What’s more, the bomb could glide as far as fifteen miles if released from high altitude, so it was not necessary to release it at a specific point in space. That meant that the B-1 could fly anywhere within a fifteen-mile diameter “basket,” from any direction and at any speed, and start pumping out JDAMs as fast as the rotary launcher could go — and each bomb would automatically find its own target, even if the target was behind it. On a large target complex such as an airfield, military base, city, or weapons storage area, eight different targets could be attacked on the same bomb run by one bomber within sixty seconds, with accuracy second only to laser-or TV-guided bombs or missiles, day or night, in any weather or battlefield conditions.
“You like JDAM, do you, Colonel?” Patrick asked.
“If it wasn’t for JDAM, I think we’d be out of business,” Long replied. “Every other attack plane in the inventory except the Bone and the B-2 stealth bomber has a precision-guided bombing capability — even the lousy little F-16 can launch Maverick missiles. Even with all its payload, range, and speed advantages, what good would a Bone be if it took three bombs to destroy a target that one bomb from an F-15E or F-117 stealth fighter could destroy? With JDAM, we come close to pinpoint bombing accuracy without having to use a datalink, forward-looking infrared, or laser.”
Patrick nodded, appearing to agree — though it was all he could do to keep quiet. The Joint Direct Attack Munition was indeed a good weapon. It was cheap, it worked well, and it modernized the huge supply of one-and two-thousand-pound bombs still in the inventory. But there were a dozen next-generation weapons available for the B-1B bomber, and at least another dozen weapons Patrick and his teams at Dreamland were working on, third-and fourth-and fifth-generation stuff, that made JDAM seem as effective as cavemen throwing rocks. Patrick only wished he could tell this young bombardier about the innovations they were about to unleash.
They moved to the aft bomb bay, which was loaded with ten CBU-87/B CEM (Combined Effects Munition) dispensers. This was the primary wide-area antiarmor and antipersonnel bomblet used by the Bone. Each dispenser carried over two hundred two-pound bomblets. When released, the dispenser would spin rapidly, scattering BLU-97 bomblets over a wide oval-shaped area. The bomblets would float down on a tiny inflatable parachute, then detonate at a preselected altitude above ground.
The kill-and-hurt pattern of this tiny two-pound bomblet was enormous. A shaped charge warhead, capable of penetrating four inches of steel, would shoot straight down, designed to cut through the light armor atop a tank or armored vehicle. At the same instant, a hundred tiny steel fragments would shoot outward, capable of shredding light vehicles within fifty yards and injuring soldiers over a hundred yards away. Finally, a ring of sponge zirconium would ignite, scattering burning pieces of white-hot metal over two hundred yards away and igniting brush, fuel, buildings — or humans — with ease. One CBU-87 could cut a swath of death and destruction the size of eight football fields.
After Long completed his inspection, they climbed up the steep ladder behind the tall nose landing gear into the crew compartment. Patrick followed right behind. He had to keep from grinning like a kid stepping onto a roller coaster. He couldn’t believe how excited he felt. After all the bomber missions he’d flown—why?
Go with it, he told himself, and he broke out into a big shit-eating grin. It was exciting because it is exciting. It felt fun because it is fun! Yes, it was dangerous. Yes, this crew had a mission to accomplish, and Patrick was their judge, their jury — and, in a very real sense, their executioner. But they were also going to fly one of the deadliest planes in the world and drop enough real live no-shit high-explosive material to wipe out an entire brigade of enemy armor. It was the ultimate job, the ultimate game, the ultimate kick in the pants.
Savor it, Patrick told himself. For once, forget about the responsibility and the mission and savor the excitement you are about to experience.
Despite the fact that the B-1B was over 140 feet long and its max gross weight exceeded 230 tons, there was just enough room inside for four crew members in ejection seats plus a little storage space. Rinc stowed his jacket in a cubbyhole above the entry tunnel and his gear in a little step built behind the center console, pre-flighted his ejection seat to make sure it was safetied, then sat down and began running his power-off and before-APU-start checklists.
Patrick stuffed his jacket in the “bunk” behind the copilot’s seat, his helmet bag of extra booklets and “plastic brains” in the space beside his seat, then pre-flighted his seat. He checked that the four seat safety pins were in place, the ejection handle lock was down, and the ejection mode switch was in MANUAL, meaning that if either pilot’s seat malfunctioned or was inadvertently activated, it wouldn’t automatically eject anyone else’s seat. Then he climbed in and started strapping in.
The last bomber he had any time in at all was the EB-52 Megafortress — and that was cavernous compared to the B-1 cockpit. Patrick was unaccustomed to wearing a big, bulky survival vest, and threading all the seat straps around it and finding the right clips and fasteners was harder than he expected. You didn’t just sit in a B-1 bomber — you wore it. He had to leave the shoulder straps as loose as he could and push his arm with his opposite hand to reach switches. Even adjusting the seat took a few moments to relearn.
“How’re you doing over there, sir?” Rinc asked, a trace of amusement on his lips. “Finding everything okay?”
Patrick felt a bit self-conscious as he finally got straightened around and settled in. He wrapped the Velcro strap of his checklist around his left thigh, a small metal kneeboard around his right thigh, and opened the checklist to the “Before APU Start” checklist page. He capped it off by slipping on a new pair of Nomex flight gloves, working the fingers down tight, then punching a fist into his palm excitedly, just as he used to do before starting engines years ago as a young crewpuppy. “I’m doing fine, Major,” Patrick replied. “Don’t be afraid to kick my butt if I’m not keeping up with you.”
“You’re doing fine so far,” Rinc said. “It took me three tries to find all my harness straps without help.”
The first order of business was starting the APU, or auxiliary power unit. The APU was a fifth small self-contained jet engine, mounted in the B-1’s tail, which provided electrical, hydraulic, and pneumatic power to the aircraft without starting one of the big turbofans or relying on external power carts. With the APU, the Bone was completely self-sufficient — it did not need ground power equipment for any flight-line operations. Once the B-1’s APU was started and supplying electrical power, the crew started to turn on their equipment and run power-on and before-engine-start checklists. At precisely the briefed time, the crew began the engine-start and after-engine-start checklists. It took only a few moments to get all four engines running.
Things happened quickly after that. The pilots ran a series of checklists, testing every system, backup system, and function aboard their plane. The TACAN radio receiver was not passing its self-test, but the avionics maintenance “Red Ball” team had a spare part out to the aircraft and installed in record time. They certainly could’ve launched without a TACAN receiver — with all the sophisticated inertial and satellite navigation gear on board, the old TACAN was seldom used except on precision instrument approaches — but it was a required piece of equipment. Furness’s flight checked in precisely at the prebriefed time. Patrick copied the mission clearance and command post clearance, then began to taxi out.