From my seat behind the pilots, on the upper deck of our D-model B-52, I could not really get a good look at the process of inflight refueling. I was curious to see what went on, but as the Electronic Warfare Operator (EWO), I faced a console of receivers and transmitters that precluded forward visibility. So if I wanted to see what was going on while we joined up with KC-135 tankers, I had to unstrap and move forward.

I had a choice of using a small swivel seat or the jump seat between the pilots. The swivel seat was primarily used for taking celestial observations with the periscopic sextant and located about half-way between my console and the pilots. The jumps seat, between the pilots, was occupied on the day of our problem by an instructor pilot (IP). I moved onto the swivel seat.

From that all-metal armless stool, that pivoted 360 degrees, I could see a lot more than from my regular place behind the ECM console. And I could look outside left or right through small windows. The view was much more interesting than I was used to. What a great place to take pictures.

Along the cabin ceiling, forward and left of the swivel seat, ran a large manifold (pipe) from the aerial refueling receptacle atop the fuselage to the main fuel tanks where our on-loaded jet fuel was transferred. The manifold had several twists, turns and connector joints, plus a plunger switch which from time to time I was tasked to close to check out part of our plane's refueling indicators. This description is important for what was about to happen.

The huge KC-135 came closer and closer as my pilot eased our StratoFortress forward into position below and aft of the flying gas station. The U-shaped pattern of director lights on the tanker's belly helped guide us in, one set of lights indicating whether we were too close or too far out, and the other telling us whether we were too high or low. The last time I looked we were positioned just right.

"CLUNK", resounded the hardware above me as the tanker's boom slammed into the receptacle. There was no doubt that the two planes were now joined. Soon the fuel would flow down from the tanker, through that big manifold and into our thirsty B-52.

No sooner had the fuel begun to flow than it was obvious something was very wrong. I was being sprayed with jet fuel, very cold and wet, spewing from a leak at one of the manifold's connectors.

"PILOT, WE'VE GOT A FUEL LEAK BACK HERE!", I shouted over the interphone. "You better disconnect. It's pouring into the cabin ... and all over me."

The instructor pilot turned around and saw me scrambling to get out from under that shower of fuel. He echoed my plea and quickly we disconnected from the tanker's boom.

Perhaps five gallons of fuel, though it seemed like more, slopped around the upper deck of our bomber. Most of it was behind the jump seat. It wasn't as bad as it first appeared, but still it was something we had to either fix or stop by aborting the refueling process.

The IP and I grabbed for some rags and paper towels to mop up the sloshing fuel before it dripped down onto the electronic gear below. Down there sat the navigator and radar operator with all kinds of electrical equipment. A cabin fire might result quickly if that stuff couldn't be contained and cleaned up. Fortunately, all my ECM gear was inactive and turned off.

I tried to wipe what I could from my jacket and left leg of my flight suit. Boy, was that stuff cold. I was lucky that I didn't get wetter. Luckily too that kerosine-like fuel is not very caustic. It is a bit slimy and smelly though. And it is, by design, combustible.

In a few minutes we managed to clean up most of the mess. The pilots were still flying in formation behind the tanker, trying to decide what the real problem was and what to do about it. We still needed that fuel from the tanker to continue our mission.

I checked out the manifold as best I could, holding my flashlight in several positions to see if I could identify the source of the leak exactly. Nothing appeared obvious about it. There was no clear gap in the seal between connector joints, and the fuel had sprayed so wildly that everything was dripping and the source could not be pinpointed.

We had no tool kit on board, so I could not attempt to tighten the many bolts at the several manifold connectors. And none appeared loose as I grabbed and twisted on and then another.

It was a mystery.

The three pilots decided to connect again with the tanker, after first advising its pilot of our problem. We eased forward once more and the boom loudly clunked at it slammed into the receptacle.

The IP and I anxiously watched to see if we could locate the source of the fuel spray, before things got very wet again. And just as the fuel began to flow we saw the problem area. On the upper side of one connector a small hole spewed fuel once more.

It went everywhere. And quickly the IP advised my pilot to disconnect from the tanker, this time before very much fuel sprayed about the cabin and on us.

"Yep, it's still leaking," I declared of the all too obvious problem. "We'd better not try that again."

The pilots decided not to try that again, I thankfully learned. Again I got busy with the rags and remaining paper towels. We stuffed them into a metal trash can stowed on the lower deck.

We aborted that part of the flight and flew a shortened training mission, but continued only after verifying that no fuel descended onto the equipment below. I never did turn on my ECM gear. It was one I will never forget, though I wonder still how much fuel we would have dumped into the cabin if I had not been sitting forward that day.

That problem could have been much more serious, of course. And we were fortunate that no fire resulted from all that fuel sprayed into the cabin full of electronic gear. But another problem on a different flight came closer to costing my copilot his life.

We were nearly back at our Washington B-52 base, cruising along smoothly at 35,000 feet, when it happened. The window in front of the co-pilot suddenly cracked and crazed over completely. Only the inner laminate of the multi-layered glass prevented the whole thing from imploding onto the pilot's face.

Quickly, the co-pilot and the pilot lowered their protective helmet visors. That would offer them some measure of screening from flying particles if the window failed completely, and help deflect the wind blasts that might follow.

The pilot eased the throttled back to reduce our airspeed and lessen the pressure on the fractured window. If only it will hold until we get on the ground.

I was glad that time that I did have a huge and heavy console in front of me, for if things began to fly about the cockpit I would have that between me and the debris or wind blast.

Within an hour we were safely back on the ground, none the worse for wear except for my copilot's frayed nerves. He didn't get his usual view of the runway as we touched down and rolled out to a stop on the taxiway. But at least he didn't have to pick bits of glass from his skin or suffer the likely cuts and bruises that could have ensued. We were luck that time.