and correct it, which probably gave the testing officer an inkling that, with experience, I might eventually become a competent military pilot. After that the dreaded ‘FIHT’ loomed. A few candidates, especially those who were uncomfortable with instrument flying, would fail to make the grade, even at this point.
The Final Instrument Handling Test was, in some ways, more important than the ‘Wings’ test. Accurate instrument flying was a must for military pilots who were expected not just to fly, but to ‘fight’ their aircraft in all weather conditions, day and night. I worked and worked for it. I thought through every possible scenario: fuel shortage, diversion to an obscure alternate airport, instrument failures. All these things could be thrown at me, either actually flown or questioned as a scenario, and the Macchi’s high rate of fuel usage was always in the back of my mind.
The instructors were of various backgrounds and of various temperaments: from the serious fighter pilots, full of ego and elitism, to those from transport, bomber and helicopter backgrounds. One of them held a senior position and was known as ‘Five Balls’ by virtue of his deep, dry, gravelly voice. Unlike the rest of the instructors, Five Balls’ office was bare of any photographs or badges, with his green flying jacket equally unadorned with any unit patches or flags. I occasionally flew with him when my regular instructors were unavailable, and I experienced his unique instructional style.
Also unlike the other instructors, he sat through his students’ flights with his intercom system turned off. He would click down his button, say what he had to say, then it would be back to silence. The student would feel like it was a solo flight: no suck/blow of the instructor breathing through his mask, no grunting from him under the g-forces, no casual observations or very occasional banter. But almost always, Five Balls would ‘ghost’ the controls: you could feel his hands and feet through the ‘stick’ and rudder pedals when you were supposed to be in control of the aircraft. Perhaps he had had a few scares during his previous exchange duty with an Asian air force. A course-mate swore that when he was flying with Five Balls, he had completely removed his hands from the controls and the aircraft flew a perfect circuit, the student debriefed on minor points later.
While flying a circuit with Five Balls in the rear cockpit to a ‘touch and go’, and with full power on and climbing back up from Pearce’s runway, all I would hear through my earphones was, ‘Click ssshhh’ (the usual background hash of the intercom system), then the gravelly voice, ‘Surprise me, Mr Carr, and land on the bloody centreline next time … ssshhh click.’ Typical of Five Balls, as was his debrief. As with all his students he directed me to make him a strong black instant coffee, then, occasionally lifting his huge mug to his lips from the bare desk, he faced the window in his ever-present opaque black sunglasses, five o’clock shadow and short-cropped black hair, and made slow, laconic, dry statements in his bass voice: ‘The normal circuit was reasonable but your flapless ones tended to turn into a can of worms …’ and more in similar vein. His knowledge of the pubs around south-western Australia was encyclopaedic: he rattled off their names and details as we flashed over them on the low-level navexes. From his capacity for alcohol he was also known as ‘The Bionic Liver’, and regardless of how much beer he consumed his demeanour never changed. Legend had it among the students that he was never seen to eat.
My Phase One instructor, ‘Nobby’, had relinquished me to Flight Lieutenant Tony who was personable but exacting, of ‘maritime’ background like Nobby, with most of his operational experience gained on Lockheed Orion patrol aircraft. Tony had coached me through the second phase, patiently teaching the rudiments of formation, low and high level navigation, and advanced instrument flying. Perceived as a weak student, for the final phase of the pilot’s course I had been passed on to Flight Lieutenant ‘Johnno’.
Johnno was a solid, impressive chap, and colourful medal ribbons attested to his having flown helicopters in a combat environment as part of the RAAF’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Many of these veterans were given a ‘first choice’ of postings subsequent to their war service, and Johnno had gone on to fly Mirage fighters. Fighter pilots were sardonically referred to in the air force as ‘knuckleheads’ or ‘knucks’, single-minded pilots of supersonic jets, around which the whole service seemed to revolve. Many fighter pilots considered themselves of the elite and itched to get back to their operational squadrons. Johnno was an exception. He took a genuine interest in his students, and the taking over of a very young navy midshipman of marginal ability would have been regarded as a challenge for him.
‘That’s a pass.’ I still remember those words over the Macchi’s intercom today. I was still strapped in under the instrument flying ‘tent’. The testing officer was taxiing us in, having completed my Final Instrument Handling Test. They were the only words he spoke until I reported to his cubicle for debriefing. He was known by us as ‘The Cucumber’: a fighter pilot’s fighter pilot, cool and laconic behind dark glasses under blond hair. I emerged from his briefing room feeling that for once I had flown a reasonable test, the reward of hard work and thankfully, good instrument flying. Later, Johnno accosted me in a corridor. Beaming, he held up four fingers. ‘Mark, you got a ‘four’! Shit hot!’ The ‘Cuke’ had graded my performance as a ‘four’. ‘Fives’ were assigned only to students of exceptional ability. I had not let Johnno down and maybe, just maybe, I would graduate from 2 FTS.
We had been asked for our preferences for aircraft types early in Phase Three. The choices for the navy midshipmen were the Skyhawk fighters, Grumman Tracker anti-submarine aircraft, and helicopters. I expected to be assigned to helicopters. In our youth and inexperience, helicopters were perceived as slow and boring, a different form of aviation, noisy and vibrating. How wrong we were, as later I would have much to do with the helicopter crew and occasionally have the chance to take the controls of one. However, the weaker students were often sent to them, because the helicopter’s slower speed would give them more time to think and ‘stay ahead’ of the aircraft. I was convinced that helicopters would be my posting, assuming that I actually passed the course at Pearce. But I had always liked the look of the Grumman Tracker.
The Tracker was a blunt brute of an aircraft with, its two powerful piston engines. It bristled with sensors and had those huge side windows for the pilots to observe the earth and sea below. Like the Skyhawk, it would be flung off the carrier, HMAS Melbourne, by a catapult, to be caught back on board by its arresting hook engaging the ship’s wires. Unlike in the U.S. Navy that used two pilots, Australia’s Trackers were flown ‘single pilot’: the occupant of the right hand seat of the cockpit a specially trained observer called the Tactical Coordinator, or ‘TACCO’. But the Tracker didn’t have the speed of the jets and, with my own realistic appraisal of my flying ability, it could be an operational aircraft that I just might be able to handle. So on the appropriately named ‘dream sheet’, I had written Trackers as first choice. At the Postings Dining-in Night for 100 Course, instructors and students at the long tables, the port decanter circulating, the list was called out, which included: ‘… Midshipman Carr: VC 851 Squadron, Grumman Trackers.’ I was very happy with that.
Most of the remaining navy students had Skyhawks as first choice. However, a mediocre student who had reasonable instrument flying skills and who actually wanted to fly the Tracker was a rarity so by default, I was to train on the powerful Grumman. Ray, who was doing well on the course, ever cheerful and confident, was to fly the Skyhawk. The few remaining navy students on 100 Course would fly helicopters.
‘As for your “aero’s” …’ The wing commander then laughed at the aerobatic sequence I had demonstrated to him during our flight. We were debriefing, and I had flown a very marginal Wings Test with the Commanding Officer of 2 FTS. I had been ‘saved’ by circumstances; strong academics and good instrument flying, the political
