Free Operation Overflight by Curt Gentry, Francis Gary Powers Page A

flights, however, each was new.
    There were no “milk runs.” Although there were return flights to a few specific targets, because of continuing interest in what was happening there, the route was changed each time. We did not believe the Russians yet had the capability of shooting us down; the easiest way to find out, however, would have been to make the same trip twice. We avoided any semblance of establishing a pattern. We went out of our way to avoid passing over known radar or antiaircraft installations. But in so doing we also ran another risk, inadvertently passing over installations which intelligence knew nothing about.
    It was only a matter of time, we knew, before Russia would have the capability. The only question was when.
    Because this risk existed on every flight, the overflights never became “old hat.”
    Whether awaiting its return, or flying it, we sweated each overflight.
    Three
    D uring 1957 there was a step-up in activity in the U-2 program.
    After the third and last class completed its training at Watertown, a new U-2 base was opened, this one in the Far East, at Atsugi, fifteen miles west of Yokohama, Japan.
    Having received too much attention at Wiesbaden, the first U-2 group moved to a more isolated location, Giebelstadt.
    It wasn’t isolated enough.
    On takeoff, pilots frequently noticed a long, black limousine parked at the end of the runway. Checking license plates, agency security discovered it was registered by one of the Iron Curtain embassies.
    Giebelstadt had been “compromised.” Shortly afterward, the first and second U-2 groups combined, at Adana. Although special flights were to continue to be made from West German bases, major emphasis in Europe now shifted to Turkey and its environs. By this time we were flying not only out of Adana but also, on occasion, from two bases in Pakistan: Lahore and Peshawar. There were two major reasons for the change. Being closer to targets in the Soviet Union in which we were most interested, this cut down flyingtime and fuel consumption. And, because of the ruggedness of the terrain, with its fierce mountains, it was one of the least defended portions of the Soviet border, decreasing odds on flights being spotted.
    During 1957 there were modifications of the plane. Its silver coloration was changed to blue-black, making it even harder to spot when in flight. And an ejection seat was installed. Prior to this time, there had been few successful bail-outs from the U-2. If the plane became disabled and went into a spin, the
g
forces pinned the pilot in the cockpit, making it extremely difficult for him to climb out. The ejection seat was supposed to remedy this hazard.
    It merely substituted another.
    It was discovered that at high altitudes the plastic canopy over the cockpit, normally broken by the top of the seat when it ejected, froze and became like steel. Tragically, this wasn’t discovered until a pilot tried to escape using the ejection seat. Though he had hit the canopy with tremendous force, it hadn’t budged. He went down with the plane.
    Following this, the explosive charge was increased and sharp breaker points installed on top of the seat, positioned in order to hit the canopy at its points of greatest stress, causing it to shatter.
    Like many another pilot, I remained leery, hating to ride in a plane with an ejection seat. It was comparable to sitting on a loaded shotgun. There had been instances, though not yet in the U-2, where, because of some mechanical failure, pilots had been ejected while their planes were taking off, landing, or still aground.
    There was a “safety pin” to keep the seat from ejecting. Pilots were supposed to remove this before takeoff. I never did, always waiting until reaching an altitude where I knew the chute had some chance to open.
    Today successful ejections may be made from most aircraft while still on the ground. This was not the case during the period of Operation