Rabat a young 430 Squadron pilot was asked to perform a flight test to check the fuel flow on some newly installed drop tanks. The aircraft took off, did a climbing turn and then flew back over the flight line, doing slow rolls, with the fully loaded external fuel tanks flexing the wings on each roll. It was said that the Flight Sergeant nearly swallowed his coffee cup while witnessing the display. The pilot was made to fly the damaged Sabre back to Grostenquin where it was discovered that the main spar was cracked.

I know of only one occasion when an airman was "sucked in" by a Sabre and lived (Jeff St. Germain of 430 Squadron). At FTTU everyone was warned to stay at least 25 feet from the front of a Sabre with its engine running. During operations this distance was largely ignored and it became normal for ground crew to duck under the nose of active Sabres in order to get aircraft scrambled. Jeff forgot that sometimes aircraft engines are running although the aircraft might not be ready to fly.

An engine test was being done at the squadron dispersal with an LAC fitter at the throttle. The first indication he had that something was wrong was a terrific bang, followed by a belch of black smoke from the tail pipe. The fitter immediately shut down the engine and dismounted. He quickly determined that someone was up the intake and a brave soul crawled in and pulled St. Germain out. His winter parka had wrapped over his head and prevented his lungs from collapsing but he had severe injuries to his head and back; after a period in the hospital he was posted back to Canada. The engine was a write-off.

In early 1954, 430 Squadron was playing War Games from the French Air Force base at Cambrai. It was there that it was proved that a Sabre could land without a pilot. A flight of four was caught in a snow squall, and what with language problems at Cambrai and a low fuel situation with the aircraft, a disaster was fast approaching. Three of the pilots managed to land but the fourth ran out of fuel and the pilot ejected close to base. The pilotless Sabre disappeared into the snow flurries at 2,000 feet altitude. It was later found in a farmers field. It had made a flat, straight-in approach, skidding across the snow covered field on its drop tanks. It was only necessary to install a new seat and a canopy and the aircraft was ready to fly again.

John Greatrix reports on three incidents which occurred during his 2 Wing Sabre-fling days:

In early 1953 Red McKay and I were on a mission near Metz – practice GCI under control of the French Air Force’s "Menthol Red" GCI. We met a two-plane element of FAF straight-wing F-84s at about 35,000 feet. With Gallic elan, the F-84s took us on in an air fight. As element leader, I made the mistake of slowing down and trying to turn inside the F-84s radius. As expected, one of the Thunderjets got behind us, so Red an I rolled over and dove away supersonic to escape. One of the F-84 pilots, seeming not to have read his pilots notes, tried to follow us down. He quickly exceeded his maximum permissible air speed, and his tail came off. Although we didn’t witness the incident, a few minutes later we were advised by "Menthol Red" that a "friendly" had crashed. Back in our Ops room, we got the details: the Thunderjet pilot had ejected and reported that his aircraft had come apart while pursuing two RCAF Sabres. It seemed to Red, myself and the rest of 430 Squadron that, if we were sent to Europe to bolster 4 ATAF, we were not exactly off to a great start.

On September 27, 1953, we were on an air defence exercise, Operations Heads Up, at Aalborg, Denmark. W/C Stocky Edwards led us to Aalborg for the joint RDAF, RCAF and RNoAF activities. The station has one runway with a squadron of Danish Meteors on readiness at one end, and 430 Squadron at the other. The Danes were scrambled from the Ops Centre, we from the control tower. One morning we were on two-minute alert: George Shorey leader, Gord MacDonald No. 2, myself No. 3, and Red Hetterick No. 4. Suddenly we were scrambled. We got good starts except for No. 2 who had a "hung" start and delayed our taxing out. George, however, quickly taxied to the button, and as soon as he saw us pulling out of the line, he started his takeoff roll. What none of knew, however, was that the Danish Meteors had also just been scrambled.

Gord, Red and I were trying to catch up with our leader and were just about to taxi onto the runway when we saw the heat waves rising at the far end – two Meteors were already barreling towards George, who was well into his takeoff roll. Suddenly, the Meteors rose, on the judder, just over the Sabre, and whistled by us in split formation, wings wobbling. George was long since committed and there in front of him was the second element of Meteors. At this point he barely managed to get airborne, almost on the stall, slats extended to the stops, as the Meteors flashed by on the runways beneath him. We were all scared witless by this turn of events and looked on in disbelief that no one had crashed. I watched George disappear straight and level into the sunrise, gear and flaps still down with, I imagined, one owl-eyes, petrified fighter pilot coming to the slow realization that he had just experienced a considerable miracle. If our No. 2 had had a good start, usual for the J47, we would have all been on the runway on time and Aalborg would have been a mess of smoking craters. Oh yes, scramble procedures were amended forthwith, lest another incident of "chicken" arise.

In May 1955 430 deployed to the USAF base at Chaumont France. G/C Bill Weiser, our Station CO, and S/L Ken Lett flew in in a T-33 from Grostenquin to see how we were doing and stayed overnight. Our hosts decided to have some fun. They painted the T-bird up in Russian markings. When the time came for the CO to fly home, the USAF provided a fighter escort, lest his plane be "molested" by any quick shooting NATO pilot.

KC Lett, former OC of 416 Squadron, gives further details on the "pink" T-bird story.

We at 2 Wing had a very close and friendly relationship with our USAF friends at Chaumont in eastern France. Among other things held in common, we agreed that we suffered from a lack of amenities compared with our brothers in Germany. To brighten things up a bit over the winter of 1955, we invited the Chaumont wing to Grostenquin. They arrived on a Friday afternoon with their trusty F-86s, and, what with partying and other factors, I regret to say that they were still with us a week later. To say the least, the visit had been a resounding success, with appropriate entertainment imported from France, fabulous food, and beer brought in from Bavaria by the keg. Our CO, G/C Bill Weiser, and the USAF commander were both taken somewhat aback by the entertainment and shenanigans of their boys but, good leaders that they were, did the "grin and bear it" thing and did nothing to spoil the fun.

Our Chaumont friends soon prevailed upon their commander to have us over for a return engagement. That got under way on Friday, May 24, 1955. As a result of trouble they had getting all their aircraft back home and serviceable from 2 Wing, our commander, A/V/M Hugh Campbell, decided to limit the number of aircraft we could take to Chaumont. To offset things, he loaned us his personal Dakota. Along with out own Expeditor, flown by G/C Wieser, the Dakota filled the gap. Everyone was satisfied, except a certain Sabre squadron commander. For him, nothing less than a T-33 would do.

As I recall, I found something to keep me terribly busy until the transport had departed, then created something of a crisis as a pretence to borrow a T-bird to catch up with them. I was accompanied by F/O Tex MacDonald of 416. The trip down was routine, except that on arrival I was directed to a spot in the dispersal area. This was very odd, as these were normally very secure areas and not used for parking transient aircraft.

Only the next day did I discover why I had been directed into a secure area, well hidden from the base complex. It seems that the USAF had done some detailed planning on how to "one up" the RCAF following our winter thrash. The idea was to swap a J47 from one of their F-86Fs for an Orenda from one of our Mark 5s. Apparently engine mounts etc. were similar, and the USAF was prepared for whatever adjustments were necessary. So, with a crew of high-priced technicians standing by and no RCAF Sabres, their plan went down the drain. Instead they decided on a lesser scheme – to repaint my T-33. This was beautifully accomplished in US Navy blue, complete with all the detailed decals. Tip tanks, and speed breaks were done in pink, with the Russian hammer and sickle emblem on each wing tip.

My recollections of the Friday night bash are somewhat vague, but of course it had all the ingredients popular for the time. Next morning, I recall clearly walking across the barren sandy area between the officer’s club and the dispersal and noticing this beautifully painted aircraft. I didn’t recognize it as my own T-33 until quite close, and then "the lights went on!" First I assumed that this was a quick water-colour job that could soon be scrubbed off. But not so. It was good old enamel and quite permanent. Nonetheless, we prepared to depart. The USAF CO was Major Bill Dillard, leader of the Sky Blazers, the USAF’s European aerobatic team. One of his pilots, John Reynolds, suggested that they could wind up three of the Sky Blazers to escort me home, lest some over-zealous NATO pilot spot our Russian markings and shoot us down! The escort was organized in great style, regardless of the fact that they were on UHF and I was on VHF, so we were unable to communicate.

We lined up on the runway in a diamond shape – true aerobatic style. The tower advised us to take off singly, but as I let the speed breaks go the three Sabres followed. They were superb formation pilots, so Tex and I got quite a thrill leading our own aerobatic team! We had one incident on the way home when a nosey stranger tried getting too close. He was soon sent on his way by two of our Sabres. On arrival at Grostenquin, with hand signals, gut feel and whatever else we did, we completed a reasonable beat-up. I then landed, and my escort went home.

The sequel was not quite as pleasant as it might have been. Not only was I in deep shit with G/C Wieser for daring to take a T-33 for the weekend, but I had brought it home as unfit to operate. Come Monday morning the T-bird was back to its original shape, courtesy of a delighted squadron. The fellows enjoyed the incident so much that stripping all the paint off, then repainting the T-33 was easily worth all the trouble.

Various squadron exchanges continued as the years passed at GT. In May 1958 421 visited Kleine Brogel, a Belgian base, while the Belgiques flew into GT with their swept wing F-84s. October of the following year 421 spent a week at another BAF base, Florennes. Gunnery continued year after year at Deci. All this activity kept the pilots and squadron organization in good trim. The exchanges provided valuable cross training, especially for the ground crew who had the opportunity of getting familiar with fighters of other NATO partners. In time of war this training would have paid off, with aircraft dispersed hither and yon throughout Europe, away from home and familiar hands.

In the late fifties it was clear that the Sabre would be replaced, and in time the F-104 was chosen as the Air Division’s future fighter. 421 went to Deci for the last time in November 1962, and on July 10, 1963, W/A AJ Bauer flew 421’s last official mission. The squadron stood down on July 31, and on August 12 421 ferried its Sabres to Prestwick to be scrapped. (Exercise Sal Siesta). In November 1963 it was back in business at Grostenquin flying the CF-104.