Flight Of The Old Dog pm-1

by Dale Brown

  "One hundred miles is the closest," Luger asked. "But "We could do the refueling to himself than anyone else.

  cross two ranges, each about nine or ten thousand feet, and we're within radar range of Trebleski Airfield the whole way After we cross the mountains we can cut away from Trebleski to the northeast."

  "We can stay near the mountains," Wendy offered. "Get as much distance as possible from Trebleski and hide in the ground clutter."

  Can we go around Trebleski at MIT' "Not on the coastal side of the mountains," Luger told him, rubbing his one uncovered eye, "unless we turn around."

  "So it's unlikely we'd make it to the coast," Elliott said.

  "And that means we get out over the mountains in the dead of winter, hundreds of miles from any kind of friendly forces. We could try to evade but I wouldn't give us much of a chance of making it to the coast, much less into Alaska.

  "General, are you saying that landing at a Russian military airfield, abandoned or not, is a better option?" Ormack said.

  "We'd be surrendering. We'd be handing ourselves and this lane over to them. And I sure as hell wouldn't give us a snowball's chance in hell of making it out of a Soviet prison alive.

  Elliott kept silent for a long moment, then: "Distance to that airfield, Patrick.

  McLanahan already had the geographic coordinates of the field typed into his navigation computer. "Anadyr is eighty miles, five degrees left."

  "Any radar circles around it?"

  "Yes. "McLanahan said, studying his civil-aviation chart.

  "Can't tell what they are but they've got something there."

  "Wendy, any activity?"

  Wendy Tork had been carefully studying her threat displays ever since McLanahan had first made his wild suggestion.

  "Clear scope ever since Ossora Airfield."

  "I've got no terrain on my scope for a hundred miles," McLanahan said, tuning his ten-inch radar scope in onehundred-nautical-mile range. "If there were any threat signals they're not being blocked by terrain. I can't make out the base, though."

  "Okay," Elliott said, "you've all heard the arguments.

  There's no guarantee that we'll get gas, oil or anything but our asses in a sling if we land at Anadyr. On the other hand it's possible that we could land this beast and walk away from it uninjured, steal a truck and have a better than even chance of evading toward the Bering Strait, where our chances of being rescued significantly increase. If you're a wild dreamer like Patrick you'll actually believe there's an outside chance of pumping this aircraft full of gas, restarting the number two engine and running it enough to lift off again, and, making it back to Alaska."

  "Crazy," Ormack muttered. "If the base is occupied, we won't have any chance of taking off again-we'd flame out long before liftoff. If we can't find gas we're stuck a couple hundred miles from friendly territory on a Russian base. The Russians would get the Old Dog and we'd be trying to evade all the way back to Alaska. Fat chanc "Well, I can't have this crew bail out over the mountains," Elliott said.

  "Chances of surviving the ejection itself are slim If we did survive we'd be faced with a three-hundred-mile hike across Siberia with the Red Army chasing us. I say we take our chances on solid ground, At least we'll be all in one piece to fight or run."

  "I'm for it," Luger asked. "Hell, that base will be the last place on this earth they'd look for us, except down in Moscow.

  "All right, General," Wendy said, closing her eyes in silent prayer, "let's try to land it."

  Angelina shrugged. "Check. I don't know if I could get myself out of this damn thing anyway."

  "I'm giving a crash course, anyway," McLanahan told her. "You may still have to do it. General, I'm clearing off upstairs. Dave, watch my scope for me."

  Ormack agreed they really didn't have much choice, out the emergency landing checklists as McLanahan upstairs and knelt between Wendy and Angelina. He put his headset into the defense instructor's station and told the women to switch their interphones to the "private" position which allowed them to talk without bothering the rest of the crew.

  "How are you warriors doing?"

  Angelina nodded but looked almost as bad as Luger Because of the damage to the downstairs crew compartment McLanahan had been forced to transfer most of the available heat downstairs to keep Luger from going back into shock. Even with Wendy's borrowed jacket and thermal top, there was more protection then the rest of the crew had, Angelina was losing to the cold.

  Her lips were purple, her eyelids drooped as if she were struggling to stay awake.

  Her hands, in stiff, metallic firefighting gloves, were shoved deep inside her jacket for warmth.

  Bomber defense was almost out of the question, McLanahan thought. It would be difficult if not impossible for Angelina to try to operate her equipment under these conditions. Landing was absolutely the only option.

  "Hang in, Angie," he said.

  "I'll be all right…"

  McLanahan turned to Wendy. "How you doing?"

  "Holding up. I could use a drink.

  "Champagne when we get home… okay, you were taught this months ago, but let's go over it again. If we get attacked while trying to land, or if the pilots can't land this thing, we've got no choice but to eject. Listen carefully, watch the warning light and don't panic-but don't hesitate either.

  There's a simple three-step system for using upward seatsjust remember, ready, aim, fire.

  "The ready is to pull the safety pin out of the handle on your armrests, trip the handle release lever and rotate the handle upward.

  Grab the front of the handle, not the middle or inside.

  There's no hurry, do it smooth and easy. This equipment is old and it needs some care. The aim is like align. You shove your fannies deep into the back of your seat, press your back into the seat and push your head back into the headrest. After that lower your chin to your chest.

  Think about a nice straight spine the whole time. Put your feet flat on the deck, knees together.

  Put your elbows inside the armrests and brace your arms against the back. The fire is easy-grab both triggers inside the ejection handle and squeeze. Next thing you know, you'll be on the ground."

  "What happens if it doesn't fire?" Angelina asked between shivers.

  "Can you go over the emergency ejection sequence?"

  "Don't worry about it. If necessary I'll pop your manual catapult initiator pull-out pins for you."

  "You?" Wendy said, looking up at McLanahan. "How?"

  "The chances of navigators surviving a downward ejection at less than two thousand feet is fifty percent. If we go below one thousand feet.

  .. never mind what the book says…

  our chances are about zero."

  "But-" "Dave doesn't have an ejection seat," McLanahan them. "After the decision was made to get a second naviga requested that another ejection seat be installed. But there so much pressure to complete the testing that it somehow overlooked. "He tried a smile and flunked.

  "I'll make sure crosshairs are on the runway so that the bombing COMPuter will help the pilots land the Dog, get Dave strapped in, then come back upstairs and strap in right here. I'll see to it that you get out if it's necessary to eject-" "Patrick, you can't-" "Can and will. End of discussion-" "Pat, we're fifty miles from Anadyr," Luger reported.

  waited a few moments. "Pat?"

  Wendy was shaking her head. He figured he should say something else but the words wouldn't come. He groped for the interphone wafer switch.

  "What?"

  "Fifty miles," Luger asked. "You okay?"

  "Great.

  "Strap in," Elliott called back. "Everyone back on watch. "McLanahan made his way slowly down the ladder, leaning over Luger's shoulder.

  Luger was now in the left-hand navigator's ejection seat, studying the ten-inch radar set. "See it yet, buddy?" McLanahan asked. Luger switched the radar scope to fifty-mile terrain-mapping and was adjusting the video and receiver gain controls near his left knee, tun
ing the terrain returns on the scope in a search for the runway.

  "Nope," he said, moving his uncovered left eye close to the scope.

  "Nothing under the crosshairs. I get a blank screen when I tune out terrain."

  "Assume the computers are bad. You should be able to break out a runway within thirty miles. Just keep tuning. "He stooped down, checked Luger's straps and harnesses.

  snug?"

  "I still don't want to do this," Luger said.

  "It's my fault you're even on this plane," McLanahan quickly "It's my fault you got hurt. At least I want you to a chance to get out of it if something goes wrong."

  "Thanks, buddy, but I'd like to think my so-called profesionalism helped get me a ticket on this ride. I wouldn't missed it for anything.

  Well, almost anything."

  "Check. I'll buy you a beer back at my place," McLanateha'n asked. "Or a vodka. I guess that would be more appropria McLanahan thumped his long-time partner on the back, grabbed Luger's tactical chart and made his way upstairs, where he strapped himself into a spare parachute and fastened his seatbelt.

  "Forty miles," Luger announced. "Clear of terrain for fifty miles.

  "We'll have enough gas for one low approach," Ormack asked. "We've got fuel low-pressure lights on all four mains.

  One pass clean, then a left turn into a visual overhead for landing.

  "Crew, listen up," Elliott asked. "If we pick up ground fire we'll break out of the pattern and climb out as fast as we can.

  We'll level off at fifteen thousand and go straight ahead until we flame out. Jump ut on my command, but if you see the red light don't wait for my command. After you land use your survival radios on the discrete channel and we'll try to locate n up.

  everyone and fort "Thirty miles," Luger reported. "High terrain at two o'clock. Shouldn't be a factor. Looks reasonably clear for a left-hand traffic pattern."

  "We're setting up on a sort of extended base leg, Luger," Ormack said.

  "That airfield will be moving off to your left."

  " Rog.""Descent and penetration checklist, crew," Ormack called out.

  "We've got twenty thousand pounds of fuel, nav.

  Approach speed and emergency landing data?"

  Luger called up the landing data on a computer terminal in the downstairs compartment. "Two engines out on one sideapproach speed is less than minimum maneuvering speed, so minimum maneuvering speed takes precedence," Luger read. "Minimum maneuvering speed is one-twenty-eight with full flaps-, plus twenty-five with less than full rudder authority. One hundred and sixty-eight knots. Go-around E.P.R setting, three point zero, rnilita6 power on symmetric engines only.

  Touchdown speed one-forty-eight. Brake energy limited one-fifty to the bottom of the danger zone, one-thirty to the bottom of the caution zone.

  Max drag chute speed one-thirty-five.

  "There may not be a go-around," Ormack said, checking the fuel gauges.

  He continued the lengthy series of checklists, letting the Old Dog's on-board computer display each checklist on Ormack's display in the cockpit. It seemed the Old Dog one huge emergency procedure. Ormack reviewed check for fuel leaks on landing, double engine-out, engine fire, parachute failure.hydraulic failure, overrunning the rum landing on ice and snow, strange field procedures, ejection emergency aircraft evacuation. When he finished, Li announced that they were less than twenty miles from Anadyr Far East Fighter-Interceptor Airbase.

  Elliott and Ormack began a gradual descent to fifteen hundred feet above the field's elevation.

  "Clear of terrain for thirty miles," Luger said.

  nothing on radar.

  McLanahan had already double-checked that Angelina Wendy were secure in their ejection seats. Now he made his way forward to the cockpit and slipped into the steel instructor pilot's jumpseat. "Need an extra set of eyes?" he asked Elliott. "What the hell are you doing up here?"

  "Dave's got the left seat downstairs. I'll help you loo I k the runway, then I'll go aft and help Wendy and Angelina their seats in case "Patrick, that's suicide. Get your butt back to your semi "Dave doesn't have an ejection seat, sir," McLanahan said quietly. "One of the details we never got around to.

  "I didn't know "Forget it. Dave's as good on the radar as I am. If something goes wrong I'll try to make sure Wendy and Angelina get clear.

  Meanwhile I'll help find that runway."

  "This whole deal is still crazy…"Ormack mutter "Maintain the element of surprise," McLanahan said, "We've kept the whole Russian air force off our backs confusing 'em. This is just the next step. "And over interphone he asked, "Dave" Anything?"

  "It all looks the same," Luger told him, sounding increasingly frustrated.

  "Keep tuning, you'll find it, Remember, we're setting Up a base-leg, not a straight-in. Don't just rely on the computers-check shorter ranges."

  "Rog," Luger said.retuning the scope once more.

  "We'll stay unconfigured at two hundred and fifty kr until we see the runway," Elliott asked. "We'll turn final check the runway and base and make a decision to land. T we'll turn onto the downwind, configure and-" "I've got it," Luger suddenly announced. "Six miles, eleven o'clock.:, "Six milesT Ormack said.

  "The navigation computer must be way off," McLanahan told him. All three heads in the cockpit swung to the left.

  Elliott found it immediately. "Got it," he asked. "We're right on top of it… we'll never get configured fast enough. Let's go on straight ahead, check out the base from the end of the runway, then make a turn into a right downwind for landing."

  "Roger," Ormack asked. "I've got the airplane. You check out the base. "He turned the cockpit lights down to bare AA minimum to make it easier to see the runway.

  Elliott muttered unhappily as the runway moved to his left window.

  "That runway looks like the rest of the tundra. Some of those snow drifts out there must be ten feet high.

  "No signals," Wendy reported. "Still a clear threat-scope.

  Not even any radio transmissions."

  It was a small, almost obscure base in a mountain valley that reminded McLanahan of Hill Air Force Base in Utah, with snowy mountain peaks peering down from the sky. The most noticeable feature of the base was the "Christmas tree"-alert parking area at the end of the runway-two rows of six parking areas for Russian fighters, staggered on each side so that all twelve fighters could move at once and line up on the runway.

  Fortunately the parking areas were empty-more than empty, they appeared not to have been plowed out for quite a while.

  Some of the Quonset hut fighter shelters were partially dismantled, with snow piled in deep drifts everywhere.

  A big problem was the tiny village nearby, which McLanahan could see out Ormack's right cockpit window. It was about ten miles from the base, but a B-52 made a lot of racket and would attract attention.

  What the villagers would do about the noise was another question. Did people in Russia complain about military planes waking them up at night?McLanahan prayed they didn't.

  "The base isn't completely deserted," Elliott said as the runway moved out of view. "I saw some trucks parked out in front of a building near the main taxiway. They looked military."

  The crew was suddenly quiet. Ormack started a slow, wide turn to the right to parallel the runway.

  Wendy said, "If it's not deserted, they could have troc there "Fifteen minutes of fuel left," Ormack asked. "I guess we can make it back above ten thousand feet for ejection, but then-" "If they had a military force there, there'd be more than a couple of trucks," McLanahan said, liking his logic but not altogether believing it.

  "Agreed," Elliott said quickly. "Besides, the runway looked closed and the buildings looked deserted. And, we don't have any choice. "He turned to Ormack. "Let's do it. I'll take the airplane. Run the landing checklists."

  McLanahan patted Elliott on the shoulder. "Good luck, you guys in Russia."he said, and made his way back to defense instructor's seat and strapped in. "Next stop, Jach bea
utiful downtown Anadyr.

  "Can they land the plane on all that snow?" Angelina ask McLanahan cross-cockpit.

  "Not recommended, but this is a tough bird and those are two tough pilots Big brave talk, he told himself.

  "Airbrakes zero," Elliott said as Ormack read from the computerized checklist on his screen. "Ready for the gear flaps, here they come."

  He lowered the gear handle, and moved the flap switch to its first-stage position, Elliott started a slow right turn to put them perpendicular to the snow-covered runway.

  "Left-tip gear shows unsafe," Ormack said, watching gauges. "All other wheels down. Flaps twenty-five percen Elliott moved the throttles forward to regain speed as the huge flaps, large as barn doors.

  lowered into the slipstream, allowing the bomber to fly increasingly slower on final approach.

  "Fuel danger lights on for all mains," Ormack announced "Okay, crew, this is it," Elliott said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he felt.

  "The fuel's run out. We either land or eject. Dave, I'll make sure you get a few hundred f altitude, but don't delay pulling the trigger."

  "Nav… copies Luger was not as successful controlling his voice.

  His shoulder harness was already lock his back and neck stiff and straight, his hands rested lightly on the trigger-ring between his legs.

  "Patrick he whispered, fighting off the pain in his leg. McLanahan didn't have a chance. He would need several thousand feet to even attempt manual bailout, much less survive it.

  Elliott started a slow turn to the right again to align the Old Dog onto the runway.

  "Flaps fifty," Ormack asked. "Starters on. Fuel panel is set.

  Running on fumes now "Lower the nose," Elliott said. Ormack flipped a switch and the long, pointed SST-style nose slid down beneath the windscreen.

  "Landing lights," Elliott ordered, and the four-thousandwatt lights on the landing gear struts snapped on and the Russian runway leapt into view. A massive snowdrift at leas thirty feet high blocked the approach end of the runway. Elliott shoved the power forward.

  "Flaps full," he called out.

  The howl of the engines obliterated all sound. Luger had his eyes on the bailout warning light on his front console, waiting for the command to eject, his fingers closing around the trigger ring. Wendy and Angelina tensed.