Egress team enables F-16 pilots to eject safely

To disembark a stationary F-16 Fighting Falcon, a pilot needs a sturdy ladder.

To get out of one that’s spiraling out of control at 10,000 feet – and live to tell about it – that pilot needs the help of Airmen like Senior Master Sgt. Aaron Hartzler, 149th Fighter Wing air crew flight equipment superintendent.

Hartzler manages the 149th FW egress team at Joint Base San Antonio-Lackland, a team of Airmen that keeps the egress, or ejector, systems on the wing’s fleet of F-16s in top condition.

“This is life and limb,” Hartzler said. “If we don’t maintain our pilots’ gear properly, it will kill them when they eject.”

Hartzler’s egress team works with both active duty and the Air National Guard F-16 pilots in training, maintaining each pilot’s helmet, mask, and parachute harness anti-G Force suit, among other items. The egress team also trains pilots for any possible ejection scenario.

Since the F-16 is a single engine aircraft with no gliding capability, these egress scenarios could end up being a pilot’s only option of surviving an engine malfunction or other mid-air problem. The time it takes to “punch” – as pilots informally refer to the ejection sequence – varies based on the pilot’s height and weight. Smaller pilots can get out faster, Hartzler said, while taller and heavier pilots take longer to correctly strap in and situate their gear for the jump.

“At most, we’d like to have our guys out of there in 12 to 15 seconds,” he noted. “But I’ve seen guys take 30 seconds and still get out.”

The ejection process typically plays out as follows:

A pilot in trouble calls mayday and relays his location so rescue crews can extract him once on the ground. The pilot then ensures the straps connecting him to his seat are oriented correctly. After a final check that his gear is ready for the jump, he pulls a small handle between his knees. As the cockpit window detaches to make room for the pilot, an array of rockets fire under his seat, boosting him hundreds of feet out into the sky. In less than a second, the pilot has blasted out of his cockpit, and depending on the elevation, the entire seat enters free fall. Finally, the pilot separates from his seat, opens his parachute canopy and descends to the ground.

Even if these egress mechanics run perfectly, the biggest variable of the egress sequence can be the pilot himself. Pilots run the risk of breaking their back and neck if they aren’t seated correctly during ejection, Hartzler said.

“You ever stuck your face out the window of a moving car, maybe going 40 mph?” Hartzler asked. “Imagine being shoved out of your cockpit going ten times faster than that. If you aren’t seated ‘at attention’ with your body loose, back straight, lined up properly, that force will snap your body.”

Lt. Col. Louis Davenport, 182nd Fighter Squadron assistant flight commander, can attest to this experience firsthand. Davenport known around the wing by his call sign, “Doc,” has the most recent egress experience in his squadron.

During a training mission at Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base, Houston, in 2009, Davenport was flying alongside five other F-16s on a simulated bombing mission. Holding in a racetrack pattern at 15,000 feet and headed eastward, the group began dropping to 1,000 feet to deliver payload to target location in Louisiana.

Everything was going routinely until part of Davenport’s cockpit exploded.

“There was this loud pop, then a deafening silence, then all the warning lights and sirens came on,” Davenport recalled. “One of the other pilots saw a fire on my jet that was so big, he thought my afterburners were turned on.”

After exhausting every other option to save the plane, Davenport pulled the plane up to 4,000 feet, slowed down to about 200 MPH, and punched out.

“Once you pull that handle, everything happens so quickly that you can’t appreciate it on a conscious level,” Davenport said. “The first thing you feel after leaving the cockpit is just this incredible force. It presses down on your chest, but you have just enough time to think ‘man, this is uncomfortable’ and then it’s over. That’s how fast it hits you.”

Still in shock, Davenport made sure his parachute canopy had opened cleanly when he came across a strange sight.

“I was able to see my aircraft without me inside, shooting fire out the back of it, spiraling down towards the ground,” Davenport said. “It took about 12 seconds to crash and turn into this huge fireball. It left a crater in the ground.”

Without the work of egress crews, Davenport might have been part of that crater.

“These guys are unsung heroes,” Davenport said. “You don’t really think about their equipment working until it works when your life is on the line.”

Master Sgt. Tracy Potts, 149th FW air crew flight equipment NCOIC, helps pilots like Davenport stay prepared for a possible ejection.

Potts, who runs a daily egress class at 149th FW headquarters, covers all emergency egress procedures for the F-16, from strapping in to punching out.

“These pilots are training for this all the time,” Potts said. “They’re going through all these procedures every single day so all we’re doing is refreshing muscle memory.”

Potts’ class takes place in a small, high-walled room with whiteboards and flight equipment neatly hung on the walls. The room’s centerpiece – a life-size, exact replica of an F-16 cockpit – provides many of Potts’ trainees with their only non-live chance to get a hands-on feel for the ejection procedure before they actually take to the skies.

“For some of our flyers who’ve never been in an F-16 before, they can be excited or scared,” Potts said. “That can mean being single-minded, where guys are just thinking about how fun it’s going to be to fly. But what we’re reinforcing is that flying comes with risks. Most pilots who eject survive, but some don’t. For those who might be in those tougher situations, we want to give them a fighting chance.”

While Hartzler has overseen countless safe ejections, the “tougher situations” stick with him the most.

“In the Air Force, you need to be meticulous with the small details,” he said. “With our job, a helmet and mask that aren’t maintained properly could lead to a pilot going hypoxic in the aircraft. That means he might suffocate before he even gets a chance to eject. Little things like that might not be an immediate problem, but they will set off a chain of events that leads to a catastrophic failure.”

For Hartzler, the egress job might be full of small parts and pieces, but it has a huge impact on the 149th FW.

“I see these guys leave every day,” Hartzler said. “All I care about is seeing them come back, give you a high-five, and have them say, ‘let’s fly again tomorrow.’”

With Airmen like Hartzler, Potts and the rest of the 149th FW egress team working nonstop to give pilots a safe landing in the event of an emergency, it’s much easier for Davenport to climb back into his cockpit each week.

“I would be lying if I wasn’t nervous the first time I flew after I ejected,” said Davenport, who took to the skies just 12 days after that crash in Louisiana. “But now, climbing up the ladder, those nerves are all gone.”