The two stepped outside into the cool desert evening. An orange glow behind the Tehachapis marked the end of a long day for the two pilots. As they headed for the parking lot, Dale checked his watch and groaned.
“Looks like I missed dinner with Rachel and the kids. Hey, we’ve got a late show tomorrow. What ya say we head down to the Auger for some chow? We could even get a couple beers. The twelve hour ‘Bottle to Throttle’ rule won’t kick in ‘till nine.”
“I think I can squeeze it into my busy social calendar.”
Dale patted Frank on the shoulder. “You need to get yourself a wife my friend.”
“If I could find someone like Rachel, maybe I would.”
As they climbed into Frank’s truck, Dale mockingly wiped the bottom of his boots before letting them touch the floor mat.
“You spend last night cleaning this thing again? Truck’s five years old and looks brand new. When’s the last time you went out on a date?”
“Been awhile. Between being a Flight Commander and prepping for test flights, I’ve got no time.”
“Pretty soon you’re gonna be so old and set in your ways, no woman will have you. There’s more to punchin’ holes in the sky you know. You can reach for them stars, but it’s a hollow feeling if you’ve got no one on the ground to share it with.”
Frank smiled. Sometimes he thought Dale knew him better than he knew himself. He listened as Dale prattled on about various subjects. Dale was the perfect friend for him. They had an understanding of each other that went beyond flying and the Air Force. They knew where each other came from, the early hopes and doubts, and there was comfort in that. While Frank could be introspective, Dale was always prodding him, keeping him from getting too serious about things. They complimented each other perfectly.
“Are you listening to me?” Dale asked, nudging Frank on the shoulder. “Can get you outta the cockpit, but your head’s still up in the clouds. How about lettin’ me in on all those deep thoughts you’re always having?”
Frank looked at Dale’s amused expression and thought of something his dad used to say. “It’s a rare person who can extemporaneously apply weight to their thoughts with their words.”
“Huh?”
“I mean I have a hard time expressing myself. You’re a good talker. You’re good at expressing yourself.”
“Yeah, but I have simple thoughts.”
Frank turned off the road into the dusty parking lot of the Auger Inn. The Auger had long been a favorite of the squadron’s flyers and engineers. It was a rustic old shack, beaten by the desert sun, with the tail of a Cessna sticking out of the roof. Inside, attached to the walls and hanging from the ceiling, were pieces and parts from many of the radical aircraft designs that had first broken ground at Edwards. Often they had unceremoniously returned to the ground, themselves broken, either abandoned by their pilot or cruelly retaining him with vain hopes of recovery. Many of these same pilots were featured among the numerous photographs that also lined the Auger’s walls. Customarily, they hung beside a piece of their wreckage, forever entwined with the engineering monstrosity that had claimed their life.
Frank and Dale grabbed their favorite table, located beneath a piece of the YB-49, the original flying wing. “So, you gonna tell me what you’ve been pondering?” Dale persisted.
“I was thinking I’d like to keep my picture from showing up on one of these walls.”
“Thought I might get that honor this morning. By the way, how’d you know to call ‘Hold’ when the wing didn’t move? You’ve never flown the B-1.”
“I’ve been in the cockpit before, and I’ve seen the wing sweep hold switch. I remembered it right before you swept the wings and figured I’d call ‘Hold’ if the right one didn’t move. That’s the term you guys use in the jet, right?”
Dale looked at Frank with a slightly bemused expression. “Sure enough is. I suppose you also knew that the cockpit indicator was only tied to the left wing position?”
“That was a guess.” Frank paused and then looked Dale in the eyes. “Why didn’t you sweep the wings forward in small increments?”
“Didn’t think of it. I should have, but I didn’t.” Dale looked away and then up as the waitress approached.
“What can I get you two fly boys?”
“Two Mojave Reds and two Auger burgers on me,” Dale said. “I owe this guy.”
“Coming up. Hey, you two gonna get sent to Korea to teach those commies a lesson?”
Frank shook his head. “Did my time. What’s the latest?”
“News said they tested some missile. They think they may try to put a nuke on it.”
Dale gave a small laugh as the waitress headed back to the bar. “I can’t believe we’re going through this again. I think it’s all a plot by CNN to boost their ratings.”
“Hey, you know how it works, Dale. This gives the defense companies a chance to build new weapons and the military a chance to see if they really work. A nice little crisis every five years or so is good politics, good business and good for you OT guys.”
“Yep, but it ain’t too peachy for us troops who have to keep living overseas months at a time. That’s why I’m probably getting out after this tour.”
Frank was silent as he considered this. He had always been so focused on his own goals, it surprised him when he heard someone considering other options.
“You think they’d send you back operational after you leave Edwards? How about flying the B-2 out of Whiteman?”
“Shoot, them boys can’t take a leak in that jet without calling back to command post for approval. Nah, I want more time with Rachel and the kids. My little Ethan keeps asking me to play catch but I’m always getting home after dark. I don’t want to be like my dad.”
“Didn’t he use to work for Northrop?”
“Yeah. See this scrap of metal over our heads? He started out as an engineer on the YB-49 program. In fact, he was involved in some of the original B-2 design work. Unfortunately, I think he liked his slide rule better than me and my brother.”
The waitress arrived with the beers and the two pilots drank in silence.
“My dad still wonders how I ended up in the Air Force,” Frank said. “After mom died I guess I just dedicated myself to achieving something special in my life.”
Dale looked up with mock surprise. “Is this Frank Farago I’m hearing? The steely-eyed stud revealing something personal?”
“Hey, I’ve got feelings too.”
“I know, I know. You just usually keep things to yourself. Your dad should be damn proud of you. Hell, I’m damn proud of you. I can’t wait ‘till I see you flying around in that space shuttle.”
Frank ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not so sure about that anymore. I think I’ll just concentrate on B-2 testing for now.”
“Is this how you boys prepare for a big test flight? Booze it up the night before?”
Frank and Dale turned to see a well-dressed, middle aged man seated at the table behind them. They both recognized him as part of the American Aero contingent that was at the MRR. With him we’re two other men whom Frank didn’t recognize.
“You won’t find a sober man flying the B-2 low level through the mountains when he can’t see the ground,” Dale said. “Except for Frank here. He actually trusts that TF system.”
Frank shot a glance at Dale and then extended his hand to the contractor. “Frank Farago. We’re actually still legal for another thirty minutes.”
“Jeremy Thompson. I know. I just want to make sure we have a successful mission tomorrow.”
“Not a problem. I think we’ve got the TF system working pretty good now. What’s your position with American Aero?”
“I’m Vice President in charge of aircraft production. We’re looking forward to having the B-2 declared fully operational. We want Congress and DoD to understand we have a mature weapons system that is ready for use.”
“Well, I try not to get caught up in the politics of it. My job is
just to make sure the B-2 works the way it’s supposed to.”
“I appreciate that. The CTF at Edwards has done a fantastic job helping the B-2 to evolve and improve over the past ten years. I think we’ve developed a good reputation for the aircraft.”
Frank nodded and turned his attention to the burger that had just arrived. Dale couldn’t resist one last dig at the contractor.
“Yeah, Frank. You know what they say about the B-2. You may find better, but you won’t pay more.”
Chapter 5
Frank pressed a button on the multifunction display and the big bomber immediately pitched over into a descent. With the TF system now engaged, the B-2’s radar emitted a narrow beam of energy designed to detect any terrain that might intrude into its flight path. Unlike the rapid visual descent that Frank often made in the F-16, this was a controlled autopilot letdown from high altitude, intended to safely transition the bomber into the low level environment. Another notable difference was the fact that Frank couldn’t see the terrain he was descending into. Thick clouds had enveloped the bomber in a shroud of white, as it confidently carried its two pilots into the mountains below.
With nothing to see outside, Frank focused his attention on the four multicolored displays arrayed in front of him. The B-2 had very few switches and round dial gauges. The aircraft was primarily controlled, and its performance monitored, through eight computer display units; four in front of Dale in the left seat and four in front of Frank in the right. Frank’s central display depicted the aircraft’s attitude as well as its heading, airspeed and altitude. To the right of it was a display of any terrain that the radar had detected in front of the aircraft. The jagged green line that should represent a profile of the mountains and valleys stretching ten miles in front of the jet was not yet visible.
“Passing five thousand feet” called Dale.
“Roger, radar altimeter’s locked.” This second source of terrain detection now provided a continuous readout of the aircraft’s height above the ground. Thus reassured of its position relative to the approaching rocks, the airplane pitched over into an even steeper descent causing a momentary lightness in the pilot’s seats. This change in the G loading was about the only cue the pilots had to remind them that they were actually flying. Frank peeked outside, but the world was still white.
“Painting terrain,” Frank stated as the green line finally appeared on the TF display. The aircraft was now less than 2000 feet above the invisible landscape.
“Round out.” The B-2 began to shallow its descent in preparation for level off. Suddenly, a violent jolt lifted both pilots out of their ejection seats. Frank felt his shoulder harness lock, digging into his skin, as the restraints kept his helmet from slamming into the roof of the cockpit. Just as quickly, the bottom fell out as Frank and Dale were driven back into their seats.
Frank quickly cross checked the TF display to ensure it was still flying the aircraft. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dale trying to retrieve a checklist which had ricocheted around the cockpit.
“Looks like we’re in for a little turbulence,” Frank remarked, now satisfied that all aircraft systems were still functioning normally.
“Feels like we hit a rut on my granddaddy’s farm,” Dale said as he grasped the top of the instrument glareshield. The agitated mountain air continued to buffet the bomber and its occupants.
“The beaver tail’s working overtime,” Frank observed, referring to the large, flat flight control surface on the trailing edge of the B-2. Originally designed to help the B-2 ride out the gust from a nuclear blast, it also was meant to smooth out a bumpy ride while low level. Frank suspected it only made things worse.
“I’ll take the B-1 any day over this bat-winged blender,” Dale said. “My brain’s always scrambled and my body black and blue after one of these B-2 low levels.”
“The low wing loading certainly makes you feel every bump in the road,” agreed Frank. He knew Dale’s first love would always be the B-1. “About like the Buff, huh?” he asked, referring to Dale’s first flying assignment in the B-52.
“Don’t remind me of that old scrap heap. I still can’t get the smell of forty-year-old vomit outta my head.”
The B-2 continued north along the low level into the Kern River valley, the same narrow gorge Frank had traversed in his F-16 the previous day. This time he relied on radar and computers to keep him clear of those jagged canyon walls. The aircraft’s control sticks remained untouched as they skimmed 200 feet above the water’s surface. Frank’s right hand simply rested on his leg as his left hand worked the bomber’s four throttles through the sometimes abrupt climbs and descents. While he evaluated the TF system performance, Dale continuously cross checked their position on his chart against the display of upcoming terrain. Rain began to wash across the windshield.
“Painting some pretty heavy rain showers up ahead,” Dale reported. He had brought up the B-2’s weather radar on one of his displays. It revealed large patches of green and yellow representing the increasing intensity of the precipitation. “If you believe the newspapers, this modern aerospace marvel should begin to melt away about now.”
“Yep. Stealth through disintegration.”
The two pilots were rocked again by a mountain gust as the aircraft crested a peak and began a descent down the backside. Rain pelted the bomber’s stealthy skin, producing a dull roar within the cockpit, as the frenzied winds continued to batter its occupants. Frank forced himself to focus on the TF display, ignoring the external furor that raged against his senses. If the system exhibited the slightest degradation in this weather, he had to notice it immediately. There would be little or no time to react, take manual control of the aircraft, and recover if something went wrong.
“We’ve got descending terrain the next three miles,” Dale reported, cross checking his chart. “Then another ridgeline at seven miles with high terrain of twelve thousand feet. Radar shows a moderate rain shower between us and that ridge. You sure this radar can see rocks through rain?”
“That’s what we’re testing.” Of course, Frank knew if it didn’t, he and Dale would probably never be the wiser. But he was confident. They had been building up to this final test for years. It had been a struggle, since the B-2’s radar was never originally intended for use in low level terrain avoidance. But the designers and testers had come together and eventually gotten it to work. It was the kind of success that made all of the long hours seem worthwhile.
“Well, the engineers should be happy with the data we’re collecting on this flight. I just want to know which one is the sadistic bastard who planned it through the roughest terrain in the Sierra Nevadas.”
Frank smiled. “I don’t know, but I’m sure they’ll enjoy hearing your comments when they play back the mission tapes.”
The bomber penetrated the worst of the weather. The roar in the cockpit increased as the aircraft’s flight control computers fought to stabilize it against the violent gusts. Frank watched the TF display, waiting for that jagged green line to slope upward, indicating that the radar had seen the fast approaching ridgeline.
“Ridgeline in five miles,” Dale called out.
“Not painting it yet.” He glanced at the weather radar display. The area directly ahead of them was filled by a blob of yellow with a few specks of red that represented the heaviest rain showers.
“Four miles.”
Frank slowly moved his right hand closer to the control stick, ready to yank the jet into a climb if necessary.
“I see rocks.”
He fought the urge to look outside at Dale’s call. But out of the corner of his eye he could see the glistening boulders flash by the bomber’s expansive wing. They had leveled off in the valley and were skimming through the bottom of the cloud deck.
“Three miles.”
Frank reached for the control stick. Before he could grasp it, the aircraft abruptly pitched up. He glanced back at the TF display, saw the green line depicting the steep ridge,
and then checked the G meter. Two Gs, right at the aircraft’s limit.
Frank slammed the four throttles full forward to keep the airspeed from bleeding off. The bomber surged skyward, fighting to climb above the approaching bluffs. They were back in the clouds, blind, trusting the TF system to keep them safe. Slowly, they felt the jet begin to pushover. As they leveled off, Frank saw the radar altimeter register 200 feet. Perfect.
They left the rugged Sierra’s behind, and began the long descent into the Owens Valley. Passing 5,000 feet, they broke out of the clouds, revealing the expansive dry lake directly beneath them.
“Never thought I’d be happy to see this big mud hole,” Dale said as he stretched his arms above his head. “Wild ride.”
Frank took hold of the control stick and disabled the TF system. “Yeah. I think that’s all the weather we’re going to see on this low level. I’d say we’ve given the system a pretty good checkout.” He advanced the throttles and started a climb.
“Looked like you were reachin’ to override it before that last climb. I don’t blame you. I’d a had that stick planted in my lap long before then.”
Frank unhooked one side of his oxygen mask and raised his helmet visor. He glanced over at Dale, who had done the same thing, and was wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, it’s a good TF system, but I can’t yet say my love is unconditional.”
“Well, I got to tell ya Frank. I don’t think this jet is meant to fly low level. Maybe it can take it, but my pink little body sure has a hard time.”
“Watch what you say. Pretty soon we may find ourselves sitting on the ground in front of a computer screen watching one of those unmanned airplanes fly itself.”
Frank punched in “20,000” on the cockpit data entry panel and pressed a button beside his central display, coupling the autopilot for a hands-off climb and level off at the selected altitude. He checked the test cards attached to his knee board. Next up in the mission profile was aerial refueling.
Spirit Flight Page 3