“We didn’t know a great deal about the single-seat A-10 (as we’d all been banking on the sleek and sophisticated Eagle and there was no Google available for us to conduct in-depth research), but there’s one thing we knew for sure: the A-10 – and there’s really no other way to put this – was Butt Ugly.”

This is an excerpt from “From F-4 Phantom to A-10 Warthog: Memoirs of a Cold War Fighter Pilot” by Steve Ladd. Published by Pen & Sword.

Shortly after my temporary ‘consultancy’ in Iran, I reached the end of my tour as an instructor pilot at Homestead. Having become an Anglophile (and not only through marriage), I lobbied for an assignment to the UK where there were F-4s at RAF Bentwaters/ Woodbridge. I was delighted to receive a validation of my ‘Dream Sheet’ and orders to the 81st Tactical Fighter Wing (TFW), RAF Bentwaters. Consequently, in the summer of 1977, I reported to the 81st and was appointed wing weapons and tactics officer. I had achieved just about everything a captain fighter pilot could aspire to: a combat tour in South- East Asia, instructor and flight commander in a fighter training squadron and a graduate of the distinguished F-4 Fighter Weapons Instructor Course. In short, I was having about as much fun as was possible with my clothes on and enjoying my lot in life immensely.

It was at this point that rumors began to circulate within the F-4 community that the venerable old war horse was being considered for the glue factory. There were new kids on the block: in the air-to-air world, the F-15 Eagle was McDonnell Douglas’s sexy air superiority fighter and all the bright young sparks were chomping at the bit to saddle up on this sleek charger. The rumor mill gained momentum and it soon became likely that F-4 units based in Europe would gradually be phased out. Many of us had stimulating (if unrealistic) visions of climbing out of a tired old Phantom on a Monday and into a bright shiny Eagle on Tuesday.

Although the F-15C would go a long way towards ensuring NATO’s air superiority in a future conflict, there was one vital piece of the puzzle missing. The F-4 was a remarkable air-to-ground machine – a role the early F-15s couldn’t handle at all – and the Russian adversary we faced in central Europe possessed an awesome land army capability – armor and infantry – which would need to be blunted decisively if we ever came to blows. It was this threat that kept the folks in the Pentagon awake at night, but on the periphery of the well-hyped introduction of the F-15 into Europe was another new aircraft, unobtrusively being developed out of the limelight.

The A-10 was conceived in the wake of the relatively large numbers of ground-attack aircraft shot down in South-East Asia by small arms, surface-to-air missiles and low-level anti-aircraft artillery. Attack helicopters flown by the Army were effective for supporting troops on the ground, but not against a substantial armored threat. We were seeking an aircraft better able to survive such weapons and provide a credible capability against armor. Air Force planners weren’t asking for much: a low-cost ground-attack bird possessing long loiter capability, excellent battlefield visibility, low-speed maneuverability, massive cannon firepower and extreme survivability. The prototype was produced by Fairchild Republic Aircraft in the mid-’70s and ‘flown off ’ against the Northrop YA-9 (which bears an uncanny resemblance to the Soviet Sukhoi-25, NATO code-named ‘Frogfoot’. Just sayin’…).

The rumors of the F-4’s demise in Europe persisted, and finally we were advised that a force structure announcement was imminent. The ubiquitous F-4 was based in a number of European locations. In England, in addition to my own unit at Bentwaters/Woodbridge, there was the 48th TFW, flying F111s, 60 miles up the road near Newmarket and Cambridge. We waited expectantly for a couple of weeks and then the wing commander assembled us in the base theatre to present ‘the Plan’. The powers that be in the Pentagon had rolled the dice and the 81st Wing at Bentwaters had been selected to host not the sleek F-15 ballerina of the skies, but the A-10 Thunderbolt II.

At this point, I need to explain yet another influential trait of the fighter pilot: rampant narcissism. As F-4 pilots, we were proud of the image our aircraft conveyed. It was not aesthetically appealing (for example, F-15s are elegant and slick; F-16s are cute) but the Phantom always looked like what it was: a consummate weapon capable of inflicting massive destruction on an enemy. It was in some respects asymmetric with a droopy tailplane and bent-up wingtips, but by God it looked mean…and we liked that a lot.

We didn’t know a great deal about the single-seat A-10 (as we’d all been banking on the sleek and sophisticated Eagle and there was no Google available for us to conduct in-depth research), but there’s one thing we knew for sure: the A-10 – and there’s really no other way to put this – was Butt Ugly.

It was a big gray airplane with straight wings and two fanjet engines which sounded not unlike massive sewing machines that appeared to have been mounted high on the fuselage just forward of the twin tail as an afterthought (more about these later). We were horrified by the fact that the main wheels retracted forward and not completely and the bottom half of the tires hung inelegantly from big ungainly pods under the wings (there’s a damn good reason for this too, but remember, we’re talking vanity here). The bulbous nose housed a seven-barreled Gatling gun, which poked out from underneath like some kind of monstrous carbuncle. I don’t believe any aircraft ever lost its official title as quickly as the A-10. The Air Force had designated the airplane Thunderbolt II after the Second World War’s P-47 – a powerful and capable attack and pursuit airplane – and this tag was a logical choice. It took the community of A-10 pilots less than a heartbeat to bestow the unofficial nickname which was instantly adopted and will never be superseded: Warthog.

To add insult to injury our initial perception of the ’Hog’s performance was underwhelming. There were no afterburners and top speed was less than 400 knots. We were used to mounting a steed whose afterburners would push us to and through Mach 1 effortlessly; a bird that generated noise and power in abundance and garnered respect wherever we went. We left the base theatre in a state of numbness. The 48th Wing at Lakenheath would be transitioning to the urbane and classy F-15 Eagle (albeit many years down the road), while we were to be relegated to the slow, clumsy, repulsive Swine of the Skies. As a group, we were not happy bunnies.

In the weeks to follow, we learned that there was an element of choice attached to this evolution. Within certain constraints, if we so desired, we could either upgrade (well, at that moment we considered it downgrading) to the A-10 and complete our tour with the 81st in the new aircraft and role. Alternatively, we could remain with the F-4, taking our chances in terms of assignment location and available job opportunities. As an F-4 Weapons School graduate, I was confident of a reasonable flying billet elsewhere in the Air Force, continuing to fly my beloved Phantom until we were both too old to continue functioning. Consequently, as was my custom in those early days, I applied virtually no logic, reason or forethought and decided unequivocally that my bright future would be fulfilled by maintaining the status quo and moving on with the Phantom. My wife, who has always been far superior in foresight, held her counsel and continued to give me rope, hoping I wouldn’t hang myself with it.