The day of the flight dawned, cloudier than I had hoped. At the office, King introduced me to Captain Steve Reed, another 1st RS pilot who would be our “Mobile” today. He would preflight the black jet while its two prospective pilots were suiting up and pre-breathing. He would also assist the heavily encumbered King and myself into the aircraft and generally supervise the ongoing flight.
Off we went to suit up. A one-hour period of pre-breathing is necessary to reduce the proportion of nitrogen in the blood and prevents decompression sickness. King demonstrated a useful procedure for passing the time: He fully reclined his chair and fell asleep! When the appointed time came, our oxygen supply was switched to portable containers, and we waddled out of PSD onto the van which took us to the flight line.
After negotiating the steps up to the cockpit with some difficulty, I gingerly lowered myself inside, one leg either side of the huge, old-fashioned control column. A long process of connecting man with machine ensued—oxygen hoses, communications cord, seat harnesses, boot stirrups and so on. According to standard procedure, I was a helpless spectator throughout the process which was carried out by two PSD technicians and Captain Reed.
In the four dual-control U-2 trainers, the rear cockpit occupies the space known as the Q-Bay on operational aircraft where cameras or other sensors may be carried. The instruments are conventional with a large attitude indicator at center front. Unfortunately, I was denied the use of a unique U-2 feature, the drift sight which affords pilots a splendid view of the territory beneath them. Shielded by a rubber cone protruding from above the attitude indicator, the viewing optics for this are at head level, but in the two-seaters, only the front cockpit is so equipped.
With some difficulty thanks to the heavy helmet, I glanced down and sideways. Throttle and trim wheel to the left, with radio and oxygen controls aft, next to a recess where Reed had placed my food tubes and drink bottles. Navigation and some environmental controls were to the right. Somewhere behind me were a whole raft of circuit breakers, which could surely only be manipulated by feel.
On the intercom, I heard Major King call for engine start. The brand new General Electric F118-GE-101 turbofan wound into action. We set off for a holding point on the taxiway which intersects Beale's 12,000-foot runway at the halfway point. No need to take the full length in this bird! The departure performance is so impressive that each mission is said to “launch” rather than “take off”. And for today's two-hour flight, we would be launching with only a half fuel load.
We taxied onto the runway and paused to allow the ground crew to extract the locking pins from the outrigger wheels known as “pogos”. Then King selected 80% power, released the brakes and we surged forward. In no time at all we were rotating into a steep climb that took us to 6,000 feet before we reached the end of the runway!
King had prepared me for this, but it was still breathtaking to watch the altimeter wind up at such a rate. We passed 20,000 feet after only three minutes, and King soon engaged the autopilot in pitch mode. The 30-degree climb attitude seemed more like 60 degrees to me as we turned north to our first waypoint above the Sierras.
As we neared 50,000 feet, King decreased the pitch so that we could establish a speed schedule of Mach 0.72, then re-engaged the autopilot. We were about to enter the cruise-climb, and henceforth the aircraft would rise steadily but more slowly as fuel was burnt off. King bid goodbye to Sacramento control and checked in with Oakland Center on a special frequency which had only another U-2 flying from Beale to keep us company. After 18 minutes of flight, we passed through 60,000 feet.
We turned south over Reno, Nevada, and I caught a glimpse of Lake Tahoe below as the overcast thinned. Right now, though, it was more interesting to look above and to the side. The sky had turned darker as we climbed, and directly overhead it was now almost black, with stars visible. The blue had retreated towards the horizon where it resided as a thin line separating earth from sky. This horizon seemed a long way distant and I could now discern the curvature of the earth quite clearly.
It was all rather peaceful and beautiful, but my reverie was interrupted as Major King invited me to take the controls. I accepted a trifle reluctantly, having heard plenty and written some about the dreaded “coffin corner” or “throat”. This is a condition known to all high fliers as they approach the top left hand corner of the envelope. Put simply, the slowest that the aircraft can go comes close to the fastest that it can go, as the margin between stall speed and Mach buffet steadily erodes.
In the original, smaller U-2 versions, that margin could be a mere five knots under certain conditions. Right now our margin was a generous 30 knots, but King warned that we were only a few knots from overspeed, and he told me to maintain 100 knots indicated airspeed, Mach 0.71. I tried a few gentle turns, and the big winged bird responded well. It seemed at home up here.
Now King fell silent on the intercom, and my sense of isolation grew. I could not actually see him in the cockpit forward and below mine because the interior was obscured by its large black sliding sunshade. Some minutes later, I learned that his microphone was malfunctioning intermittently. In the meantime, though, I began to experience something of the “out of this world” feeling which has been described by so many U-2 pilots.
In order to re-establish some relationship with Mother Earth, I peered downwards over the canopy rail. The altostratus had cleared and we were approaching our next turn point at Monterey on the California coast. I had a superb view all the way up the San Francisco Bay. King re-established contact, and after we rolled out of the turn he checked our fuel balance. Soon it would be time to start the descent.
The U-2 is the only flying machine where you routinely extend the landing gear at 70,000 feet, plus the speed brakes. The throttle is brought back to idle, the flaps are set to the gust position, and with luck, the aircraft may now be persuaded to quit the heavens and start a slow descent. King set a direct course back to Beale, but although the base was more than 100 miles distant, we weren't coming down quickly enough. A lazy 360-degree turn helped us lose 15,000 more feet.
As we passed through 30,000 feet, I took control again. In contrast to its earlier performance at altitude, the aircraft now handled like a truck in the thick lower air. I handed it back to King, and since we were now safely below 20,000 feet, unlatched my faceplate and turned the oxygen supply off. For the first time in this entire exercise, I could smell real airplane!
At 5,000 feet, King retracted the speed brakes, faired the gust control, and trimmed the bird for landing. This can be the most challenging phase of flight, especially for novice pilots. The correct procedure is to cross the runway threshold at 10 feet and the correct speed for the aircraft's configuration. With 600 gallons remaining, our T-speed today should (would, dammit!) be 76 knots.
Our Mobile came up on the radio, ready to talk us through the landing and chase us down the runway in one of those ostentatious five-liter Ford Mustangs. We arrived overhead the field and turned downwind at 105 knots. Flaps and speed brake were extended once again.
The “powers that be” had rejected King's request to perform a touch and go, so we performed one low approach before repositioning for a full stop landing. King told me that on hot afternoons in summer, strong thermals rising from the cornfields surrounding Beale can wreak havoc with even the most carefully flown approach. No such drama today, though. With the appropriate adjustments for yaw, pitch and power, we reached the threshold in good shape.
King flared for landing. “Five feet, four, two,” called Reed from the Mobile. As we touched down, King retracted flaps and speed brakes, but continued making yaw and pitch inputs until the aircraft slowed to near walking pace. Ground crew re-inserted the pogos, and we headed back to the ramp.
A small reception committee awaited. Later, I was required to seal my initiation into the world of the “high flyers” by drinking a yard of ale in the so-called “Heritage Room”. A less distinguished flying outfit would merely describe this place
as their bar. But no other wing has a drinking establishment which can boast wall plaques listing every pilot who has ever qualified on type. Even after all these years, the U-2 drivers are still a select band.
Chris Pocock is the author of Dragon Lady, The History of the U-2 Spyplane; The U-2 Spyplane, Toward the Unknown; and 50 Years of the U-2.
Francis G. (Frank) Powers
(Deceased August 1, 1977)
The following was contributed by Frank's son, Francis G. (Gary) Powers, Jr., Director of the Cold War Museum, Washington DC.
Frank Powers joined the USAF in 1950 and flew the F-84 with the 468th Strategic Fighter Squadron at Turner AFB, Georgia. He was recruited by the CIA and was a pioneer in the field of U-2 aviation. He resigned his officer commission in the USAF in 1956 in order to fly with the CIA.
Francis G. (Frank) Powers. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
Most of the U-2 pilots flew their secret missions with little notice from the Air Force and the country. However, Frank Powers’ entry into the history books came on May 1, 1960. His plane was the target of a surface-to-air missile over the Soviet Union. He survived the crash in the Soviet Union and was convicted of espionage. He was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment and seven years of hard labor. However, 21 months after his capture, he was exchanged in Potsdam, Germany for US-held Soviet KGB Agent Rudolf Abel.
Following his extensive debriefing by the CIA, Lockheed and the USAF, Powers appeared before the Senate Armed Services Select Committee. During the analysis following Powers’ testimony, the NSA acknowledged he had followed orders, did not divulge any critical information and conducted himself “as a fine young man under dangerous circumstances.”
Subsequently, Frank left government service and was employed by KNBC television station in Los Angeles. On August 1, 1977, while working as a helicopter reporter, he died in a crash caused by a malfunctioning fuel gauge that was repaired without his knowledge.
Daniel W. (Danny) Schmarr
(Deceased December 9, 2005)
The following was submitted by Danny's widow, Kay.
Danny was in the cockpit approximately 22 years, including pilot training, and he absolutely loved every minute of it. His favorite years flying were in the F-4 although he had been in the U-2 for four years with the Air Force and five years with the CIA. He was the epitome of the fighter pilot, and the F-4 filled those needs in him. He served as Squadron Commander during the Vietnam War at Ubon, Thailand, with the Night Owls. It was the only squadron to do the “dirty work” at night and it was his proudest time.
Danny was the USAF Operations Officer aboard the USS America aircraft carrier when the U-2R qualified on the vessel. They were out of Edwards North Base. He reported the landings on the carrier by the U-2 as a hair-raising experience. However, it was more interesting to watch the sailors when the U-2R took off rolling mere feet before being airborne.
I was so fortunate to have such wonderful life-long friends at each location we were stationed. When the men were TDY, we wives checked on each other frequently, shared rides to the commissary and held our families together. Everything about the U-2 program was so “hush hush” and I knew that Danny couldn't talk about it at home. Like most of our friends, Danny and I had no close relatives nearby; our Air Force friends became our family.
Daniel M. Schmarr in the cockpit preparing for a flight.
After Danny retired, we had a little Cessna for our own personal travel. He also worked with KHQ Radio/TV in Spokane, Washington. He did traffic reports and became quite the local celebrity. He always said, “When I become rich and famous…” and he laughed because he had become a local celebrity. He never quite achieved the “rich” part except in the many blessings from above.
Robert M. Wood
Gig Harbor, Washington
My first landing in the U-2 at Laughlin AFB was successful and I felt good about it. The only comment by the Mobile Control pilot was “After touchdown, hold your yoke back to keep your tail wheel down.”
With those comments in mind, I took off and prepared to make my second landing. Approach and landing were normal with tail wheel down as the Mobile pilot had instructed. After touchdown, I brought the yoke back. The next thing I knew, I was airborne again at a very steep angle! The power was in idle and my left wing started to drop. I hit the power to maximum to recover from a most difficult position and to save the aircraft, to say nothing for saving my own butt.
Robert M. Wood relaxing at his home in Gig Harbor WA, 2006.
My thoughts at the time were that I had just “bought the farm” and this was it. I was holding back the yoke trying to pick up the left wing to keep it from hitting the ground and the aircraft turned approximately 45 degrees to the runway. So in this nose high, left wing down position, I said to myself, “Where in the F--- is all this power that I have been hearing about?” Just in the nick of time, before impact, the power did kick in and the aircraft started to fly. Then it became a matter of a vertical wing over recovery 200 to 300 feet altitude with a 20 percent power reduction.
The final landing for the day was normal. Debriefing comments by General Russell were, “About average first landings, Captain Wood. You have a nice weekend.”
U-2 #66954 ready for takeoff. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
U-2 #66721 ready for touchdown with only a few feet off the runway. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
U-2 #66722 in flight. Photo courtesy of Lockheed Martin Co.
It Took a Dedicated Team …
“What the human eye observes casually and incuriously, the eye of the camera notes with relentless fidelity.”
Bernice Abbott
What is NEPHO?
When the Lockheed U-2 was conceived, it became obvious this aircraft would be the most technologically advanced reconnaissance system ever devised. It was not until the advent of the CIA A-12 and the USAF SR-71 that this high tech equipment was updated beyond that of the U-2. The A-12 and the SR-71 no longer fly, but later generations of the U-2 are in the air today. Currently, the U-2S is the primary manned airborne reconnaissance system the US has in its intelligence-gathering inventory.
Jim Baker, an optical engineer from MIT and Edwin Land, developer of the Polaroid camera, were tasked to design the camera system for the unique aircraft. The specifications seemed impossible to meet: capable of photographing ground areas from altitudes in excess of 70,000 feet, weigh less than 500 pounds and compact enough to fit inside the equipment bay. Baker and Land worked with the Hycon Company of Monrovia, California to develop the camera known as the Hycon 73B, or simply the “B” configuration.
Itek optical bar camera used in the U-2.
Baker and Land knew that the most important part of this camera would be the lens and they turned to Perkin-Elmer of Norwich, Connecticut, for the optical lenses. With the precision optical lenses from Perkin-Elmer, the team set about to design a camera that met all of Lockheed's requirements and specifications. Together, Baker and Land engineered a photographic system for the U-2 that made it a success in every corner of the globe the U-2 was directed to fly.
The Hycon 73B camera or B configuration held two sizes of film: two 4,000 foot rolls or two 6,000 foot rolls. The length of the mission was the determining factor for the film selected. One spool fed from the front of the camera to the take-up spool at the rear of the camera; the second spool operated in reverse. This process was critical for the balance requirements of the aircraft. A unique feature of the camera was the film it used. The image on the film would produce a picture 18 inches square.
The purpose of the T-70 Tracker camera was to help the Photo Interpreter quickly find the most important imagery (target). The Tracker also eliminated the need for the interpreter to go through 6,000 feet of B configuration film. The T-70 Tracker camera used a Perkin Elmer prism that scanned from horizon to horizon in order to get a panoramic view of the area below. The Perkin Elmer “split prism” resulted in extremely high-resolution photography.
The secret nature of the photography spawned a language spoken by all who were involved in the operation and maintenance of the cameras. NEPHO became the term used to describe the camera and film equipment used in the U-2. TOP SECRET security clearances were required for all personnel who were assigned to the NEPHO operation.
Glenn R. Chapman
Tucson, Arizona
Wife: Sylvia
Glenn and the Flight Line Badge
Back in the good old days in 1958 at the 4080th SRW when I was just A2C Glenn R. Chapman, I was a young Nephographics troop in Armament and Electronics (A&E) Squadron. I learned early on the definition for nephography was “study of the clouds.” When I first joined the outfit, I had only a SECRET security clearance, but a TOP SECRET clearance was required to work on the U-2. Only a year and a few months earlier the U-2s came to Laughlin AFB at Del Rio, Texas. While waiting for my clearance to be approved, and like many other two-stripers, I was assigned to the A&E coffee bar. I was far removed from the activities that were going on all around us. I spent six weeks there until I finally got cleared for TOP SECRET work.
Remembering the Dragon Lady: The U-2 Spy Plane: Memoirs of the Men Who Made the Legend Page 12
