A Hard Day's Night
Cold war B-52s flew an icy northern route on alert for a Soviet missile strike.
- By Bill Robinson
- Air & Space magazine, September 2006
Cold war B-52s flew an icy northern route on alert for a Soviet missile strike.
NASM (SI NEG. #00129297)
FOUR DECADES AGO ON A MID-WINTER MORNING AT LARSON AIR FORCE BASE in Washington state, a cold war routine was being played out by Strategic Air Command B-52D bombers and crews of the 768th Bombardment Squadron (Heavy). Crews were at the end of five days on ground alert, living together in the “mole hole,” within sprinting distance of their aircraft. It was “changeover” morning, with fresh crews relieving those coming off alert.
My crew and one other 768th crew had a mission to fly before going home for a two-day break, then five days of flying before our next ground alert tour. I was a young first lieutenant who, at the moment, was strapped into the navigator’s seat aboard a B-52D, call sign Ranger 42. It was January 5, 1966, and a 27-hour workday was just getting started.
In 1961, SAC announced that nuclear-armed B-52s were conducting airborne alert missions. Code-named “Chrome Dome,” these flights were a part of SAC’s nuclear alert posture for seven years. B-52 units rotated on flying routes over the Arctic and Mediterranean. The idea was to reduce retaliatory response time in the event of a missile attack. To that end, several two-ship formations of armed B-52s were airborne around the clock within striking distance of the Soviet Union.
Most Larson crews flew an Arctic route, and though it was a complex, challenging, and exhausting mission, we considered it routine. On this morning, waiting for takeoff clearance with engines idling, Ranger 42 sat just off the runway and behind Ranger 41, the other 768th B-52 making up our flight of two. Each aircraft carried two 9,000-pound B53 nuclear bombs. Secured in each cockpit was a sealed metal box containing the top-secret “go codes,” charts, and target data necessary for the execution of a retaliatory nuclear strike.
One minute after Ranger 41 lifted off the runway, Ranger 42 was rolling. As the pilot slowly advanced the power on the eight J57 jet engines, he made his customary takeoff announcement: “Everybody grab a throttle and run forward.” A mile and a half later, we broke ground in the distinctive nose-low B-52 climbout attitude, bumping our way through a patch of the leader’s wake turbulence, then fell into two-mile trail formation.
Over Pennsylvania, the flight took up an east-northeast heading for our rendezvous with a pair of KC-135 tankers in the “Black Goat” refueling area off Newfoundland. Each bomber would take on about 12,500 gallons, enough to carry us over the pole and down to our next refueling, over central Alaska.
At 60 degrees north latitude, south of Cape Dyer and the Arctic Circle, it was time to “go into grid”—an air navigation technique used in polar regions where the unreliability of the magnetic compass and the acute convergence of geographic lines of longitude (meridians) close to the pole rule out steering by conventional methods.
On normal polar charts, the convergence of meridians close to the pole causes one degree of change in true course for each meridian passed. This change occurs more rapidly the closer the aircraft comes to the pole. The practical effect of this is that in order to fly a straight course, the aircraft would have to be placed in a constant turn—not good.
To solve the problem, grid navigation necessitated reorientation of the aircraft’s heading reference to a false north, what we referred to as “grid north,” by replacing the polar chart with a chart containing a square latitude and longitude grid. Because the meridians on the new grid chart were parallel to the Greenwich Meridian, the angle between grid north and true north could be calculated and a new geographic heading reference established.
Once this new heading reference was resolved, the aircraft’s primary compass was switched to a gyro-stabilized, free-running mode, then simply reset and maintained on the new grid heading.
After passing Thule, we were ready for “coast out” over the ice. It was 400 miles to our turn point at 89 degrees north latitude, where we would begin the 1,000-mile southbound leg headed for “coast in” at Point Barrow. At this point, the only reliable means of navigation was celestial, done by taking star sightings and plotting fixes while flying at seven miles per minute.
Flying over the Arctic had an element of the mystical. Undulating, curtain-like displays of the Aurora Borealis—the Northern Lights—seemed close enough to touch. Every so often, St. Elmo’s Fire gave the engine nacelles, wing leading edges, and windscreen pillars a spooky blue glow. Occasional commentary among the pilots and gunner on the marvels of the Arctic night at 41,000 feet were interspersed by the radar navigator’s reports of possible polar bear and seal sightings as he surveyed the ice through the optical bombsight, cranked up to maximum magnification for enhanced sightseeing in the bright moonlight.
As riveting as the Arctic show was, I was occupied with making three-star fixes, heading shots, and gyro compass precession corrections. The routine was to shoot and plot each fix, adjust airspeed and heading to stay on time and on track, take a heading shot and reset the heading on the gyro compass, calculate and plot the new assumed position for the next fix, then begin the process all over again every 20 minutes.
After our turn at “89 north,” the electronic warfare officer detected friendly and unfriendly Distant Early Warning radars tracking us. He briefly tuned his receiving gear to listen in on the Soviet DEW line guys talking to one another and wondered out loud if they were discussing us. Since I spoke a little Russian, I listened in via an intercom jack to see if I could get the gist of their conversation. Everyone got a chuckle when I told the crew that the Soviet operators were playing chess.
At 200 miles from Alaska’s north coast, I took my last celestial fix and the moment of truth—landfall—was upon me. Squinting over my oxygen mask into the orange sweep of the radar scope, I knew that Point Barrow’s little cluster of buildings would give a small but distinct return. Although I had been this way before, a twinge of apprehension reminded me of a kinship with maritime navigators of old, who surely had similar feelings as they made landfall after long voyages.
In a few minutes, Point Barrow popped up right where it was supposed to be. When the copilot tuned the radio direction finder's receiver to the local radio station for a confirming bearing, we heard The Mamas and the Papas welcoming us to Alaska with “California Dreamin’.”
Our final refueling was with KC-135s from Eielson Air Force Base in the “Cold Coffee” area, abeam Mount McKinley. We had been flying for 15 hours, covering nearly 7,000 miles. At a pressurized-cockpit altitude of 12,000 feet, everyone was a little dehydrated, the coffee was history, the water stale, and our teeth felt like they were growing fur. Only nine hours to go.
After a final lead change, I could relax a little. Tired but not sleepy, I moved up to keep the pilot’s seat warm, giving him the opportunity to stretch out on the deck for a nap after his refueling exertions. The electronic warfare officer gave our post-refueling report to the SAC Command Post at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska, the radar navigator monitored Ranger 41’s electronic beacon on his radar scope to maintain our position two miles behind him, and the gunner started another Playboy. I joined the copilot in dining on a couple of semi-petrified pieces of cold SAC fried chicken purloined from the alert facility mess hall 18 hours earlier.
Munching on our drumsticks, we were content. World War III hadn’t started and it was beginning to look like the world, and Ranger Flight, might make it through another day. We cruised out beyond the Alaskan west coast, just north of the Aleutian chain, then reversed course, heading toward a turn point off Kodiak Island for the final leg, along the Canadian west coast and home to Larson.
At touchdown, 24 hours and 10 minutes after wheels up, our squadron mates aboard Soapy 21 and 22 were already airborne, taking our place on their own odyssey across the top of the world.
Comments (23)
that picture is DEFINITELY NOT TWO B-52's!!!
the lager one is, the smaller one is NOT.
prolly an EB-66
Posted by Karlaz Fredrick on July 21,2008 | 08:04 PM
It's actually a B-52 being refueled by a KC-135A...seems consistant with the story.
Posted by Jeff Sterling on August 18,2008 | 02:30 AM
Well, no one ever said that the photo was of "two B-52's." It is a KC-135 and a B-52 ready to hook-up or already taking on fuel, which I have done 100's of times.
Posted by Bob on August 19,2008 | 10:05 AM
I know I'm a little late commenting but just came across this great photo. Definitely looks like a KC-135 & B-52D. I was a jet engine mechanic working on both planes out of McCoy AFB, Orlando. Spent lots of time at Kadena in Okinawa and Anderson in Guam. ('66-'70). FYI; both aircraft used the same engine a J57-59w on the KC-135 (4) and a J57-29w on the B-52 (8). The 'w' was for water injection used as takeoff thrust augmentation before the advent of the turbofan engine. Pilots will tell you lots of stories about running out of water before getting those "heavys" off the ground. Only 2 minutes of water on board. Hope this adds to the story.
Posted by John McQuade on June 18,2009 | 09:02 PM
That brings back many memories-I started as a BUFF nav [G model, Blytheville AFB, Ar], then by a miracle, I got into tankers. While in the BUFF, my crew was within three weeks or so of our first 24 hour mission before the program was cancelled! We would have orbited off the coast of Spain.
Grid and celestial-what a combo. Never could get the astrotracker to find stars as well as the EWO did!
Posted by DON FISK on August 17,2009 | 10:44 PM
I liked the comment of Don Fist, Buff Nav. I was an EWO. Had to go thru nav school prior to EWO school. I did not care for navigation and was relieved to be selected for EWO school. However, I loved to shot the stars using the D1 sextant. Wish I had one with the mount from an aircraft to play with in my old age.
Posted by Al Pringle on September 3,2009 | 12:55 PM
Don Fisk and Al Pringle got me to thinking. When I wrote this article, space requirements did not allow me to go into much detail concerning crew duties. In particular, the total reliance by the navigator upon the Electronic Warfare Officer’s (EWO) skills with the periscopic sextant, which was installed near his ejection seat, above the navigator's position. He had to locate, identify and shoot each celestial body, using azimuth and altitude information called up by the navigator over the intercom just prior to shot time. In SAC the celestial navigation pace was furious, so there were no do-overs on celestial shots - the EWO had to be on the correct star each and every time. So “Bless ‘em all” to all you “Beeps” and especially to our own EWO on S-13, Don Hamilton.
Posted by Bill Robinson on September 6,2009 | 08:24 PM
Good to read everyone's recollection of BUF/tanker operations. (--Anybody recall the mandate at U Tapao to discontinue the "BUF" references?)
I was a tanker nav for 3,000+ hours in the '135. Loved the celestial and grid challenges. The boom operator was my sextant "shooter." Some of those guys could do a whole nav leg, including pre-comps, on their own. Also did lots of work on Chrome Domes and Thule monitors.
I'm giving a presentation to my daughter's World Affairs H.S. class next week. I found this site 'cause I was looking for a photo of a D1 periscopic sextant. Anybody know where I can find one?
Posted by Herb Taylor on November 13,2009 | 02:15 PM
A comment on the EWO shooting cel; not sure when that took place because I as the nav took all my own shots, recorded and plotted them going back and forth between the flight decks. I am sure if I had asked the EWO to do it on my crew he would have said to go F... myself. Oh the memories.
Posted by Don Zindorf on September 4,2010 | 01:17 AM
Herb,
Re your comments,"The boom operator was my sextant "shooter."
So far as I know,I was the KC-135 Nav who started the "boom operator" shooting the sextant for us Navigators. I started teaching my boomer,SSgt Gayle Moreland,in early 1959 to use the sextant and learn the navigation stars(so he would know the stars in case I screwed up the computations--and we spent many hours out in our alert plane practicing) and by that fall,I began to let Gayle shoot some stars for me(I would shoot just behind him as a backup/crosscheck). By early 1960 he was regularly doing my shooting for me and my crew thought it was great. Finally my A/C and I touched base with our Stan Eval people there at Ellsworth AFB SD for their blessing. They evidently liked the idea and flew with us fairly quick on an unscheduled StanEval/Observation flight. Then the Wing CO was briefed and then off to SAC Hdqtrs for their blessing. After SAC gave it's blessing,it was off to the races(at least at Ellsworth) on teaching the boomers celestial shooting and the procedure quickly spread throughout SAC,I think. Anyway,the boomers were still doing the shooting when I left for pilot tng in Feb 62.
Jim Wilkes
Col USAF Ret'd
Posted by Jim Wilkes on October 6,2010 | 03:16 PM
I was very excited when I found this article written by Bill Robinson. Bill and I were classmates in Navigator Training at James Connally AFB back in 1962-3. I would very much like to obtain Bill's email address - or - possibly you could give Bill mine and he could contact me personally. Either way would suite me.
I only took an observation ride in a BUF while I was in instructor in EWO training at Mather AFB so I never experienced the joy(?) of a chrome-dome mission but it does make my heart go pitty-pat when I am reminded of grid and celestial navigation. Bill's explanation of both was terrific.
Regards,
Jack McIntyre. EDITORS' REPLY: We'll forward your message on to the writer.
Posted by Jack McIntyre on October 28,2010 | 01:36 PM
One interesting note: As far as I can determine, I was on the last crew to fly an armed airborn alert mission. In January 1968 my crew (I was the Navigator) flew three 23+ hour airborn alert missions, code named "Butterknife". (On Jan. 1,11 and 21.) We were perflighting our B-52H on the 21st when the crew received a message that we needed to take off as soon as possible and arrive on station prior to our scheduled time.
"Butterknife" missions basically consisted on flying to airspace over Thule AFB and spending 12 hours in a very large figure 8 pattern over Greenland and the Artic. The mission was shared by two bases, each being responsible for alternating 12 hour periods.
Several hours after takeoff, when we made radio contact with Thule, we realized that the previous B-52from Griffis AFB had crashed and an intensive search was in progress for the crew members still missing. However, that is another story.
We completed our 12 hour duty and were releived by a Griffis B-52G, which was unarmed. The Griffis crew said they had to unload their nuclear weapons prior to take off. From that time on, all airborn alert flights were unarmed until they were discontinued. I have never been able to confirm if a later armed flight was made. I would be interested to hear of other experiences.
Posted by Brad Sanders on May 21,2011 | 10:38 PM
Grid never bothered me. Just used my handy dandy plastic miracle ruler and plotted a 90 degree right line and used that for grid. How many of you remember how to shoot a celestial "H" shot? That was required when you were in a C-124 about 60-80 miles away from a Pacific line of t-storms at 8-9 thou feet. Two shots on two stars/planets approx 90 degrees apart with time compensation calculation gave you an "H" box and your approx position was in the center. I have a D-1 Periscopic sextant. No Flight Engineers Ash Tray unfortionally "the hole in the aircraft ceiling" That you stuck the FE:s head knocker into. Floyd
Posted by Floyd Hampton (Harlingen Class 61-03Dog) on November 13,2011 | 01:57 AM
RE: Jack McIntyre's comment about James Connelly AFB 1962-63, I was there in 1961-62 - is he aware that there is a Reunion for Thursday 20 Sep and Friday 21 Sept 2012. It will be in San Antonio TX (Randolph AFB) area. For the classes
in the 62-63-64 time frame this will mark 50 years since started/departed training location? POC: Jim Faulkner
I have a D-1 complete with case. It is a wonderful reminder of those days. I was an EWO on a B-52D crew at Glasgow AFB. We flew a lot of North Country and West CHROME DOMEs. I remember once we were entering Grid and the vision asked for a Heading Shot using Polaris. Think about it, Polaris is nearly directly overhead at the Entry Point. Needless to say, we got off heading and the #2 ship save our bacon. Turns out the amount we were off was just about the Convergence Angle. We recovered by shooting Sirius - nearly directly off the tail and 10 - 15 degrees above the horizon. Easy shot for a heading shot when we were up north. Lots of memories of these missions. The flights were some what boring. Watching the wing/engine pods/tip tanks wiggle in-flight was just better than watching grass grow. On one mission the pilot & copilot were "mucking" around while I was sitting on the sextant box to shoot the sextant (the stool had been removed in favor of a pad to rest on). Out of the corner of my eye I saw all eight Fire Warning lights come on! Then they went off. Then the copilot swiveled his head around to see what I was doing. I never looked their way, just paid attention out of my peripheral vision. It happened again. But still no response out of me. That was the end of the "test" and I never brought it up, ever (until now). Oh, those were the ---- old days.
Jim Bradley.
EDITORS' REPLY: Thank you. We forwarded the information on to Mr. McIntyre.
Posted by James Bradley on March 5,2012 | 04:32 PM
I was a navigator student in 1980 in Mather AFB and my commander at that time was Major Coneley. My name and family: Reza Riahi. Pease help me find Major Coneley.
reza riahi
Posted by reza on June 3,2012 | 06:42 AM
Came across a photo gallery of The B-52 SAC years, good amount of photos I've never seen before. In case anyone is interested here's the link:
http://www.defensemedianetwork.com/stories/b-52-stratofortress-the-sac-years/
Posted by Brian on July 17,2012 | 10:15 AM
I was a navigator student in 1980 in Mather AFB and my commander at that time was Major Coneley. My name and family: Reza Riahi. Pease help me find Major Coneley.
reza riahi
Posted by reza on August 1,2012 | 03:54 PM
I say - great. I respect people at WORK. Whoever they are and whatever they are doing. They are TOILing. And this deserves a salute.
Posted by Serge on September 6,2012 | 01:56 AM
Good memories. I was in SAC from 1957 until 1981. Flew all models of the B-52. After pilot training in B-25s I went to AOTP (Air Observer Training for Pilots) at James Connally AFB, TX. They called us "Triple Headed Monsters" with ratings as Pilot, Radar Nav., and Bombardier. After a couple of years in B-47s the rest of my career was in B-52s -- accumulated over 5,000 hours before I retired in 1981. I can remember having to look south to see the northern lights. In the early days we could take electric skillets on Chrome Dome missions. I was good at making grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, a crew favorite. I remember taking off about 11:00 AM from Sheppard, AFB, TX. and saw the sun go down in the west, then come back up in the west as we caught it in the Arctic. When we turned south it went down again. Then as we coasted-in around Portland heading east there it was directly in our eyes. When we landed back at Sheppard the Flight Surgeon met every crew with a ration of Old Methusaly whisky if you could stand it.
Posted by Gene Myers on November 13,2012 | 07:43 AM
Ah, electric skillets on Chrome Domes. Good memories indeed. We did it just once. The copilot offered to cook up a real Kansas farm breakfast about 17 hours into the mission, after our second refueling over Alaska. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He placed the skillet on the upper deck next to the access ladder leading to the lower cockpit (where the Radar Navigator and Navigator dwelt). Unfortunately, the moisture and heat generated by the frying of bacon, eggs and hash browns immediately permeated the thin, dry air of both flight decks. In short order we were IFR in the cockpit due to heavy condensation and smoke. All eyes watering, everybody had to go on 100% oxygen. The gunner, highly disturbed in his remote position at the other end of the airplane, thought we were having an inflight emergency. Alas, the food was delicious, but, on future missions we prudently decided that for breakfast we would stick with dessicated fried chicken left over from our Air Force issue in-flight box lunch. It took about two years to get the "greasy spoon diner" smell out of that airplane.
And, who could forget the traditional post-flight shot of "Old Methuselah," the aviator's friend?
Posted by Bill Robinson on November 14,2012 | 09:54 AM
When living in Pioneer, Ca. just off highway 88 in the Sierra, just got out of the pool and laid down on a chaise lounge, looked up to see a magnificent sight, a B-52 being refueled by a KC-135. My home was at 3100 feet and it was a very clear day, thought I could just reach up and touch them! It was so beautiful!
Posted by George Harper on November 24,2012 | 10:33 PM