No. 439 Squadron was reformed at Uplands on September 1, 1951, with S/L Cal Bricker in charge. When formed, all the 110-strong squadron had to fly were two Harvards. As was usual for a new Sabre squadron, there were frustrations. Even Harvard flying didn't commence until October 17, and a diary comment that month expressed a certain malaise: "Serviceability was poor because of the lack of tools and parts. Weeks after completing the MTU course at St. Hubert we were still not flying a Sabre." The first Sabre didn't arrive until November and the OC made 439's initial Sabre flight in 19128 on November 10 after being checked out by Don Simmons of 441 Squadron. From here on the pilots of 439 began training in earnest, and on April 15, 1952, the OC announced to them that they would become the first Sabre squadron to fly their aircraft overseas. This would be Leapfrog 1, and launch day would be May 30. Bicker himself became ill en route so F/L Bill Bliss filled in as acting OC. The weather made for slow going, but 439 was safely on the ramp at North Luffenham by June 14.
In July 1953, S/L Bricker was replaced by S/L KJ Belleau. The diarist for July 26 made a rather daring comment: "The station CO, G/C Hale, could not start his jet, and immediately claimed 439's APU was unserviceable. Our man looked in the CO's cockpit, pushed in his ignition circuit breaker, and successfully started the Old Man on his way. It appears "finger trouble" knows no rank limitations". In August, 439 joined 410 and 441 in a major exercise, Momentum. On one scramble, F/Os Wenz and Wingate had a mid-air collision when attacked by an F-84, but damage was slight. August 19 the squadron flew 50 sorties on Momentum, and two days later 439 was suddenly ordered to Horsham. The two-week exercise ended August 23.
September 10, 1953 was an interesting day for 439, as F/O Fraser tried to shoot down F/O Fitzgerald. Well he didn't exactly do this on purpose. Fitzgerald was towing the flag, and on one of his runs on it Fraser somehow put four bullets in the tow ship. Meanwhile, F/L Bliss had been on exchange with the USAF in Korea, and when he returned in September was able to give 439 valuable briefings about fighting MiGs with the F-86. 439's demonstration team performed September 19 at North Luffenhams open house. The team had formed at Harry Wenz's instigation. With Dean Kelly getting all sorts of good publicity for 441, Wenz felt 439 should get involved, and, with Doug Linday's approval (he was COpsO at North Luffenham at the time), a team was formed. Original members were F/L Wenz and F/Os Laurie Hamilton, Mack Giles and Len Pappas. The diary notes that at the open house F/O's Smiley and Hannah "were kept busy, especially by the youngsters who seem to know more than the pilots about the Sabre". An unusual entry on October 14 refers to some skeet shooting: "F/O Wingate accidentally shot the airman who was setting the traps for us. The MO extracted 41 pellets from the chap's face and said he would be OK!"
Al Seitz of 439 recently looked back at his Sabre flying from North Luffenham:
My affair with this predatory bird began with a posting to 439 Squadron, newly formed at Uplands. Not yet a cynical veteran (total time on jets: 55 hours flying the Vampire), I was properly humbled and impressed at my first sight of the Sabre.
From the first flight, one appreciated the Sabre's completely straightforward handling characteristics. The Mark 2 was a sprightly performer to about 35,000 feet, but pretty much of a dog at 40,000, though occasional formations could struggle up a little bit higher. These were exercises in futility since, in that thin air, the J47 had no muscle left for turning power. The Marks 5 and 6 had ceilings of 5000 and 10,000 feet higher respectively.
The were no speed restrictions in descent, though sonic booms were normally not appreciated. Sometimes, in low fuel situations following a tangle close to home, formations would descend with little more precision than a gaggle of geese. Normal IFR penetrations were carried out at 300 KIAS. As to sonic booms, the '86 needed to dive nearly vertically to go supersonic. Then, its boom could be aimed with the gunsight, and would be heard only in a relatively small area 5-10 miles in diameter. It was a great way to open an airshow!
Air shows!. Singly, in formation fly-bys or in aerobatic teams the Sabre was a superb air show performer. It could make a pass just as low, just as noisy, and almost as fast as an F-100, F-104 or F-18. It could pull up and roll out of sight even without an afterburner. A pilot could pull up at something around 575K and do a vertical eight and double loop, one on top of the other.
Dean Kelly, while a flight commander with 441 Squadron at North Luffenham, was one of the legendary Sabre demonstration pilots. At a Fighter Command gathering at RAF West Taynham, Kelly put on his solo show, midst the Hunters, Swifts and the DH 110, all there to strut their stuff. As did the others, he opened up with a low 600 mph pass. Then, instead of pulling up for certical rolls, he hauled it around in a 7g turn, slowing to gear and flap speed, further slowing to just above the stall, and dragged it by with his jet blast scorching the grass. Throttle on and cleaning up, he came around in another 360, by the reviewing stand, no higher and apparently not much faster than the first time - and yanked it up!
Fighter pilots stopped breathing! Kelly's Sabre arced up past the vertical, continued over the top of the first half of a loop - very slowly. And as the nose came down, he very gently rolled out and accelerated away in the opposite direction. It had been below stalling speed over the top, but at zero g the controls still responded to airflow, so this seemingly impossible piece of flying worked nicely. One of the RAF test pilots later admitted, "I've never seen an aircraft flown so close to the bone".
Easy to fly in all phases, the '86 was just as easy to land, and a usual jet fighter pattern was flown. The initial point, three miles back from the runway, was hit at 300K. On the pitch the speed was lowered to 185K for gear and flaps, and a minimum of 150K maintained throughout base turn. Final approach was a minimum of 135K, or higher if heavy, until landing was assured. Touchdown at 115K. A piece of cake if recommended speeds were adhered to.
It was often a matter of pride for "tigers" to chop the throttle on the pitch and by careful playing of the turn, and timing of lowering gear and flaps, coast to the runway without using power. No big thing in itself, but a perverse wind or something unusual in the circuit requiring extra manoeuvring and power could lead to embarrassing moments. Axial flow engines can take a while to spool up, and a few Sabres squatted in the toolies because of that power lag.
Fighter operations in the Air Division posed new challenges to RCAF air and ground crew. Flying-wise, there were new weather conditions; restrictions regarding such things as international boundaries between NATO partners and such neutral states as Sweden and Switzerland; the rather ominous buffer zone separating NATO and Soviet bloc countries; potential for language mix-ups; and congested airspace where vigilance against midair collisions was paramount. There was the exhileration for the fighter pilots of daily dogfighting in these crowded skies; and politically, there was the sometimes tense drama when world war threatened, and everyone knew that the main battle ground would be Europe. Al Seitz has described some of his early experiences as a Sabre pilot, first in England with 439 Squadron, then on the Continent:
Before our arrival in Englands the Sabre had already made its presence felt - USAF F-86As were stationed there. The "A" had a slower roll rate than our "E". At the same time, the British had only Meteors, Vampires and Venoms in their day fighter operation. RAF fighter pilots were as aggressive as any of us, but also somewhat chauvanistic about their own aircraft. Many were reluctant to believe that the Sabre could actually ignore Mach and dive vertically to its heart's content. However, the RAF soon learned that the Sabre was faster in level flight than its straight wings. For our part, we learned that to get into a turning rat race with them was to invite humiliation.
Of course, we had more going for us - speed, and a rate of roll at least three times that of any RAF fighter - and they had controls which seemed set in concrete at high speed. As we learned our business, we found that if a Brit got into six o'clock position we could use rolling dives to get out of range. Or, if commenceent speed was near the straight-wings limiting Mach, we could scissor him from six o'clock to twelve o'clock in little more than a half dozen rapid reversals of turn directions. RAF pilots developed the arms and shoulders of wrestlers as they cursed their wing-heavy machines and watched Sabres zigzagging about with the gay abandon of swallows.
The Meteor 8s and Venoms could always outclimb the Sabre 2, as well as out-turn it. The Venom was a particularly agile performer with Mach limitations; the first time I experienced a tail slide was in trying to follow a Venom around a loop begun at over 35,000 feet. While the Meteor was limited to about Mach .80, the Venom went to .85. The Meteor could shed its tail exceeding its Mach limit. The Venom simply tucked its nose under and sought lower altitude regardless of the pilots intentions. The Vampire could disintegrate altogether if pushed passed its Mach limit.
RAF formations often loitered near our known climb corridors and, with the help of radar ground control, positioned themselves in perfect attack perches. Their frustration was complete when, after the attack had started, the Sabres simply lowered their noses and pulled away, still gently climbing. Often, as the Brits returned to their bases, their formations were ripped apart by Sabres slashing through with overtake speeds in excess of 150K.
The RAF did get good film footage when they came across Sabres fghting among themselves with speeds well down. The film mostly showed Sabres diving away to recoup. Often the film showed evidence of the attacking RAF fighter undergoing Mach buffeting.
Flying in the UK was vastly different from flying in Canada. The weather, particularly in winter, was atrocious. I did more GCAs by radar for real - down to and below minimums - than I'd ever done before. The kind of CAVU day one can expect at any time in North America is rather rare in Britain, or much of Europe for that matter. Beacons were few and far between. Most navigation was done under radar control, which was excellent. IFR approaches were handled from the ground by CDRF (Cathode Ray Direction Finder).
Fighter pilots often pride themselves on their "mental dead reckoning" navigation skills, and are reluctant to admit uncertainty of position or ask for help. In the UK at that time a formation leader could ask radar for a fix when above 10/10th cloud, hoping to hear that he was near some geographic position from where he knew his way home; or he could be honest and ask for "pigeons" - bearing and distance to base - thereby admitting he hadn't a clue where he was. RAF fighter controllers, ever keen to put a fighter pilot down, would provide very accurate fixes like, "Cypress Red, you are passing 400 yards south of Steeple Bumpstead, and approaching North Upper Middle Hampstead from the west". The next transmission from the flight leader would be a sign and a resigned request for pigeons, usually followed by some remarks from his faithful followers, "It would appear that Glorious Leader has temporarily misplaced his marbles again!
Barely three weeks after arriving in the UK, while on a mission over the North Sea on 8 July, 1952, my aircraft (19112) suffered oil pump failure and subsequent engine failure. The Sabre's stand-by hydraulic system was electrically driven. Without a windmilling engine one had control only while battery lasted. I was over 10/10th cloud (what else) when the controls stiffened in my hands.
My problems had begun 50 miles or so east of The Wash at 38,000 feet. I was steering towards a USAF base at Sculthorpe and had glided to about 7000 feet when I had to pull the handle. I was surprised to find that one can experience vertigo while descending through cloud under a parachute, and was even more dismayed to find myself over water on breaking into the clear. But my section and radar had a good fix on my position when I ejected, and a large number of aircraft were soon searching for me. About an hour and 40 minutes after splashdown I was picked up by a USAF SA-16 Albatross, a beautiful amphibian. I was the second in the RCAF to successfully eject. Years later I was to have another over-sea ejection, this time from a CF-104.
Updated: May 19, 2003