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The big gray four-engine patrol aircraft in the hangar at the S.C. Technology and Aviation Center near Greenville looked newer than those I flew on more than 40 years ago. But the new paint was deceptive; it masked a fuselage older than my children, and it could have been one of those to which I was assigned in the 1960s to shoot photographs of Soviet warships in the Norwegian Sea.
by James T. Hammond
Editor, GSA Business
(Published in the GSA Business print edition, August 16, 2010)
The big gray four-engine patrol aircraft in the hangar at the S.C. Technology and Aviation Center near Greenville looked newer than those I flew on more than 40 years ago. But the new paint was deceptive; it masked a fuselage older than my children, and it could have been one of those to which I was assigned in the 1960s to shoot photographs of Soviet warships in the Norwegian Sea.
Today these mission-weary aircraft are being refitted here with new wings, and spruced up for another 20 years in defense of America. Seeing the old warbird made me think of a mission four decades ago, one that illustrates why re-manufacturing these old planes is necessary:
(PHOTO: A P-3 Orion of the U.S. Navy’s Patrol Squadron 24 flies over the coast of Iceland in 1968, enroute to search for and identify Soviet Navy submarines, like the Golf-class missile boat, which threatened U.S. cities in the Cold War.) (Photo/James T. Hammond)
The P-3 Orion’s four turbo-jet engines roared and the wings reverberated, buffeted by turbulence generated from the sea’s white-capped surface less than 200 feet below as we searched for the Soviet Navy’s Golf-class submarine we knew was there, but could not see.
It was 1968, and I was a photographer for the U.S. Navy, serving with Patrol Squadron 24 out of the NATO base at Keflavik, Iceland. Soviet submarines were forced into a narrow gap between Norway and Iceland as they steamed south to menace the Atlantic coast of the United States. After the Sound Surveillance System (SOSUS), a network of fixed listening devices on the seabed, detected a suspicious vessel in the Iceland/Norway gap, our planes would be sent out to verify the identity of the enemy submarine. We would study and record its unique audio signature so that it could be tracked more confidently as it threatened our Eastern Seaboard.
Some of the Soviet-era subs carried nuclear missiles that could destroy American cities; some were hunter-killer boats that aimed to destroy our submarines in the event of hostilities. It was our job in Navy aviation to ensure these dangerous undersea boats could be quickly located and destroyed if the Cold War suddenly became hot.
On this turbulent day above the Norwegian Sea, we were having trouble getting visual confirmation of the boat, code-named Golf. This 1960s submarine had diesel/electric engines; it had to surface regularly to recharge its electric batteries. It carried the Scud missiles that would become infamous in the 1990s when Iraq fired them at Israeli cities. In the 1960s, the Soviet Navy deployed them at sea to menace U.S. and NATO naval vessels and coastal targets.
My station was directly behind the pilot’s seat, using World War II-era cameras to shoot through half-inch thick Plexiglas and hope for a decent photo. We had amazingly good results, given the primitive technology deployed in 1968.
On this mission, we ran into low-hanging clouds that dropped right down to the ocean’s surface. We screamed along through the fog, only able to know our position relative to the sea with the radar altimeter. I could see the dial over the pilot’s shoulder. He kept dipping below our mandatory floor of 200 feet, as he felt his way along in search of clear air. We knew the sub was down there, hiding in the fog while its captain recharged his batteries.
Our sensor operators also knew there was another vessel in the area. What it was remained a mystery as we sought to photograph the Soviet missile boat.
Uncertain Target
Suddenly, the radar operator told the pilot over the intercom that our target was straight ahead. At close to 400 miles per hour, we closed fast. The pilot kept asking the sensor operators for more information. What was ahead of us? He could not see beyond the windshield because of the fog.
Suddenly, the Orion broke into clear air, at 150 feet above the tops of the sea swells. And barely discernable ahead was the shape of a large freighter. The pilot cursed loudly, pulled sharply on the yoke of the controls, and pointed the lumbering giant of an airplane as high as it would go. At the same time, he shoved the throttles of the four powerful jet engines to the wall. The four Allison T-56-A-14 turboprop engines, each delivering 4,910 horsepower, made the fat propellers claw the air furiously, and lifted us safely above the tall ship in our path.
With the freighter now visually identified, we homed in on the second target. The clouds were breaking and we began to find clear air. Like a bloodhound tracking a killer, our P-3 and its crew crisscrossed a narrow patch of ocean, awaiting our chance to spot the missile boat. Finally, the radar and sonar operators said the target was dead ahead. We suddenly broke into a shaft of sunlight spilling through a hole in the clouds. The co-pilot spotted a reflection of light off the wet skin of the submarine, the pilot steered slightly to the right of the sub’s profile ahead, and as we soared past it, I snap the one photo that we would have of that target for a day’s work.
My photograph that day became the confirming evidence of a missile sub headed for the American coast. And it was made possible by that magnificent airplane and its determined crew.
Some of those P-3 aircraft are now 45 years old. More than 750 were built by the Lockheed company. Many remain in service with the U.S. Navy, the Customs and Border Protection service, and the air forces of more than a dozen nations worldwide. The old planes are being refitted with new wings and tail components that will add another 20 years to their service life. Lockheed Martin executives describe the demand for refitted P-3s as an “emerging market.” At less than $25 million, a remanufactured P-3 is a bargain compared with the $260 million price tag of a new airplane for the same mission.
The Lockheed Martin facility at SC-TAC in Greenville is one location where these valuable old planes are being refitted. It is one of the largest defense contractors in South Carolina, employs more than 1,000 people, saves the taxpayers money, and contributes an invaluable asset to America’s homeland defense. The South Carolina General Assembly has helped keep this valuable facility in Greenville by contributing to the maintenance and improvements at SC-TAC.
By making possible repairs for the wear and tear of four decades of high-stress flying in the nation’s defense, our tax dollars are putting the P-3 Orions back on the front line in another war that is no less threatening to our way of life than was the Cold War threat from the Soviet Union.
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