“Military Flight One-One, cancel GPS approach clearance,” the approach controller said.
Nancy Cheshire and Brad Elliott looked at one another in astonishment. “Say again, control?” Cheshire radioed. “Have we been cleared to land? Is there a problem?”
“Cancel approach clearance,” the controller repeated angrily. “Contact the controller on security frequency channel one-one immediately or you will be considered a hostile intruder. Comply immediately!”
Cheshire acknowledged the transmission and switched channels, but she was totally confused. The weather was pretty good right now — scattered clouds, good visibility, some swirling winds because of the mountains but not too bad. The runway was in sight in the growing dawn. In the military world, the GPS, or Global Positioning System satellite navigation system, was far more accurate than any other kind of instrument approach. GPS signals in the civilian world were downgraded by the U.S. Department of Defense to prevent America’s enemies from using the system against America — not so on the EB-52 Megafortress. The EB-52’s Global Positioning System was accurate to within six inches in both position and altitude, which made it hundreds of times more accurate than any other navigation instrument in existence.
Cheshire quickly set up the primary radio for the next controller, who was on a special military frequency accessible only by planes using the HAVE QUICK secure radio system, which shifted frequencies for both air and ground units simultaneously based on a computerized timing sequence. “Button one-one on radio one,” the copilot announced. “Hualien approach on backup, Hualien ground on radio two with their command post on backup. I’ve got the GPS approach dialed in as a backup.”
“Thanks,” Brad Elliott responded. “I got the radios.” He keyed the mike: “Hualien radar, Military Flight One-One with you, level five thousand, thirteen out for runway zero-three right.”
“Military Flight One-One, this is Hualien final controller,” a voice responded sternly, “execute all of my instructions immediately.” The Megafortress pilots noted the extreme emphasis on the words “all” and “immediately” ”In case of loss of communications, immediately execute missed approach procedures. You must not delay any missed approach procedures. Do you copy?”
“One-One copies.”
“Roger. Do not acknowledge further transmissions. Descend to two thousand, turn left heading zero-eight-one. This will be a PAR approach to runway zero three right.” Elliott and Cheshire dialed in the new heading and altitude, and the autopilot complied. “Five miles to final approach fix.” The controller made the same reports — altitude, heading, and position — every five seconds. For the EB-52 s pilots, it was a complete no- brainer — simply dial in the numbers in the autopilot and watch as they got closer to the runway. The approach looked like a mirror image approach to what the GPS was showing them, so the backup was working, too.
“Maybe it’s a local procedure — PAR approaches only, as a security measure,” Cheshire offered. The PAR, or Precision Approach Radar, was a controller-operated instrument landing procedure where a radar controller guided the plane down to the runway by the use of two high-speed, high-resolution radars — very accurate, but not as accurate as GPS and not necessary because they could see the runway. Elliott shrugged — it didn’t matter now, because they were lined up for landing and they hadn’t been shot down yet. They could see the runway, the GPS was giving them good info along with the PAR controller — everything was humming along OK.
At the final approach fix, the beginning of the final segment to landing, Elliott called for the “Before Landing” checklist and lowered the landing gear. “Three green, no red,” Cheshire announced, checking the gear-down lights. Elliott checked them as well. Everything going smoothly — PARs were so simple, a monkey could do it, given enough bananas.
“Passing final approach fix,” the controller reported. “Check gear down, heading zero-four-two, altitude one thousand two hundred, slow to final approach speed.”
“Military Flight One-One gear down,” Elliott radioed — that was the only allowable radio call, done as a safety measure. Cheshire began reading the portions of the “Before Landing” checklist not already accomplished — flaps, lights, starters, weapons stowed, radar standby, seat belts, shoulder harnesses, crew notified…
“Heading zero-three-one, five-hundred-feet-per-minute rate of descent, altitude seven hundred feet, three miles from touchdown,” the controller intoned. “Heading zero-three-one, six hundred feet altitude, two miles from touchdown. Report runway in sight.”"
“Runway in sight,” the pilot responded — he had had it in sight for the past five minutes. He expected instructions to take over visually about half a mile from touchdown, when the PAR radar could not update fast enough to provide accurate course and glideslope data. One last check around the cockpit, check the gear, check…
“One-One, lights off,” they heard the controller say. “Two miles to touchdown, heading zero-three-zero, altitude four hundred.”
“What did he say?” Elliott asked aloud.
“He said turn the lights off,” Cheshire replied. She reached up to the overhead switch panel. “Want ’em off?”
Well, this was stupid, Elliott thought. But he had the runway made and most of the rest of the airfield in sight. “Okay, lights off, but I don’t know why the hell—”
Just as Cheshire flicked the breaker switches, they heard, “Military One-One, turn left immediately, heading three-zero-zero, descend to three hundred feet, maintain final approach speed!”
“What!” Elliott exclaimed. That was a ninety-degree turn to the west—directly toward the mountains'. He crushed the mike switch: “Hualien, repeat that last!”
“Military One-One, turn immediately!” the controller shouted. “Turn now or execute missed approach instructions! ”
Elliott grabbed the control stick and power controller, paddled off the autopilot, and swung the EB-52 Megafortress hard onto the new heading. “Where the hell is the terrain? Lower the radome.” Cheshire hit a switch on the overhead panel, and the long, pointed SST-style nose of the Megafortress lowered several degrees to improve forward visibility.
“Heading two-niner-eight, altitude two hundred feet, three miles to touchdown,” the controller intoned. The vectors were coming in faster: “Heading three-zero-niner, altitude one-fifty, two point five miles to touchdown… now heading three-four-nine, altitude two-twenty, two point two miles to touchdown…”
“The son of a bitch! ” Elliott shouted, making the sudden right turn with fifty degrees of bank, “He’s vectored us right into the side of a mountain! What in hell is going on?”
“Brad, stay on the vectors,” Patrick McLanahan shouted on interphone. “Kuo told us it was going to be a hairy approach.”
“ ‘Hairy?’ We’re headed right into the side of a fucking mountain! ” “One-One, I show you well above glide path, fly heading three-five- zero, altitude two hundred feet…”
“General, this is nuts!” Cheshire shouted. “I see mountains all around us! ”
“Shut up, everyone, shut up!” Elliott shouted. “This doesn’t look good. I’m going missed. Radome in flight position.” He keyed the mike trigger as he pushed the throttles forward: “Hualien, I’m executing missed… wait, stand by! Wait on the radome!”
Just before Elliott began pushing in power to execute a go-around, he saw what looked like a long, tall cleft in the mountainside. It looked like a depression at first, but as they got closer, it was obvious that it was far deeper than a depression, more like a hollow, or even a huge cave…