Ford’s special achievement that nearly no one in Air Force Reserve knew about was his recent highly classified mission in stealing Devil Dragon out of China. Just a few short months ago, he used a wing suit to jump out the back of a modified Gulfstream 650ER business jet and clandestinely insert himself into a Chinese airport. His covert mission was to link up with his best friend, Chinese Air Force test pilot Wu Lee, and co-steal the newly built jet. His mission was a successful one, but one that he could never talk about openly. The Devil Dragon stealth bomber mission was so secretive that only the team involved in the mission could chat about it, and even then, only at appropriate locations.
Because Ford could not talk about it with anyone, he held a lot of his emotions and feelings inside. This was unfortunate because military units prided themselves on talking, even boasting, about certain high-risk missions. It was their culture. Not this one, though. The mission was not only sensitive but extremely dangerous, and it resulted in the loss of his boyhood friend Wu. To make matters worse, Ford’s circle of trust was not at Ellsworth Air Force Base, where he lived and flew, but in Washington, DC.
After routine flights and missions, like the one he was on right now, Ford was normally able to talk with his squadron buddies over a drink or three. As a result of Ford bottling up his feelings, he seemed to turn to alcohol lately as a way of self-medicating.
Zooming along on the “Victor” route, or Visual Flight Rules-Visual Military Training Route, an invisible highway in the sky, they zoomed through the mountains in their B-1B bomber. Flying a nap-of-the-earth route only a few hundred feet above the ground, they yanked and banked the jet in an attempt to sneak up upon a simulated target. Using Global Positioning System (GPS) guidance, an internal guidance system (INS), and an APQ-164 air-to-ground radar, in addition to the navigator telling him the checkpoints, Ford and the crew were responsible for getting the jet from one checkpoint to another, plus or minus five seconds.
“Looking good, pilot. Keep it coming,” one of the navigators announced over the intercom.
The air-to-ground radar provided the jet with a Monopulse Ground Map for all-weather navigation. The system also provided them an all-weather Terrain Following and Terrain Avoidance capability, in addition to high resolution Synthetic Aperture Radar for navigation and targeting nuclear and conventional weapons. The B-1B Lancer navigators could also use a two-axis, electrically scanned, phased-array antenna, a programmable signal processor, a radar receiver transmitter, a dual-mode transmitter, and a video signal processor to attack targets. All this technical stuff helped them get to where they needed to go.
“How we doing on timing?” Ford asked.
“Good; spot on. Next checkpoint in ten seconds. Get ready to come left to heading 279 degrees,” answered the navigator.
They were conducting a bombing run to infiltrate a fictional country, dropping conventional weapons, also known as traditional bombs. Ordnance being dropped today were twenty GBU-31 Joint Direct Attack Munitions, known as JDAMs, and if the mission were real, the target would hopefully never know they were coming. The JDAM also had a guidance kit option that converted traditional unguided, dummy bombs into all-weather smart bombs. The B-1B’s JDAM bombs were guided by an inertial guidance system that connected to a receiver, giving them a range of about fifteen miles. Today’s JDAMs were five hundred pounds each.
“Pilot, navigator, come left heading to 279 degrees… in three… two… one… now. Thirty-four seconds until drop. Target will be at twelve o’clock, vehicles and buildings in the open,” the navigator briefed.
“Pilot has it in sight, targets in sight,” Ford replied. “What airspeed?”
“You should be at 330 knots,” said the navigator.
“Roger, 330.”
They continued to fly the B-1B Lancer by pushing the throttles up a bit more as Ford yanked the stick back to adjust the nose up another few degrees, then pushed forward and nose-dove toward the ground.
“Navigator, pilot, are we good with the lineup?” Ford asked.
“Yes, continue.”
“We ready to release?” asked Ford.
“Yes, you’re clear, pilot. Wings level,” replied the navigator. “Prepare to drop… in three… two… one. Wings level, cleared hot! Drop!”
BOOP. An electronic sound went out over the frequency, telling all listening that live ammunition was being used.
BOOOOOOMMMMMM! The bombs had come out from beneath the large jet and impacted the targets precisely where they were supposed to go. There was a loud explosion, and a red-and-orange fireball shot hundreds of feet into the air, while a pressure wave extended out in all directions. Anything in the vicinity of the target would have been instantly vaporized.
They zoomed across the earth away from the drop zone, and the on-board computer calculated the impacts, determining a bomb-damage assessment, known as a BDA.
“Pulling off target! Shacked it!” Ford happily announced, moving the throttles forward to rapidly build up airspeed. Navigating out of the mountains using the terrain to mask and hide themselves from surface-to-air missiles and enemy radar, they snuck out of the Saylor Creek Range.
As they pulled off the target, Pinky was able to look out the window on her right side of the aircraft. She saw the plume of gray-and-black smoke rise into the air.
The aircrew executed the proper checklists to get out of the simulated combat environment and were busy moving switches around in the cockpit to ensure safety. Ford pulled the jet up and out of the low-level route, as Pinky contacted the range controllers on the radio to exit the Mountain Home Range.
“Range control, SLAM ONE transmitting on 342 decimal 5, exiting Romeo-3202 at 1612 Zulu, mission complete,” Pinky announced on the UHF radio frequency.
“Roger, SLAM ONE. Have you off the range. Contact Center on 122 decimal 5. Good day,” replied Range Control.
Pinky switched up the radios and gave a thumbs-up to Ford.
“Thanks, Pinky. Hey, Nav… how’d we do?” asked Ford.
“Spot on, Ford. BDA… targets destroyed,” replied the navigator.
“Fantastic to hear, thank you. Superb job, everyone. Solid. Hey, let’s go up and grab some gas and head over to Beale for lunch and…”
“Wait a sec. Hold up. Not so fast, Ford. Just received a secure text message for us to RTB,” the navigator interrupted.
“RTB? Return to base? Why? Are we being recalled?” Ford asked.
“Yeah. Message says RTB. Says nonemergency, but they want us to come home.”
Ford thought about it for a moment. That usually meant someone was in trouble, or an aircraft maintenance issue that the maintenance department didn’t discover until after the jet was airborne. Either way, it wasn’t good.
“Huh. Anyone here do something at last night’s Kangaroo Court, or afterward at a bar, that I need to know about? Any issues with our weapons deploying?” Ford asked the crew. Everyone had replied back with “No.”
“Well, crew, let’s get some gas and head home then. Pinky, take us up to the 717-9A refueling track for some juice. We’ll get some fuel and then head for home.”