Belgian F-16 pilots were apparently not as lucky as us that day

As you may know, at the 6th Assembly of the Turkish Aeronautical Association held in 1935, the date of May 15th, the day on which Miralay Fethi Fethi and journalist Tahsin and nine others were martyred during the Greek invasion of Izmir, was adopted as "Air Martyrs Commemoration Day" and today we continue to commemorate our air martyrs traditionally every May 15th at their graves. Every martyr has a story about why he or she lost his or her life, a reason for the accident. To some extent, we can learn why many of them were martyred from accident investigation reports, but sometimes we do not have the opportunity to find out completely. Some incidents are buried with our martyrs before they are fully solved. Some of them during exercises, some during landing, some in the clouds, as a twist of fate, they suddenly fly away from us at an unexpected moment. 

Today, I will tell you about how I narrowly survived a life-and-death incident that happened to me while performing a flight mission in our Air Force, and how I survived. In the meantime, while I was surviving, I will also tell you about two lives that were not as lucky as me, the plane crash of two Belgian pilots on Turkish soil.

I was serving at the 191st Cobra Squadron Command at the 9th Main Jet Base in Balıkesir. As I always did, on Wednesday, October 18, 1989, I got out of bed to go to work. I was living in military lodgings. The Balıkesir Lodgings area was almost a kilometer away from the air base. Out of the corner of my eye, as was my habit, I looked out the window. It was a typical fall day. It was foggy outside. Naturally, I said to myself, "No flying in this weather today!" For some reason, I wanted to fly every day in those days. On the days when I didn't fly, I had to be buried in desk work, which for some reason I couldn't enjoy at all. I mean, if there was no flying for some reason, that day's work would become a torment for me, it would never end. In those days, senior fliers were given the right to fly two different types of aircraft at the same time. The squadron already had F-104 fighter jets in its inventory. I took advantage of this additional assignment opportunity and started to fly in my second aircraft type, the T-33. I always wanted to fly more. I volunteered to fly in two different types so that I could always fly when the opportunity arose and not stay on the ground while other pilots were flying. And it was a good thing.

The weather was foggy. Okay, F-104s were not usually flown in this weather. But I thought that maybe we could make training flights with T-33 Shooting Star aircraft in instrument flight conditions. We were performing missions such as profile shooting, attacking representative ground targets, and radar shooting with the F-104Ss, which we used in the fighter-bomber role. We were conducting instrument flight training with T-33s, especially in limited weather due to meteorology, and we were providing young pilots with in-cloud orientation and instrument flight training.

As we did every morning in the squadron, we had our collective briefing that day. As I had predicted, the weather did not seem suitable for missions with F-104s. On that day, only T-33s could fly instrument missions, but the cloud ceiling needed to rise a little higher. Since F-104s could not fly, I thought that I could at least fly with T-33s, so I started to wait for the squadron to open flights for T-33s. Finally, around 14.00 in the afternoon, I learned that the Operations Commander had decided to open flights for instrument flights.

I was going to take an instrument flight in a T-33 with a pilot first lieutenant who was serving in the squadron and whose name I cannot remember now. Together we went to the Liaison Squadron Command. I did an external check of the aircraft. However, I realized that the T-33 aircraft allocated to us that day was one of the aircraft we called the "American Black T-33". The characteristic of these aircraft was that they did not have any instruments (TACAN, ADF) suitable for the requirements of instrument flight. Modern navigation systems, which are now available on even the simplest airplanes in flight schools, were not available on these T-33s under the conditions of that day. I would not be lying if I say that we were only recently aware of the existence of GPS. With the American T-33s, we would only be able to make ground controlled radar approaches with the help of the GCA (Ground Controlled Approach) radar located within the borders of the base, which we called GCA square pattern. When I calculated that we would have to make 5-6 GCA square patterns during the planned 1 hour and 45 minutes of instrument flight, I didn't really like this job. Since we were going to fly, I thought we should fly with a better T-33 and do a full instrument flight training. With this in mind, I asked the flight line mechanic if there was any other T-33 that he could give us. Unfortunately, I learned that there was no other T-33 aircraft available.

My pilot friend, with whom we were going to fly, was very eager. "Instructor, let's fly. It would be a good experience for me," and I didn't want to discourage his enthusiasm. I accepted the plane. Meanwhile, when I examined the plane's logbook, I realized that this T-33 was a plane temporarily allocated to the 9th Base. It was a T-33 plane sent to Balıkesir only for missions such as liaison between bases and transferring documents at critical times. It was temporarily assigned to the 9th Base. This model T-33 was a little different from the other T-33s we had flown. Additional unique controls had to be carried out on these aircraft. For example, during take-off and landing, the "Take-off Land Tach System" had to be activated when necessary. It had a relatively old type of attitude gyro compared to the attitude gyro found on other T-33s, and it had an attitude gyro with a slightly reverse operating logic. As I mentioned before, this type of T-33s did not have TACAN and ADF. My feet felt like they were going backwards for a while, but my young pilot brother's eagerness spurred me on, and I decided to fly. I thought to myself, "Let's hope for the best.

We took off safely. In line with our planning, we entered directly into the GCA Square Pattern. On the ground, it was foggy. Horizontal visibility was low. As we passed around 4,000 feet, we came out of the cloud. The sky above us was clear. Although the whole region, including the Balikesir bowl, was covered with a dense layer of fog, there was a clear air above 4,000 feet. In these conditions, while we were doing a GCA land pattern at an altitude of 5,000 feet above the clouds, we were only in a layer of fog during the approach to the runway and the climb legs after the pass. 

We were going to make a final square pattern and make an instrument descent to land at our scheduled landing time and connect the final approach to the landing. Everything was going well. We were endeavoring to follow the instructions of the GCA operator at the radar scope to the letter, and he was bringing us closer to runway 36 (from south of Balıkesir to the north, towards the square) on the safest line, at the appropriate descent altitudes and speeds. When necessary, he would say, for example, "Now turn your head 2 degrees to the right" in order to keep the airplane in the desired direction. We knew that the more precisely we followed the operator's instructions, the more precisely we could make an error-free descent. This was an instrument flight training that guaranteed the pilot that he could make a safe final approach under real conditions, under GCA control, even when there were no instruments on board, just by following the operator's instructions. Such approaches, which were the pilot's last insurance, were considered as one of the trainings that gave confidence to both the pilot and the GCA operator and ensured that they were not afraid of bad weather conditions. 

Following the operator's instructions, we were approaching the runway. We were in the clouds, but we had full confidence in the GCA operator. Soon we were descending with the landing gear down, with flaps. Soon we would see the runway after traveling 5-6 miles with the descent, thank the GCA operator, pass to the Tower channel and complete our landing. As we were descending with this in mind, suddenly the GCA operator gave the instruction "I lost your track, I can't see you on my scope, please go to the Balıkesir Tower channel and contact the tower".

I was worried. There was no problem to switch to the tower channel, but it was not possible to descend "without being seen" under these conditions. We immediately went to the tower channel. We informed the tower that we were canceling the descent, that we were going above the clouds and that we would ask for clearance to descend again. We took the landing gear and flaps up and started climbing. At the same time, I was inwardly angry with the operator at GCA. "We have descended 5-6 times so far on this flight. Until then, you always saw it, but what happened now that you don't see the big airplane?" I was inwardly reproaching the operator. He said "I don't see it" and stepped aside. So what were we going to do now? GCA couldn't see us. There was obviously something wrong with the systems. We were in the air, and we didn't have enough fuel to wait for the GCA to recover. I declared to the tower operator that the GCA was inactive, that the aircraft did not have the necessary systems for instrument flight, and that I requested a 'DF (Direction Finder) descent' if it was active under these conditions.

In the DF descent method, it was necessary to descend with a technique based on the calculation of the direction of the aircraft as a result of the back reflection of the signal sent to the aircraft from the DF antenna in the tower. In order to send a signal from the aircraft to the tower, we had to press the radio button continuously for 20-30 seconds and the direction of the aircraft had to be determined precisely by taking a shortcut from the signals sent during this time. We talked to the tower and pressed the radio button several times for the required time. However, the tower operator could not locate the aircraft for some reason. We had no choice but to stay above the safety altitude on the approach line. It was not possible to descend. We had to abort the descent again. We climbed above the clouds. I was almost at the point of death, wondering how we were going to land in these conditions. There were no other planes in the air. If there was another airplane flying like us, our job would have been much easier. We would have been able to descend on the arm and land safely on the arm. We wouldn't have to deal with things like DF. 

Apparently, the tower was no good to us today. We were running out of fuel. We couldn't stay in the air. I came to the conclusion that in order to land safely, we had to go below the clouds at a safe altitude. The south and west of the airbase had mountainous terrain. The northern area was also covered with hills in places. I assessed that our only chance was in the eastern part of the airfield, the flat area between the airfield and Kepsut, the firing range. We had no choice but to go under the cloud here. Other places were dangerous. Here, taking advantage of the flat terrain, we were more likely to go under the cloud, but there was no guarantee. We started descending from the point we had calculated. I focused on using the Take-Off Land switch, which I was controlling on the ground, when necessary, in case we needed additional power. With one hand on this switch and one hand on the yoke, the other pilot and I were trying to descend with a low zoom towards the ground, trying to see a ground reference that would save us. We were descending, but we were also very scared. If there was an unknown elevation in front of us, we could hit it in an unlikely way. My heart was pounding and my blood pressure felt like it was skyrocketing. Finally, as we descended, the cloud layer in the area we were in started to break up a little bit. This was an opportunity. I immediately turned the plane in that direction. Even though we were in the clouds, we could now see the terrain below us. There was a small clearing in front of us. We were going to make a full descent from there and land under the cloud. We went below the cloud from here. But this was not the Kepsut region. There was a valley in front of us. We tried to figure out where this valley was, and then I realized that this was the valley in the Susurluk region. I realized that we had descended a little further than where we had planned, to the north, towards Susurluk. We had gotten lucky. We didn't make it over the firing range, but we made it close to a settlement we knew. Most importantly, we were now under the clouds. It was easier for me after that. I turned towards the south, in the direction of Balıkesir Air Base. We remained under the clouds and continued to fly at low altitude under visual conditions. After a while, we established radio contact with the Balıkesir flight tower.

Thank God, everything was going well so far, and I was thinking that I would be able to land safely from now on. However, the 'torture' was not over yet. As I approached Balıkesir, I realized that the square was not suitable for a standard visual landing pattern and that the only solution was to approach the square by crawling. I was going to approach the square at 500-1000 feet relative to the ground, set the landing gear and flaps under appropriate conditions, and complete the landing under visual conditions. I had no previous experience in approaching so low with this aircraft and landing with visual maneuvers. It was not possible to reach the peel-off altitude of 2,000 feet relative to the ground. Thus, with a last effort, I made my approach towards the runway with horizontal maneuvers. In conditions of very limited horizontal visibility, I caught the direction of the runway by using the landmarks on the ground and landed safely, albeit with difficulty. 

After landing, we were drenched in sweat, but my mind was stuck on the GCA operator. I was going to go and hold the GCA operator to account. I was going to find out why he 'left us in the air' in this state. I sent the pilot behind me to the squadron. I went to the GCA building myself. It was a mobile compound. Just as I put my foot on the stairs of the GCA building, the operator appeared in front of me. He said, "Sir, please don't come here, I have a very important job, please don't come in." I had barely landed and all I was waiting for was an apology. While I was waiting for the operator to apologize to me, there was a confused and agitated operator in front of me. I was there to say, "You almost got us killed!" But the operator was in no mood to listen to me.

I had to stand aside and wait for the operator to finish his job. I had no intention of walking away. I saw it as an obligation for myself and my fellow pilots on board to put this operator in his place. We had gotten off lightly today, others might not be as lucky as us. The operator had to understand and grasp this and do his job more consciously from now on. While waiting on the sidelines with these thoughts, I also listened to the conversations going on inside the GCA.

There was an important event. Two F-16 aircraft of the Belgian Air Force had disappeared in the air while descending to Balıkesir. This incident had occurred around the time we landed. These two Belgian planes were on their way to Balıkesir via Greece as part of a planned 'cross country' mission between NATO countries. The weather was bad, but even at that time, F-16s were incomparably more modern than our F-104s and T-33s. There was nothing preventing them from making a TACAN descent. These aircraft with advanced navigation systems could even descend to the runway coordinates. In a way, they were able to make precise navigation approaches point by point, provided that the runway coordinate was connected correctly. At least this was the information we heard at the time. The Belgian F-16s descended towards Balıkesir square in the tactical column in the direction of 36, leaving a gap of 3-4 miles between them in the pursuit position. While the Belgian planes were descending towards the square, contact with them was lost. This incident happened at the moment I entered the GCA building.

When I heard about this incident, I did not leave the GCA building, I waited. The GCA operator turned out to be someone I knew. He was a gentleman with glasses. I had even met and talked to him from time to time. I didn't understand how he could have made such a mistake as 'leaving us in the air' on the last approach, so I was going to ask him to explain it to me. At least I was going to tell him what I had to say and leave the GCA building. But now we were facing a different situation. In a way, our incident was no longer of any value.

Meanwhile, as time passed, there was no news about the F-16s. Finally, it was decided that the planes had somehow disappeared and the button was pressed for search and rescue. My God, what a catastrophic day it was. On the one hand, I was happy that we narrowly escaped an accident with the T-33, but inwardly I was very sad for the F-16 pilots. I wondered if they had gone to another square or if the planes had crashed. I was suddenly startled by the worry that they might have crashed into the mountains while approaching Balıkesir in the clouds in the same position as me. Even the thought disturbed me. I left the GCA building in a hurry. My experience didn't matter much. There was a bigger incident. I put my misfortune aside and joined the search for the Belgian pilots. Many places were searched in the hope of finding them alive. Finally, a few days later, we learned that F-16s had crashed into a hill in the town of Gelenbe, near Kırkağaç, south of Balıkesir, and that both pilots had lost their lives. The wreckage of both planes was scattered on the Gelenbe hill.

RF-4 planes of the Turkish Air Force arrived in Balıkesir to take aerial photographs of the plane wreckage area. Luckily, the leader of the column was my circuit mate Mehmet ÇETİN (Retired Air Pilot Lieutenant General). I reached the incident site by land. There was a situation in the wreckage area that I had never encountered before. I cannot describe it. How could two planes hit the same spot 30 seconds after each other? As we later learned, the pilots had planned a descent similar to the TACAN descent to the point indicated by the coordinates referring to the beginning of runway Balıkesir 36. However, they probably miscalculated the minimum safety altitude on the descent leg and planned their descent without adequately surveying the mountainous region south of Balıkesir. Or they might have descended to the wrong coordinate (steerpoint).

Actually, when we were descending with the T-33, we acted with our feelings. Our luck was that we were familiar with the geography of the region. The Belgian pilots were completely unfamiliar with the Balıkesir region and its meteorological conditions. To their blind luck, the weather was bad that day. There was an accident that should never have happened. At that moment, I felt the need to say thank God you spared my life. Even though the pilots were Belgian, they were my colleagues. This incident shook me deeply. This risky aspect of aviation was frightening, but unfortunately it was a reality that every aviator who practiced this profession had to accept. 

Aviation, especially military aviation, is full of countless incidents that walk a fine line between luck and misfortune. Two F-16s take off from Europe and arrive safely in Turkey. Then, on the same day, they hit the spot where I was descending with a very primitive airplane like a T-33, even in the conditions of that day, and I did not continue to descend because the GCA operator could not see the airplane. This is not something that would normally happen, but on that day, on that unfortunate day, it happened. This is piloting. It is a profession where sometimes you don't know what will happen a day later, an hour later or even a minute later.

I wish all pilots safe flights.