Grostenquin France

The Destruction of Sabre #23148

In Larry Milberry’s excellent book on the Canadair F-86 Sabre he notes that aircraft #23148 “crashed on take-off at Grostenquin-N (non-fatal)”. Hidden in that short phrase is the drama and the danger of operating front-line fighters in the RCAF’s #1 Air Division during the 1950’s.

July 25, 1954 was one of those beautiful, warm, sunny days at Grostenquin that the French would have you believe is the normal weather condition in Central Europe. In truth the members of #2 Wing were more accustomed to drizzly rain, overcast skies and a cold wind. However, since the weather was fair the morning had been a busy one with numerous sorties and the ground crew were busy with daily inspections, snags and refueling. The dispersal area for 430 (F) squadron’s Sabres was on the opposite side of the runway from the main base and near the north end of the runway; this dispersal area was a considerable size and was a series of key-hole shaped concrete pads that accommodated two aircraft each. Between the concrete pads and taxi-ways was rough ground dotted with three or four large tents which were used for equipment storage and shelter for the ground crew. Numerous mules (tractors) and APU’s (auxillary power units) were used in the moving and starting of aircraft and these seemed to be in constant motion as different Sabres were started and departed for air exercises.

At approximately 12:30 F/O Belliveau arrived at the dispersal area with three other pilots; there was to be an immediate take off for practice interceptions and the pilots hurried to their allotted planes. The pre-flight procedure of this pilot was typical of his mates; a quick, but detailed, walk around the F-86. Strangely most of them ran their hands along the leading edge of the wings as they walked along, in much the manner that someone would absent mindedly stroke a dog. Then it was on with the “back-pack” parachute which had been left on the wing during the inspection. A few steps to the side of the aircraft and then the climb up the side, by way of the ammunition door and the wing, assisted by handles and foot-holds that were built into the fuselage.

Now the ground crew got involved as “buttoning-up” the Sabre has to be completed. An armourer removes the seat ejection safety pins, with their distinctive red banners, and shows them to the pilot before stowing them in the map case, he then steps down to the ground and secures the ammunition access door: In the warm weather the ground crews appearance is uniform only in one respect, and that is the large screw driver that they carry to secure the various doors and panels on the Sabre. During all this the pilot is busy with seat harness, radio, main oxygen, and emergency oxygen to be hooked up; then the connections for the survival kit which he sits on and he will carry with him if he has to abandon the aircraft and finally the hose that will operate the G suit to force the blood in his legs and abdomen back to his head during high speed manoeuvres. Finally all is ready, he checks over his shoulder to the three airmen clustered around the APU at the left rear fuselage, a flick of the switches, throttle outboard, a jump of the gauges and the airmen hear the soft “whomp” as JP4 jet fuel ignites. Belliveau watches the gauges, 30% RPM, that’s it, left arm out of the cockpit, thumb up, and the men disconnect the APU and struggle to move the 2000 lb. unit away as the hot jet exhaust washes over them. The RPM’s increase, the engine screams, and #23148, on its last trip, joins the three other “Silver Falcons” for the one and a half mile taxi to the south end of the runway. Meanwhile for the ground crew it’s lunch time; “C’mon you guys, we’ve only got an hour before those kites will be back, so let’s move it!” The squadron bus slowly collects the men, someone forgets his shirt so there is a delay (no admittance to the mess hall unless properly dressed). Finally they are ready, 25 to 30 airmen on their way to the main base, but first they have to wait at the north end of the runway for the four Sabres to take off.

The bus windows are open, someone with a camera leans out and sights through his view finder for the planes, hoping for a good “take off” shot that he can add to his scrapbook. There is some grumbling about the delay; don’t these jockeys know that we want to get to lunch? They can be heard before they are seen. The roar of Orenda engines gets louder and then there are the first two, side by side with one slightly behind the other; beautiful! Then the second two can be seen; the 7,000 foot runway is undulated and they seem to come out of a valley; the plane on the right side lifts off but his twin stays on the runway, quickly eating up the remaining concrete. The camera clicks; suddenly a stream of white smoke trails from the left wheel, followed quickly by a tongue of flame, the pilot has realized that #23148 will not fly today and has applied full brakes but the weight and speed of the aircraft are against him, he is still too fast as he approaches the end of the runway.

The last 100 yards of the runway are twice as wide as the main runway in order to park the aircraft that are on alert; F/O Belliveau, with brakes now locked, attempts to turn left before going off the end of the runway but the strain is too much for the nose wheel and it collapses. Everything happens at once; as the nose of the plane hits the concrete the huge under-wing fuel tanks split and throw 330 gallons of JP4 onto the burning brakes, explosions follow as the fuel ignites and flows in an ever widening pool; from the bus it can be seen that the canopy is sliding back and the men of the squadron spill out and stream across the runway to help their pilot.

There is not much time, stored in the fuselage and slender wings of the F-86 are hundreds of gallons more of fuel plus over 1,500 rounds of .50 calibre machine gun ammunition. First to reach the scene are LAC’s Jones and Bell; they run into the grass in a wide circle around the front of the aircraft and as they move to the left side they see that the pilot is on the ground and is struggling to run away from the flames. He is hampered by the square survival kit that hangs by one strap to his parachute harness and which now bangs against the back of his knees with every move that he makes. As he scrambles to safety the ammunition starts to explode and then the main fuel tanks go up. By now he is about 150 feet from the aircraft and lies exhausted, with Jones and Bell, in the dirt, as the flames increase and the “pop”, “pop” noise of exploding ammunition fills the air.

Soon the crash truck and fire engines arrive on the scene but there is not much that they can do; the aircraft will be completely consumed, leaving only a foot or two of each wing tip recognizable. The burn marks on the runway will remain for years, the only reminder of #23148 and its short operational time. F/O Belliveau had no injuries and continued to fly jet aircraft; he and all the members of the Air Division went on to different experiences but I think most of them still look back with fond memories to those days when the Canadians were the “Top Guns” of NATO.

Written by LAC Robert Jones
Munitions & Weapons Tech.
430 Squadron (1954 - 1956)