A Boeing engineer started with a general overview of the BLU-121 bomb and its classified capabilities. The first discussion was meant as introduction to the system and lasted about 40 minutes. The next speaker was a USAF officer and F-15E pilot who spent the next half hour discussing his experiences with the system and introducing the Israeli pilots to the flight patterns they would be using during the next couple of weeks.
Finally, another Boeing engineer stood to review a system called Tunnel Defeat, which was the most sensitive and secret aspect of the BLU-121 program. Israel would be the only nation outside of the U.S. to receive the Tunnel Defeat system. The engineer reviewed the concept first. The system integrated up to six BLU-121 bombs dropped by six different aircraft so that the weapons all detonated simultaneously with a timing error of no more than a quarter second. The system was designed for tunnel complexes with multiple entrances. A BLU-121 could be launched from separate aircraft simultaneously so that each bomb penetrated a different tunnel entrance at the same time and detonated at the same moment, creating converging shockwaves that destroyed everything between the blast points not protected by large enough blast doors. The engineer then went into some level of technical detail about how the system worked and the necessity for the planes involved in a coordinated attack to maintain line of sight between each other. The system depended upon each plane’s onboard targeting and release computers being able to communicate via a coded millimeter wave radio mounted into each plane.
Over the next two weeks, the fifty pilots, taking turns in the five available F-15Is, would learn the optimal approach, release point and egress pattern to ensure that they could place a BLU-121 directly onto a point on a mountainside with a circular probability of error of no greater than one meter. That target point could be the entrance to a tunnel or simply a patch of earth through which the bomb could penetrate to reach an underground tunnel or chamber. They would learn the flight characteristics of the bomb and the impact that target altitude, wind speed and direction, air temperature and relative humidity had on the weapon. They would study the physics of the bomb’s penetrating capabilities. They would become masters of the system’s targeting and weapon release computer, the avionics of which would be installed the next day in the Israeli F-15s by Boeing engineers.
During the same period, thirty-two mechanics, technicians and weapons specialists would have to become experts at mounting and un-mounting the bomb and its practice variants, and at running diagnostics for the bomb itself as well as the onboard computer and support systems. Most importantly, they would have to become absolutely perfect at ensuring that the entire system was properly synchronized, knowing that even the slightest error could result in a bomb missing its target, making it nothing but an expensive piece of harmless metal. Between classes, the group would have to service the five F-15Is that would be flying constant sorties. This would not be a vacation for anyone involved.
29 — Delamere
On July 15, following a day of orientation flying, the first bomb runs over Delamere by the IAF took place. The Delamere bomb range measures 30 miles wide along its northern edge by 40 miles tall with a shape reminiscent of the state of Iowa. The range is mostly flat topographically, but the northeast corner of the range is undulating with a number of small hills. On a couple of these hills the RAAF had constructed faux tunnel entrances covered by plywood doors. Importantly, the RAAF mounted high resolution cameras overseeing each target, allowing the Israelis to record the impact spot of every practice bomb used. Since the IAF had brought 25 aircrews, each F-15I would fly five sorties on this day, giving each aircrew the opportunity to make three passes at their target, dropping the single lightweight practice bomb on the final pass. Since Tindal was only 80 miles from the target area inside Delamere, each sortie took less than 50 minutes, with a plane departing Tindal every 20 minutes.
Over the target zone, a single RAAF CH-47 Chinook helicopter hovered as each plane made its passes. On board were the IAF commanding officer and the two junior officers. They operated a stabilized camera and instruments that could read and record all of the flight control settings on each plane as it made its pass, marrying the readings with the video in real time. The Chinook kept its rear ramp down and its nose pointed away from the target zone. The three Israeli officers sat in chairs bolted to two pallets that also had the camera and instruments bolted down. In turn, the pallets were secured in place on the helicopter floor. Between sorties, the helicopter landed to preserve fuel.
By the afternoon of that first day of bomb runs, all of the flight crews were in a conference room watching video on a large screen. The video accurately recorded every crew’s two practice passes and single bomb drop. One of the junior officers, a respected IAF pilot who had contracted diabetes and lost his flying certification, commented on each pass, having each two-man crew stand as its performance was critiqued. The actual bomb runs had all been done without the use of the laser designator from the F-15I’s LANTIRN laser pod. This was the condition set by the squadron commander and would hold until later in the training process. These pilots had to be able to “fly” their bombs onto the target and the only acceptable performance was perfection. Without the use of laser designators, the definition of success was a hit anywhere in the 20 square meter surface area of the plywood doors.
The review had covered the performance of twenty-four crews when the squadron commander stopped the video and interrupted the junior officer. He stood up; his voice was part anger and part disappointment. “Today was pitiful,” he said, his right hand trembling the way it always did when his blood pressure was elevated. “Thank God the Americans weren’t watching this performance. If this crap continues, I am going to leave you guys here and take the American pilots back to Israel with me.
“Now, look. We had only one hit today. One!” The commander lowered his head and swung it from side to side in disgust. He raised his head back up, every pilot in the room certain that he was staring at them. “One out of twenty-five. What’s that? Four percent? That’s a hell of a long way from one hundred percent. And we will be at one hundred percent or I will make you bastards hitchhike back to Israel.” He paused and scanned the room, his stare being the scourge of any pilot who failed to perform up to his standards.
“Gadget, where are you? Stand up.”
In the fourth row to the right of the squadron commander, 27-year-old Gil Bar-Kokhba stood. The F-15 pilot was viewed as the best in this group of elite IAF pilots. His nickname, Gadget, had come from his off-duty passion of building radio-controlled planes and boats. The unmarried pilot was handsome, but unlike so many IAF pilots such as General Schechter, he was not interested in chasing girls in Tel Aviv whenever he was on leave. Instead, he was happy to be in a long-term relationship, even though they all seemed to end somewhere around the second anniversary. He felt that long-term relationships cleared his mind for flying — the opposite belief of many of his compatriots.
“You too, Pacer,” added the squadron commander.
Ronen Isser, Gadget’s 31-year-old backseat weapons systems officer, stood up next to his partner. Pacer had earned his nickname from his love of triathlons and his mistake of telling his fellow pilots that he had to pace himself to win.
“Congratulations. You were the one and only hit today. You two can fly home. As for the rest of you guys, time will tell.” The commander sat down as the junior officer reviewed the videotape showing the performance of Gadget and Pacer. More than a half hour was spent reviewing the flight control settings and angle of attack chosen by Gadget. The men were learning from success.