Flights of Fancy, Part Deux

(OK, apologies to Hot Shots and Hot Shots, Part Deux...which by the way is one of the few sequels funnier than the original movie.)

I made it through the rest of B-52 training without incident although the crew, as a group, had a sporty moment. By late in our training, our instructor navigator pretty much trusted us not to screw up and would relax upstairs until shortly before the bomb run when he would come and stand between us. One of the qualifications the pilots had to check off was to fly a visual route low-level leg. That meant flying about 200 feet off the ground in non-cloudy conditions. On the particular day we were supposed to do this, the terrain avoidance radar was broken on our aircraft. The pilots, therefore, were flying using nothing but the Mark 1 eyeballs built into their heads. We had a readout that functioned only at 500 feet above the ground or less telling us how much clearance we had from the terrain (called a radar altimeter). At one point during this low-level flight route, I hear our instructor say over the intercom, “Don’t put the landing gear down, pilots.” At that moment my eye caught the radar altimeter readout and it was at 50 feet. We’re blasting along at about 350 knots at 50 feet above the terrain. Oooo, yay. We later learned from the pilots that at that point we crossed a road where a semi was parked. The driver was outside the truck and when he saw us dived under it.

That 200 foot clearance was important and very near and dear to the navigators. On a B-52, the pilots and defensive team sit on the upper deck. To safely eject, they just need 120 knots of indicated air speed and can safely eject on the ground. The navigators, on the other hand, eject downward. Yes, I said downward…as in straight at terra firma. We needed 200 feet of clearance at a minimum for our parachutes to function. In fact, when I was in training, they modified the seat from needing 300 feet to 200 and I could never get a clear answer as to whether they did anything more than changing the manual and the decal on the seat.

That downward ejection system has another function that caused me a problem back at my squadron. The table that the navigators use has an actuator that pulls it in during ejection so you don’t crack your chin hitting it on the way down. When you preflight your ejection system, you have to crawl under the table and check the actuator. My training crew radar navigator and I had an understanding that we would keep the table PUSHED IN until both of us checked under it. The first time I flew with a different radar navigator, I was expecting the same thing. So when I backed up what I thought was far enough, I stood up…and promptly slammed the back of my head on the table that he had pulled out. One trip to the hospital and one concussion later, I made the SAC Weekly Safety Briefing. I was so proud….

I had one other minor incident in training. The B-52 is boarded through a hatch on the bottom side of the airplane that opens down. Early in training, during our preflight, I thought my instructor had shut the hatch. I stepped back and guess what I discovered? That’s right. He hadn’t but fortunately the drop to the tarmac was accomplished without injury. Yes. I fell out of a B-52 without a parachute and lived to tell about it.

I can’t leave the subject of Air Force flying without mentioning something that I learned only years after the fact. We were watching the Craig T. Nelson show Call to Glory where he played an Air Force colonel and pilot. At one point his wife tells him that she lives in fear whenever he flies. I looked at my wife and asked if she felt anything like that. To my utter shock she told me that she said goodbye to me for the last time every time I walked out of the house in my flight suit. That was quite a sobering moment for me.

Since the Air Force, all my flying has been virtual or as a passenger. Despite that, I find that on any flight where the pilot patches their communication into the passenger audio system, I feel compelled to listen in. Oh. And of course I have to sit next to the window. After all, I am a trained navigator and if the navigation systems on the aircraft were to malfunction, well I could just get a chart and visually navigate for the pilots. At least that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. On trans-Atlantic trips, my daughter wants to know why it’s necessary. I tell her it’s a little known fact that a trained navigator can map-read the white-caps and waves. That is met with a skeptical, “Yeah? How you gonna see them at night?” I simply explain that I’m a really, really skilled navigator. Somehow, I’m never quite sure she buys any of it. But I DO get the window seat.

On the subject of my daughter and flight, she has a history of being Little Miss Jet Set when the spirit moves her. Ireland (6 or 7 times), England (6 or 7 times), Las Vegas, California. Her passport has more stamps than her parents’ passports combined. But for some reason, she is a white knuckle flyer. How my daughter, exposed to me and flying from birth became fearful of flying I will never understand. She says it’s worse when she’s flying somewhere WITH us. Then, all the parent-child dynamics hit and she’s a little girl again. I make sure to keep up a running commentary on what the noises she is hearing are or why the airplane is bucking like a rodeo bronco and why it’s actually fun. Again, I’m selling, she ain’t buying.

And by the way, the worst turbulence I have ever encountered was not on an Air Force airplane flying low-level. When we had to go to survival school at Fairchild AFB in Spokane, Washington, about twenty of us were flying in uniform. The aircraft encountered severe turbulence near Mount Shasta. We were laughing about it and having a high old time. Finally the little old lady in the seat between two of us screams, “This is all your fault! You got them to do this on purpose!” The smartass in me wanted to tell her that she was right but I decided that might not be the best thing I could do. Fortunately the pilot got clearance to climb out of the turbulence and things settled down.

Anyway, back to my daughter. One year she came to Florida with us but had to fly back a few days ahead of us. In order to get her on the airplane, she had a prescription for Ativan. (If you’ve never had the pleasure, it will knock you happily on your butt.) Nevertheless, she wanted one of us to go onto the airplane and get her settled. We were asking the gate people if we might do that when the pilot comes up and says, “How about if I get her settled?” She looks at him, looks at us and says, “Okay. But only if you promise to stay aboard and fly it.” Having given her his word, she happily stumbled her way down the jetway to the waiting airliner.

One of the family flying jokes has always been from a George Carlin line. “When they say it’s time to get on the airplane, I say f**k you, I’m getting IN the airplane.” Inevitably, one of us will say this in the departure gate area. Something else we do is rate the landings. One bump, the pilot landed the airplane. Two or more, it was the co-pilot. (In the B-52 there was a well-worn strap above the navigators. I asked my radar navigator before our first flight what it was for and he said it was for co-pilot landings. I thought he was joking…until our first landing. Typical navigator pose for landing is hands over head holding that strap in a death grip just in case the co-pilot has the landing.)

So these days, I keep my hand in the flying game with Microsoft Flight Simulator. I belong to an on-line group called Virtual Continental Airlines (vcair.com) and we do our flights on the Virtual Air Traffic Simulation (VATSIM) network. In many cases, we have flying enthusiasts who function as air traffic controllers at various levels. It’s a fun way to fly an airliner without the expense of owning one, fueling it, maintaining it, etc. I’ve also flown probably more than forty different air combat simulators. (And yes, there was actually one a number of years ago based on the B-52. At least the B-52 “Megafortress” as created by Dale Brown in his novels.)

One last actual flight story. In AFROTC, pilot candidates could earn their private pilot’s license and be able to skip the initial phase of pilot training. My fraternity big brother, as a senior earned his. The day after his license arrives in the mail, he and I go out to Syracuse/Hancock Airport and rent a Piper Cherokee. We take off in bright sunshine, a perfect flying day. Now, let me digress a moment. Hancock, in the winter, at times could only guarantee a terminal weather forecast plus or minus fifteen minutes when the standard is plus or minus one hour. Also, when making a visual approach to the main runway, there is a small island in Lake Oneida that is used as a turn-in fix. Remember these two points. So, there we are, enjoying ourselves…and the clouds move in…along with snow. We decide that maybe it’s time to get out of Dodge and to put this little sucker and our skinny butts back on the ground. He says to me, “Look down and tell me when we’re over the island.” I look down and say that I can’t see anything. He says, “How the hell are you going to be a navigator when you can’t even see an island in a lake.” After telling him what part my under regions he can kiss I suggest that great white pilot find the island himself. He gives me the yoke and tells me to try not crashing and looks down…and realizes that I had stated a factual point. It is white out under us. He mutters something to himself, takes the control and contacts the tower. They have to give us a special VFR (that’s visual flight regulations) clearance for us to land, mainly because there was nowhere else to send us. Needless to say we survived but it was a sporty landing.

And one thing that every pilot should remember: Take-off is always optional. Landing is mandatory. Happy (con)trails to you, until we meet again!