Tuesday, 4 August 1970 -- Trollhattan, Vargon, and Uddevalla

Today's itinerary called for a bus trip to Trollhatten with a visit the Svenska Flygmotor AB (SFA) factory. SFA specialized in making jet aircraft engines for commercial and military applications. The designs were generally licensed from other companies, like Pratt & Whitney. What made SFA unique was how the factory operated.

After an introductory presentation, we were walked through several areas where the final assembly of various components took place. The real treat, though, came when we were taken to where those components were actually fabricated -- about 100 meters underground!!

Our group was escorted through the plant, down several large flights of stairs, past a couple of massive blast doors, then down again via two flights of high-speed escalators. Emerging through another set of massive doors we found ourselves in a huge main cavern.

It was shadowy and the place looked HUGE!! I couldn't see far enough down the cavern to gauge its length, but guessed maybe several hundred meters. Going off to the right and left were other tunnels loaded with machine tools and heavy equipment. There were groups of workers all moving bins and racks of intricate parts through different stages of fabrication. Again, it was impossible to guess how many of these side tunnels there were; I counted about six or eight as we walked along.

"How do you get materials up to the assembly plant?" someone asked.

Our hosts explained that elevators handled some. Larger items were trucked to the surface up a series of spiraling ramps.

"It would probably take a direct hit from a nuke to shake this place up." I thought.

From SFA, we visited the Holmens Bruk AB in nearby Vargon; a pulp and paper factory. As with most paper mills, you could smell the place long before you got there, and it got worse as you entered. The sulfurous chemicals used in the processing made everything smell and taste like rotten eggs.

The Holmens Bruk people set out a hearty lunch in the company cafeteria. The menu consisted of various things that all tasted the same -- "rotten eggs". Then it was time to tour.

Here was a factory where trees came in one end and huge rolls of finished paper were trucked out the other; and we saw the entire process from beginning to end. First, the trees were cut into uniform lengths for better processing. They then dropped off massive conveyors into a set of mighty crushers and emerged as ground-up chips or "pulp". A chemical reduction and cooking process (the "rotten egg" smell) reduced the pulp into paste-like goo. This was extruded under heat and pressure through a series of rollers and emerged as a continuous sheet of paper several feet wide taken up onto large rolls. Various qualities of paper, from the cheaper newsprint to coated stocks for magazines could be produced to order.

This day's excursion was completed with a bus trip over to Uddevalla, a town on the west coast. There we visited a park-like swimming area, picked up a few items in town then returned to F7, about 50 km away, for dinner.

After dinner a couple of us took our free time at a nearby restaurant and visited and relaxed. It was really great to be with a group of guys from all over; there was almost always something to talk about.

Forget school, politics, the weather or even Vietnam. No, sometimes it was those little cultural differences that were the most interesting. While we had Santa Claus, the Swedes had Father Christmas. Swedish Rice Crispies went "Piff-Paff-Poof", none of this "Snap, Crackle, Pop" business. The disclosure that Yankee pigs went "oink", when everyone just knew that they were supposed to go "nurf-nurf" drew gales of laughter.

Wednesday, 5 August 1970 -- F3-Malmlatt, Lindkoping

It was "up bright and early" for this morning's flight to a fighter wing at F3. Our venerable C-47 "Dakota" transport was comfortably fitted for passenger service. The pilot came aboard and our RSAF escorts explained in hushed tones that this efficient-looking Colonel was, in fact, the King's pilot.

Once airborne the Colonel came back for a chat, and confirmed that he flew the King around and also other visiting VIP's. Spotting the Americans, he mentioned he'd flown General Curtis LeMay, the "founding father" of our mighty Strategic Air Command, and General Connelly, the Air Force Chief of Staff. These guys were no lightweights and we were suitably impressed.

At F3, there was a hanger/museum jammed with various aircraft used by the RSAF over the years. One of them sported UN markings that had been used in some peacekeeping operation. There was also a small -- about 2/3'rds scale "Draaken" that had been used as some kind of test bed during the development of that very capable fighter.

After lunch, we bussed over to nearby Lindkoping to visit the SAAB aircraft factory. This featured another underground fabrication plant, with assembly being done in a sprawling facility at ground level. On the assembly floor we saw row after row of SK 60 trainers, J35 Draaken's and the new J37 Viggen in various stages of production.

Technicians swarmed over each aircraft and access panels were open to reveal sheaves of multi-colored wires, cables, and hydraulic tubing being carefully attached to the airframes. Test panels for checking out various components were everywhere.

One technician demonstrated how he was checking out the landing gear system. The plane was up on supports so everyone could work beneath it, and the landing gear had just been attached. A few buttons on the test console ran the landing gear through its' extend and retract cycle, while he watched various readouts. You could tell these exquisite pieces of engineering didn't just happen by magic -- they were the product of a lot of exacting work. This was no mere assembly line chuffing-out Model T Fords.

From the factory floor we went up for a couple of propaganda films on the new SAAB Viggen aircraft and one on SAAB automobile.

That evening, SAAB sponsored dinner at the nearby "Olympen" hotel. After, there were a few party games and a social until about 2130. Before adjourning, we were each given a J35 tie clip, a packet of pictures and info on SAAB aircraft and a spiffy little stainless steel gentlemen's knife. I still have them all.

Thursday, 6 August 1970 -- F16/F20 - Uppsala

By mid-morning our group was airborne again with the King's pilot at the controls of "our" C-47. We were off to the combined bases F16 (another fighter wing) and F20, which was the RSAF equivalent of our USAF Academy in Colorado Springs.

I was really feeling miserable with a head cold I'd been fighting for a few days and the flying only aggravated the discomfort. I've read somewhere that a form of torture in the Far East was to "stimulate" the nerves in the sinuses. Well, it was probably incredibly effective, if my experience was any indication. The C-47's pressurization system seemed non-existent and as we went up or down the air pressure in my stuffed-up sinuses produced some memorable pain. Later, I went right to the base hospital for some medications, and nose spray that settled things down. Whew!!!

Saab JAS-35 Drakken

On the ground, and after refreshments, we were treated to our own private air show. Four Draaken's thundered off the runway with afterburners blazing, and performed some precision fly-bys. A low-level high-speed pass left us with mouths open. It was quite a performance!!

A briefing on the Air Academy and my trip to the base hospital topped off my afternoon. The schedule called for swimming and athletics, but I checked-out of that and went to my room. I also took an informal tour of our barracks building and ran across some more Swedish Air Cadets who were there for a summer encampment.

In CAP, our summer encampments were a combination boot camp and field trip. CAP Cadets are treated to a daily schedule of mostly visits to various departments to see a real live USAF base in action. The Swedish Air Cadet encampments had a slightly different "spin".

I'd walked past some stairs and heard voices below. Descending to the basement, there was a group of Cadets -- about 15 or 16 years old. Togged-out in camouflage fatigues, they were stripping and cleaning Swedish K submachine guns!!!! A couple spoke English and I learned that they'd been out on a field exercise. Apparently, summer camp in Sweden comes with a hands-on dose of homeland defense.

Later, they came by my room for a visit and a friendly game of poker with me and some of our other guys. Those little cardsharps cleaned us out, too.

We topped-off the evening with a beer party thrown in our honor.

Friday, 7 August 1970 - Uppsala, F4-Froson/Ostersund

F16/F20 is located near the ancient city of Uppsala. We visited a cathedral dating back to the 1100's and some Viking burial mounds nearby, nearly a thousand years old. A replica mead hall, complete with hand-hewn timbers, served up samples of mead, a kind of honey-based beer; a tasty and rich concoction.

After lunch, our C-47, in the capable hands of the King's Pilot, carried us for a flight to F4 in Froson, in the north-central part of the country.

It was about here, I think, that the group staged a "mini-mutiny". The schedule talked about a visit a nearby brewery, but we were ready for a break, and said so. No one intended to affront our generous hosts, but everyone was getting tired.

The schedule had been non-stop all week. A typical day saw reveille at 0630 and usually to bed after midnight, with the time in-between either at a function of some kind or preparing for the next one. After a while, being on display wasn't everything it had been cracked up to be. Everyone just needed some downtime and so the brewery tour was cancelled.

That afternoon we were all back in the saddle, though, at a reception and dinner held by the Base Commander.

Saturday, 8 August 1970 -- F4, Storlien

Gunnar Hogling, one of our Swedish Air Cadet buddies, woke us up by parading up and down the hall ringing a bell.

"Guess I wasn't the only one sleeping late," I thought, foggily.

After breakfast we were issued hiking gear (boots, socks, coats and slickers) that we'd need for a field trip the next day. Then it was off by bus for about a five-hour trip to a big alpine ski resort fairly close to the Arctic Circle and on the Norwegian border; the Storliens Hogfjallshotell.

The trip, through the north central part of the country, featured a lot of breathtaking scenery. There was a ferryboat crossing of a major lake, then a stop to visit the waterfall "Tannforsen".

Tannforsen is set in a wooded area and is quite popular with both locals and tourists. The falls are shut off and on according to the needs of a nearby hydropower plant. When we visited it was roaring beside us and from above in a crash of water and white-plumed spray.

Next stop was for lunch at a roadside meadow with a view of mountains, forests and valleys like something out of the "Sound of Music". Even the box lunches were worthy of a picture (I actually took one) with gourmet open-faced sandwiches that looked like big hors d'oeuvres. These featured pate'-like spreads, carved radish rosettes, and colorful garnishes all carefully arranged; almost too pretty to eat. Storlien was a picture-perfect ski resort, but without snow (this was August, after all). The lobby in the main lodge featured a big fireplace, a lot of dark wood and huge exposed timbers supporting the high-pitched ceilings. A lot of native stone and cozy groupings of comfortable sofa's and chairs near high glass window walls completed the picture. To the south and east were sweeping views and a lake, to the north the hillside we were snuggled against and to the west laid Norway.

Our rooms featured a two-man bunk bed configuration and were clean, as usual, but pretty small with bathrooms and showers down the hall. I quickly moved in, and then turned out to have a look around. A couple of us got together; rented bicycles then played putt-putt for a couple of hours.

"How far is Norway?" I asked a desk clerk, after dinner.

"About 4 kilometeres".

Since we had plenty of daylight left -- until after 2200, in fact -- three others and I decided we make an unofficial visit to Norway. Feeling the thrill of an international adventure coming on, we carefully skirted the main road, and wound our way through some fields. Getting closer to the border we talked about keeping a sharp eye out for watchtowers, fence lines, gates and checkpoints manned by heavily armed troops.

We didn't really know what to expect at the border. We'd heard that the Norwegians really didn't like the Swedes since World War II. Despite their neutrality, Sweden had let invading Nazi forces cross their territory to conquer Norway. Just the very thing to annoy your neighbors...

We finally emerged on the main road and continued a couple of hundred meters west.

"If we have a problem, we'll just tell them we got lost", Stephen Gunner, my British pal, contributed with maybe a worried note in his voice.

Finally, there was a broad white line painted in the road. Off to the north and south were firebreak-like clearings that ran for as far as the eye could see. No towers, gates, guards or fences -- not even a "Welcome To Norway" sign. A few steps across the white line and we were international travelers again.

A bit further into Norway the road took a sweeping turn to the right and headed down the face of the mountain to disappear into a vast valley covered with trees. The sun was setting and it was spectacular. The lights of a town twinkled in the distance but it was getting late, now, and time to head back.

Trudging back up the mountain road was more of a chore now and daylight was fading fast. A car wound its' way up from the valley, and we stopped to hang out our thumbs to hitchhike, hoping we weren't making an obscene gesture.

To our relief, the car pulled over, leaving us looking at each other deciding if any of us spoke Norwegian.

"Need a ride?" the driver said with a northeastern United States accent. Talk about luck! The guy was from New York!! We all chatted for a bit and it turned out he was taking a car tour on his own and had family in Norway and Sweden. He dropped us off right at the hotel.