Safety Spotlight: When something’s not quite right

The next day, I faced an “89 ride” in the U.S. Air Force’s Lead-In Fighter Training (LIFT) course, an introduction to fighter-flying fundamentals in the AT–38 aircraft. Eighty-nine rides had a pass rate of less than 10 percent; they were a formality, a chance for the Air Force to cover its bases by putting the student with a senior officer to verify that the student could not meet minimum standards. Once you failed the 89 ride, you were out of LIFT, disqualified to fly fighters—and, based on the needs of the Air Force, you could be out of Air Force flying altogether. To get to an 89 ride, a student had to “bust” (fail) multiple rides in a phase of training. For me, the struggle was Defensive Basic Fighter Maneuvers (DBFM). Flying DBFM involved shaking a bandit off of your tail, who began the simulated dogfight at your five or seven o’clock position, just out of valid missile shot parameters.

Facing an 89 ride was a surprising and humbling place to be and was a rare event for the LIFT program, which had a reputation as a “cake walk.” To earn the opportunity to fly fighters, I had graduated pilot training in the top 10 percent of the class and through some good fortune, was assigned the only F–15 allocated to our class of about 50 graduates. At LIFT, I breezed through offensive BFM. On OBFM you start at the bandit’s five or seven o’clock, just out of weapons parameters, and you maneuver into parameters for a valid shot. Then I was assigned a new instructor to begin DBFM. I struggled from the very first DBFM flight and never progressed, resulting in an 89 ride.

I flew the 89 ride with the colonel in charge of flying operations. After a few G-force warm-up turns, we went right into DBFM maneuvers. At the “fight’s on” call, I immediately pulled into a high-G turn and soon began some random, aggressive maneuvering. “Flailing” would be a kind description. The bandit moved to my six o’clock, called a missile kill, and we stopped the maneuvering. The colonel, quiet throughout, asked to “see that one again.” We set up for a similar engagement, and at the fight’s on, as I started similar flailing, the colonel called to cease maneuvering, took the airplane, and said, “Lieutenant, you don’t have a clue what you’re doing.” Silence except heavy, exhausted breathing over the intercom on my part. He radioed the other airplane, “Let’s go home.”

Back in the squadron, the colonel held private conversations with our squadron commander, thumbing through my gradebook. When he finally joined the debrief, he mused: “It doesn’t makes sense. A distinguished graduate in pilot training; earned the only F–15 in the class; breezes through OBFM here at LIFT; and then, suddenly, probably the worst DBFM student I’ve ever seen.” Silence. I held his stare. He continued, “I cannot pass you, but I’m not going to fail you. I think the problem may actually be your instruction.” Perusing my grade book, the colonel noticed my primary DBFM instructors were from a ground-attack airplane that did not fly BFM. They were inexperienced in BFM instruction. He directed two more training flights with experienced DBFM instructors, and another 89 ride.

The instructor changes made a difference. I performed decently on the first sortie, well on the second sortie, and passed the 89 ride with the same colonel. The experience had a lasting impact on me, in several ways. First, the colonel saved my flying career. Second, I learned the criticality of good instruction. Good flight instruction is invaluable and can make the difference in creating a good pilot or a precarious one. It’s important to spend the time and extra money to find someone with experience in what they are teaching, whom you connect with, and who can explain flight concepts in a way that you can understand. Finally, the event had an impact on me as a leader. The colonel could have shrugged the ride off after my poor performance, but something didn’t seem right and he took the time to try and understand it. In doing so, he didn’t just “save” a student, he unearthed problems in his organization, which allowed him to implement meaningful changes that made the group better. That’s leadership. Perhaps it’s something for chief flight instructors to consider as they evaluate struggling students.

Go fly—and when you need instruction, consider that added time and expense for quality instruction is usually a good investment.

Email [email protected]