Ormack nodded in surrender, looked at the air-to-air TACAN distance readout. "Icepack, Genesis is approaching one-half mile. "The boom operator gripped his fly-by-wire digital boom controls and stared into the darkness below. The wingtip position lights of the mysterious receiver were just barely visible, as were some fuselage and upper-position lights. The slipway-door light danced eerily in the gloom before him, and he had to close his eyes to avoid getting the "leans," a loss of equilibrium caused by the moving light without any horizon references. There were lights out there, but even at a half-mile he couldn't see any airplane body to go with them.
"Genesis," the boom operator said, "be advised I have your lights but have insufficient vertical, horizontal, and depth references for a safe call to precontact position."
"We have a good tally on you," Ormack told him. "Clear us to precontact and we'll give you range countdown to contact. If you can't see us that way He looked to Elliott.
"Clear us to precontact," Elliott said, filling in for Ormack.
"Stick the boom out there, booms. We'll put this plane underneath it and you plug us."
"Roger, Genesis," the boomer said uneasily. "You are cleared to precontact position, with caution."
"Roger. Moving in."
Sands and the boom operator stared anxiously as the slipway door light moved toward them.
"One hundred feet," Ormack reported as his own depth perception finally snapped in. Before, he had merely aimed the top of the Old Dog toward the nozzle light ahead; now he could better gauge the actual distance involved.
"Still no-" The boom operator paused. For an instant he could discern an object passing just on the edges of his wide pod window. He tried to piece that glimpse into a whole airplane, but it was impossible.
"Stabilized precontact," Ormack reported.
"What?"from the boom operator.
Nothing. The boom operator saw nothing below him except a single light. Everything else melted completely into the space around it.
The precontact position on most large aircraft was twenty feet behind and ten feet below the nozzle, less than sixty feet from where he and Colonel Sands sat in the boom pod. They were looking directly below the nozzle, in the glow of the small nozzle light, and there was nothing. In the depths of the growing twilight, Mason thought he could see the outline of a large aircraft-but it could just as easily be his imagination playing tricks on him. "Genesis, I'm going to turn on the belly lights."
"Who's in the pod?"Elliott asked quickly.
"Colonel Sands and Tech Sergeant Mason," the boom operator replied.
"Okay. Eddie, make sure that's all that goes in there."
L @g "Hell, I'm not sure if I want to be here."
"Clear on the belly lights," Ormack said, taking a firm grip on the yoke. The boom operator reached above him and flicked a switch.
And suddenly there it was. The long, pointed nose stretched underneath the boom pod. Just on the edge of the pod window the outline of the eleven missiles were visible on their gray pylons. In the direct glare of the tanker's light the forward fuselage could now be seen, but the rest of the plane, aft of the training edge wing roots and beyond, was invisible. Through the sleek, sharp, Oriental-like angles of the strong-looking cockpit windows, the pilot and co-pilot, without helmets or oxygen masks, could barely be made out.
"What the The boom operator's words stuck in his throat.
"You got him, booms?"Reynolds asked over the tanker's interphone.
"What is it?"
"It's... it's a B-52... I think," Mason stammered over interphone.
"You think?What the hell is it?"
"It's a damned spaceship. It's..."
"Acknowledge, Icepack," Ormack repeated. "Stabilized precontact and ready."
"Elliott, what the hell are you flying?"Sands demanded.
"Gas first, Eddie. Questions later."
"Forward ten," the boomer asked. "Cleared to contact position. Icepack is ready. "Ormack expertly slid the Megafortress ahead. His practice and experience made for a steady platform, so all the boomer had to do was extend the nozzle a few feet.
"Genesis showing contact," Ormack asked. "Nice job, boom.
Icepack has contact," Mason reported. He started the fuel pumps.
"Taking fuel, no leaks."
"Taking fuel," Ormack acknowledged.
"All right, Genesis," Sands asked. "How about some answers?"
"Eddie, you don't want to know," Elliott told him, glanced over at John Ormack and managed a smile. The Megafortress was so smooth and steady that it was easy for Ormack to keep the huge bomber in the boom's refueling envelope-it seemed he was scarcely touching the controls.
"You don't want to know where we've been, where we're going, or what we're doing."
"Where you're going?There's no question about where, General. You know-hell, you knew about my code words so you must know-that I can only give you enough fuel to make it to Shemya or a suitable alternate.
I can't fill you up."
"You've got to, Colonel. We need as close to full tanks as possible.
"General, I've busted more rules in the past twenty minutes than I've done in two years. And that's a lot, even for me. I can't give you that much-" "This isn't a strip alert refueling any more, Eddie," Elliott asked. "This is now an unscheduled, alternate tactical refueling.
We had tanker support from Eielson and Fairchild scheduled but they didn't launch. Now you're it."
"You had two tankers?"Sands asked. "Where the hell you going with two-T' And then Sands stopped, looked in disbelief at Mason. They arrived at the answer simultaneously.
Missiles on the strange B-52's wings...
"Elliott," Sands finally asked. "What the hell is going on?"
No reply.
Jesus Christ," Sands said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared at the bomber below them.
"Ashley?"
"Computing max off load now, Colonel," the co-pilot replied, pulling out his performance manuals, charts, and flight plans.
"Give us enough to land at Anchorage with ten thousand over the high fix," Sands told the co-pilot. "We may need it if runway conditions at Shemya deteriorate. God damn."
Under the close eye of Mason on board the KC-10 and Elliot aboard the Old Dog, it was nearly an hour later when Ashley nodded to the flight engineer, who radioed back to the boompod on the tanker's interphone.
Elliott looked across the cockpit and rechecked the fuel distribution system's indicators. Ormack had taken it off automatic" to avoid putting fuel into the left outboard wing tank in case it sustained any damage when the tip ripped off at Dreamland, and now the system required careful monitoring.
"Showing no flow down here," he radioed to the tanker.
"That's it, Genesis," Ashley asked. "We've got enough to return to Shemya, shoot one approach, go missed approach, and arrive at Anchorage with ten thousand over the fix."
Elliott totaled up the gauges and checked it against the fuel totalizer. It would have to do.
-I'll take a disconnect, Icepack," Ormack said. In the refueling pod Mason gave a short countdown and punched the nozzle out of the Old Dog's receptacle. Ormack reached up and closed the slipway door.
"Descending to two-seven zero," Ormack reported.
"Eddie, I want to thank you for your cooperation," Elliott said as the Old Dog began its descent away from the KC-10 tanker. "I assure you, I'll take full responsibility for any heat you might take."
"I'm counting on that, General," Sands asked. "I guess this makes us even."
"We were always even."
"Maybe... You know I have to file a report about this.
The refueling, the comm jamming, the expended munitions.
Everything.
"Of course. No offense intended, Eddie, but I know you'll file the report in your usual complete, timely, thorough manner.
"Anything else you need, General?"Sands asked, biting out the words.
"A name, Eddie," Elliott aske
d. "A tanker, a deployment, a large aircraft from Anchorage that passed by within the past twelve hours.
-Sure, why not?"Sands turned to the interphone, asked the co-pilot for the communications kit, then said over the radio, "Might as well set an all-time record for breaking the rules in one glorious day."
""Bag' was a KC-10 fighter drag from Elmendorf to Nellis," Ashley said, checking his classified call sign booklet.
""Crow' was an AWACS from Eielson to Sapporo. "Lantern' was a KC-10 from Elmendorf to Kadena."
"I'm not going to ask why you needed that," Sands said.
"Can we turn around now?How much further toward never never land do we have to follow you?"
"Clear to turn, Eddie-and thanks."
"See you Sands watched as the descending bomber melted into the darkness.
"Genesis is clear," Elliott reported to him- Then, silence.
iw@ The lights on the huge aircraft blinked out, and it disappeared completely.
The boom operator looked wearily at Colonel Sands.
"Reynolds, are the radios clear?"
"Negative," the pilot told Sands. "Still heavy jamming.
"Well, he can't jam SATCOM,- Sands replied angrily.
"Transmit a post-refueling report directly to SAC.Label it URGENT.
Report the receiver's call sign, direction of flight, onload, everything. As soon as we're out of range of their jammers, direct command post to make a transcript of the radio transmissions. "Sands stared out the boom window into the inky blackness. "I'll file it in my usual timely, efficient manner,Chr(34)+ you old bastard," Sands muttered.
"And I'll be there to watch you roast on a spit.
"So what's the news?"Elliott asked Ormack. The co-pilot had just got off the interphone with McLanahan, coordinating the distances, altitudes, and fuel flows. Elliott had just finished a five-minute stint on the firefighting oxygen mask and had done a.station check of the cockpit and left and right load central I circuit breaker panels, the two massive walls of circuit breakers and fuses lining the pressure cabin between the ilot's and defensive operator's compartments. He had also checked for fuel leaks around the air refueling valve in the upper deck walkway.
"Want the good news or bad news first?"McLanahan asked him.
"Better give me the bad news first."
"We are some sixty thousand pounds short of fuel," Ormack said.
Elliott had no answer to that one. The enormous quantity involved.
.
.
"Eighteen thousand of that, of course, was the left outboard drop tank," Ormack went on. "I Put some fuel in the left inboard drop and left outboard wing tanks during refueling, but there's a serious leak in both those tanks and it's almost goneabout fifteen thousand pounds.
I transferred the rest into the mains to keep from losing it all.
There might also be a small leak in the right outboard tank, which happened when we hit the hangar. Our automatic fuel management system is now out the porthole until the right drop tank and outboards are dry.
That's why we have so much rudder trim in-the right wing is twenty-one tons heavier than the left."
"Sixty thousand pounds short," Elliott muttered. "Two hours' fuel.
Well, what's the good news?"
"I've been looking at the aeronautical charts on board," McLanahan began. "There are some civil aviation airways from Alaska to Japan that cross very close to the Kamchatka peninsula. "Elliott said, as Ormack pulled out his copy of the high-altitude navigation chart from his publications bin. "The Russians can't completely close off their airspace, even their air defense identification zone. But we'd need a flight plan to enter that airway. If we just appear out of nowhere we'll get intercepted for sure.
"But they won't see us Ormack asked, "How can they miss us?That air-way is Wendy Tork said.
only he measured the distance with a pencil about a hundred and twenty miles from their radar."
"Well, Seattle Center couldn't see us at that same distance.
Remember, they only had a secondary beacon target on us, on our transponder. And I'd guess that Seattle's radar is better than a Siberian one. Our fibersteel skin has already proved itselfLos Angeles Center couldn't see us after we launched out of Dreamland, and we were right in the middle of their airspace."
"But we've somehow got to jump into their coastline," Ormack said.
"How do we do that?"
"Dave and I have been doing some wagging on the computer down here," McLanahan said, "and here's what we've come up with... there's an island off the east coast of the Kamchatka peninsula, midway between Kavaznya to the north and the sub pens at Petropavlovsk to the south.
It's pretty big and has an airfield-if I'm not mistaken they've got sub communications gear there.
"Beringa," Dave said, pointing to his high-altitude map.
"They've got a circle around it that looks like surveillance radar only. No high-altitude coverage. "He went back to his work on the computer terminal.
"Beringa island," McLanahan took it up, "is right in a gap in high-altitude radar coverage between Ossora Airfield near Kavaznya and Petropavlovsk. It's also only a few miles off the high-altitude airway between Anchorage and Japan. We can head toward that gap, cut just to the south of surveillance radar coverage at Beringa, and still be at high altitude all the way Once we get inside high-altitude radar coverage, we'll only be about seventeen minutes from the coast. We duck under high altitude radar and then get into the mountains along the spine of the Kamchatka peninsula. If we stay away from Beringa radar, the lowest we'll have to go is about five thousand feet until we get into Kavaznya low-altitude surveillance radar coverage."
"Did you work out the fuel for a plan like that?"Elliott asked.
Yes, " Luger told him, "and it's close. We'd never make it back to Eielson, that's for sure. We'd barely make it back across the Bering Strait, but we'd do it. "I hope, he added to himself.
Ormack looked at Elliott, who shrugged. "Looks like one of those ice-bound alternates will have to do," he said.
"We do have another problem," Luger said, checking the computer display again. "The computer doesn't have elevation data for any of the Kamchatka peninsula except for about a hundred miles around Kavaznya.
That means that most of the ride up the mountain ranges would be either at safe-clearance attitudes or manual terrain-avoidance. That's a pretty wild ride even for our experienced crew. We're good, but good enough for two hours of manual terrain-following?We have no detailed charts, no terrain elevations. We'd be relying on radar the whole way until the Computer could start driving the boat."
"Well," Elliott said, "now I know why we brought two navigators along.
Do you think you could have come up with all that so fast, John?"
Ormack shook his head. "Not with all the computers in Japan, General.
" "well, we've got the gas, and now we've got a plan.
Patrick, Dave, how long will it take you to reenter your new flight plan in the computer?"
In reply, the steering bug on the pilot's Attitude-Directional Indicator swung around until it was pointing about twenty degrees left of their present heading. "Steering is good to intercept the airway," Luger asked. "The new flight plan is entered and active."
"Are we clear of Attu airspace?"Elliott asked.
"Affirmative," McLanahan said, checking his chart and the satellite navigator's present position readout. "Attu is off our lour o'clock, just over a hundred miles. We're in international airspace.
"Second-station computer control coming in," Elliott said.
He engaged the autopilot. The Old Dog banked left in response to the new information to the navigation computers, and the ming signals.
Soon the heading bug was centered at the top of the heading indicator case.thin high radar coverage of Ossora Airfield in "We'll be wild.
about an hour," Luger reported "Good," Elliott said. He forced himself to relax and found that his grip on the yoke was that much tighter
.
"If there are any last-minute equipment checks to do, now's the time to do them. If not, try to get some rest. "Ormack looked across at the three-star general beside him, and they exchanged smiles.
"Well, at least try to relax," Elliott corrected himself.
Luger checked the position and heading readouts and marked a fix point on his chart.""Relax,Chr(34)+ he says. Better said to the target-a target in goddamned Russia-and he than done. Less than an hour from low level, about two hours wants us to He glanced over at McLanahan. His partner had his arms wrapped around his body, his head awkwardly lying back on the headrest of his ejection seat. His snoring could be clearly heard over the roar of the Old Dog's eight turbofan engines.
Dale Brown - Flight Of The Old Dog Page 30