FCLP
Actual Aircraft, 149314
Night FCLP
I popped up my canopy by toggling the switch on the left console. The aluminum
clamshell with two small side windows whooshed up and locked. The warm night
air of central Florida rushed into the cockpit displacing the cool forced
conditioned air on my forehead while I still breathed the cold oxygen from
my mask. The dull roar of the two idling jet engines hit me through my helmet;
the intakes were just two feet away on my left and right, I was in the middle.
I was strapped into the back seat of an RA-5C Vigilante at 2300 hours on
a concrete ramp at Sanford Naval Air Station on 14 June 1967. We were conducting
Night Field Carrier Landing Practice (FCLP) on Runway 27 with five other
aircraft in the pattern. Wind was calm and temperature about 85 degrees.
The sky was clear with only the flashing lights of the other aircraft as
they went around and around the pattern to be seen.
My regular training pilot climbed out of his front cockpit and wiggled down
the ladder attached to the fuselage and the new pilot climbed up and in.
The fifty thousand pound airplane with its two fifteen thousand pound thrust
idling engines sat in its chocks and vibrated as it was being refueled by
a yellow truck off to the side. Flashing lights were everywhere but it was
all orderly and the pilot switch and hot refueling was going off without
a hitch. I took off my mask and instantly the smell of exhausted jet fuel
came into the cockpit. I relaxed and enjoyed it. It was all very exciting.
The new pilot came up on hot mike and said, "OK, Smitty, how do you
read?" He knew that his regularly assigned Reconnaissance Attack Navigator
(RAN) had been replaced by me for this evening FCLP only.
"Loud and clear, sir," I replied, putting my mask back on and
talking into the microphone embedded in it. I toggled down my canopy and
it closed with a reassuring thump and clunked locked. The air cooled down
and the noise eased for a bit. My regular pilot walked away without a look
back. He had just practiced twelve landings and would do so again tomorrow
night. He was an unmarried thirty eight year old Navy Commander who had
been flying single seat jet reconnaissance fighters (F-8) off carriers for
years and had had one combat tour in the new war in Vietnam. He was now
preparing to carrier qualify in this type aircraft before he went back to
war in Vietnam. It was his first time flying in a two seat carrier jet.
I was a single, twenty three year old Ensign navigator who had had little
jet experience, little navigator experience and had never been in combat
or even on a carrier. I was in awe of him. We had been assigned as a crew
and we flew all our missions together. We were due to qualify in the RA-5C
in one month on the USS Ranger, one of the large supercarriers of the time,
and then on to combat in six months over North Vietnam flying from Yankee
Station in the Gulf of Tonkin. But first we had to practice crew coordination
and the techniques and procedures to land the largest and heaviest carrier
aircraft on a flight deck. This was the pilot's time.
For the past several months I had been navigating low level, medium speed
photo missions throughout Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee, learning
how to take pictures of small bridges, roads, power plants, and prisons,
while maneuvering up and down and all around at four hundred and eighty
knots. The hardest part was not throwing up while thinking ahead of the
airplane and putting in very small number new target coordinates into the
computer. Now it was FCLP and all pilot technique and skill to get this
airplane at a certain spot on the earth, in a certain attitude, at a certain
speed, at a certain weight, and at a certain time. It had to be done right.
We were doing OK.
"Any gripes?" my new pilot asked, referring to any problems the
airplane might have developed during the previous two FCLP periods.
"No problems," I answered. My new pilot was a Lieutenant Commander,
also thirty eight, and had had much experience in combat and RA-5C carrier
flying. He was married and had five children. I addressed him as Mr. Butler.
I was more respectful to him than in awe, but also felt much more friendly
towards him. He had recently returned from a Western Pacific (WestPac) cruise
and a harrowing combat tour. He was now undergoing refresher training before
going out for another combat cruise with a different squadron than mine.
I had volunteered to fly these two hops with him because I knew him to be
safe and instructive.
"Call for taxi," he directed. I made all the radio calls but the
incoming instructions were for the pilot who was listening and had his hands
full trying to precisely place this ungainly airplane onto a spot of runway
about twenty yards wide by twenty yards long. The A-5, like most supersonic
aircraft, was a clumsy, underpowered buffalo when it was slow and dirty
with flaps, droops, and landing gear down, but cleaned up it was a beautiful,
graceful, speeding demon.
"Ground control, 201, taxi," I said into the oxygen mask as I
pressed down on a button on right right footrest after first confirming
I had the correct frequency set in the small window at eye level. We were
flying one of twelve aircraft assigned to the only Navy tactical reconnaissance
training squadron, RVAH-3. Our call sign was Commanche Trail 201 which I
had shortened to 201. I would have shortened it to 01 but there was another
01 in the pattern and I did not want to be confused with him.
"201, Ground, cleared to taxi runway 27, wind calm, altimeter two niner
niner two," the tower replied. "Ground," was short for "ground
control" which was the title of the person in the tower who monitored
aircraft movements on the ramp just prior to takeoff. The same person might
be called, "Tower," after we were airborne.
The engines revved up and we started to slowly taxi toward the duty runway.
We were only partially loaded with fuel because we would be landing shorty
after takeoff and the landing gear would not support the weight of a fully
loaded landing aircraft. The A-5 usually held thirty thousand pounds of
jet fuel, about five thousand gallons, but for our touch and go's we usually
took off with about seven thousand pounds of JP-4, or about a thousand gallons.
That amount of fuel was sufficient for about twenty five minutes of six
crash and dashes before we would stop and hot refuel again. Each pilot would
then have had two exhausting periods of twelve field carrier landing practices
on the night runway which had landing lights which simulated a carrier's
angled flight deck. They usually emerged from the cockpit soaked in sweat.
There was a Landing Signal Officer (LSO) standing by the end of the runway
to talk to the pilots as they made their approach. The LSO, "Paddles,"
as he was called, was an experienced RA-5C pilot who made recommendations
to the squadron commander as to whether a particular pilot was qualified
to fly out to the ship for landing qualifications which would enable that
pilot to go on the cruise. A thumbs down by Paddles was a serious thing
for a pilot and his career.
"Take off checklist," my pilot intoned.
"Compass," I quickly promptly as I was expecting the request.
I had only flown with Mr. Butler one other time, a day low-level hop through
mountains in southern Tennessee. It was the only time I had ever tried the
Terrain Following Radar (TFR) which allowed the plane to be guided below
mountain tops by the navigator interpreting special radar signals. No one
trusted the radar enough to use it for real. On that day the radar worked
fine and I respected the pilot for at least showing his trust for me and
the system. For that reason I had volunteered to stay and fly the extra
two periods instead of getting out and leaving with my regular pilot who
had completed his two periods.
"Set," the pilot answered the expected reply.
"Hook," I said.
"Up," he answered.
"IFF," I said, and then answered my own query, "set to standby."
Identification, Friend or Foe (IFF) was not required since we never left
the air station control area, but we always went through every checklist
item anyway.
"Canopy," I said.
"Down and locked, lights out," he answered.
"Harness," I said.
"Locked," he replied.
"OK, flaps and take off power to go," I said as we neared the
end of the runway." The takeoff ritual was proceeding exactly as usual.
We never engaged in idle chitchat.
There was so much information coming into us from different sources that
it required all our concentration to monitor and interpret it so we didn't
have any time for non-life threatening conversation. We were closely watching
dials telling us engine temperatures, flap position, radio frequency, fuel
flow, hydraulic status lights and also listening to the tower, the LSO,
and five other aircraft in the pattern. Our senses were alive with processing
information, figuring out which calls were for us and which required responses.
We had engine noise and radio noise also interferring with hearing clearly.
Internal communication was kept to a minimum.
We waited for a minute as another aircraft came in for his approach. It
was no use calling for take off yet and the common frequency was busy enough
with six airplanes all communicating where they were, their intentions,
their fuel states, and listening to the LSO give final landing instructions.
I checked the inside of my small cockpit. My left elbow could touch the
aluminum skin of the left side and my right elbow could touch the right.
My arm partially bent forward could touch the front console. I had a little
one foot by one foot window high up on the left and right side of my canopy.
In front of me there was a fold-down desk and a full instrument panel including
radar, viewfinder, altimeters and many other electronic controls. It was
cramped but comfortable once I knew where everything was. The seat was a
hard beige plastic which was the bottom of the ejection seat which also
went up my back and over the top of my head. The seat had to be hard to
exert the correct forces without hurting the back. No cushions were allowed.
I could not see nor touch my pilot in his equally small cockpit in front
of me.
I figured that in an hour and a half I would be having a cold can of beer
and a Florida lobster and baked potato dinner at my favorite Sanford restaurant.
I watched out my little right side window as the landing A-5 wobbled lower
and lower. The A-5 came down in its flared position, wings rocking back
and forth, and slammed down in front of us and then with a roar took back
off again, then slowly turned right to prepare for its next touch and go.
It was said that a carrier landing was nothing more than a controlled crash.
One reason Air Force type aircraft were unsuitable for carrier landings
is that the landing gear were never strong enough.
"OK, call for take off," my pilot said. We were on hot mike which
allowed everything we said to be heard by each other. His breathing increased.
"Tower, 201 for takeoff," I quickly radioed.
"201, tower, cleared for takeoff, wind calm," the tower crisply
responded. All the players were correctly anticipating each other.
"201, roger," I acknowledged.
As we quickly taxied into position at the end of the runway, I called off
the last checklist item, "Flaps." A crew had once attempted to
take off with flaps at zero. The plane never got airborne. It was such a
small thing with such serious consequences.
"Flaps ten," he said, "OK, power coming up."
The engines now started their whining up to full roar. He released the brakes
as soon as the engines were at one hundred percent and then kicked in the
afterburners. We had to takeoff soon and leave room for the next A-5 now
on final for landing. We started to roll.
"All temperatures normal," the pilot said as we gathered speed.
Our takeoff roll was short because of our light fuel load and we were soon
airborne and turning downwind to prepare to land in just a few minutes.
He left the flaps at ten and the landing gear down. The afterburners were
shut off and the power slightly reduced to maintain our speed of one hundred
sixty knots downwind at six hundred feet. We would fly the whole six passes
never getting higher than six hundred feet nor further away from the runway
than a mile.
"201 abeam," I called as we passed parallel the runway. Each plane
called various positions in the pattern to let everyone know where they
were. The critical interval was how soon each pilot turned base which would
determine how long his final approach would be. My regular pilot would often
make fun of other pilots who preferred a longer approach than he did. My
pilot tonight made no such derogatory statements; he just adjusted into
the pattern.
"201 turning final, state 6.7," I called. We had 6700 pounds of
fuel left, enough for five more passes after this one for a total of twenty
five minutes of flight time.
"Landing checklist, flaps," I said to the pilot.
"Flaps full down," he replied in between heavy grunts. As usual
it sounded as if the pilot was wrestling with a low, slow, clumsy, and very
dangerous monster. The vibration increased at the airflow responded to the
added drag of the huge flaps hanging full down into the airstream.
"Gear," I prompted.
"Three down and locked," he answered and then added, "I've
got the ball, 6.0."
"Checklist complete," I said to the pilot and then stepped on
my mike button and said, "201 ball, state 6.0," I let the LSO
know we had the meatball in sight which was a reflected image in a mirror
which let the pilot know his angle of approach toward the simulated end
of the carrier. The mirror system and the lighting pattern were identical
to that of the ship giving the pilots accurate simulation of a carrier night
landing. Fuel state was critical information around the ship because most
of the jets were always within minutes of flaming out if they did not land
successfully. At a certain point the aircraft was diverted to a land runway
if it was felt the plane could not make it aboard.
"Roger ball," the LSO acknowledged that we were on final, had
the field and ball in sight and we had six thousand pounds of fuel left.
Our RA-5C wiggled its wings and the engines surged up and down as we got
closer and closer to the cement runway.
"Little power," the LSO advised. No reply was expected. The whine
grew louder as the pilot added a little power.
"Going high," the LSO's reassuring calm voice told us. I felt
the power ease up.
My radar altimeter and pressure altimeter wound down lower and lower. Then
came the expected thump of the landing as we hit approximately where we
wanted to on the runway. During the FCLP debriefing the LSO would describe
each pass to the pilot and give criticism. The LSO had the authority to
wave off a plane from landing and his recommendation whether to divert a
plane or not carried weight.
As soon as the thump of the landing occurred the engines went to full non-afterburning
power and we almost immediately were airborne again and turning downwind
quickly to keep the pattern tight. I noted the time of the landing, fuel
state and any comments for later debrief on my pad.
This time upwind my pilot raised the landing gear and the flaps to ten degrees.
Having to lower the gear for landing made the FCLP more realistic. The first
night FCLP was the hardest for each pilot and now that we had that one over,
I relaxed and went into the routine. I settled into the small cockpit, checked
my pad of paper clamped to the desktop with the record of landings and fuel
states. I cinched up my harness, checked my clear visor down and gloves
on tight. I was wearing a new silver flight suit that was undergoing testing.
It had the parachute harness integrated into the suit, unlike the regular
flight suit that had the harness added on as a separate item. The plane
tossed and turned; it was a little like an amusement ride at a carnival.
Again downwind I called, "201 abeam."
"Landing checklist, flaps," I quickly said. We both knew what
the other was about to say and also knew the expected response.
"Flaps full," he replied.
"Gear," I prompted.
"Three down and locked, state 5.0," he answered just after the
small thumps of the landing gear locking in place were felt.
"Checklist complete," I said to the pilot, and to the LSO I said,
"201, on final, state 5.0."
The plane began its usual last minute maneuverings. This particular plane,
Bureau Number 149314, was on its second full day of flight operations after
having been returned from a Progressive Aircraft Rework (PAR) program which
updated all the systems and repainted the aircraft inside and out. It gave
the feeling of flying in a brand new airplane. We also carried a million
dollar camera in the reconnaissance pod. Normally the camera would not be
used on the rough FCLP but this plane was up, flyable, and needed. The Navy
policy of aircraft usage was when a plane was ready to fly, a crew was found
to fly it. The constant pounding of the landings was hard going on camera
mounts and internal parts.
"I've got the ball, 4.8" my pilot said calmly.
"201, ball 4.8," I reported to the LSO.
"Roger ball," the LSO answered.
We staggered along as usual and made a nice pass with no comments from the
LSO. The plane thumped its usual thump and accelerated as the pilot applied
full takeoff power. We started to climb. I started to write down the landing
and the fuel state on my pad in the well-lit small cockpit when I heard
a sudden soft rushing sound off to my right.
Just then my pilot said, in a slightly exasperated voice, "Oh, shit,
starboard engine."
I immediately asked, as I started to put my pencil into its holder still
listening to the whooshing on my right, "What's the matter?"
My pilot quickly answered me. "Standby, eject, " he said in a
terse, level tone of voice.
I immediately reached up with both hands and pulled the face curtain all
the way down over my face and upper body.
Nothing happened.
The rushing sound continued as I looked down to see what was wrong and started
to think that we were low and wouldn't have much time to do any of the manual
procedures such as blowing off my canopy, unhooking myself from the seat,
and jumping out. As it turned out, the delay was caused by the normal functioning
of the seat firing sequence which allowed three quarters of a second for
the seat to be set in the full down position. Since I was tall, I always
had it in the full down position. I was still looking down when the rocket
ejection seat fired. The cockpit was immediately filled with bright flame
and I was ejected upwards. The original ejection seats were fired with explosive
charges, but too many pilots suffered back injuries so the seat was improved
by having this seat propelled by a small rocket charge that reduced the
initial shock on the back. The ride up was smooth.
After the bright flash of the rocket firing I had just enough time to think
that I hoped everything worked normally. I knew the complicated sequence
that had to be followed precisely for me to live through this.
Just then I felt a great tug and felt warm black sky all around so the knee
restraints had retracted normally, the seat had bottomed out, my canopy
had blown off, the seat had fired, the knee restraints had been popped off,
the bladder behind me had inflated separating me from the six hundred pound
ejection seat, my drogue parachute had deployed immediately since we were
below twelve thousand feet, my main parachute had opened, my face curtain
was gone with the seat and I was coming down to earth under a parachute
while breathing oxygen from my ten minute bailout bottle. My new silver
flight suit had held and was comfortable. I did not know what had happened
to my pilot. His ejection sequence is delayed one and three quarter seconds
to permit my ejection sequence to complete itself before his sequence commences.
Without the delay there would be a chance of his canopy blowing away into
me as I was ejected upward.
As soon as I had realized that the chute had opened I saw a brilliant yellow
flash down and to my left as my airplane hit the ground. I thought, "Just
like in the movies." It hit and smeared a yellow flash in the night.
After a maximum of three seconds in the calm air after the chute opened
I abruptly hit the ground in a standing position and crumpled down into
a heap. During training I was taught to roll upon landing using the fleshy
parts of my body to cushion the landing. They never mentioned what to do
on a pitch dark night when the ground was invisible. As soon as I hit, I
felt a sharp pain in my back but quickly got up and looked around. The burning
plane was about forty yards away, upside down, and making explosive noises.
I was on a hard, flat, grassy field. I kept the oxygen mask on because the
gas was cool and I knew it was clean. I put my blinking flashlight on my
harness, as instructed in my training classes, and started to walk away
to look for my pilot. I then took off the oxygen mask and breathed in the
warm Florida night air. I laughed and thought, "I did it and this is
really something to talk about, I can't wait to tell the guys." I shouted,
"Mr. Butler, Mr. Butler." There was no answer, just the crackling
of the burning airplane.
I walked around a bit, still exhilarated but very aware of my situation.
It had only been a minute since the sudden rushing noise, but it had seemed
like a lifetime. A Navy fire truck drove up with some fireman hanging onto
the sides. It stopped and the fireman asked me if I was all right and I
said sure, why not, and laughed. They didn't laugh. The plane had crashed
just next to the runway. I climbed into a yellow Navy pickup truck that
soon came up and we drove to a central grouping spot. I asked about my pilot
but got no answer. I got out and walked over to a circle of men standing
around a parachute I knew wasn't mine. I walked over to my pilot's parachute
and it looked to me as if the flight suit attached to it had just been thrown
into a heap on the grassy ground. I guessed he had unzipped his flight suit
and had squirmed out of the suit, leaving it attached to the parachute which
was laying all strewn out. I again asked where my pilot was, but there was
no answer, only silence, as everyone just stood around and looked. There
was no activity other than silent standing around. The plane was going to
burn itself out and there was no searching going on.
I realized then that my pilot was still inside his flight suit and he was
dead. I wasn't happy anymore and didn't look forward to telling the guys
all about it anymore either. I sighed and went back to the truck and asked
to be taken back to the tower. My back was starting to hurt whenever I bent
over. I rode back silently to the tower where my regular pilot and our squadron
commander were already waiting. I told them we lost the starboard engine
and we ejected. I told them my pilot was dead but they didn't seem to want
to believe it. They said I was in shock and to relax. The safety officer
was there and suggested I tell everything I knew into a tape recorder for
the accident investigation. I agreed and sat down with him and told the
whole story as close as I could remember it. I then went back to the locker
room, changed my clothes and went home to bed.
The next day I woke up and my back was really hurting from a compression
fracture of thoracic vertebrate six from the abrupt parachute landing. I
went to work, was sent to the Dispensary where I was given some muscle relaxants
for my back, and took two days off. I resumed flying and completed my training.
The accident report revealed that a loose clamp, probably undone or not
correctly tightened during the Progressive Rework, had become loose and
was ingested into the starboard engine causing Foreign Object Damage (FOD)
and a fire.
The pilot's ejection sequence was normal but he was too low or the angle
was not vertical enough for the parachute to inflate after it was pulled
from the ejection seat by the drogue. It was guessed that he was too low
because the aircraft had rolled slightly to the right while waiting for
my ejection sequence to complete and thus changed the trajectory of the
seat from the vertical to the horizontal. He died of massive internal injures.
It was reported that he should have used the alternate ejection handles
on each armrest instead of the face curtain because that way he could have
maintained the aircraft in level flight instead of taking his hands off
the control stick to reach up and pull the face curtain. Up until that crash
it was believed that the Vigilante could maintain altitude and even climb
if an engine out situation developed when low, slow, and dirty. NATOPS was
changed to have the A-5 reach five hundred feet before turning downwind.
I believe that my pilot did everything right from quickly identifying the
source of the noise, to deciding the airplane was not airworthy, informing
his crew with instructions, and following the correct ejection sequence.
And he still died and I lived.
A/RA-5 Vigilante
Author: Terry Love
Format: 50 pages, 5 3/8" x 8 1/4", softbound
Photos and drawings: 78 black-and-white photos, 19 black-and-white and
six color drawings; black-and-white three-view drawings of A-5A and
RA-5C
Publisher: Squadron/Signal Publications, 1115 Crowley Drive, Carrollton,
TX 75011-5010, 214-242-8663
Price: $5.95
ISBN: 0-89747-334-5
Comments: Photojournal.
RA-5C VIGILANTE
The RA-5C Vigilante was a Mach 2, two-place, twin-engine multisensor
reconnaissance aircraft designed and built for the U.S. Navy by
Rockwell International's North American Aircraft Division at Columbus.
The Vigilante is capable of all-weather long-range carrier-based or
land-based multisensor reconnaissance missions involving high-altitude
supersonic or very low-altitude, high-speed penetrations. The
RA-5C inertial navigation system provides the precise position location
information demanded by reconnaissance missions.
The primary mission of the RA-5C is tactical reconnaissance. The aircraft
and its systems comprise one-half of the U.S. Navy Integrated
Operational Intelligence System (IOIS). The airborne system's counterpart
is the ship- or ground-based Integrated Operational Intelligence
Center (IOIC). This system is designed to provide tactical commanders
with up-to-date intelligence information on any target area.
The Vigilante is equipped with a specially configured, modularized, multisensor
installation containing the latest operational sensors.
Vertical and oblique serial frame and horizon-to-horizon scanning panoramic
cameras, high-resolution side-looking radar, infrared, and
passive electronic countermeasures (PECM) equipment provide for day-night
and all-weather multisensor collection. Sensors are selected
for a given mission in accordance with the type of data desired.
The Vigilante's two-man crew, pilot and reconnaissance/attack navigator
(RAN), is seated in tandem under individual clam shell-type
canopies. The RAN controls all reconnaissance functions, although the
pilot can assume control of the oblique-mounted serial frame
cameras for targets of opportunity.
Each crewmember has a catapult/rocket-powered ejection seat, also designed
and produced at Columbus, which is capable of high-altitude,
high-speed, or ground-level recoveries.
The RA-5C is powered by two General Electric J79-GE-10 turbojet engines,
each producing 11,870 pounds of thrust without afterburner and
17,859 pounds of thrust with afterburner. Fuel is contained in two large
bladder-type tanks in the fuselage, a saddle tank in the rear fuselage,
an integral tank in each wing, two or three fuel cans in the fuselage
tunnel between the engines, and provisions for four external drop tanks.
The RA-5C also has the capability to deliver conventional weapons, day
or night in all kinds of weather. Combined with its tactical
reconnaissance capabilities, the Vigilante is one of the most versatile
in the world.
DATA ON THE U.S. NAVY NORTH AMERICAN RA-5C WEAPON SYSTEM
DIMENSIONS (approximate) Span: 50 feet Length overall: 70 feet Height
overall: 20 feet With provisions to fold wings, tail and nose.
SPEED Mach 2 range
POWER PLANT Two General Electric J79-8 turbojet engines, each producing
10,900 pounds thrust without afterburner, and 17,000 pounds
thrust with afterburner.
BOMB DELIVERY Linear bay which runs lengthwise in fuselage. Bombload
is ejected rearward.
MISSION To provide the fleet with an all-weather, carrier-based attack
weapon system and tactical reconnaissance aircraft which can
deliver both non-nuclear and nuclear weapons at either high or low altitudes
on distant targets at speeds up to twice that of sound.
DESCRIPTION The RA-5C features a high, thin swept wing and all-movable
slab-type tail surfaces with spoiler/deflectors in lieu of
conventional ailerons for lateral control. The wing is equipped with
flaps and droopable leading edges with boundary layer control, which,
when used in conjunction with the spoiler/deflectors, improve low speed
flight characteristics. The two cockpits are arranged in tandem.
FIRST FLIGHT CREW A-5A August 31, 1958 Pilot & Bombardier Navigator
A-5B April 29, 1962 RA-5C June 30, 1962
LANDING GEAR Type: Tricycle, Hydraulically Retracted Tires and Wheels:
(2) 36 x 11 and (1) 26 x 6.6 Brakes: Multiple disc - Hydraulic
Landing Gear Shock Struts: Air - Oil JSE 113064
[ Aircraft Information | NAAD Home Page ]
Contact Boeing North American, Inc., North American Aircraft Division(NAAD)
Communications & Customer Relations Office
©Copyright 1996 Boeing North American, Inc.
ejection.html What it's like to go spinning
into the night as your jet crashes in first person unofficial version.
314summary.html What it's like to spinning
into the night as your jet crashes in third person official version.
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