Fatal Terrain

by Dale Brown

  292 DALE BROWN FATAL T ER RAI N 293

  tually applying huge inputs and then having to take them back

  out again. Many pilots liked to carry a little extra airspeed,

  knowing that a plane configured to land, with gear, flaps, slats,

  and hook extended, was going to slow down fast with the

  slightest reduction in airspeed; also, it took several seconds

  after any throttle advancement for the turbine engines to spool

  up to desired power, so being on the positive side of the power

  curve was important. But high and fast was a bad combination.

  Altitude was corrected with power, airspeed corrected with

  angle of attack-just the opposite of cruise. The pilot pulled

  off a fraction of an inch of power, and immediately felt the

  sink rate increase. He had to ignore the sensation of sinking

  too rapidly and concentrate on his scan-ball, airspeed, ball,

  AOA, ball, centerline, ball. Enough of a power correction: the

  LSO, or landing system officer, ordered more power just as

  the pilot was pushing the throttles forward. The tiny speck of

  a carrier deck was quickly becoming bigger and bigger.

  Enough power; recheck and correct pitch angle to get the AOA

  indexers centered again.

  OK, OK, the pilot told himself, this was not going to be a

  pretty landing, but it was the first of about three he'd make

  today. He was now at the reins of a bucking bronco. If every-

  thing starts smoothly and inputs are gentle, the ride down the

  chute is smooth and easy-relatively speaking for carrier land-

  ings. But very often, if one parameter is off, then it'll be hands

  and feet dancing on the controls, throttles, and pedals all the

  way-and that's the way it was on this one. The ball was

  staying centered, but it was like controlling a marionette dance

  routine.

  On touchdown, he was still on the backside of the power

  curve, nose very high, power coming up but way late. All

  carrier landings were characterized as "controlled crashes,"

  and landings in a heavyweight COD were even more so. This

  was going to be a doozy-a two-wire trap, just fifty feet from

  the edge of the fantail, slow and wobbly. He was not going to

  earn any Brownie points for that one. The nose was going to

  come down like a felled tree if he didn't fly it down carefully

  before the arresting wires stopped him short. The pilot felt the

  jerk of the arresting wire, saw the deck director signal a good

  catch, pushed the throttles to full power in preparation for a

  bolter in case of a broken wire, saw the edge of the landing

  deck coming up to meet him but at the same time saw the

  airspeed rapidly decreasing, felt his body squished harder and

  harder against the shoulder straps, jammed the throttles to

  idle...

  ... and then his aircraft, his carrier, his world disappeared

  in a flash of white light.

  "THE MOST IMPORTANT LESSON

  LEARNED FROM THE PERSIAN GULF

  WAR OF 1991 IS THIS: IF YOU ARE

  EVER TO GO TO WAR AGAINST THE

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,

  BE SURE TO BRING A

  NUCLEAR WEAPON."

  -Republic of India's

  military chief of staff

  ELLSWORTH AIR FORCE BASE, RAPID CITY,

  SOUTH DAKOTA

  FRIDAY, 20 JUNE 1997, 2232 HOURS LOCAL

  (SATURDAY, 21 JUNE, 0032 HOURS ET)

  With flashes of lightning from an early-summer thunderstorm

  illuminating the night sky to the west, the first aircrew bus

  rolled out onto the aircraft parking ramp. The ramp was brown

  and dusty with disuse, with tall weeds poking up through the

  cracks in the reinforced concrete. The bus rolled along in be-

  tween two long lines of airplanes, finally turning in and park-

  ing between two of them. All of the planes were surrounded

  by maintenance men and vehicles; all except the ones toward

  the back of the line were encircled with red ropes supported

  by orange rubber cones, with the cones toward the nose of

  each aircraft marked -ECP,- or "Entry Control Point." The

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  aircrew stepped off the bus, unloaded their gear, and shuffled

  toward the armed security guard at the gap in the rope marked

  -ECP- as if they were in a dream-or perhaps caught in a

  nightmare. Although it was much easier and quicker to just

  step over the red rope surrounding the plane, the crew mem-

  bers knew what dire consequences awaited them if they dared

  to do so-security police terms like "kiss concrete" and

  "jacked up" came immediately to mind.

  The guard checked each crewman's line badge against his

  access list, then waved them inside the roped-off area. They

  met with the airplane's crew chief and assistant crew chief,

  where they reviewed the aircraft Form 781 maintenance log-

  books, accomplished a short crew briefing covering restricted

  area access and preflight actions, then ran through the first few

  steps of their "Before Boarding" and "Before Power-Off Pre-

  flight" checklists.

  Two of the crewmen, each carrying one of the steel CMF

  containers and their helmet bag, began climbing up the long,

  steep ladder into the belly of the plane, followed by the other

  two crewmen carrying the canvas.pubs bags. After a quick

  check to make sure both of the aft ejection seats were safetied,

  they piled their gear onto the upper deck, then used "monkey

  bars" to pull themselves up into their seats both left and right.

  Once they were in their seats, the second two crewmen could

  climb past them, crawl down a short tunnel, over the chemical

  toilet, and into the cockpit.

  While the pilots were performing their "Power-Off Pre-

  flight" checklist, the two crewmen behind them slid one steel

  canister each into slots behind and beside their seats, then se-

  cured the canisters to the aircraft with steel cables and pad-

  locks. Each CMF container had two compartments: the smaller

  top compartment was closed and sealed with a steel numbered

  "trucker's container seal, secure but easy to open and access;

  the bottom compartment was sealed with the same cable and

  padlock that secured the canister to the plane as well as a

  trucker's seal-a little more difficult to open than the top com-

  partment.

  The top compartment of the CMF, or Classified Mission

  Folder, container held the launch authenticators, the decoding

  documents necessary to authenticate a launch order under the

  SIOP, or Single Integrated Operations Plan-the plan to fight

  an intercontinental nuclear war. The lower compartment, se-

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  FATAL TERRA I N 297

  cured by a padlock as well as a steel seal to better protect the

  contents, held the decoding documents needed to authenticate

  a nuclear attack order and to prearm the nuclear weapons, the

  attack timing sheets, and the charts and computer data cassettes

  they needed to fly their attack route. The green canvas bags

  contained more decoding documents and

  the charts and com-

  puterized flight plan cass
ettes to fly the escape and refueling

  routes on the way to the Positive Control Turn-Around Point,

  known as the "fail-safe" point-the point where they could

  not ass without a valid attack execution order broadcast by

  the President of the United States himself.

  They opened the green canvas bags and took out several red

  vinyl binders, paper-bound booklets, and a couple of grease

  pencils, stuffing each booklet into a slot or cranny around their

  workspace so they could have quick and easy access to -it, even

  in the dark. They then completed their own checklists, making

  sure all of their equipment's power switches were off, and

  plugged their oxygen masks and interphone cords into the air-

  craft outlets and placed the helmets over the headrests of their

  ejection seats, ready to go. When they were finished, they all

  climbed out of the crew compartment and met back outside

  on the ground.

  They performed the walkaround inspection together, begin-

  ning at the nose gear strut and working clockwise past the

  nose, right side, right engine nacelles, right wing, and then

  into the forward bomb bay. Even though the crew had prac-

  ticed this procedure regularly over the years, this was the first

  time all but one of them, the crew OSO, or offensive systems

  operator, had ever done it for real: preflight a B-IB Lancer

  bomber in preparation for nuclear war.

  "Cripes," Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Roma, the

  crew OSO muttered aloud. "We're back in the big glowing

  smoking hole business again." The other crew members just

  stood and stared. For Roma, this was like some kind of nasty

  dream, like the world's worst case of d6jA vu. It was the middle

  of the Cold War all over again.

  Joe Roma was an eighteen-year veteran of the U. Air

  Force, not including three years in the Civil Air Patrol in high

  school in Corfu, New York, and four years as a full-

  scholarship ROTC cadet at Syracuse University-he had wom

  some version of an Air Force uniform for over half his life.

  Proudly, most of that time was not spent in a blue uniform,

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  but in a green one-an Air Force flight suit. He had attended

  two years of undergraduate, advanced, and B-52 bomber corn-

  bat crew training, then been assigned to a B-52 bomb wing in

  northern Maine. Because there was not much to do up in Lor-

  ing Air Force Base, Maine, most of the time, Roma-tall, slim,

  dark, and athletic, but too boyish and gangly-looking to be

  taken seriously by the really good-looking ladies in Aroostook

  County, Maine-had busied himself with the intricacies of the

  venerable B-52 bomber.

  His dedication had been rewarded with rapid advancement

  from R (Ready) crew status to E (Exceptional) status, then

  simulator operator, instructor nav, S (Select) crew status, Stan-

  dardization-Evaluation Crew, then back to Castle Air Force

  Base for upgrade to radar navigator; then quickly through R-,

  E-, and S-crew status, instructor radar nav, then Stan-Eval

  again. In the meantime, he transferred to Andersen Air Force

  Base on Guam, another remote assignment, and he immersed

  himself in career-building projects: a master's degree in busi-

  ness administration, a half-dozen military schools by corre-

  spondence. He was selected for a variety of Wing and Air

  Division-level assignments, such as target study officer,

  weapons officer, command post controller, and Wing bomb-

  nav officer, in charge of training and outfitting the B-52 squad-

  ron navigators. Roma loved every new assignment, and the

  Air Force rewarded his enthusiasm and dedication with rapid

  promotion to major.

  But nothing he'd ever done compared with his newest as-

  signment: to be part of the initial cadre of instructors for the

  B-IB bomber at McConnell Air Force Base in Kansas. The

  B-IB was everything he'd wished the B-52 could be: fast,

  sleek, stealthy, powerful, accurate, and reliable. The "Bone"

  became Roma's new obsession. Roma, still unmarried, was

  promoted to lieutenant colonel in short order and eventually

  became chief of Stan-Eval for the B- I Combat Crew Training

  squadron, the first navigator ever selected to that position-

  before or since. Roma was then reassigned to Ellsworth Air

  Force Base as bomb-nav operations officer of the Strategic

  Warfare School, the "graduate school" for long-range bomb-

  ing planners and commanders. While at the SWC, Roma stud-

  ied and worked with the commander of the SWC, then-

  Brigadier General Terrill Samson, becoming one of Samson's

  strategic bomber experts, developing strategies and tactics for

  FATAL TER RAI N 299

  employing bombers in any kind of conflict anywhere in the

  world. Roma was "getting great face time," as his fellow

  crewdogs put it, and he was considered a shoo-in for a choice

  Pentagon assignment, for Air War College, perhaps even a

  bomber squadron of his own.

  That never happened, but not because of Joe Roma. The

  heavy bomber in general and the B-IB bomber in particular

  was the new albatross around the military budget's neck. Al-

  though the "Bone" was a far more deadly bombing platform

  than any other attack plane in the world, many of the bomber's

  specialized systems, especially the electronic warfare system,

  had never been perfected; and because of high gross weight

  due to refitting the plane to carry cruise missiles, there were

  lots of restrictions on B-1 flight parameters. Congress was

  ready to cancel the B-1, and only passing an intensive six-

  month operational readiness assessment saved it.

  Disappointed but not dejected, Joe Roma went back to the

  Seventh Wing at Ellsworth Air Force Base as the Wing's chief

  of Standardization-Evaluation, spending as much time doing

  flight and simulator check rides as he did at his desk. Flying

  meant more to him than promotion or command, and he had

  a huge warehouse of information to pass on to the young crew-

  puppies. By the end of the year, all of the B-lBs were going

  to be in the Air National Guard and Air Force Reserves, and

  probably so would Joe Roma. With all of the B-52s going into

  retirement, the B-lBs accepted more of the long-range bomb-

  ing responsibilities, including the nuclear mission, without ex-

  ceeding treaty nuclear delivery vehicle restrictions.

  Now, when the Wing was called to war, evaluators and in-

  structors were no longer required-but aerial warriors were in

  great demand. Joe Roma asked to go back to the only place

  he ever really wanted to be-in the cockpit of the B -I B Lancer

  bomber. As a tribute to his expertise and knowledge, he was

  assigned the greenest E-status crew-top-notch flyers, but to-

  tally inexperienced in pulling alert-to be the first Ellsworth

  crew to begin generating a plane to get ready to go to war.

  "Ted, we need a lifter, flashlight, and dental iniffor," Roma

  asked his crew chief. The lifter was a maintenance platform

  that was wheeled i
nside the bomb bay that lifted the crew up

  twelve feet in the air so they could reach the weapons. Roma

  opened his "Plastic brains"--crewdog slang for his checklist-

  and reviewed the weapon settings written on the proper page

  PI

  300 DALE BROWN

  in grease pencil. "Here's what we're looking for, guys,

  Roma said. "We were briefed these settings during target

  study. They're easy to remember-the weapon designers were

  smart and made all the normal settings with green S's, so that's

  what we look for. All S's mean the weapons are safe and

  they're set correctly-retarded laydown burst, low yield, two-

  minute delay, no contact backup. I want each of you to use

  the mirrors to check the settings."

  This supersonic B-IB Lancer was rather lightly loaded. The

  aft end of the forward bomb bay contained a Common Stra-

  tegic Rotary Launcher with eight AGM-89 Advanced Cruise

  Missiles, each with a 1,000-mile range and 100-kiloton nuclear

  warheads, five times more powerful than the weapon that ex-

  ploded over Hiroshima, Japan; with terrain-comparison and

  satellite navigation, the cruise missiles had twenty-foot accu-

  racy even after a three-hour low-level attack flight. The aft

  bomb bay contained a 3,000-gallon auxiliary fuel tank.

  Once the weapons were inspected, the crew continued their

  walkaround inspection of the aircraft, then climbed up the

  boarding ladder and assumed their stations on the flight deck.

  A few moments later the interphone came alive as the pilots

  turned on battery power, followed by the interior lights when

  external power was applied, and the crew began their "Power-

  on Before Engine Start" checklists. Roma powered up his

  equipment, started a full cardinal heading gyro alignment On

  his offensive Avionics System, loaded the mission cartridges

  into his navigation computers, then checked in with the Ells-

  worth command post: "Rushmore Control, Rushmore Zero-

  One, radio check." post senior con-

  "Loud and clear, Zero-One," the command

  troller responded. "Authenticate Oscar-Mike."

  Roma knew the senior controller and smiled at the