by Phil Rowe
Unlike our normal practice of reporting for training missions four and one-half hours before take-off, we didn't have to show up for our airborne alert flights but one hour early. That's because fellow crews performed the B-52 pre-flight checks for us. It sure helped. Ordinarily, an eight-hour routine flight meant a 14-hour day or longer, with preflight, the mission itself and then post-flight de-briefings. For a 24-hour airborne alert flight, normal practice would have made for 30-hours days. Much too much.
A dozen B-52's, fully loaded with weapons, armament and fuel, headed down the taxi way for a noon lift-off. We couldn't be airborne any too soon for our sister ships, still aloft. If we were delayed, our counterparts could not land, so that the alert force would not degraded by missing airplanes.
At intervals of two minutes, we took the active runway and roared off into the Washington skies. Soon, lined up in a loose trail formation, one-mile apart and stacked up 500-feet, the lead ship flew slightly below optimum cruise altitude and the last one slightly above, for our gross weights. We turned west and headed out over the Pacific, a string of birds loaded with nuclear destruction we hoped would never be needed.
Our crew flew 28 of the noon-to-noon missions over a seven-month period. The first half dozen missions were really tiring, for we hadn't yet mastered our pacing. None of us got much sleep, until the routine became more comfortable after several flights.
Down on the lower deck, we stored quite a bit of stuff. Three wooden footlockers were stowed in the galley area. One, double-locked with two combination padlocks, held the war-mission folders. We'd not open that box, unless we got an authentic GO-CODE radio message.
Another footlocker held spare parts of the K-System radar bombing equipment. In those days, of vacuum tube electronics and analog electromechanical computers for navigation and bombing calculations, spare parts were the order of the day. Many times we'd have to remove and replace circuit boards or vacuum tubes to keep the system running.
The third box was the most important, to us at least. It was full of inflight meals especially created for Strategic Air Command's (SAC) finest aircrews. There were meals for all five in the forward cabin, sorta like today's TV dinners, but much more deluxe. The steak meal was my favorite.
In the aft compartment, way back where the tail gunner rode, all alone 100-feet from the rest of us, was another food and beverage supply. The gunner had a galley in his lonely little world that faced backwards.
On the upper deck of the forward crew cabin, just to the right of my seat, and about eight feet aft of the pilots, was the only bunk on the plane. On the early alert missions, I was able to get to the bunk before any of the others. But, after about the tenth mission, I had to be really quick to beat the co-pilot to it, or I slept on the cold floor, atop an air mattress.
We were required to keep two people awake at all times in the forward cabin. That meant one of the two pilots, plus one of the remaining three, which included the radar bombardier, the navigator and me. I was the electronic warfare operator (EWO). Back in the tail compartment, our gunner could sleep whenever he wanted, though he was frequently interrupted by intercom checks to make sure he was still alive and kicking.
During take-off, landing and the two aerial refuelings, we all had to be awake and in our seats. Out of the 24-hours aloft, then, it was common for us to each get a full eight hours of sleep, once we got the routine down.
Some one in headquarters had the bright idea to give EWO's, like me, enough training in the pilot's flight simulator to be able to monitor the fuel, electrical and hydraulic systems in the front cockpit. The plan, intended when one pilot was asleep, that one non-pilot could sit up front to keep the other pilot awake, and help monitor things. But since they never asked the two navigators to participate, that usually meant that the EWO did that job.
On one of the 28 missions, my limited pilot training came in handy. Our autopilot failed, just after climb-out, and the bird had to be hand-flow for the full 24 hours. I got about five hours at the controls on that flight. For a guy who'd only flown light planes, that 52 seemed like a Mack truck and about as responsive.
Toward the latter third of that seven-month period, another bright soul in headquarters decided we should accomplish some elements of routine training. Avoiding anything that dealt with the bombing or arming equipment, we were told to fly practice navigation legs and electronic countermeasures (ECM) activities. Headquarters felt that we were getting lazy just boring holes in the sky. We could do celestial work and exercise the ECM gear against North American Air Defense Command (NORAD) ground radars.
Most of the missions were pretty routine, even boring at times. But, we occasionally had a little excitement and experienced a few interesting things. The excitement came with an engine fire shortly after climb-out. Things got pretty tense for a while, but after burning off fuel for four hours to get light enough to land, we got home okay.
One of the strange and interesting things occurred on two successive missions, along the same part of the west coast, just off the Queen Charlotte Islands. We were flying south, parallel to the Canadian coast, over water. Our B-52's were in trail formation. It was routine for the radar operator to monitor the one-mile spacing of planes ahead of us on his scope. B-52's looked like bright dots on the radar screen, clearly visible against the blackness of the ocean below.
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, another radar return appeared off to our two o'clock position. It was about 50 miles away, when first spotted, and headed straight for the formation. The radar operator alerted his pilot to be on the lookout for another plane, but none could be seen.
The target flew diagonally across our string of bombers, passing just ahead of our plane and then disappearing to the rear. Nobody ever got a visual sighting, just the radar image. Even our tail gunner turned on his radar, but he never saw anything. Strange.
The phenomenon visited us on the next flight, down the same part of the coast. That time, the radar operator turned on his scope camera to successfully capture the images. He wasn't seeing things. We radioed our sister ships to verify the target. They, too, only saw it on radar. We never learned what it was, but there was much speculation about it.
Another interesting, though far less strange, thing took place while we flew alert missions north of Alaska. It was late Spring and the ice near the shore, not far from the mouth of the Mackenzie River in Canada, began to break up. Supply ships headed for the coastal radar site at Tuktoyaktuk ( Tuk Tuk, for short ) stood off awaiting gradual ice melt.
We gave the radio operator at Tuk Tuk daily ice reports and baseball scores, as we passed by. Eventually the ships made it ashore with the eagerly awaited provisions. And we were there, or at least overhead at 35,000 feet.
After each mission, we still had to attend maintenance de-briefings, to report on the condition of the plane and its systems. That took about 45 minutes, unless extensive equipment write-ups had to be explained.
In the early part of the seven-month period, crews were offered the chance, after de-briefing, to head for the base gymnasium for a relaxing steam bath and a rub down, all free of course. Some took advantage of the treatment, but most headed for home and their families, for in 48 hours they'd have to take off again.
After a string of four missions, crews were given a week of free time. Because our schedules were stable, most of us enjoyed a rare opportunity to plan ahead for family or personal activities. My copilot and I took a couple fishing trips to northern Washington, though getting a "kitchen pass" was easier for some than others.
SAC eventually discontinued the airborne alert missions. They were horrendously expensive, wore out planes and equipment, and really only protected a fourth of the bomber fleet. It was limited nuclear deterrence at best.