“Card says we need to on-load eighty thousand pounds of fuel from the tanker.” He flipped ahead to the flight controls test cards. “All of the flight controls test points require that we be at or close to our max gross weight.”
“I expect you to show me some of that real test pilot shit now,” Dale said with a grin. “Water my eyes.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “At least Byron Schmidt got one thing right. I’m flying all of the test points. Real test maneuvers that no computer could execute.”
“Yeah, don’t forget to check in with Bomber Control and tell ‘em what a smooth ride those computers gave us during the low level.”
Chapter 6
Melissa Fairfield adjusted her headset and checked that her computer monitor was configured for the next test point. The B-2 mission control room she occupied was almost as impressive as what you’d find at NASA. Six rows of tables stretched across the darkened room, covered with computers, oversized monitors and various communication controls. The front wall held several large screens with various displays and data from the computers projected upon them. In each corner of the room was a large television monitor, used to display real-time video of a test mission.
As the Test Conductor, Melissa was responsible for assimilating all of this information, filtering what was important for the aircrew to know and coordinating with them to execute the planned test points. She took inputs from the numerous engineers who populated the rows of computer terminals, each monitoring a particular aircraft system or lists of critical test parameters. They were the specialized experts, but her job was to keep the big picture, ensuring that a test mission was completed safely and efficiently.
The B-2 had been out of radio contact, flying its low level test for almost thirty minutes. While awaiting its completion, she studied the upcoming flight controls test cards. They included test points that had been flown before under similar conditions, but more data was required before a final assessment of the flight control system could be made. Even though the testing did not involve envelope expansion, she still felt a little nervous. Pushing a one of a kind test aircraft to the limits of its controllability could never be considered a routine event. She didn’t see how test pilots like Major Farago handled it. They’d been maneuvering the B-2 at its weight and airspeed limits a mere 500 feet above the ground, seeing how it responded to the most aggressive of control inputs. She had watched them practice the maneuvers in the simulator, attempting to predict how the B-2’s flight control computers and control surfaces would react under such an assault. Frank Farago consistently amazed the engineers with his ability to fly the jet right to a limit without exceeding it. They required precise, crisp control inputs to get the necessary data, and no one executed the maneuvers better than him.
The data the engineers needed was relayed to the control room from the aircraft via telemetry. This was a simple radio signal that contained streams of information measuring the aircraft’s response during and following a test maneuver. Though the numerous parameters were also recorded onboard the aircraft, the engineers needed the data real time to terminate a maneuver if the aircraft responded unexpectedly or to repeat a maneuver if it was performed imprecisely. Melissa didn’t expect she would have to call for any repeats.
“Bomber Control, Bat Zero One.”
She paused to remember her radio etiquette and then keyed her mike. “Bat Zero One, go ahead for Bomber Control.”
“Control, we’ve completed the low level test and are proceeding to the tanker for refueling.”
“Roger Bat Zero One. The engineers are eagerly awaiting some feedback on how the TF system performed if you have the time.” She knew Major Farago often liked to give preliminary in-flight evaluations of test results.
“We were in the weather the entire time with moderate to heavy rain showers the last half of the route. The system handled it well, but we got a pretty rough ride. I’m not convinced our flight controls are optimized for gust alleviation. They somehow find a way to make moderate turbulence feel severe.”
Melissa glanced around the room. A couple of the flight controls engineers shrugged and shook their heads. They had listened to pilots complain about the B-2’s low level ride quality for some time. They knew it was a natural by product of the flying wing design and figured it was just something the operational pilots would have to live with. Standing in the back of the room, she was surprised to see Byron Schmidt looking the most concerned. He was staring directly at her.
“I don’t like the word severe,’’ Byron said. “If the aircraft has exceeded any structural load limitations we need to bring them back immediately.”
“I’ll check with the crew,” Melissa said turning back to her console. “Bat Zero One, could you report on the severity of the turbulence you experienced?”
“The turbulence was nothing worse than what we’ve experienced in the past, Control. I monitored the G meter throughout the low level and it never exceeded two Gs.”
“Control copies. Do you see any reason not to proceed with the planned testing?”
“Negative.”
Melissa turned back toward Byron, who was now standing directly over her.
“Lieutenant, I remind you that if an aircraft has been overstressed, it must be grounded and x-rayed to conclusively determine there is no internal structural damage before it flies again.”
“Mr. Schmidt, you know as well as I do that the classification of turbulence is highly subjective. It has to be the crew’s call as to whether the turbulence was severe enough to warrant mission termination.”
“Young lady, the B-2 test program has been as successful as it has been for ten years because we have never taken any unnecessary risks. I will not see you jeopardize this program now because of your unwillingness to challenge this crew.”
Melissa struggled to keep her composure. “Sir, you are not in my chain of command. If you want that jet to come home, you’ll have to take it up with my squadron commander.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
She watched the Program Manager exit the control room, followed by the American Aero executives. She turned back to her console and took a deep breath. She had never seen Byron Schmidt so animated. She understood he was under some pressure to complete this program. So why not complete it? She could see no good reason to override the crew’s decision. She realized her MIT education certainly hadn’t prepared her for the Byron Schmidts of the world.
Chapter 7
The KC-135 tanker cast its giant shadow over the ebony bomber. Nestled under the tanker’s tail in the refueling position, Frank’s view of the sun and most of the sky was blocked by this gray metal overcast. They were in the clear now, cruising above the cloud deck at 25,000 feet in a delicate ballet with a flying gas tank.
Frank focused his attention on the two rows of director lights on the belly of the tanker. He used these to precisely position the bomber in the heart of the refueling envelope. His inputs were subtle and exact as he gently guided the control stick using only his middle finger and the base of his thumb. His left hand rested on top of the four throttles, the engines’ thrust perfectly balanced to maintain the desired position. The tanker’s boom, out of view behind the cockpit, was locked snugly into the B-2 receptacle, passing over 700 gallons of fuel every minute.
“Bat Zero One, your offload is complete,” reported the boom operator. “You took on eighty thousand pounds.”
“Roger Toad Five Two. We’ll take a disconnect.”
Frank heard a clunk as the boom nozzle disconnected from the receptacle. He confirmed the “disconnect” light was illuminated, then eased the power back and began a slight descent. The cockpit was bathed in sunlight as they separated from the tanker.
“Anything else we can do for you boys today, Bat Zero One?”
Dale turned a switch to close the receptacle doors and then keyed his mike. “That’ll do it for us, Toad Five Two. We appreciate all the dead dinosaurs.”
Fr
ank guided the bloated bomber into a shallow descent, turning north toward the Owens Valley. Towering cumulus clouds now dominated the mountains through which they had flown their low level. Frank steered away from the developing thunderheads, spotting a clear path to the Owens lakebed over which they would execute their flight controls testing.
As Dale finished up the post-refueling checklist, Frank allowed his mind to wander back to his conversation with the control room. Why the questions about the turbulence? They had experienced some pretty bumpy low level rides plenty of times before, but they had never considered mission termination. If the turbulence ever got too rough, they just aborted the low level and went on with other testing. It was the pilot’s call. He bet Byron Schmidt was somehow behind the questioning. The guy had to be pretty antsy to be hanging out in the control room instead of delivering glowing emails about his program to his superiors at the Pentagon.
Still, Frank had to admit the composition of the test sorties had become a little jumbled as they approached the end of the test program. Combining TF testing with flight controls testing was not the norm. Each by itself could be a little taxing for the pilots. Only the fact that the amount of each type was limited convinced him that it was prudent to proceed. Besides, this would probably be his last chance to fly a real B-2 developmental test mission with Dale.
“Ready to turn on the TM?”
Frank gave him a thumbs-up and then turned toward the telemetry panel on his right side. The telemetry system was just a part of the extensive instrumentation suite on board the aircraft. The various boxes, switches, tapes and disks were all there to record every bit of data that might be needed to assess the B-2’s performance during a test mission. The components and their bundles of wires were all painted a bright orange to distinguish them as test equipment and therefore not a normal part of the production aircraft.
Frank configured the TM panel as prescribed in the test cards and then flipped on the transmit switch. All of their critical flight parameters, as well as their intercom transmissions, would now be relayed to the control room. He hoped Dale would remember to watch his language since they had now lost all privacy.
“Bat Zero One, we have good TM, how copy?”
Frank moved his thumb over the rocker switch on his number four throttle. Instead of pushing the top of the switch to transmit out on the radio, he pushed the bottom to use the intercom.
“Roger Control,” Frank said. “We have you five-by-five. We’re passing five thousand feet, just north of China Lake.”
“Copy. Report on condition for the first test point.”
Frank leveled the laden bomber at 1,000 feet over the flat, muddy surface. The valley was clear of clouds, but glancing left he could see the ominous black wall of weather that continued to rage over the mountains. They normally performed flight controls testing out over the Pacific where they could go low and fast without the worry of surrounding mountains. But for the limited testing they were doing today, the valley would be good enough.
“First up on the card is bank to bank rolls,” Frank said, pressing a button beside his center display. A screen full of graphs, lines and pointers appeared, all of them labeled with Greek letters and mathematical symbols that only held meaning for a test pilot. This was the flight test display. It precisely depicted the aircraft’s movements and accelerations through three-dimensional space, allowing a skilled pilot to maneuver his craft within the strictest of tolerances. “You ever seen this display?”
Dale leaned over and shrugged. “Looks like a video game for MIT geeks.”
“Control copies. Hope you Tar Heels can handle it.”
“Shoot,” Dale said shaking his head. “I didn’t think she’d hear us down here. I thought the TM would be droppin’ out at these low altitude points.”
“It’s being relayed to Edwards through the Naval Test Center at China Lake. Look, I’m going to be staring at this display when I fly the maneuvers, so I need you to clear outside since we don’t have a chase. During these bank to banks, back me up on the two-G limit and call ‘terminate’ if I get over ninety degrees of bank.”
“Will do.”
Frank quickly thought through the upcoming maneuver. Its purpose was to see how the B-2’s flight control system would react to an abrupt two-G roll using full stick deflection. It was a pretty radical maneuver for a heavy bomber, but one that should be well within its capability. The only complicating factor was that they’d be doing it at the jet’s limiting airspeed a mere 500 feet above the ground.
Frank’s task was to make a quick, crisp lateral stick input at the desired entry conditions and then play the pitch to hold a steady two Gs through the rapid roll. The trick was preventing an over-G. He would have to push forward on the stick just enough to keep two Gs while his body was whipped through 120 degrees of roll in little over a second. Concentration and anticipation were the keys. He had done enough of these to know how the aircraft should react. He just had to smoothly lead his stick inputs so he was not reacting to the jet.
The first roll would be a buildup using only a three-quarter lateral stick input. Frank turned the jet back to the south and set up on conditions. He’d need to start a little high, so he could descend into the maneuver. With the radar altimeter registering 1,500 feet, he fine-tuned the throttles until the airspeed was a steady 480 knots. He raised both hands in the air and watched for any deviations. There were none.
“Control, Bat Zero One is on condition.”
“Roger. Cleared to maneuver.”
“Wind-up turn, left.”
“You’re clear left,” Dale called.
Frank smoothly rolled the jet to the left. Passing thirty degrees of bank, he focused his attention on the digital readouts of G and airspeed. To maintain the target 480 knot airspeed while pulling to two Gs, he’d need to let the jet descend. He couldn’t use power. The throttles had to remain fixed through the maneuver, so the engineers wouldn’t have to account for any thrust effects when analyzing the data.
The nose dropped as the bank increased toward sixty degrees. Frank gradually increased back pressure on the stick to keep the airspeed from building up. Passing 600 feet he was at two Gs. Airspeed still 480. Perfect.
He keyed the mike. “Right roll, ready . . . Now!”
He immediately grasped the stick with both hands as he focused on a cross in the corner of his flight test display. The cross registered stick deflection. He slammed the stick to the right, crisply stopping it at a deflection he knew to be three quarters from years of experience. A split second later, a dot on the right arm of the cross settled at the three-quarter tick mark.
The bomber snapped into a right roll. Frank saw 500 feet and 480 knots, but immediately ignored them in favor of the G meter. Rolling through thirty degrees of bank toward level flight, he knew the G would increase. He gave a slight push on the stick to prevent it. Still two Gs.
The aircraft was now in a rapidly increasing right bank. His right window filled with a view of brown mud. He waited for the bank pointer to hit sixty degrees.
“Check!”
Frank slammed the stick back to the left. The sudden momentum change made the jet shudder, as the pilots were flung against their restraints. Frank kept his attention on the bank and altitude. The jet paused momentarily in a knife-edge, the right wing tip pointing to the lakebed, before it snapped back toward level flight.
“Maneuver complete.”
“Roger Zero One. We’re looking at it.”
Frank knew the control room engineers would be pouring over the strip charts, searching the key flight parameters they recorded from the TM for any sign that the aircraft had tried to depart from controlled flight. He had learned a pilot could not always see or feel an oscillation that might go divergent and disintegrate an aircraft. But the strip charts would pick it up.
“Frank, you had four eighty and two Gs wired. I didn’t realize this big ol’ wing could roll that fast!”
“Wait till you see full s
tick deflection.”
Dale reached for the straps on his lap belt. “I think I’ll be tightening these up.”
“Bat Zero One, we’ll call that card complete. You’re cleared to set up for the full stick roll.”
“Roger Control.” Frank turned the jet back to the north and set up again on the initial conditions. It always surprised him how calm he felt, even as he pushed a jet to its absolute limits. He was in complete control, his mind racing ahead to consider every intricate detail and action required to perform the test. An athlete called it being in the zone. It was no different for a test pilot. He was a master of the moment. Nothing was beyond his ability.
“Control, Bat Zero One is on condition.”
“Roger. Cleared to maneuver.”
“You’re clear left,” Dale called. “I’ll back ya up on the limits good buddy.”
“Thanks. Coming left.”
The bomber sliced toward the ground as Frank played the bank and back pressure on the stick to simultaneously achieve two Gs, 480 knots and 500 feet. As the three converged, he stretched his right knee as far out as he could.
“Right roll, ready . . . Now!”
He slammed the stick all the way to the stop. The jet whipped into its roll and then—something’s wrong.
“Terminate! Terminate! Terminate!” The words from Control shot through his mind as he fought to understand what was happening.
He thrust the stick full forward. Too late. He had never heard an airplane scream. But that was the sound. A deep, twisting scream of metal and material as the bomber contorted into a violent rolling pitch up.
Frank’s vision grayed as tremendous forces seemed to pull the stricken aircraft in all directions. It wrapped up into a blinding uncoordinated roll, alternately ripping him up from his seat and then crushing him back into it. He fought to focus his eyes on something, anything that could show him how to recover. He threw the stick full left and stomped the left rudder to its limit of travel. Nothing. He reversed the controls and yanked the stick full aft. Still nothing. Outside, the world was a blur of brown and white. He had lost control.
Spirit Flight Page 4
