Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  Frank released the stick and grasped for the ejection handles. It seemed an eternity before he was able to wrap his fingers around the curved metal grips. He threw his head back, closed his eyes, and pulled.

  Chapter 8

  The sudden clap of thunder startled her. Rachel Walker had become accustomed to the sonic booms that routinely rattled the windows in her plaster and cinder block base house. But this was different. The shock wave from a supersonic aircraft always hit with a sudden jolt. This was definitely thunder. A long, low rumble that echoed across the desert floor and quivered slowly up her spine. She shivered slightly and glanced out the kitchen window to see the first drops of rain splattering on the driveway. The sky to the north was a threatening bluish-black.

  Rachel. Abruptly, she stepped back from the window. She paused and then turned to face the front door, unsure if she had actually heard her name called. Part of her expected to see Dale, standing outside the door, slyly whispering her name through the mail slot. No one was there. She shivered again and held her breath, listening. The incessant drone of the swamp cooler in its futile effort to cool the moisture laden air was all she could hear. She checked the clock on the oven. It read eleven past one. Dale should be landing soon.

  She thought of calling the squadron, but stopped herself. She never bothered Dale at work. Dale often laughed about some of the engineers in his squadron who had to call their wives as soon as they came in from a flight. Rachel had been married to a combat pilot for over twelve years. She trusted her husband’s abilities and had long since become accustomed to the realities of his profession. Even when Dale was flying B-52s in the Gulf War, she never doubted that her husband would safely return to her. But today, something felt different.

  Instinctively, she headed down the hallway and peaked into the children’s bedroom. Ethan and Emily were nestled under the covers of their bunked beds, sound asleep among an assortment of fuzzy stuffed critters that safeguarded their afternoon nap. Rachel gently closed their door and went into her own bedroom. She curled up on top of the comforter with her own ragged teddy bear, a gift from Dale when they had been dating in college. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

  Thirty minutes later, Rachel heard a car pull into the driveway. She sat up on her knees, leaned over the headboard, and parted the window curtains to peek outside. Her mind vaguely registered the scene before her but somehow refused to accept that she was to be a part of it. The white-haired general emerging from the official Air Force car must belong to someone else’s reality. Not hers. She had seen this drama played out before, but always from the audience. It could not be her turn to play the lead. Dale would be calling to say everything was all right. He would be home soon.

  The doorbell rang. Her heart jumped at the sound and then sank. The general, the base commander, had come to see her. She could no longer deny the tragedy unfolding around her. She knew, deep in her soul, that something had happened to Dale. She turned from the window and stared vacantly across the bedroom. Her eyes settled on their wedding picture and Dale’s determined young face. She lowered her eyes and prayed. Please God, let him come back to me.

  She rose and stepped slowly to the front door. The overwhelming fear of what awaited on the other side made her want to run and hide. Why must she follow this script? Why turn this page? She searched in vain for some sense of control.

  Rachel grasped the knob, pausing as the cool damp metal sent a chill through her body, and then pulled the door open. The general stood before her, small drops of rain rolling off of his crisp blue uniform. She desperately searched his eyes for some understanding of what was happening.

  “Mrs. Walker?”

  “Rachel. Please come in sir.”

  The general stepped inside and removed his hat. She stared at the tiny silver wings positioned over his heart, topped with a star and wreath. They represented thousands of hours of combat and test flying marked by the most trying circumstances an individual could face. None would be more difficult than this.

  “Rachel, I’m very sorry I have to bring you this news.” The general gently took her hand. “Your husband’s plane went down this afternoon. He did not survive.”

  The words sliced through her mind, severing all thoughts of past, present and future. She squeezed the general’s hand to steady herself. She would never see Dale again. The children.

  “Mommy, is Daddy home early?”

  Rachel turned at the sound of Ethan’s voice. Her six-year-old son stood in the hallway, a look of hope and anticipation on his face. He was holding his baseball glove.

  Rachel finally broke down. The general held her, silently weeping.

  Chapter 9

  “Major Farago, please, have a seat.” Colonel Jim Clark, President of the Safety Investigation Board, motioned to a chair at the end of a long conference table.

  Frank nodded stiffly and slowly made his way to the appointed spot. Every muscle in his body agonized at the movement. He remembered little of the ejection, though the violence of being launched into a 500 mph wind was indelibly recorded in the ripped muscles and stretched tendons of his battered body. A heavy bandage under his chin concealed a deep gash that he guessed had been caused by flying debris. He remembered being airlifted to the base hospital, where he received twenty stitches for his wound, but could recall little else of his overnight stay. He had only been released a couple of hours earlier.

  “Frank, I want you to know we appreciate your appearing before the Board today. Though it helps speed our investigation, I would understand if you decided to delay your testimony.”

  Frank gently lowered himself into the chair. He glanced at the microphone positioned on the table in front of him and then up at the colonel. “I’m ready to do this, sir. I had hoped to be done before the memorial.”

  The memorial. Dale’s memorial. He had learned at the hospital that Dale died at the crash site. It was difficult to grasp the finality. Why had he lived and not Dale? Why had any of this happened? Tomorrow they would be honoring a dedicated and courageous pilot who had given his life in the line of duty. It was a ceremony that had been conducted all too often in the pursuit of aerial progress at Edwards. Every pilot knew the risk. But the risk was always secondary to the reward. Not a reward of wealth, power or prestige, but of identity. The ability to distinguish oneself from the average individual through a rare combination of physical and intellectual capability. The need to test and prove these skills in the fantastic but unforgiving realm of flight. Frank embodied this creed. But this dedicated and courageous pilot, this model of American motivation, had been his best friend. A husband and father. Most would say he had died doing what he loved and that was a worthy price to pay. But what of those that loved him? Was their loss also worth the price? Frank found himself struggling to perceive his own identity and the expense at which it had come. It all suddenly seemed so trivial.

  “Frank, before we begin, I’d like to introduce the other members of the Board.”

  Frank glanced around the room as each person was introduced. He knew Colonel Clark was the Test Wing Commander at Eglin Air Force Base and a highly experienced fighter pilot and test pilot. The other members included an operational B-2 pilot and maintenance officer from Whiteman, a weather officer and a flight surgeon. There were also a couple of engineers whose expertise was flight controls. Frank didn’t recognize any of these other members.

  Colonel Clark took his seat at the head of the table. He checked the power switch that operated the recording equipment was off before continuing. “A great deal of media attention has been focused on this accident. I only point this out because anyone in this room is liable to be approached by a member of the media seeking information concerning this investigation. I want to remind all of you of the confidentiality rules that apply to a safety investigation. Unlike an accident investigation, whose purpose is to obtain evidence for legal and disciplinary action, the purpose of the safety investigation is to prev
ent an accident from happening again. We do this by offering a promise of confidentiality. It serves to encourage frank and open testimony from both government and contractor personnel. It is a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice for board members or witnesses to release any of this confidential testimony outside of designated Air Force channels. Please remember that.”

  The colonel paused to switch on the recorder and then turned toward Frank. “We will now begin recording the testimony of Major Frank Farago. Frank, please listen closely while I read the ‘Promise of Confidentiality.’”

  He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and began reading. “You are hereby advised that, as a witness to this investigation, your testimony will be used solely for mishap prevention purposes. Your statement will not be made available to anyone other than Air Force officials responsible for the assembly and approval of this investigation’s report. The only exceptions to this would be to act on an allegation of false testimony or investigative misconduct, or to comply with a valid court order on behalf of a defendant in a criminal trial. Your statement may not be used as evidence by the Government in punitive actions or adverse administrative actions, such as a Flying Evaluation Board, or an elimination from military service. Do you understand this advisory?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Frank, I want to begin with the moments leading up to the mishap. Specifically, what you saw on your displays as you executed the max deflection right roll.”

  Frank looked down at the table trying to visualize the many parameters of his flight test display. “I had executed a descending left turn to achieve the entry conditions for the loaded right roll.” Unconsciously, his left hand extended, simulating the aircraft’s motion. “The aircraft was approximately five degrees nose low when I stabilized at two Gs and four hundred eighty knots. I saw twenty-five hundred feet on the altimeter, which equated to about five hundred feet above the ground, when I made the full right stick input.”

  Frank paused, trying hard to sort out what happened next. “I was in fifty-five degrees of left bank when I started the roll. As the jet came through thirty degrees of bank, it suddenly pitched up. I remember seeing five Gs on the display as I threw the stick full forward. I really can’t tell you what the displays indicated after that, since I shifted my attention outside trying to recover the jet.”

  “Did you hear the Control Room call ‘terminate’?”

  “Yes. I heard Lieutenant Fairfield call it three times right after the G spiked.”

  “Major Farago, the B-2 flight manual specifically says that the aircraft will exhibit a significant increase in G when it is rolled out of a turn. Would you say this is what you experienced?”

  Frank turned to face the Whiteman B-2 pilot asking the question. “No, it was not. I am very familiar with what you’re talking about, having flown this type of maneuver many times. That pitch up is easily countered with forward stick. The pitch up I encountered was violent. I’m sure the control room strip charts must show exactly what the jet’s flight control surfaces did.”

  “Frank, unfortunately there were drop outs in your TM signal.” Colonel Clark paused to look at his notes. “The data the control room received is basically worthless. The only reason Lieutenant Fairfield called to terminate the maneuver was because they had lost the steady data stream.”

  “And the onboard data recorders?”

  “We haven’t located them yet.”

  Frank hadn’t counted on this. He had assumed the B-2’s telemetry to the control room would provide a complete record of the aircraft’s response to his control input. He suspected they had stumbled upon a cliff in the B-2’s flight envelope. Some unexplored region they had somehow missed in previous flight testing. But without the TM data or the onboard recorders, they may never know for sure.

  “Major, what was the purpose of the maneuvers you were doing?” This question came from one of the flight controls engineers.

  “This was not envelope expansion. The conditions we were flying at had been tested before, therefore the maneuvers were considered low risk. They were points added by the Air Force in preparation for follow-on operational testing. We wanted a final check of the flight control system’s response to max performance maneuvers, such as avoiding an incoming missile, before the pilots at Whiteman began doing it.”

  “Were these priority test points?”

  Frank looked at the engineer, unsure of what he meant.

  Colonel Clark interrupted. “Frank, we understand the main purpose of the test mission was to clear the terrain following system for full-up operational use. We’re these flight controls test points also required before the jet could be declared fully operational?”

  “No sir.”

  “Frank, were you aware of the discussion in the control room concerning termination of the test mission after the low level?”

  “Sir, I was asked by the Test Conductor if I thought we should discontinue testing due to the turbulence we experienced during the low level. I said ‘no.’”

  “Why? Didn’t you yourself report the turbulence as severe?”

  Frank didn’t like the confrontational tone of the weather officer’s question. He glared at the office dweller for a few seconds before answering.

  “I reported the turbulence as moderate. This was unexpected since the forecast we received from your office called for scattered rain showers and light turbulence over the mountains.”

  Frank paused, allowing the weather officer a moment to squirm in his seat, and then continued. “My reference to severe was a characterization of how the B-2’s flight control system will often pitch into wind gusts causing a rocking motion. It makes the turbulence seem worse than it really is and is a phenomenon our engineers are very familiar with. The bottom line is the turbulence we experienced was nothing worse than what I’ve seen on previous low level missions and was within the aircraft’s structural limits.”

  “Your Program Manager, Mr. Schmidt, apparently felt differently. He requested that the mission be terminated and the aircraft brought home so it could be checked for damage. Considering the results, do you still feel you made the right decision?”

  “Gentlemen,” Colonel Clark quickly interjected seeing the look on Frank’s face. “We are here to gather facts, not to make accusations. I suggest we take a short break before we continue any further.”

  Frank took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to come here so quickly after the accident. But there was something he needed to know.

  “Sir, before we break, I was hoping you could tell me something.”

  “I’ll try, Frank,” said Colonel Clark a little warily. “What is it?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me how Major Walker was killed.”

  The colonel hesitated a moment. “Frank, Major Walker successfully ejected from the aircraft with you. However, we believe he must have immediately impacted some part of the aircraft. We found his body still strapped into his ejection seat. The seat was badly damaged. We think he was already dead before he hit the ground.”

  Frank didn’t say anything. All he could think of was Rachel and the kids. How would he face them and explain what happened? He felt responsible to them. It occurred to him that he had never really felt responsible to anyone but himself in his life.

  He nodded to the colonel and slowly rose from his seat. He stepped from the conference room into a small adjoining lounge. There he saw Byron Schmidt.

  “Major Farago. It’s good to see you up and about.”

  Frank was slightly bewildered. He had never seen Byron actually smile.

  “Thank you, Byron. I’m still trying to get a grip on what’s actually happened. I just hope we find out the truth of why it happened.”

  “Oh I know the truth, Major. And soon everyone else will too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Major, when that low level was completed, so too was my program. When this safety investigation is
finished, I am confident the same will be true of your Air Force career.”

  Frank was too stunned to reply. All he knew was that a terrible thing had happened and his best friend was dead. Beyond that, nothing in his life seemed of consequence. He had never felt so lost.

  Chapter 10

  “Senator, you have a call from a Mr. Jeremy Thompson.”

  “Thank you, Stacy. I’ll take it.”

  Senator William Tolnert had been expecting this call. The last twenty-four hours had been hell for the Armed Services Committee Chairman, and he wanted some answers.

  “Thompson. Bill Tolnert. I hope you’re calling me with information about why that B-2 went down. The press is jumping all over the fact that five percent of the B-2 fleet is a smoking hole in the desert.”

  “Senator, the Air Force is conducting its safety investigation now. I’m not sure how it happened, but the aircraft apparently departed controlled flight and crashed during some low priority flight controls testing. The important point here is that the low level test was successfully completed. That’s what we needed for the B-2 to be declared fully operational. Those other test points were added by the Air Force and were not important to—”

  “Are you saying you think this accident doesn’t matter?” Tolnert slammed his hand against his desk, sending a loud and immediate message across the country into Jeremy Thompson’s California office. “You think DoD will call the jet combat ready when the perception is that there might be something wrong with it? Well I don’t want that to be the perception!”

  “Senator, I just don’t think this accident should affect our future plans for the aircraft.”