I was an Aviation Electronics Technician First Class running the 1900 to 0700 shift in the intermediate maintenance level communications and navigation shop. The intermediate level shop is the maintenance level between organizational maintenance and overhaul maintenance. Organizational people did troubleshooting, removal and replacement of radios and navigational gear inside the planes on the flight deck. Intermediate level people worked inside repair shops aboard the ship. There the radios and and navigational equipment were troubleshot down to the individual component, such as a transistor or resistor. The IFF transponders were also repaired in our shop. I had 22 guys in the shop doing repairs. Civilians at large repair depots like San Diego did overhaul maintenance.
All US planes carried IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) transponders. Those transponders had three modes of operation. Mode one and three were general repeaters. When one of our E2A Early Warning planes or a Fleet ship sent out a challenge pulse, it would be returned with a matching radio pulse by a friendly aircraft. This was very basic identification and had been around since the end of WW-2, but the new fleet aircraft transmitted a coded series of pulses in mode two that identified each individual aircraft and where they belonged. Mode 1 and mode 3 were not secret; the secret came in with the mode two codes that changed every day. The codes were listed on paper sheets and kept in a safe in the communications shop. I had the combination at night and the Chief had it during the daytime. One officer from each squadron came to the shop to get the codes for each flight. I had to verify identification and check the list of officers who were authorized to receive the codes. No plane took off without those codes because they stood a good chance of getting shot at upon return to the fleet defense zone after a flight over Vietnam. There was always a possibility an enemy plane could try to join the tail end of a flight returning from a bombing mission, get in close enough and attack an aircraft carrier, so that code told the picket ships who was on our side and who wasn’t. I thought that those gunner's mates on the destroyers were always anxious to shoot at something and get into the fray. The codes were classified secret and on a need-to-know basis, meaning even if you had a top-secret clearance you couldn’t see them unless you had a need to know the information.
One night a Lieutenant Junior-Grade strolled into the shop, a new fellow, and he asked me for the codes for his outfit. I asked for his identification; he showed me his I.D. and I looked to see if he was on the list. He was not. I said: “I’m sorry sir but you’re name is not on the list so I can’t give you the codes.” The Lieutenant’s neck veins bulged out, his face turned red as a ripe tomato and I’m not sure but I think there may have been some steam escaping from under his cap.
“I am a G—Damned Lieutenant in Attack Squadron --- and I want those G—Damned codes.”
I turned away to put the list of approved receivers back in the safe, shut the door and spun the dial to lock it, then turned back to him and replied as nicely as I could: “I’m sorry sir; but it wouldn’t matter if you were the Captain of the ship, I couldn’t give you the codes if your name wasn’t on the list.” That was enough for him, he steamed out of the shop and went back to his squadron ready room on a dead run, determined to pull enough horsepower to have me in the brig before midnight rations.
I started counting the minutes; I figured he would tell his flight leader. The flight leader would call the Air Boss. The Air Boss would call the Executive officer, the Executive officer would call the Division officer, the Division officer would call the shop Chief and the Chief would call me. The phone rang a half hour later and the Chief asked me why I didn’t give the new Lieutenant the codes. I explained the situation, he said: “okay.” Then about 10 minutes later another Lieutenant walked into the shop asking for the codes. We went through the same procedure only this time he was on the list. I politely fulfilled his request and off he went. He never said a word about the previous incident; the Chief never said anything more and best of all I slept in my own bunk that night and for the rest of the cruise.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
All US planes carried IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) transponders. Those transponders had three modes of operation. Mode one and three were general repeaters. When one of our E2A Early Warning planes or a Fleet ship sent out a challenge pulse, it would be returned with a matching radio pulse by a friendly aircraft. This was very basic identification and had been around since the end of WW-2, but the new fleet aircraft transmitted a coded series of pulses in mode two that identified each individual aircraft and where they belonged. Mode 1 and mode 3 were not secret; the secret came in with the mode two codes that changed every day. The codes were listed on paper sheets and kept in a safe in the communications shop. I had the combination at night and the Chief had it during the daytime. One officer from each squadron came to the shop to get the codes for each flight. I had to verify identification and check the list of officers who were authorized to receive the codes. No plane took off without those codes because they stood a good chance of getting shot at upon return to the fleet defense zone after a flight over Vietnam. There was always a possibility an enemy plane could try to join the tail end of a flight returning from a bombing mission, get in close enough and attack an aircraft carrier, so that code told the picket ships who was on our side and who wasn’t. I thought that those gunner's mates on the destroyers were always anxious to shoot at something and get into the fray. The codes were classified secret and on a need-to-know basis, meaning even if you had a top-secret clearance you couldn’t see them unless you had a need to know the information.
One night a Lieutenant Junior-Grade strolled into the shop, a new fellow, and he asked me for the codes for his outfit. I asked for his identification; he showed me his I.D. and I looked to see if he was on the list. He was not. I said: “I’m sorry sir but you’re name is not on the list so I can’t give you the codes.” The Lieutenant’s neck veins bulged out, his face turned red as a ripe tomato and I’m not sure but I think there may have been some steam escaping from under his cap.
“I am a G—Damned Lieutenant in Attack Squadron --- and I want those G—Damned codes.”
I turned away to put the list of approved receivers back in the safe, shut the door and spun the dial to lock it, then turned back to him and replied as nicely as I could: “I’m sorry sir; but it wouldn’t matter if you were the Captain of the ship, I couldn’t give you the codes if your name wasn’t on the list.” That was enough for him, he steamed out of the shop and went back to his squadron ready room on a dead run, determined to pull enough horsepower to have me in the brig before midnight rations.
I started counting the minutes; I figured he would tell his flight leader. The flight leader would call the Air Boss. The Air Boss would call the Executive officer, the Executive officer would call the Division officer, the Division officer would call the shop Chief and the Chief would call me. The phone rang a half hour later and the Chief asked me why I didn’t give the new Lieutenant the codes. I explained the situation, he said: “okay.” Then about 10 minutes later another Lieutenant walked into the shop asking for the codes. We went through the same procedure only this time he was on the list. I politely fulfilled his request and off he went. He never said a word about the previous incident; the Chief never said anything more and best of all I slept in my own bunk that night and for the rest of the cruise.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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