Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  Byron didn’t answer.

  “Did you and Mister Jeremy Thompson discuss it when you left the control room together that day?”

  For the first time, she saw Byron blink.

  “It’s not important,” he said, waving his hand. “Any potential problems with low level flight are secondary. The Whiteman pilots are not trained to fly low level, and it’s likely they never will be. This strike against North Korea will be flown at high altitude and it will prove the value of the B-2.”

  “Byron,” Melissa said slowly. “One of the pilots flying the B-2 is not from Whiteman.”

  Byron’s expression belied a moment’s uncertainty.

  “Frank Farago is on that jet. And he knows what I know.”

  “Farago?” Byron stammered. “But he should be grounded. How . . . ?”

  “Maybe the Air Force doesn’t trust the B-2 as much as you think they should,” she said scornfully. “Maybe you and Jeremy Thompson underestimated Frank Farago. I think you know he’ll do whatever it takes to complete this mission.”

  Byron looked worried. “I know,” he mumbled. He turned and started to walk slowly away.

  “It’s ironic,” Melissa called after him. “You destroy Frank’s reputation to keep the B-2 flying. And now that you finally got your chance to prove the B-2 in combat, you have to rely on him for its success.”

  Chapter 30

  “Taking the first look.” Game Boy waited as the B-2 sent out a quick burst of energy toward the Wonsan missile complex. Within seconds, a detailed radar image appeared on his display. Using his side stick controller, he quickly scrolled through a list of eight aim points on the display’s top left corner. He squeezed the controller’s trigger to designate each one. Immediately, square target symbols appeared at eight different locations on the display.

  “Cool,” Game Boy crowed. “I’d say we’ve got ‘em covered.”

  Frank glanced at the display. The outlines of individual buildings were clearly visible. Eight of their weapons were programmed for strategic points around the complex, including three launch pads. This, and a subsequent radar update, would fine tune the target coordinates, allowing the weapons to strike within inches of their desired aim points.

  “Second look in three minutes.”

  Frank turned back to his navigation display as the B-2’s autopilot commanded a gentle turn to the west. Skirting the North Korean coastline, they slipped unseen into one of the world’s most heavily guarded countries. Radar energy filled the sky about them, but they remained an elusive spirit.

  The second look fired and a countdown to release appeared on the weapon display. Game Boy leaned back and folded his arms. “Hal’s in charge now.”

  Using GPS satellites overhead and the two radar updates, the weapons knew exactly where they were and exactly where they had to go. Frank watched the aircraft drive into a narrow corridor that defined the weapon launch zone. “We’ve got eight targets, all achievable.” He checked the launch timer as it counted down toward zero.

  “Seven seconds,” Game Boy called.

  Frank felt a faint rumble as the left weapon bay doors opened. He cross-checked the threat display. This was their most vulnerable time. With two big barn doors opened into the slipstream, the B-2 immediately became a more prominent target.

  On the weapon display, the first JDAM symbol disappeared off the rotary launcher. “In about ninety seconds,” Game Boy calculated, “North Korea is going to realize they’re under attack.”

  Frank stared at the graphic display of the left rotary launcher. It appeared to be moving in slow motion. The launcher had to rotate each weapon to the bottom position before it could release. With those open doors signaling their presence to all of North Korea, it seemed like an eternity.

  “THREAT TRACK. THREAT TRACK.” The computer’s impassive voice confirmed what Frank already saw on his threat display. A couple of surface to air missile sites had caught a glimpse of them.

  “Should I ‘no strike’ the last two?” Game Boy asked nervously. He held his finger just above the button that would withhold the last two JDAMs.

  “No!” Frank said without hesitation. “Let ‘em go. Even if they launch on us, they’ll lose us as soon as the doors close.”

  Game Boy restrained himself. Finally, the last JDAM symbol disappeared from the display, and the weapon bay doors immediately closed.

  “MISSILE LAUNCH. MISSILE LAUNCH.”

  Frank quickly scanned outside as the B-2 went into a programmed turn to the northwest.

  “Tally two SAMs! Ten o’clock!” The orange rocket plumes were clearly visible as the missiles accelerated to over mach three. Frank started to ease the throttles toward idle, aware that the missiles might have thermal seekers for terminal guidance.

  “They’ve lost radar track,” Game Boy called. “Can you still see ‘em?”

  “Don’t worry about the SAMs,” Frank said quickly. “I’ll avoid them.” He pointed to the navigation display. “You need to get us set up for the next bomb run.”

  “Take me two seconds.” Game Boy said, craning his neck to see the missiles.

  Frank breathed a sigh of relief as the missiles followed a ballistic arc and disappeared behind them. “They went stupid. We’ve got no other threats active. Let’s launch the next weapons at max range so we can get the doors closed before we get too close to the capital.”

  “I’m with you,” Game Boy said, rapidly pressing buttons. “Let’s get these last eight out and get the hell out of here.”

  Within minutes, he had a radar picture of the Yongbyon nuclear facility, though they were still over thirty miles to the east. “Look at this,” Game Boy said. “I can actually see two of their reactors. We’ve got a couple JDAMs targeted against each of them.”

  The two pilots watched impatiently as the launch timer counted down to release. The right weapon bay doors opened and the eight remaining JDAMs began to drop silently into the night. Frank’s threat display lit up with multicolored symbols. It seemed every radar in North Korea was searching for them. By now, their entire air defense system would be scrambling to respond to the unseen attackers. Around Pyongyang to the south, twisting lines of tracer fire raced blindly into the air. “They’re lighting up the sky with triple ‘A’,” he said with amazement.

  “Shit! We’ve got a problem, Frank!”

  Frank quickly brought his eyes back into the cockpit. As he did, he realized the jet was still rumbling. A glance at the weapon display immediately told him why.

  “The bay doors are stuck open.” Game Boy frantically pointed to a yellow slash under the empty right launcher. “I can’t get them closed!”

  “THREAT TRACK. THREAT TRACK.”

  “Well, we can’t stay up here.” Frank yanked the throttles to idle, and abruptly dumped the B-2’s nose into a sharp descent. He scanned the caution panel for some reason for the door failure. In bright yellow letters was the answer: “MMS POWER.”

  “OK, Game Boy,” he said. “You need to cycle power on the SMPs.”

  “Doin’ it.” Game Boy quickly raced through menu pages to access the processor power control.

  A bright red strobe flashed on Frank’s threat display. “MISSILE LAUNCH,” the computer’s voice confirmed.

  Frank searched the sky for the telltale plumes of fire. He had to get the jet low level so they could hide in the radar ground clutter. But the B-2 wasn’t designed for high-speed descents. They were already at the aircraft’s mach limit. Much faster and the B-2 could go out of control as supersonic shock waves disrupted the flight controls.

  “I’m poppin’ the speed brakes,” Frank announced. He pulled a switch with his thumb, allowing the huge split rudders to symmetrically deflect toward their full extension. This would increase their rate of descent but it would also increase their radar cross section. With the weapon bay doors open, he decided it was worth the risk.

  “Cycling SMP power,” Game Boy called.

  Frank watched him turn each of the
processors off and on in quick succession. He’s rushing, Frank thought.

  Game Boy attempted to close the doors again. The yellow slash remained. “Damn! It didn’t work.”

  “You need to slow down,” Frank said, as calmly as he could. “Try it again, but give them a chance to shut down before you bring them back on line.”

  A bright flash exploded above their heads. The jet rocked with the concussion.

  “Too close!” Frank yanked the jet into a hard left turn and then back to the right. He could see at least five other SAMs rising to greet them. They were passing through twenty thousand feet. Right in the heart of the threat envelope. They needed those doors closed now.

  “Caution lights out!” Game Boy finally said. “I’m closing the bay doors.”

  As the doors closed, Frank pushed the speed brakes closed and shallowed their descent. They were a stealth bomber again.

  “I’ve got three SAMs on my left,” Frank reported. “None of them tracking.”

  “Two more falling behind us on the right,” Game Boy said. “And no sign of triple ‘A.’”

  “OK. Time to TF.” Frank pulled up the TF radar page on one of his displays. “I don’t want to start radiating until we have to. What’s the terrain elevation out here?”

  “Terrain’s kind of hilly,” Game Boy said, examining a chart. “Looks like about three thousand feet.”

  “Good. I’ll couple us up at five thousand, after the radar altimeter locks on.”

  The B-2 continued a blind descent toward the invisible earth below. Frank had turned to the southwest to pick up their escape route toward the Yellow Sea. They remained north of Pyongyang, but they were still nearly eighty miles from the western coastline.

  “Man,” Game Boy said uneasily. “It’s black out here. I can’t see a thing.”

  “Good,” Frank said as he activated the TF set. “That’s the way we want it.”

  Game Boy watched Frank select two hundred feet as their final altitude. “I got to tell ya,” he said after a moment. “I’ve never TFed before. You sure it’s safe to use?”

  For some reason, this struck Frank as funny. He looked over at Game Boy. “After what we just went through, you’re worried about a little thing like running into a mountain?”

  Game Boy said nothing.

  “Look,” Frank said. “We’ve got the entire North Korean air force hunting for us right about now. Would you feel more comfortable if I climbed up to meet them?”

  “OK.” Game Boy slapped his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

  Frank released the control stick and pressed a button to couple the autopilot to the TF system. A horizontal and vertical bar appeared on his attitude display. They intersected at the center of the display over a W-shaped aircraft symbol. These steering bars represented pitch commands to avoid the terrain and roll commands to stay on the planned routing. The autopilot would control the elevons and rudders, making the B-2 climb, dive, and turn to follow these commands.

  The B-2 continued its hands-off dive into the black abyss. There were no lights visible anywhere on the ground. Nothing to give them a sense of altitude or attitude. Game Boy watched the radar altimeter’s digital readout rapidly winding down. “We’re passing two thousand feet,” he called tensely. “When’s this thing going to level off?”

  “Now.” Frank watched the aircraft symbol abruptly pull up to the pitch steering bar. “Level at two hundred feet,” he said, pushing the throttles forward. The familiar green line on the TF display showed the rolling terrain stretching ten miles in front of them.

  Game Boy forced himself not to look outside. Instead, he checked their position on his chart. “We’ll be crossing a highway running north out of Pyongyang in about five miles,” he warned. “There may be some homes or buildings.”

  “Yep. At this altitude, we might be waking some folks up. But I’m still showing multiple airborne threats. We need to stay low.” Frank couldn’t believe he was saying it, but they had no choice. As a precaution, he pulled up the flight control display.

  Game Boy saw him. “You make me nervous when you do that, Farago.”

  They crossed the highway and continued toward the safety of the coast. The green terrain line on the TF display became more jagged. Game Boy glanced outside. “Woh! I’ve got lights at two o’clock, slightly high. You showing anything airborne that way?”

  “Negative.” Frank looked where Game Boy pointed. “Those are on the ground.”

  “Damn, this is spooky.” Game Boy checked his chart. “We’re definitely heading into some mountainous terrain. But so far, this hasn’t been too bad a ride.”

  “THREAT TRACK.” The computer’s call surprised them both.

  “Shit! How are they picking us up down here?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said, scanning the sky above them. “But they must be close. Quick, bring up your TA display!”

  Game Boy rapidly paged through his menus and found the terrain avoidance option. Unlike TF, the TA display gave a god’s eye view of the terrain below. It was good for picking through the peaks and valleys, allowing them to better mask themselves from the fighters’ radar.

  “Use the digital terrain option,” Frank ordered.

  “OK. But isn’t that less accurate?”

  “It’s good enough.” The digital terrain was a contour of the earth’s surface, stored within the B-2’s computers. It was less accurate than using the radar, but Frank knew the radar couldn’t process both TF and TA scans at the same time. It simply wasn’t originally designed for that purpose. Just another reason why the B-2 shouldn’t be flying low level, he thought.

  “Come right twenty degrees,” Game Boy directed. “There’s a good valley that way.”

  “All right. Just don’t take us too far north, or we’ll end up in China.” Frank pressed a button at the base of the control stick, disabling the autopilot’s roll control. He gently pushed the stick to the right to start a shallow turn. Too steep and he knew the narrow radar beam might not see all of the terrain they were turning into.

  As they rolled out in the valley, a sudden jolt lifted both pilots out of their seats and then abruptly crushed them back down.

  “Hey!” Game Boy yelled. “Did we almost hit something?”

  Frank shook his head. “Turbulence.”

  Another violent jolt slammed the pilots against their restraints. Game Boy scrambled to tighten his lap belt and lock his shoulder harness. “Is it supposed to do this?” he asked uneasily.

  “It’s the flight controls fighting the wind gusts,” Frank said, bringing the flight control display into his cross check. “We should be OK as long as the turbulence doesn’t get much worse.”

  “Much worse?” Game Boy clutched the glareshield as another gust rocked the airplane. “You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

  Frank struggled to focus on the TF display. “I’m showing a five thousand-foot climb in three miles. Any options?”

  “Yeah. Come left ten degrees. There’s a small saddle between two peaks.”

  The B-2 started a steep climb then abruptly leveled out as the pencil thin radar beam picked up the narrow ravine. Frank knew the B-2’s wingtips wouldn’t clear the rocks on either side by much more than fifty feet. He only hoped there were no thin steel cables draped between the two peaks. The B-2’s radar would never see them.

  He held his breath as they crossed through the saddle. The green terrain line abruptly ended, signifying the radar’s fruitless search for the next mountain peak. For a moment, they drifted blind until the radar spied a small valley thousands of feet below. “Painting terrain on the back side,” Frank called with relief. By keeping below the highest terrain, he knew the fighters would have a hard time finding them.

  As the B-2 nosed over, the bottom fell out. Both pilots were flung against their shoulder restraints. Charts, checklists, and water bottles ricocheted about the cockpit as the B-2 pitched and bucked within the turbulent mountain air. Frank was certain the jet was
coming apart.

  “We’ve got a master warning,” Game Boy yelled amidst the frenzy. “It’s flight controls!”

  Frank quickly scanned the flight control display diagram. A red ‘x’ over the GLAS indicator told him the beaver tail had failed. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the control stick and squeezed its trigger. “I’m uncoupling the autopilot,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m going to fly TF manually. This autopilot is trying to kill us.”

  “And you’re not?” Game Boy frantically pointed outside. “We’re flying two hundred feet at night. Unless you’re half bat, I think we better climb.”

  “We’ll get shot down. Look, when the bay doors stuck open, we may have sustained some external damage that’s making us more visible on radar. We have to stay low. All I need to do is keep these steering bars centered over the aircraft’s symbol, and we won’t hit the ground.”

  “OK,” Game Boy agreed reluctantly. “But if you tell me you’re using the force Farago, I’m punchin’ out.”

  Frank split his attention between the steering bars on his attitude display and the approaching terrain on his TF display. He leveled the jet on the valley floor and confirmed good control response. The jet still bounced in the turbulence, but the gut-wrenching pitch changes had ceased with the autopilot off. It occurred to him that Melissa was right. It was the jet that had failed, not he and Dale.

  “We’ve got rising terrain,” Game Boy called “You gonna climb?”

  “When I have to.” Frank checked the terrain trace. He tried to anticipate the climbs and dives so he wouldn’t have to react to the pitch steering bar. If he lagged behind a climb command by more than a second they would impact the ground. “Climbing now.”

  The B-2 rose and fell in concert with the rugged terrain. Frank summoned every ounce of skill and concentration to keep the B-2 as close to the ground as possible. His mind was racing, but he felt entirely at ease. Everything was very clear to him now. Once again, he was in complete control.