B-2 Stealth Bomber

[rictus01]

yeah I do remember going to an air show, can't remember where though, the lighting came along and just turned it's nose to the sky and rocketed away vertically, we felt the jet wash and everything, the noise was amazing.

in those days you could also talk to the pilots to as they were with there planes afterwards and Dad spoke to him, he said something like " point the nose to heaven and ride the thrust to the stars" something like that anyway, to a young boy it was just mind numbingly cool.

Cheers Mark.

[gruntygiggles]

Originally Posted by rictus01

yeah I do remember going to an air show, can't remember where though, the lighting came along and just turned it's nose to the sky and rocketed away vertically, we felt the jet wash and everything, the noise was amazing.

in those days you could also talk to the pilots to as they were with there planes afterwards and Dad spoke to him, he said something like " point the nose to heaven and ride the thrust to the stars" something like that anyway, to a young boy it was just mind numbingly cool.

Cheers Mark.

When he "pointed the nose to heaven", that pilot skyrocketed at a speed of 50,000ft per minute.....just have a little think about that......concorde and all todays fighters, eat your hearts out. The Vulcan has always been my fav plane, but the Lightning is quickly catching up the more I learn about it. The statictics show it as having a ceiling of 60,000ft, but it has been recorded at 89,000ft. Problem is, it can't stay in the air too long because it burns fuel so quickly.

I've arranged for my dad to have a flight in an F5 Lightning (two seat) next year in Cape Town. Not only will he do the 50,000ft per minute vertical climb, but he'll also be taken to 60,000ft and be handed the controls to actually pilot the plane for parts of the flight. He's got a pilot license fomr his RAF days anyway, but the Lightning can stir more emotions in my dad than pretty much anything and he cried when he found out I had sorted this out for him.

The B2 is a truly awesome sight to behold. Saw it do a flyby at Fairford a few years back on a 20 hour non-stop round trip from Missouri I think. Never been un-escorted because it hasn't needed to be yet, but my lord I'm glad we get to see it.

Blackbird......well, not much can be said other than WOW and WOW!

Originally Posted by gruntygiggles

When he "pointed the nose to heaven", that pilot skyrocketed at a speed of 50,000ft per minute.....just have a little think about that......concorde and all todays fighters, eat your hearts out.

a spectacular aircraft, only limited by its range, and unfortunately that pesky american f15 has nicked the lightnings record.

Originally Posted by gruntygiggles

Never been un-escorted because it hasn't needed to be yet, but my lord I'm glad we get to see it.

it undertakes training missions with an escort, dispite being a stealth (although not a true stealth like the f117) the aircraft is very vulnerable and will always require an escort

That bomber shouldn't fly, it should be in a tetris game.

Originally Posted by keith_d

I only ever saw Lightnings on a few occasions when they were escorting a Vulcan for a flypast in London. I think their turnaround point was somewhere near our school.

Rictus is probably old enough to remember airshows when the planes didn't have to be miles from the spectators. So am I, and my favourite was an SR-71 doing a low pass on full reheat. Yards of flame sticking out of the back and a vibration that tried to re-arrange your internal organs - awesome!

The video here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N31eEXjNAUU really doesn't do it justice.

Something I read about the blackbirds; apparently, their body panels are loose-fitting - this is because they are designed to expand in flgith with the heat generated from the friction of the air passing over them. Subsequently, it leaks fuel until it is up to tempurature...

Saw a B-1 Land at kandahar airfield in Afghanistan then set on fire, that was interesting to watch (mainly because everyone got out o.k)

Originally Posted by Alpinestarhero

Something I read about the blackbirds; apparently, their body panels are loose-fitting - this is because they are designed to expand in flgith with the heat generated from the friction of the air passing over them. Subsequently, it leaks fuel until it is up to tempurature...

that is true, although it is the fuel tank more than anything. they used to leak jp-7 all over the place in the old days when they were based at raf mildenhall. fuel is pre-measured, they used to carry enough to go from a-b, if they needed more they refuelled in mid air. there is a true story about a blackbird circling over europe to bring its fuel level down to land at ramstein

Originally Posted by Geoffrey

that is true, although it is the fuel tank more than anything. they used to leak jp-7 all over the place in the old days when they were based at raf mildenhall. fuel is pre-measured, they used to carry enough to go from a-b, if they needed more they refuelled in mid air. there is a true story about a blackbird circling over europe to bring its fuel level down to land at ramstein

Something else I read, and i was wondering if its a general aviation engineering solution, is that blackbirds and some other aircraft I read about use the fuel as a coolant

Apparently, that JP-7 fuel is quite an oily substance as far as fuels go

Originally Posted by Alpinestarhero

Something else I read, and i was wondering if its a general aviation engineering solution, is that blackbirds and some other aircraft I read about use the fuel as a coolant

Yes, a lot of aircraft do this. They're called FCOC's. Fuel Cooled Oil Coolers.

OOoh, I have always had a love affair with planes and heli's.

B1 rockwell is awesome, saw some fly years ago but can't remember where. More recently saw a B2 Spirit, B52, F16's and F18's at Farnborough in '04. Now they were awesome.

Here is a rather amusing story about the SR71, only funny to plane geeks though:

There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71 Blackbird (The Air Force/NASA super fast, highest flying reconnaissance jet, nicknamed, "The Sled"), but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane - intense, maybe, even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat.

There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him.

The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot who asked Center for a read-out of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed in Beech. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.”

Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check.” Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a read-out? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it - the click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.” For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, “Roger that Aspen. Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.