The Big Sky–Bomber Stories
Being a civilian air traffic controller at Boston Center in the 1980’s brought plenty of opportunities to work with military jets. There were four Strategic Air Command (SAC) bases within our borders. Most of the airspace I routinely controlled was above Maine, Cape Cod, and the adjacent Atlantic coastal waters. There was constant mission training ‘round the clock. I remember being busier at 2AM in the morning on some shifts, than I normally was on daytime hours, due to KC-135s, B-52s, and FB-111s joining up or breaking apart on Aerial Refueling routes (ARs). The bombers would then most likely enter low altitude Instrument Routes, known as IRs, for training. Prior to the ‘80s, IRs were known as OB routes… the old story was OB stood for “Olive Branch” (SAC’s emblem had branches that stood for peace, through deterrence), but some old timers called them “Oil Burner” routes for the huge amount of fuel consumed while flight training occurred!
Working the SAC FB-111A bombers required plenty of forethought, and knowledge of their specific operational characteristics. The only bases in the country that SAC based their FB-111s were at Plattsburgh AFB NY and Pease AFB NH. They flew high subsonic speeds over the ground, and performed similar to the fighters we often controlled (F-4 Phantoms and F-106 Delta Daggers). The aircraft were equipped with the revolutionary astro-tracker – which used stars to pinpoint the jet’s position, and terrain-following radar that allowed them to “hug” the earth. Upon entry into IR-800, a low altitude IFR training route that began east of Bangor ME, the specific clearance, “ATF (Auto Terrain Following) letdown approved” was required from ATC to allow crews to practice their rapid descent using these on-board tools. They’d program the route into their computer, and at a specified point, go into a screaming descent from 17,000 feet to below 3,000 feet within a minute, leveling off quite close to the ground. Any other flights underneath the jets needed to be vectored away from the descent point, as there was no stopping the “crash dive” after initiation. The jets would then fly the route around the northern tip of Maine, below ATC radar coverage, for well over 30 minutes. At a point northeast of Berlin NH, the crews would pop up to an altitude within radio and radar coverage to report “ops normal”
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I remember an FB-111 emergency situation, as one jet was flying over central Maine in the wintertime. It was one of the coldest days of the year; ground temperatures by mid-morning were still well below zero Fahrenheit. The aircraft’s heating system worked with bleed air coming off of a jet engine, and on this day, the bleed air valve became stuck open. It was an unusual situation, with outside air temperatures at 18,000 feet around 30 degrees below zero, and the inside of the cockpit well above 100 degrees! At one point the crew thought about ejecting due to the unbearable heat, or the thought of a cracked windscreen due to temperature extremes. Luckily they solved the problem before such a radical solution became necessary, and landed at Plattsburgh AFB safely.
The B-52 Stratofortresses we normally worked were based at Loring AFB ME, and Griffiss AFB NY. Much slower than the FB-111s, they’d operate in most of the training routes their speedier brethren did, but without the rapid descents or high subsonic speeds. Upon entry into IR-800, a peculiar set of circumstances came into play on VFR days when the B-52s flew. We saw a good deal of VFR traffic on our radar screens running along the coastline of DownEast Maine. Many operated at or below 2500 feet MSL; the route structure of IR-800 was from 500 feet AGL (above ground level) to 3000 feet MSL (above sea level). We issued traffic advisories and altitude information to lots of B-52 crews, who either remained above the VFR traffic until it was in sight, or descended a bit earlier than normal to safely go below the aircraft. Many times the targets merged on our screens, and usually a shaky, thin voice would call on our frequency about 30 seconds later; most likely that of the pilot of the VFR aircraft who had just seen the huge B-52 up close, within a thousand feet, as it passed overhead or just below!
There’s an oft-told story about the inflight emergency aboard a B-52, returning to Griffiss AFB around midnight, which had aborted a training mission due to an engine failure. The aircraft had shut down numbers 7 and 8 (no issue on a B-52, right?), but on this night, overflying unpopulated northern Maine, the crew suddenly asked for the latitude/longitude of the jet. The controller replied with the information, and asked what the reason was for the request. The crew replied that it had “just lost numbers 7 and 8”. The controller replied that that in formation had already been coordinated from the previous controller; the bomber crew then replied that the engines had just fallen off the airplane, and they needed to correlate their position so that personnel could search for the engines and pod in daylight!
The crews trained in harrowing weather, at all hours, hoping to never use the skills they honed. Their yearly SAC-wide operational readiness inspection, called Global Shield, seemed to always fall on the Sunday of Father’s Day weekend. Dozens of bombers and KC-135 tankers would launch in short order at the same time from every SAC base, looking like angry bees leaving a hive on our radar screens. They’d fly exact profiles to avoid each other, and attack unknowing targets around major cities some hours later. Air Defense Command fighters would be scrambled into blocks of airspace set aside for this mission and attempted to intercept the bombers. I remember one year that over 120 aircraft took part within my facility’s airspace. I’d work a 7AM – 3PM “day shift” and watch the big launch at 8AM; when I finished my shift at 3PM, the bombers would still be arriving back at their home base. For a number of years I worked as an FAA liaison with the professionals from SAC (their motto was “Peace Is Our Profession”); it was definitely one of the highlights of my career.
Ken Kula is a retired 30 year veteran with the FAA, recounting his experiences as a controller, staff specialist and supervisor. His words are not official FAA views, and may not reflect the FAA’s positions.