Dale Brown - Flight Of The Old Dog
Synopsis:
The Soviets have developed the world's most powerful laser installation.
They have already killed an American satellite and a rc-135 aircraft and now they're after the space shuttle. General Brad Elliott, head of a super-secret installation called "Dreamland' has the responsibility of stopping them. He puts together an intrepid crew and a specially modified B-52 bomber to do the job. Modern military fiction at its page-turning best.
Copyright 1987 by Dale Brown.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to extend my gratitude to George Wieser and Donald I.
Fine, who took a chance on me; to Rick Horgan, senior editor at Donald I. Fine, Inc with whom I spent many long hours hammering this story into shape; and to my wife Jean, who gave me the support to get the job done. Thanks.
This book is dedicated to the thousands of men and women of the United States Air Force Strategic Air Command who assure the quality of our nation's strategic deterrent force. I was proud to serve in SAC for seven years, and I know it is a thankless, lonely, sometimes frustrating job. They work in old alert shelters, underground launch centers, dark command posts, and cold hangars-and they are the nation's best. More Sol than any high-tech machine, it is the dedication and professionalism of these men and women that insure the peace and security of the United States.
To all the bomber pukes, tanker toads, missile weenies, sky cops, knuckle-busters, and BB stackers of the Strategic Air Command-this one's for you.
ABOARD A B-52 BOMBER
The Strategic Air Command B-52 was ready to begin its final assault.
Though half its bomb load had already been expended.
one gravity bomb and four Short-Range Attack Missiles (SRAMs) still stood in the bomb bays. So far, the crew of six had successfully guided their aged bomber through a crucial air refueling-, a high-altitude bomb run from thirty-seven thousand feet, with a surprise S.A-2 surface-to-air missile attack shortly afterward; and three subsequent bomb runs through a maze of hills and valleys.
Up ahead, closing in on them at a speed of six miles per minute, was the target area--defended by surface-to-air missile sites, radar-guided antiaircraft artillery, and prowling patrols of the most advanced interceptors in the world.
I.P inbound in three minutes. crew." First Lieutenant David Luger announced over the interphone. He was following the B-52's course on a narrow cardboard chart. mentally measuring the distance and computing the time to the I.P. or "initial point," the start of a low-altitude nuclear bomb run. Time to start reviewing checklists, Luger thought.
The action was going to start soon.
He glanced down at the plastic-covered checklist pages.
anticipating each step of the "Before Initial Point" and "Bomb Run (Nuclear)" checklists before he came to it. Long years of training had enabled him to fix in his mind the exact details of what he was about to do.
-SRAM missile pre-simulated launch check, completed." he said.
"Computer launch programming completed."
No one acknowledged him. but he had not expected a reply.
The checklist had been reviewed hours earlier. As Luger reread the checklist items over the interphone to key everyone else that the busiest portion of the ten -hour sortie was about to begin. he found himself squirming in his seat. trying to get comfortable.
"Radios set to RBS frequency." Luger said. He glanced at his chart annotations. "Two seventy-five Point three," "Set," Mark Martin. the co-pilot replied. -RBS bomb scoring plot is set in both radios. I'll call I.P inbound when cleared by the radar."
"Camera on, one -to-four," Luger announced, flicking would now record the bomb run and missile - A special camera small black knob near his right shoulder a e launches on thirty five millimeter film for later study. "E.W.
measures point in sixty seconds." start-counter "Defense copies," First Lieutenant Hawthorne replied, double-checking his jammer and trackbreaker switch Positions.
The same age as Luger, Hawthorne was the E.W or electronic-warfare officer. His job was to defend the B-52 against attack by jamming or decoying enemy surface-to-air missile or artillery-tracking radars, and to warn the crew of missile or aircraft attacks.
"Rog, Luger said. "Checklist complete." He checked the Ai TG meter, an antique gear-and-pulley dial that showed the time in seconds to the next turn point, Luger flipped the plastic covered page over to the "Bomb Run (Synchronous)" list, then glanced over at the radar navigator's station check "About one-fifty TG to the I.R radar," Luger asked. "Got it, Patrick McLanahan said. He was bent over a pile of bomb run charts and radar scope predictions, intently " studying his bombing huh, " of him.beside together, buddy?"
His work area was littered with snippets of "game plan" as if this was the first time he had seen it.paper , drawings and notes. A thermos, which lay underneath several books and papers atop his attack radar set, was leaking coffee over the cathode-ray tube display and the radar controls.
Luger impatiently waited for his partner to begin. The two navigators, representing their SAC bombardment wing in this important competition sortie, were a study in contrasts. Luger was a tall lanky Texan with emaculately spit-shined boots, closely cropped black hair, and a penchant for Perfection. He was fresh out of the textbook for B-52 Combat Crew Training after graduating top of his class from both the Air Force Academy and Undergraduate Navigator Training, and was easily the Wing's most conscientious and professional navigator. He studied hard, performed his duties to perfection, and constantly drove himself to higher levels of achievement.
McLanahan... was McLanahan. He was of medium height and husky build, a blond and tanned Californian who looked as if he was fresh off the boardwalk at Venice Beach.
Despite McLanahan's casual appearance and disdain for authority, he was acknowledged as the best navigator in the Wing, and quite possibly the best in SAC.Together he and Luger combined to make the most effective bomber crew in the United States Air Force. And they were about to go to work.
"Well, let's get this over with," McLanahan said finally.
"Good idea," Luger said. He proceeded to run down the remaining items on the checklist, pausing at intervals to check switch positions with the pilot, Captain Gary Houser. Two minutes later, all switches had been configured and it only remained to activate the bombing system and tie all of the individual components together with the bombing computers.
"Master bomb control switch."
"Good," McLanahan asked. "I mean, on, light on."
"Bombing system switch."
"Auto. "The bombing computers now had control of everything-the steering, when to release the bomb, even crosshairs precisely on a when to open and close the bomb doors. McLanahan had only to position a set of electronic preselected aiming point on the radar scope, and the bombing computers would do the rest.
The computers would translate the crosshair positioning into range and azimuth data and display the target direction on the Flight Command Indicator (FCI) at the pilot's station. The computers fed altitude, heading, airspeed, groundspeed, and drift through a set of precomputed ballistics data, and derived an exact release point based on that information. Even if the airspeed changed slightly, or if the winds shifted, the computers would recompute the exact point for bomb release.
"Coming up on sixty seconds to the I.P crew," Houser announced.-FCI centered. Sixty TG, ready, ready...
now!
"Got it," Luger said, starting a stopwatch as a backup.
"Bomb run review."
Them.
us.
"Roger," McLanahan replied. "Rocket, rocket, bomb... uh
, concrete blivet.
rocket, rocket. This is the live drop over the range. Let's not fuck this one up, ladies.
Some joker is going to run out there with a tape measure to see how we score. Nav?"McLanahan said, turning to Luger.
"SRAM fixes will be on the Airport, fix number thirty; target Bravo, fix number thirty-one; and the pumping station, fix number thirty-two.
We are running fully synchronous, all computers fully operational, with a drift rate less than-" "What he means," McLanahan said, "is that the SRAM is tighter than that virgin lieutenant Gary's been seeing."
A conspiratorial snicker could be heard over the interphone.
"Thirty seconds to lp," Houser announced. "Defense?"
"Electronic warfare officer ready for I.P inbound, pilot," Mike Hawthorne replied.
India-band radar is searching but hasn't locked onto us yet."
Gunner has back-up timing, radar," Bob Brake, the crew gunner, replied.
"Fire control radar is clear. I'll get back on watch after the bomb run and get set for those Air National Guard fighters they told us about."
"Twenty seconds to I.P," McLanahan announced.
"Better stay on watch, guns," Houser asked. "Sometimes those Air National Guard guys get a little antsy. Remember last year's Bomb Competition-they didn't wait for the bomb run to finish before they jumped us. The rules committee let them get away with it, too.
Realism, you know."
"Okay," Brake asked. "I'll still be keeping backup timing until I see something. "He flipped some switches and returned to his small five-inch square tail radar display. At the tail of the huge bomber, the turret with four fifty-caliber machine guns slowly came unstowed and began a PreProgrammed search pattern.
"Guns unstowed, system capable, radar-search, radar track," Brake reported.
"Ten seconds to I.P- Luger asked. "Next heading will be zero-one-zero.
Airspeed three-five-zero true. Clearance plane five hundred feet."
He turned to McLanahan. His Partner had just removed his helmet and was rubbing his ears, then snapping his neck hard from side to side.
"What the hell are you doing?"Luger said.
"Loosening up, Dave," McLanahan replied. "My brain bucket is killing me. "Luger answered calls for his partner until the radar navigator finally put his helmet back on.
Houser's FCI slowly wound down. "Coming up on the I.P, crew...
ready... ready... now!
"Right turn, heading zero-one-zero, pilot," Luger said. The huge aircraft banked in response. "Boy, is it flat out there," McLanahan said, studying the radar scope.
"I guess that means we're clear of terrain.""Roger, radar," Houser replied. That information was important to Houserhe who was handflying the huge bomber only five hundred feet off the ground at almost six miles per minute. Houser used the EVS, or Electro-optical Viewing System, and terrainavoidance computer to provide a "profile" of the peaks and valleys ahead, but the best warning was McLanahan's thirtymile range radar and his experience in guiding the huge bomber around trouble. The "Muck"-McLanahan's lessthan-flattering nickname-wasn't always by the book, but he was the best and Houser trusted him with his life. Everyone did.
"Ten degrees to roll-out," Luger reminded the pilot. "Drift is zero, so heading is still zero-one-zero. Radar, I'll correct gyro heading after roll-out. Pilot, don't take the FCI until it's displayed on the EVS scope."
"We're I.P inbound, crew," Luger reported. "Pilot, center the FCI and keep it centered. Pat, I'll check your switches when you-" "Pilot, airborne radar contact at two o'clock!"Hawthorne yelled suddenly over the interphone. "Possibly an F-15.
Breakingapartnow... there'stwoofthem. Searchradaron us...
switching to target track... they've seen us."
"Roger, E.W," Houser said. The fighter-intercept exercise area was still over eighty miles away, Houser thought.
Hawthorne must be picking up signals from some other airplane engaging the fighters. He put the E.W's warning out of his mind.
Hawthorne tried to say something else, but he was quickly interrupted as the action of the B-52's bomb run began.
"Co-pilot, call I.P inbound," Luger said. McLanahan had switched off-sets and was now peering intently at a radar return that was almost obscured by terrain features around it.
"Pilot," Hawthorne said nervously, "this is not a simulation."
Glasgow Bomb Plot, Glasgow Bomb Plot, Sabre Threethree, India Papa, Alpha Sierra," Martin radioed.
In a small trailer complex located at a municipal airport fifty miles from the ground-hugging bomber, a set of four dish antennas swung southward. In a few seconds, they had found the speeding B-52 and had begun to track its Progress toward the target on a mapping board.
Other antennas began emitting jamming signals to the B-52's radar, and other transmitters simulated surface-to-air missile site tracking radars and antiaircraft guns. The scoring operator insured that they had Positive lock-on, then turned to his radio.
"Sabre Three-three, Glasgow clears you on range and frequency and copies your I.P call. India band is restricted. Do not jam India band radar. Range is clear for weapons release.
Just then, the scoring operator noticed two extra n release."tracking display He immediately called his targets on his range supervisor.
"They're at it again, sir, " the Operator explained, pointing to the two newcomers.
as he studied the display He shook his head, then asked, Those National Guard hot-dogs," the Supervisor muttered the next competition plane called I.P yet?""Has "Yes, sir, the operator replied. "Sabre Three-three, a Buff out of Ford.
Ford , huh The supervisor smiled at the mention of the B-52's nickname. Once, decades earlier, calling a B-52 a "Buff"-short for Big Ugly Fat Fucker-was a sign of respect. Not any more. "You got a Positive track on the Buff?
ighters interfering with the bomb scoring?"
"Let 'em go. I Mark Martin switched to interphone. "We've been cleared onto the range, crew. Patrick, You're cleared for weapon release.
"Rog, double-M," McLanahan replied plastic cover of the release He opened the -circuits-disconnect switch and closed the circuit. "Let's go bombin'!"he yelled.
No chance of the f.i "I don't think so, sir.
He thought for a moment, then shrugged.
like watching a duck shoot."
"Yes, sir," the operator said.
"India band restricted, Mike," Martin called down to Hawthorne over interphone.
opy," Hawthorne replied. "Crew,we are under attack.
Airborne interceptors at two o'clock and closing fast.
"Mike, are you sure they're on us?"Houser asked.
"Positive."
"Mark, switch radio two to the fighter control frequency and- "We can't do that," Luger asked. "We need both radios on plot frequency.
"Well, we'll call the site and tell them to chase the fighters off the bomb range," Houser replied, irritation showing in his voice. "They can't do this."
"Bob can guns.take 'em," McLanahan asked. "Go get 'em, "You're crazy, radar," the gunner replied. "It'll mean maneuvering on the bomb run .
.. " "Shoot the bastards down. "McLanahan asked. "Let's give it a try. If it gets dicey, we'll call a safety-of-flight abort."
"Now you're talkin'," Brake said, turning to his equipment.
"Are you sure, Pat?"Houser asked. "This is your bomb run... " I IBut it's our trophy," McLanahan asked. "I say let's stick it to em.
"All right," Houser replied, flipping switches on the center instrument console. "I'm taking steering away from the computers.
"The fighters are moving to four o'clock," Hawthorne "Infra reported.
"They're staying out of cannon range so far."red missile attack," Brake said, studying his tracking radar and waiting for the fighters to appear. "Simulated Sidewinders."
"Coming up on the SRAM launch point," Luger said.
"We're going to need to maneuver in a few seconds," Brake warned.
I've got a sa
fe-in-range light and missiles for launch," Luger said.
"We can't maneuver until after these missile launches. Guns, give me a few more seconds... Tone!
Fighters now four o'clock, three miles and closing rapidly...
Luger pressed the MANUAL LAUNCH button. The missile computer began its five-second countdown. "Missile counting down," Luger called out.
"Doors coming open It had been hard at first to spot the B-52 down there at low level, the pilot aboard the lead F-15 thought. Radar lock-on had been intermittent at high patrol altitude with all the ground clutter, and then it was nearly impossible because of the heavy jamming from the Buff. Visually, the Buff's camouflage made it difficult to spot and hard to keep in sight if there were any distractions.
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