"Engine Chip Light Panic"

"Engine Chip Light Panic"
Submitted by -1LT Robert Brewster, Headhunter 37, 3rd PLT Qui Nhon, Sep '70-Oct '71

As Headhunter 37, 9/70-10/71 , FLYING RECON MISSIONS over hostile areas in a single engine O-1 Birddog was never a problem until something happened.

The US had already starting removing combat units and areas on the ground were becoming less, and less secure. Being out there alone with only radio contact and no other aircraft in the area did not bother me until one day, I experienced an "Engine Chip Light". The engine chip light on the O-1 Birddog was yellow in color and it was located in the top middle of the instrument panel. It was basically a yellow bulb the size of a dime. The only time you ever thought about it was during the prefilght check when you could “push” on its glass face with your finger to make the yellow light come on. This was the test to make sure it was working. We all knew that an engine chip light was an indication that something was happening in the engine.  We were taught that this light had a magnetic plug installed in the engine oil SUMP area and if the engine started "making metal", this magnetic plug would attract the metal filings and complete an electric circuit , which in turn would make the chip light come on.  We were also told that "fuzz" could do the same thing. Metal filings or fuzz alone did not bother me. One day in the maintenance shop I saw the “fuzz” when a magnetic plug was pulled from an engine. It did not look serious to me. Also, I felt the same way when I saw tiny metal filings. Yet, as unconcerned as I was, fuzz and filings did represent something happening inside the engine.  It could indicate a failing engine but my real concern was with pieces & chunks of metal. That would be very serious and indicate eminent engine failure. None of this was good while flying but especially not good when flying in a hostile area, over bad guys who want to kill you. The challenge with a chip light was you never really knew what was happening. Things could be serious or nothing to worry about. With an engine chip light warning you could panic and expect the engine to fail anytime, or you could ignore it and assume it was "fuzz" meaning nothing was going to happen.  In either case you it was a guess.

On the date of this specific flight, I was about 50 minute’s flight time from any friendly place to land. The closet was Phu Cat Air Force Base. Also I was not alone. There were two other aircraft with me - another Birddog, Headhunter 35 piloted by Jim McDevitt and an Air Force O-2 piloted by Herbie 12 Steve Davidson.  We were all searching the same area. A remote site  covered by triple canopy jungle with no place to land and known to be occupied by both Viet Cong and regular North Vietnamese Army troops.  This was my situation when the engine chip light came on. I did not hesitate. I immediately told everyone I had an engine chip light and was headed back to our base at Phu Cat. I would stay in radio contact with them and they could monitor my progress if something happened. The flight time back to Phu Cat was about 40 minutes. The chip light did not go out, it stayed on. Sometimes fuzz was known to clear itself and the light would go out. But, not this time. As I flew, I swear that this dime sized light grew in size and was now as big as a nickel. Then the the light looked quarter size and brighter, too. The more I flew the more I was sure the engine was going to quit any second. Still at least 10 minutes flight time from Phu Cat, I saw an unimproved tactical landing strip below me. It was in a place called “Happy Valley” and on the hill above it was a friendly South Korean base camp. I had flown over this camp dozens of times. There was always someone there. I made the decision to land. Upon landing I would hike up the hill to the base camp and from there I would wait for help. I decided to land straight in. No flyover. No tactical recon of the landing area. I was going to get on the ground before the engine seized and before I would have a worse situation like crashing into the jungle.

On final approach, my heart is racing. The chip light now looks like a 100 watt bulb.  The engine sounds funny, too. I am on short final. I pull the power off to land but I keep gliding down the runway. I am too fast to land. I failed to put down any flaps! The ground is rushing by underneath me and then I see the end of the tactical strip coming quickly. It is nothing but trees and jungle. Oh, no I cannot land and now must go around. I apply full power to the engine and start to climb. I think surely the engine will quit now.  I climb and turn back for another landing try; I can see the South Korean soldiers standing there in the base camp. All eyes are on me. I continue flying a pattern and then turn back around to try another landing. This time I use my flaps. I am going much slower and I safely land. I taxi my O-1 to the end of the airstrip and there is a road leading up to the base. I taxi off the air strip onto this road. It is wide and it is sandy. I get about 100 feet onto the road and my landing gear sinks into sand. I apply full power and I am not moving. I am stuck! I look up the hill. The South Koreans are all still watching me through their perimeter wire. Surely I am a dead person with my go around alerting the bad guys. Now stuck in sand, I am vulnerable. The jungle is nearby. I will be captured or worse. My adrenalin is running full force. I shut down the aircraft engine and get out onto the ground. I do not want to be here. Now on the ground, the hill to the Korean base camp looks a lot steeper and further away than it did from the air.

Jim McDevitt, Headhunter 35, who had been monitoring my calls decides he better catch up with me. I tell I am on the ground at the Happy Valley tactical strip and stuck in sand. Now, convinced that the Koreans are not going to help me and the “bad guys” are coming to get me, I grab the Birddog tail and pick it so the tail wheel is off the ground. I start pulling & pushing and the aircraft starts moving out of the sand. I strain for all I am worth to pull the Birddog back to the runway. Back on the runway I jump in and restart the engine. I then taxi down the strip to take off when I discover I have no fuel in the two wing gas tanks. (The avgas level in the O-1 was measured by a metal rod with a floatable cork on the end.  The cork was not floating and the little arrow in the fuel level window was on “Empty” for both tanks. Now, I am really screwed. Headhunter 35 flies overhead. I tell him I have no fuel to takeoff. He lands and taxis up next to me. We take the water bags from our survival vests and drain fuel from his aircraft to dump into my fuel tanks. I restart my engine and the fuel corks bounce a little. I then taxi to the runway end and takeoff still expecting the engine to quit on takeoff. Nothing happens! I fly the additional 10 minutes to Phu Cat; ask for a straight in approach and land. The engine never quite or even hiccupped. It is still running smoothly! I taxi to our company ramp and shutdown. I am exhausted! What a lesson I learned that day. I panicked for no reason.

This lesson would stay with me the rest of my flying career and probably saved my life many times over when I was in other emergency situations and I did not panic.