“Gary, you better get back into that thing.”

What follows will seem fantastic – much like any other “no sh!t” story.  But with this tale there’s a difference.

In this case, what I’m about to describe actually happened.  And it’s fully documented.

I’m about to relate the story of the US Air Force’s “Cornfield Bomber.”

. . .

On 2 February 1970, four F-106As from the 71st Fighter Interceptor Squadron, Malmstrom AFB, Montana, were scheduled for a training mission.  The mission was to make history – but in a way that none could foresee.

The mission was scheduled to be a “2-on-2 combat maneuvering exercise”.  As the name implies, two teams of two aircraft each would engage, attempting to get in position to score a simulated air-to-air “kill”.

Before takeoff, one aircraft experienced a mechanical issue – an on-ramp drag chute malfunction.  To preclude scrubbing the mission, the day’s flight activities were altered to “2-on-1 combat maneuvering exercise”.

The remaining 3 aircraft took off, ascended to altitude – and engaged.  The single aircraft made a high-speed approach at the other two, then went vertical.  His two opponents followed.

. . .

In the maneuvering that followed, the pilot of one aircraft in the two-plane group – Capt. Gary Faust – appears to have “pushed the envelope” a bit too much while maneuvering.  His aircraft stalled, then entered what aviators term a “flat spin” at approximately 35,000 feet elevation.

Now, I’m not a pilot.  But even I know that a flat spin is some seriously bad juju.  It’s essentially God (or Budda, Rama, Fate, Gaia, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or whoever/whatever entity you choose to worship) telling you, “You are now in deep (trouble).  You have a very short time to figure this out or we’ll be meeting in person.”

Faust attempted to recover.  He was unsuccessful.  So after falling somewhere between  21,000 and 27,000 feet while in said flat spin, he ejected.

Faust’s ejection was successful.  He deployed his parachute, and drifted in his parachute into the local Bear Paw Mountains.  He was rescued by local residents using snowmobiles.

. . .

Now, when an aircraft’s pilot ejects three things happen to the aircraft.  First, the weight and center of gravity change.  Second, the ejection seat imparts a substantial downward force to the front of the aircraft.  And, third, loss of canopy changes the aerodynamics of the aircraft somewhat.

The combination of those changes caused something quite remarkable.  On its own, Faust’s aircraft came out of its spin. It then began to glide – straight and level – at around 175 knots.

It seems that one of the things that Faust had done during his attempts at recovery was to put his aircraft’s control surfaces into “takeoff trim” settings.  These settings turned out to be virtually perfect on the F-106A for gliding under the conditions the bird now exhibited (no pilot/ejection seat/canopy, idling engine producing minimum thrust, straight and level).

The aircraft – now somewhere between about 8,000 and 14,000 AGL (accounts vary), then flew/glided, straight and level, for a number of miles.  It approached the ground in farming country near the town of Big Sandy, MT.

Being February in Montana, the ground was covered with several inches of snow.  The aircraft touched down in a farmer’s field (one account says alfalfa, another wheat).

After touching down, the aircraft skidded a substantial distance along the snow-covered ground.  A low stone wall was blocking its path.  Somehow, with no pilot it turned about 20 degrees right while skidding and skidded through a gap in the wall.  It came to rest.

The engine was still running when local LE authorities reached it.  They contacted the USAF, who advised them to simply let the aircraft continue to idle until it ran out of fuel – which it did, about 1 hour and 45 minutes later.

. . .

USAF personnel went to the site afterwards and inspected the aircraft.  It indeed seemed effectively intact.  However, there was no good way on-site to determine the amount of damage to the aircraft’s underside.

The aircraft was partially disassembled, then recovered by the Air Force.  Amazingly, there wasn’t much more than minor damage to the underside of the aircraft.  One of those involved with recovery efforts reportedly commented that if there had been any less damage, they could have simply flown the aircraft out (there was a paved road nearby that was straight and level enough to allow that).

The aircraft was sent to McClellan AFB, California, for depot inspection and repair.  (Ya think?)  It was determined to be repairable, and was indeed repaired and return to service.  Capt. Faust reportedly later flew the same aircraft while the aircraft was assigned to a unit at Tyndall AFB, Florida, and he was TDY there for training several years later.

. . .

Well, “That’s the story, and I’m sticking to it.” (smile)

But perhaps you think I’m “BS-ing” you?  Well, if you think that – read/watch the links/videos below.  They document the fact that the incident described here really happened.

 

http://www.f-106deltadart.com/580787cornfieldbomber.htm

http://fly.historicwings.com/2013/02/the-cornfield-bomber/

http://www.airforcemag.com/MagazineArchive/Pages/2009/April%202009/0409gary.aspx

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornfield_Bomber

http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/2015/01/cornfield-bomber-f-106-delta-dart-flat-spin-landed-itself/

 

 

 

The aircraft in question was tail number 58-0787.  For unclear reasons, it came to be known as the “Cornfield Bomber” – though it was not a bomber and did not self-land in a cornfield.  It today is on display at the National Museum of the United States Air Force.

Sometimes truth is seriously stranger than fiction.

 

Author’s Note: the title of this article is one version of the reported radio transmission made in jest by USAF Maj. Jimmy Lowe, flying as Faust’s wingman that day, on observing the aircraft come out of its spin and fly away on its own after Faust ejected.

Category: Air Force, Historical, Who knows