During climb-out things looked normal. We passed 25,000' and headed toward northern Idaho before making the turn to the west. Our route would skirt the U.S.-Canadian border all the way to the coast. There we would head north to Alaska, remaining generally over water.

Just about the time we began our westward turn, right after the tail gunner initiated his regular oxygen check, came his sudden alarm.

"FIRE, sir .. Fire on number two!" Sergeant Ken blurted over the intercom.

"Got it, Ken," our pilot calmly confirmed. "I'm on the FIRE PULL handle now," he continued, acknowledging the routine procedure of cutting fuel to the burning engine and dumping extinguisher into the engine pod.

Captain Ray, the crew commander, sounded calm as a cucumber, though he was only too aware of the danger. A fire aboard a fully fueled airplane is potentially the worst kind of problem. But, with an alert aircraft armed with nuclear bombs and ammunition the danger was not theirs alone.

Our number two engine was in a pod, outboard on the left. Four pods, each with two engines hung below the wings. #1 and #2 engines shared the port outboard pod.

"How's that, Ken?" the co-pilot inquired. "We've shut down number two, and pulled the extinguisher. Any better back there?"

Suddenly, the airplane shuddered and shook, almost like we were now driving on a bumpy country road. "What in the hell is that?" someone asked over the intercom. It sounded like the navigator on the lower deck.

Ray seemed concerned too, as he responded "Don't know, guys ... I'll slow her down a bit and see if that helps." And it did. After lowering our airspeed just 25 knots, things smoothed out as suddenly as the roughness had started a few seconds earlier.

Sergeant Ken, our veteran tail gunner, had the best view of the engine pods and the trailing edge of the wing from his aft position, 100 feet to the rear of the forward crew compartment. Gunners traditionally served as scanners, notifying their pilots of any out of the ordinary conditions.

"Flames are gone ... only heavy black smoke pouring out of the engine pod," Ken soon reported. His voice was a little calmer now, but the anxiety was clearly apparent. "Looks like there's part of the engine pod missing, sir. Maybe that roughness was turbulence caused by that."

"Phil, get on the #2 radio and advise traffic control of our situation. Tell 'em we'll advise them of our intentions, but get a clearance to hold north of the base. We'll hold this altitude for now," my pilot directed. The co-pilot was on the #1 radio explaining our situation to the 92nd Bomb Wing command post.

My job was electronic countermeasures. From my upper deck seat aft of the pilots I couldn't see out at all. A large console of equipment surrounded my seat. But I did have full access to all of the radios and quickly complied with Ray's request.

"Center says they've cleared airspace for us and we can hold north of Spokane at this altitude or lower. It's our choice, Ray," I reported.

"Thanks," Ray acknowledged. "We'll orbit at this altitude and stay north of Mount Spokane until we figure out what the situation is."

The copilot then advised Ray that the command post wanted more information on our condition. They're getting a Boeing representative on the horn.

"What do you see, Ken?" Ray asked again. "Everything looks okay up here, except we've lost #2. And you're probably right about that turbulence. How much of the pod is missing?"

Ken started to reply, but then paused as though he was straining to see how things looked. "Well, it's hard to tell. There's still lots of smoke out there. I think we lost part of the pod, toward the back. It's sure a lot smoother now, though."

"Oh oh," Ken muttered. "Oh, oh .. WHAT!" Ray demanded, his voice showing emotion for the first time.

"It's getting worse now, sir. Smoke, and what might be flames is moving inboard along the flap well. There's still black smoke coming from the pod, but now there's white .. or gray smoke coming inboard between the pods."

Ken's report didn't do much to increase the comfort level for the rest of us. The two navigators, forward on the lower deck, were getting nervous. I too was getting anxious, because I couldn't see a thing. Just Ken's reports and the word from the pilots were all I knew.

"Crew, don't panic," Ray instructed, sensing the wave of tension sweeping over his charges. As calmly as he could he suggested that we stow our gear, clear our areas and be ready .. just in case we should have to leave this burning airplane. "Everybody check in."

One by one, starting with Ken back there in the tail, we checked in with our pilot. Each crewmember reported that things were okay.

"Flames appear to have subsided," Ken interrupted. "Just the continuing smoke from the pod .. and white from the flap well, sir."

"Roger that, Ken. Keep me posted," Ray replied.

Soon the command post and Ray were discussing our situation and options. The Boeing rep suggested that we probably lost part of our #2 engine and that may have taken out some of the pod with it. But, since the #1 engine was still working, it was not as bad as it could have been.

Their concern, aside from spreading fire, was getting us back on the ground. There was just one problem. We were much too heavy to land. We had to stay aloft long enough to burn off fuel to lighten the weight. Our old D-model B-52 did not have a fuel dumping system.

The worst scenario, of course, was the possibility we might have to abandon the burning plane. With the payload we carried, the ammunition and so much fuel aboard, that was a prospect none wanted to contemplate for long.

Ray told the command post that things weren't yet so dangerous for us that we'd be bailing out ... not yet anyway. We'd orbit up north of the base and burn off fuel to get the weight down enough to land.

Soon Ray and the copilot agreed to slow down to where we could lower flaps a bit and perhaps even the landing gear. The added drag would help us burn off fuel faster.

"Ken, keep an eye on that smoke inboard of #2. I'm going to lower the flaps a little, so you watch what that does to the smoke. Okay?"

Ken acknowldged, straining to see what changes might occur as the flaps extended slightly. "Nothing different yet. Flaps moving normally."

A few seconds, what seemed like hours, passed. Then Ken reported, "Hey, that helped. Smoke's stopped coming from the flap wells now. Looks better, but black smoke still coming from the engine pod, just not as much now."

"Good, Ken," Ray responded. "Keep an eye one it."

Ray's last remark was hardly necessary. Ken was getting a permanent kink in his neck as he remained turned to watch for the smoke. He wasn't likely to divert his attention.

For three and a half hours we continued orbiting. Crew tensions abated somewhat. There wasn't much else to do except stay ready for anything.

Ray flew the racetrack orbit pattern, straight legs about 50 miles long, as we stayed north of Spokane. Every few minutes he reported our condition to the anxious folks down in the command post. We stayed well clear of populated areas, just in case.

"I sure could use a cup of coffee," Ray declared. Nobody said anything on the intercom.

Finally, I spoke up, "Coming up, Ray. If anybody deserves a cup of coffee now, you sure do. I'll go below and get some in the galley."

I secured my ejection seat, installed the safety pins and prepared to slip out of my parachute harness. I'd go below and get some coffee, but that meant getting out of my seat and climbing down the ladder. I'd be off interphone for while. "Going off interphone," I reported.

Admittedly, I was uncomfortable and nervous about leaving my seat and the quick escape opportunity it afforded. I was glad that we hadn't experienced any change in our condition for several hours. Things seemed stable, at least.

In the galley area I re-connected my intercom cord to my helmet and checked in with the pilot. "One lump or two?" I asked. Ray responded two, but then the copilot also asked for some coffee.

Soon I had two paper cups of coffee, one in each hand, and headed toward the ladder. I was again off interphone.

Just as I put my foot on the first rung of the ladder, trying not to spill the coffee while climbing to the upper deck, the airplane shuddered and shook.

I had been accustomed to what the vibrations felt like from my upper deck seat, but it was totally different down there behind the two navigators on the lower deck.

Our navigator was watching me, and quickly detected the startled and concerned expression on my face. He pulled back his oxygen mask and shouted at me.

"It's okay, Phil, Ray says it's just that turbulence problem again. Don't worry."

"Easy for you to say that," I thought, trying to regain some composure. I was surprised that I hadn't dropped the two coffees and bolted back up to my seat.

Soon I gave the two pilots their coffee, and even considered going back down for some for myself. But thinking better of it, I headed back to my seat and strapped in once more.

Shortly after I got back on interphone, I heard the command post radio to us that we could come in for a landing. By the time we descended and circuited the traffic pattern a time or two, we'd be light enough to land.

Sergeant Ken, back in the tail, reported that the smoke had all but stopped. Now he could see what the damage had been. We lost a chunk of the pod, the conical portion between the #1 and #2 engines. It fell away somewhere over the tall timber country of northern Idaho.

Landing was uneventful, but not without excitement. Every piece of base fire and rescue equipment was there to meet us, red lights flashing. We barely turned off the active runway, when they told us to shut down engines and evacuate the plane. Fire officials were concerned that the engine fire was not fully burned out.

They surrounded our bird with several fire trucks as we stopped on the outer taxiway. In short order we shut things down and opened the hatch. One by one we scrambled down the ladder and exited the airplane. Rescue crews ushered us a few yards away while the fire trucks sprayed foam into the engine pod.

Sergeant Ken, down from his aft entry hatch, wandered over to get a closer look at the cause of all our excitement. He was talking to the firemen and pointing up to the smoke smudges in the flap well.

It turns out that a bearing on the #2 engine was the culprit. It caused the fire sustained by oil burning and smoking so heavily. The white smoke turned out to be from wire insulation and air duct covering.

It was one airborne alert mission we never forgot. I sure was glad, later on, to learn that fuel dumping systems were added to newer models of the B-52. Flying around for hours in a burning, smouldering airplane to get light enough to land was no fun.