Nuke the Pilot
Operation Redwing tested aircraft vulnerabilities to atomic blasts.
- By Norvin C. “Bud” Evans
- Air & Space magazine, February 2013
Redwing aircraft comprised a B-52 (lead), B-66s (flanking), a B-47 (following), F-84s (flanking), and an F-101A (in trail).
Courtesy Norvin C. Evans
During the five months that I spent in Operation Redwing, which tested second-generation thermonuclear bombs over the Pacific proving grounds, I flew a Republic F-84F into seven nuclear explosions to measure the effects of the heat and the shock wave on aircraft. My flight into the Mohawk explosion on July 3 was nearly my last.
Although it was vastly more powerful than the bombs dropped on Japan at the end of World War II, Mohawk, at 360 kilotons, was an airburst atomic bomb considered only a low risk to pilots flying near the site of its detonation. My flight path was programmed so my F-84F would be at a particular point in the sky within 0.1 second of detonation—as close as feasible to subject the airplane to the maximum amount of heat and shock wave. Such precision timing sounds impossible, but that was the requirement placed on me for all test detonations. That sort of careful positioning is what first brought me to Patrick Air Force Base in Florida the previous year. Radiation Inc. of Melbourne had designed a space positioning system that would provide a pilot with that degree of accuracy. As the pilot who was to use the system in the nuclear tests, I was assigned to make test flights for Radiation Inc. with its system, which would allow me to capture the desired data—in theory. In practice, as it turned out, the system had plenty of bugs to work out.
I didn’t use the system on my Mohawk mission; instead, I used a radar positioning system, flying by the guidance of radar technicians. I was a little concerned about a controller at a radar site positioning me within the required accuracy to the nuclear explosion, but I had to trust his professionalism. Although Mohawk was classified as a mild shot, our objective was to determine how large a nuclear bomb an aircraft could deliver and survive the blast effects. We needed to learn how much heat the airframes, skin, electronics, and engines could survive. How many impact loads above the design limit of 14 Gs could they absorb? What kind of overpressures could the turbine wheels withstand without causing the engines to fail? On this mission, my F-84 would experience heat and the shock wave from the smaller atomic explosion.
My “live shot” day began at 4 a.m. with steak and eggs, a special meal for the pilots and flight crews participating in the tests. I was to fly a late-model F-84F-25, at the time the sturdiest aircraft in Air Force inventory. The other aircraft—a B-66, B-57, and F-101A—were positioned farther from the blast than I was. Chuck Kitchens, in an older F-84F, would measure the side load of the shock wave.
Following my last-minute briefing, I lifted off into the black sky. It was always about as lonely a time as I have ever spent. About 10 minutes later, I closed my protective hood and continued flying on instruments to the test site over northern Enewetak Atoll.
The countdown went perfectly and the radar controller’s commands were easy to follow. As zero approached, I pulled the black goggles down over my eyes and covered the lenses with my gloved left hand.
Detonation. Shards of brilliant light penetrated all the protective devices and severely pained my eyes for a few seconds. As the brilliance faded, I could see the bones in my hands. Suddenly I began to feel as if millions of long, hot needles were shooting through my body.
We did not have fire-resistant garb; I was wearing only a lightweight flightsuit. When I pushed the goggles up, instead of seeing the light fading the way it had in previous blasts, I had the horrible sensation of being on fire.
I wasn’t braced for the shock-wave impact. When it hit, I was affected more by the flaming debris in the cockpit than by the force of the impact. I wasn’t sure what was happening except that it was different—and not good. I could see flames around my feet, causing me to pull them back into the footrests. When I tried to unfasten my protective hood, the heat from the metal zipper and snaps burned through my gloves. When I finally pulled the hood back, a shower of burning fabric covered me. All this time—and it was only seconds, although it felt much longer—I tried to convince myself I had not flown into the fireball, but surely I had been very close to it. In the back of my mind was an earlier H-bomb test when my space positioning system failed at five minutes to detonation. Had I not aborted, I would have flown into the fireball when the bomb was detonated 45 seconds early, directly in my flight path.
As the smoke was swallowed up by the air conditioning system, I could once again see outside. I was not in the fireball. The fire around my feet had gone out, but even through my oxygen mask I could smell the burnt material and metal.
I tried to make a Mayday radio call, but all I could hear in my headset was loud static. Just a bit above me, the overcast was punctured by the fireball’s trail. In its wake, patterns of light that looked like Japanese umbrellas exploded every thousand feet. I pushed the control stick to the right and looked for the airstrip, when to my pleasant surprise the beacon appeared through the smoke and haze just 25 miles away. By now the static in my headset had subsided somewhat, and the smoke under my feet had begun to dissipate. For the first time in a few long seconds, I thought I might have a chance of surviving.
I had no idea about the overall condition of my airplane, but it responded to my control input so at least I could point it toward home. I tried another Mayday call. I was relieved when my controller acknowledged it and vectored me toward the runway. When I was on my final approach, the smell from whatever had been burning was still making my eyes water. I could only partially see to land.
In reviewing the flight, we found that the heat reflected off the overcast and onto my F-84 had burned away or wrinkled the skin on the flaps, stabilator, and ailerons. The glare shield above the instrument panel, and all of the black tape windings on the instrument lines behind it, were completely burned away. The hydraulic fluid that had leaked out around the rudder pedals had created other fires. The lens on the over-the-shoulder camera inside my protective hood had melted. Of the three layers of asbestos and aluminum cloth that made up the hood itself, two were incinerated.
I continued to have the sensation of needles burning through my body for several weeks. Because of the overall classification of the Redwing tests, I was never allowed to see the data gathered from any of my missions. Nor was I ever given the radiation readings from the film badges I wore during the last five flights. Although we had been briefed that the maximum exposure we could safely receive was 100 milli-roentgens in six months, I had pointed out to the flight surgeon that I had been exposed to 100 on each of my first two flights. Whether the overexposure contributed to the life-threatening melanoma I developed seven months later, I’ll never know.
My next two missions were H-bomb tests over Bikini Atoll. On the second, the bomb exceeded its predicted yield by a significant amount, breaking my airplane’s right wing spar in two places. On the plus side, this provided the test engineers with the maximum possible data and negated the need for more testing.
An Air Force test pilot for 38 years, Bud Evans served in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. He logged 15,000 hours in 203 aircraft types.
Comments (19)
Another fascinating true-life story I never heard of before. I am so very proud and thankful for our military personel in this country. Their sacrifices to keep this country safe and ahead of all others is unmatched in the rest of the world. God has Blessed America.
Posted by Larry Freed on January 23,2013 | 09:02 AM
Bud, I worked in nuclear power plants in several widely separated areas of the world. Knowing what I know now, I'm pretty sure I would not have volunteered fot what you accomplished. Thanks Bud. Good health and long life to you.
Posted by Edward Wentz on January 25,2013 | 07:49 PM
I cannot even comment on your bravery and contributions you have made for our country. My prayers are with you. God bless you.
Posted by Charles sTwist on January 28,2013 | 06:18 PM
Unf______g beleivable. Thank you for your service does not begain to answer or repay the debt that is owed to you.
Posted by Albert T. brown Jr. on January 28,2013 | 08:51 PM
Wow that made me sit on the edge of my seat.....Thank you for sharing your story I can only say thank you for taking the risk so that we could live in peace. God bless
Posted by Carmen Angelo on January 28,2013 | 09:45 PM
WOW. Guts R You. OK the first one, you didn't know the full drill. But doing the second and third testing, you not only had guts but also incredible courage. I wish you good health and long life also.
Posted by Brenda on January 28,2013 | 02:31 AM
Whatever Bud received for flight pay, it wasn't enough. As a B-52 RN, I'm curious if BUFFs were tested too.
Bob,
Maj, USAF Ret
Posted by Bob Cunningham on January 29,2013 | 06:28 PM
Bud,
I salute you and all the others that participated in those tests. I knew of some of those flights but nothing like the one you experienced.As they say, Happy landings my friend and many thanks again.
Posted by Norm Ross on January 30,2013 | 09:20 PM
One lucky guy in spite of the health problem. Sounds like a great career.
Posted by Mike Vee on January 31,2013 | 11:17 AM
Bud Evan's professional skill and selfless dedication to a highly dangerous mission is truly outstanding. Bravo, and welcome to flight test.
Posted by James R. Hankel, Msgt USAF ret on February 20,2013 | 04:53 PM
Bud,
When did you make these flights? What years?
Best,
Joan
Posted by Joan Wilcox on February 24,2013 | 03:26 PM
Wow!! 'Guts Football' comes to mind...thanks for sharing your experience; I knew we did a lot of crazy things during the golden years of the A-bomb, but this was an amazing account.
Posted by don on March 2,2013 | 02:12 AM
Wow that takes balls of brass to fly into nuclear blasts over and over again, but shame in the Air Force for sending him out there and not lettin him know the raidiaton readings. It's like these guys are expendable test monkeys to the Air Force.
Posted by CJ on March 16,2013 | 01:44 PM
Bud, the (singed and sunburnt) angels watching over you and your plane must have demanded and received hazardous duty pay for your flights!
Posted by Michael Tober on March 18,2013 | 08:56 PM
As a youngster of 73 I'm always impressed by the courage of Bud Evans and those willing to take life risking chances to learn what people can do. Obviously we can never pay them enough, we can only thank them.
Posted by Larry Keeley on March 25,2013 | 08:47 PM
Bud. What an expierance and to survive such a blast..I was stationed at McClellan AFB and with the 55th VLR Weather Recon Sqdn in 1952 after overseas service. We were flying WB-29s then. We flew a few Nulcear Tests at Indian Springs flying through the clouds collecting data. We never had any problems that I know of..God Bless
Posted by gerald lindahl on March 27,2013 | 01:39 PM
My Father, Warren Ruck also a WWII vet would like to contact "Bud" Evans. My father was a machanic that actually worked on Bud's plane and would like to speak with him. My father is not computer savy and asked if I could try and find a link or address to write to him. Do you have any ideas on how to connect these two icons? Susan Conti
Posted by Susan Conti on March 29,2013 | 03:22 PM
Susan,
Bud is a great individual and I'm sure he'd love catching up with your father. You can reach Bud at nabuevans@cfl.rr.com
Posted by Todd on April 5,2013 | 03:13 AM
Bud Evans:
I have not heard of such cool-headed bravery ever before - and likely will never again. The nation owes you an incalculable debt of gratitude and recognition for courage and airmanship without parallel.
Posted by Andy Logar on April 14,2013 | 03:57 PM