“Ready — I guess,” Daren said.
“You got the aircraft,” Zane said, giving the control stick a shake.
Oh, shit, Daren thought. Here we go. “I have the aircraft,” he acknowledged, shaking his control stick in reply.
The pilot of the lead EB-1C Vampire bomber got clearance for takeoff, taxied off the elevator to the end of the runway, lined up on centerline, locked brakes, lit afterburners, released brakes, and shot down the runway.
A few seconds after the leader lifted off, Daren locked the brakes and smoothly moved the throttles forward. He paused at the first detent, then smoothly moved the throttles into the afterburner zone. “Good nozzle swing… zone five, now… brakes off.”
The Vampire bomber leaped forward as if it were shot from a catapult. Daren was pressed hard in his seat. The pressure on his chest was surprising, much more than it had been in the supersonic FB-111. It was hard to believe that a plane this big could accelerate so fast. It seemed only seconds later that Zane announced, “Coming up on rotate speed… rotating, now.” Suddenly the Vampire broke ground and soared into the air like an arrow fired into the sky. “Positive rate… positive altimeter… gear moving.” Daren checked that all the gear lights were out — and by the time he did, the bomber had reached almost three hundred knots.
“Watch your airspeed — there’s your barber-pole max V,” Grey said. “Don’t be afraid to pull it up. The faster we get to altitude, the better.”
“Guess I’m a little rusty,” Daren commented. He pulled back more on the stick and retrimmed but found he had to pull and retrim every ten seconds or so to keep the bomber at three-fifty. They were now climbing at well over eight thousand feet per minute. “Christ, she’s like a bat out of hell,” Daren muttered.
“You got that right, sir,” Grey agreed. “Mission-adaptive technology. The whole airframe becomes a lift-producing device until we hit three hundred knots, and then the computer takes it away little by little, till just a small part of the wing and fuselage produces lift. That way there’s no induced drag caused by a lot of lift-producing surfaces. Sounds weird, but it’s true. The faster we go, the faster we can go. Above four hundred knots almost none of the wing and a tiny fraction of the fuselage is producing lift — the rest is just knifing through the air at zero angle of attack.”
A few moments later Zane put his right hand on the control stick. “Good job, sir,” he said. He shook the stick. “I have the aircraft. I’ll do the rejoin, check over the leader, then let you try some formation. It’ll get you warmed up for the air refueling.”
“You got the aircraft,” Daren said. His palms felt clammy inside his gloves. Damn, things happened fast in this machine!
It did not take long to catch up to the leader, and soon Zane maneuvered his bomber into route formation, five hundred meters to the right, a hundred meters behind, and a hundred meters above the leader. He got on the interplane radio frequency to the other aircraft. “Lead, this is Two, clear me in to fingertip,” he radioed.
“You’re cleared in to fingertip,” the leader radioed.
Grey performed an initial join-up, closing in to about a half mile away from the leader’s right wingtip. “That’s a pretty good combat spread position,” he said. He then made an imperceptible stick movement, and slowly they slid toward the leader until the two planes were less than a hundred feet apart. They looked the leader’s aircraft over; then Grey ducked underneath and repositioned himself on the other side. “Want to give it a try, sir?”
“Think I’m ready, Zane?”
“We’ll shortly find out, sir.”
“What’s the trick to fingertip in the Vampire, Zane?”
“The mission-adaptive computers dampen out most of the bow wave but accentuate the wingtip vortices, so we set up a little farther out than normal. We can’t really tuck it in as tight as a T-38 Talon or T-1 Jayhawk. Nice and easy is the key. I know you have formation experience in the F-111s and various trainer aircraft. With mission-adaptive technology, controlling the Vampire in close is easier than on any other aircraft. All it takes is a light touch on the controls.”
Daren flexed his neck muscles, shifted slightly in his seat, and looked as if he was taking a deep, nervous breath — but they hadn’t moved an inch yet. “Anytime you’re ready, sir,” Grey prompted him. He was just about to give Mace a few more basic pointers on how to close in to fingertip position when, before Grey or anyone else realized what happened, they were flying within just a few feet of each other, wingtips overlapping. “I’ve got the aircraft! I’ve got the aircraft!” Grey shouted.
“No,” Daren said calmly. “Hands off.”
“Two, you guys are a little close,” the lead mission commander radioed.
“We’re fine,” Daren responded. Grey quickly realized that Mace hadn’t overcorrected or made a mistake — he was purposely tucked in close, the leader’s left wing casting a shadow on the second Vampire. But Mace was in there so close and so tight that it felt as if they were one aircraft.
“I see what you mean about the wingtip vortices. The trick would be to keep the vortices away from the flight-control surfaces. Look — I’ll move out a few feet. Put your hand on the stick.” When Grey put his hand lightly on the control stick, Daren moved the bomber an imperceptible amount away from the leader. “See that?”
“No.”
“Turn off the mission-adaptive computer for a sec.”
“What?”
“I said, turn off the MA computer, Zane.”
“You want to move away first?”
“No.” To Grey’s horror, Daren keyed his voice-control button: “MAT to standby.” There was a slight burble that caused a thrill of panic to shoot up and down Grey’s spine, but their position did not change one bit. “See it now? The mission-adaptive system masks it out quite a bit. Look — it’ll go away.” He slid in four feet closer, so close that Grey could see the whites in the lead AC’s eyes. “See? It’s gone. You really got to get it in there tight, but the vortices just spill out over the top of our fuselage and overboard along our slipstream.” Daren keyed the interplane channel mike button: “Lead, give me a standard rate turn,” he radioed. “Either direction.”
There was a long pause, but finally: “Roger. Coming left.”
The lead Vampire made an ultracautious, much less than standard-rate turn, and the second Vampire turned with him. “See this, Zane?” Daren said. “Once you’re in tight enough to let the vortices spill over the fuselage instead of the wings, the vortices actually help keep you in place.” He moved his hand until he had just one finger and one thumb on the controls. “She’s practically flying herself. I wouldn’t unzip and take a pee, but this gives you enough of a breather to refocus your eyes, check a caution message, or get a kink out.” They turned right to get back on course, and Mace’s Vampire stuck with the leader as if it were welded to him. “Let’s see what it’s like on the other side.” On interplane he radioed, “Lead, Two’s crossing under to the other wing.”
“Is that you flying, Zane?”
“Negative. It’s the new guy.”
“Say again?”
“It’s the new MC flying,” Zane said proudly. “He’s got liquid nitrogen for blood.”
Still in the turn, Daren crossed under the lead EB-1, close enough so that they could see seams in the composite fibersteel skin. “Wow. Feel this, Zane — I’m dead in between both wingtip vortices, and it’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom here.” All Zane could think about was smacking into the underside of the lead plane — they were closer than precontact position from an aerial-refueling tanker. But he took the controls and found it incredibly steady. No sign of turbulence or cross-controlling at all. Daren tried it with the mission-adaptive system on, and it was even smoother.