Fly Into Black
by Michael G. Crawford
Chapter Six
"Ahh, Seven, Control."
"Go" replied DD.
"Telemetry reports some eleavator and rudder oscillation as before. Also, another airframe vibration has been detected on the Mach 3 roll to the right."
"Roger, tell me about it. It felt like a another wave of harmonics. It came in intensity for awhile then suddenly disappeared the same time the Mach meter jumped above Mach 3. Looks like another compression barrier."
"Ahh, standby. Some agreement here on your theory. It may still be engine related."
"Great. I..."
Just as DD was about to point out that he was not going to play with the engine settings again, the Master Alarm light came on and the "horn" sounded. But the two indicators of trouble stopped their warning almost immediately.
"Tell Buddy he didn't fix the Master Alarm, yet" he quipped.
"Ahh, he has already confirmed your opinion on that."
"Right. Okay, Control, ready to return to base."
"Roger, Seven, contact Nellis Approach at 225.30."
"Telarc Seven to 225.30" he confirmed, then after making the frequency change, "Nellis Approach, Telarc Seven at 40, R150."
"Telarc Seven, Nellis Approach. Cleared to flight level 10. Intercept Nellis radial 130, and advise. Altimeter is two-niner-niner-five, wind is 10 at 310. You have traffic at two o'clock, one flight of F-16 aircraft, 400 knots. Reduce speed soonest to 400 knots, maintain 10 mile separation."
DD confirmed his instructions, as he backed off on the throttle, allowing the airspeed and altitude to bleed off. He watched as the flight of F-16s banked into their place in line ahead of him, and he appllied the airbrakes to further reduce his speed. The sight of the production aircraft gave him a little thrill. He knew it was kind of silly.
Here he was flying an ultra-sophisticated, next century stealth fighter, made of carbon composites, with simply incredible tactical and aerial fighting capability. And he was yearning to be flying the slower, tamer production jets ahead of him.
Perhaps it was the thought that those fighter jockeys out there were most likely coming home after a tiring but exciting day on their Red Flag training exercise. Out on the south range, some 90 miles from the base, they had been turning like gulls in the sky, each trying to outdo the other in aerial combat.
Not that DD wasn't proficient at aerial combat. Quite the contrary. He had won the annual competition three years in a row. But his unique ability of intuition in the pilot's seat, and that incredible record of success as a fighter pilot (not too mention his eight years in the Blackbird) had won him the privilege of piloting the ATF.
If he was yearning, it wasn't over their opportunities, per-se. He was really just yearning for the camaraderie of the fighter squadron. Most likely the fellows in the F-16s were from the same outfit. They flew together, partied together, and gave each other the support required for the heady business of flying the top of the line combat aircraft in the uncertain world.
His lot, on the other hand, was to spend one helluva' lot of time with engineers and corporate tech reps (technical representatives) each vieing to insure he expounded upon the virtues of the ATF.
Not that he didn't love the stealth bird. But the companies putting money into the program were anxious to get it approved for IOC - Initial Operational Capability - as soon as possible. It made for trying political and technical discussions. Very little of which occurred over a cold beer.
"Telarc Seven turning onto R130, Flight Level one zero."
"Copy Telarc Seven. Descent at pilot's discretion, maintain 10 mile separation."
DD backed off on the throttle a little more, slowing his speed to maintain his separation between himself and the blinking navigation lights ahead of him.
He returned to his posing on the ATF flight testing. He knew that his insistence on his continuing to compete in the Air Force's William Tell fighter competition has almost lost him selection on the flight test program. But eventually General Tyler had convinced him that it was worth his while to drop the whole issue.
After all, how would he answer his buddies when the asked him what he was up to. If he played it close to the chest as was the requirement, his old friends would be put off with his "elitist attitude" thinking he was stuck up. After all, these men were cleared with very high security clearances. They wouldn't understand that only a few men knew of what he was up to. They knew of the aircraft, but no one was allowed to even hint they knew anything about it. Those were the rules. If the opposition didn't know who knew about it, it was harder for them to find a chink in their security "armor".
"Telarc Seven has the field" he reported as he got a clear lineup on the base. "Request straight in approach."
"Confirm straight in. Contact Nellis tower at 221.90."
He made the frequency change and received clearance to land. The ATF's next flight would take it back to Edwards for severe testing of the new engine modifications he had helped put into place. It rankled him to think another pilot would be ironing it all out, while he was to play with the A proto, the slower and much safer bird.
The A aircraft was an earlier prototype, used almost exclusively as a testbed for the new weapons systems. It used off the shelf, much lower power engines, and could barely attain Mach 2 in a dive. Moreover, it was a sluggish aircraft to be sure, as it weighed a ton. Only the wings were made of the carbon composite. This was so the testers could make certain of the strength of the wings for carrying the huge weapons loads required of a U.S. tactical fighter. The reason for heavy loads was that the Army still did not have total responsiblity for close air support. Although the Army maintained a large number of helicopters, they only had a few other types of aircraft, leaving the air support missions up to the Air Force, Navy or Marines.
Of course that issue had been another thing that almost knocked him out of the flight test selection. His bosses in the Pentagon, mainly the Air Force Chief of Staff and company, were extremely displeased when he offered testimony to the Senate Armed Forces committee on close air support. Siding with the Army on the necessity of their "owning" the close air support mission had just about ruined his career. But Senator Abrahms had essentially saved his butt, by publicly honoring him for his "loyalty to the military mission and his country, instead of to his branch of service."
That had pretty well stopped any repercussions from the guys in the Pentagon. Of course, it would prevent him from ever receiving a combat command, but he really wasn't all that sorry about that. He loved flying, not sitting a desk.
He stopped his musing until he had landed, then taxied the ATF over to stop on the highly guarded ramp in front of the Nellis Test Facility hanger. Here the Air Forces leading edge aircraft were housed. B1-B bombers had lived here for two years, as well as the SR-71 and other exotic aircraft. The ATF was one of a long line of "secret" aircraft that had been tested for acceptance into the military inventory.
The ATF was also not the first to be returned to Edwards for more testing. The fact that she was the first to require such major changes wasn't too surprising either. As technology became more and more dependent on computers and their software, the more the likelihood of the fledgling science of software development to fail. In fact, his own "tamperings" with the engine parameters during flight were a necessary evil in today's sophisticated aircraft.
Computers which learned and adjusted on their own were still on the edge of technology. No one could predict with the necessary accuracy how well the computer could make adjustments to the aircraft. Since the adjustments were in the areas of engine intake and exhaust nozzles, or in wing camber or swept angle, the necessity for in flight testing and fine tuning had become standard operating procedure. Perhaps the next aircraft could be designed with less or no need for this operation, based upon what they learned today.
In any case, he was sorry to see the little fighter go. He really had become attached to it. He felt as if the near crash in the plane had somehow cemented a relationship between himself and the plane, much like two people who shared a life threatening crisis were bonded in friendship. Part of him shrugged it off as superstition, another recognized as a kind of need for companionship.
"If the program shrink caught wind of it"...but then he figured that the man probably was aware of the kinship between pilot and airplane. The psychiatrist would probably be more concerned if he didn't feel emotional over his plane.
Tomorrow he would watch the plane take off for its short trip south to Edwards. Then he would be back into the drudgery of ordance loads and wing stresses. Yuck.
As he walked into the Test Center flight operations building, a young female Lt. hailed him, "Colonel Deboune, General Tyler would like you to report to him, immediately."
Great he thought. Now the old man was going to try to give him a pep talk. Just what he needed.
He turned down the hallway, then climbed the flight of stairs to the command center of the Test Group. At the end of the hall was the room where the men who tested the new planes planned their testing, directed by radio any subtle changes to the program, and basically spent most of their time during flight tests. It was the heart of the center.
Two doors down from the Ops room, was the General's office, a spartan military office with a desk, a phone, an intercom, and a huge map of the Nellis Test Range.
He knocked on the door and heard the "Come" from the General.
"Nice flight?" the older man asked.
"Yeah, okay. Sorry to see her go."
"Well that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
DD's heart skipped a little, as the possiblity of the aircraft staying awhile longer came unbidding into his mind. But it was not the case.
"I have some good news, and some bad news" continued the General, his levity was sure to mean that it really wasn't good news. Managers always got cheerful when they had to put on the happy face for a bad or unpopular decision.
This was confirmed as the general said, "The bad news is that the ATF is still going to Edwards. But there is more. We were turned down on our request to put you into the A model for further ordnance testing."
Now that was "good" news. Leave it to Tyler to try to make a joke out of it. But whose crazy idea was it to keep him out of the ATF's cockpit. He really was the only man at Nellis qualified for the job. It could only mean the Chiefs were at it again, seeking their petty little revenge. He was probably off to parts unknown.
"...the good news is that you've finally got your shoulder chicken, Colonel Deboune."
Great, they were taking the sting out of his misfortune by giving him rank and a god-damn desk job. Surely not a combat command, probably some test group in Florida. Shit!
"...the good news comes in pairs. General McClusky at Edwards has decided that you're to finish the engine testing on the B model then help bring the first production model up for IOC."
DD's mouth dropped as he took in the statement. They had deliberately promoted him out of zone, and given him the hottest testing job in the program, over several qualified people at Edwards!