Fortuitously Forestalling...

...a snoot-whapping (I'd call it something else, but that would only draw Cassie's attention) from John with reference to my Early Onset Senility admittedly spotty intelligence reports, I figured you might like to see something that's worth a couple of thousand words.

This one's for El Capitan. He knows why.

Raptor Love, Part II

Raptor

You can’t swing a dead cat in the milblogosphere without hitting some snark about the Air Force and its toys. But the film I posted yesterday made me think, “These guys probably won’t ever get it.”

Watching the Raptor is to watch the next quantum leap in military aviation technology. Moreover, it would be a serious mistake to think that the mind-boggling maneuverability of this thing is its greatest asset.

It is not.

This thing is a platform for a host of capabilities that few people appreciate just watching it fly up its own moveable burner cans. Take note of this word: sensors.

Aside from having a natural talent and set of skills in the cockpit, the reason Chuck Yeager (and I’ll wager most fighter aces) was so successful was his sensor package—20/12 eyeballs that saw the adversary before the adversary saw him. First sight usually puts you in a position, literally, to win the fight. Lose sight, and your chances of losing said contest increase astronomically. So, detecting threats—airborne or otherwise—and positioning oneself to avoid, neutralize, or destroy them is something the Raptor does to a degree most of us cannot fully appreciate.

I’ve heard that the Raptor’s radar is its least capable sensor.

Think about that.

What the helk else does it have? How is that integrated into the situational display systems? The fire control system? The overall interface between man and machine? The answers to these questions are both classified and impressive, even to the layman I’ll wager. Then there’re its IT capabilities. This thing is a flying server. It takes in information, not just data, and shoots it to less capable assets, in effect improving the capabilities of those with which it fights. When a Raptor pilot is out of missiles, his job isn’t necessarily over. I’ll leave it at that.

There is a standing joke about the Raptor guy who slips a note under the briefing room door of his adversaries for the next Red Flag mission. It’s just says, “You’re all dead.” The point being he can see, shoot and scoot before the “bad” guys can even get their guns out of their holsters. This is a good thing. Of course its not a magic jet, but it’s going to change the way we fight.

Nor is this thing necessarily going to be the star of any show any time soon. Fine. But smart strategists plan for the next war, not this one. Is it an anachronism already, i.e., a manned platform doomed to be replaced by a UAV? Perhaps. But not yet. It’s one thing to drill around as a recce drone or even as a kamikaze SEAD asset. It’s another to think, maneuver, defend, attack, watch, analyze, communicate, direct and otherwise do innately human stuff with a relatively inexpensive (and very cheap to manufacture) human in the seat. Will we be there someday? Maybe. Probably about the same time the infantryman is replaced by a more controllable version if the T-101 that isn’t as hostile to its creators.

As far as airplane things go, there was a lot of engineering conundrums tackled by LockMart, Boeing and PW.

Anybody can fly straight up these days, but doing it slowly is impressive. Anybody can go supersonic these days but doing it in a fuel-efficient way is impressive. Anybody can turn tightly these days, but rotating about the z-axis in a fixed-wing airplane is, well, just freakin’ weird when you first see it. When he can point his nose at you from damn near a hover in a supersonic-capable fighter loaded to the gunwales with “I-wish-you-were-dead” missiles, you’re in trouble.

These guys have solved:
- Sustained supersonic flight problems
- Keeping enough air flowing through the engines at high and low speeds
- Doing the above when the air isn’t coming straight into the intakes
- Keeping an air-to-air fighter stealthy despite weapon and sensor needs
- Man-machine interface issues with a machine that takes in gigabytes (terabytes?) of data
- Other stuff that you and I don’t have a need to know about

Note: one of the comments speculated that the jet would have a hard time in a close in fight. Um, no. That said, we are having some difficulty finding ranges big enough for the Raptor. It has zero to do with speed or turning-and-burning capabilities. The problem is one of not being able to exercise its true capabilities in detecting, sorting, engaging and destroying, and train pilots in how to maximize/fully exploit those capabilities, in training areas designed for the last generation of fighters.

In short, I’m impressed. And I’m sure I’ll get, “…’owls of derisive laughter, Bruce!” when I say I think we got a bargain.

Laugh all ya want.

“You’re dead.”

Don't even step to your jets, boys--you're already dead.

Me.

Want.

Seeing as how I'm in England (going to Fwance tomorrow), my time to elaborate is limited. I will do so ASAP. In the meantime, suffice it to say this airplane is the aviation equivalent to a cannon that can shoot around a corner. That is all -Attila

Not all Americans are ugly...

This is a good little story about a vivid memory of an American P-51 and its pilot by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. It also gives me a good post to use a picture Neffi sent me some time ago. The match isn't perfect... but the spirit is the same.

For a better view of the picture - click here: One of these things is *not* like the others!

It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a Mustang P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, the pilot had been tired. I marveled at the size of the plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the flight lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. Looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century.

His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up. Just to be safe."

Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!" I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.

The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked -- I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at the others' faces, there was no
concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his preflight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway. We could not.

There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight.

Its tail was already off and I t was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.

We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying to digest what we'd just seen. The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. " Kingston tower calling Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment.

The radio crackled, "Go ahead Kingston ." "Roger Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show!

The controller looked at us. "What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"

The radio crackled once again, " Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger, Kingston , I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by."

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic as the burnished bird
blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air.

At about 400 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine. A salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded.

Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory.

I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who'd just flown into my memory.

He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best. That America will return one day, I know it will.

Until that time, I'll just send off this story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian that's lasted a lifetime.......

H/t, Bob W. The back-story to Neffi's pic is in the Flash Traffic/Extended Entry!

Propsicle

I didn't get the chance to wander through the official museums at Bragg, but the unofficial ones kept the trusty digicam busy.

Stuff like this.

For the grognards with dialup, shoot me an e-mail and I'll send you the hi-res (they're a tad large). For everybody else, the profile ("Ooooh! *Rivets*...") and a fairly unusual nose-on shot.

Oh, for the good ol' days of authorized personal markings...

Caption Contest!

Somebody once defined helicopter flying as "Hours and hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror."

You could define helicopter *combat* flying as "A couple of minutes of aggravation, agitation and autogyration punctuated by a whole bunch of cussing -- before, during and after the impact."

Heh. V29 demonstrating the proper blend of nonchalance, insouciance and "Send me in *again*, Coach" attitude. I taught him well...

Go for it!

More problems for the "Guys In Front"...

...as part of "Trolling for Dusty Week" today's installment is... oh-oh! Unmanned inflight refueling is a reality.

Lex? Dusty? Anyone? Anyone?

From the comments of Chap's post:

I submit that now there is absolutely NO reason to have a human pilot in an F-18. : -)

- They already take a cat shot with no hands
- They already land Mode 1 no hands
- They can now tank no hands (major airmanship challenge for a hornet/hornette pilot)
- JDAM falls off automatically
- All our enemies bury their fighters in sand dunes when we attack- no need for A-A.

Whatsis? Is This...

Some valiant efforts at trying to figure out which helicopter had a water pressure gauge on the instrument panel. Sorry, but no cigar, not even to John--although he gets an Attaboy for not snooping around Fototime...

You're gonna screech like a scalded owl when I tell ya, but before you form the lynch mob, just remember that you gave John a pass when he posted a pic of a WWI Rooskie rifle grenade used only by corporals nicknamed "Sasha" in odd-numbered trenches on alternate Thursdays between March and June of 1917.

Now, there's a reason that the water pressure gauge

looks like the oil pressure gauge which looks like the fuel pressure gauge which looks like the torquemeter.

That reason is this --

It's a multipurpose gauge. Press the magic button twice and you're looking at any one of four labels. You'll find this particular model in most of the UH-1C/-D/-H/-Ms that got busted up in Vietnam and went to the depot at Corpus Christi for rebuild (evidently, the depot got a good deal on a manufacturer's overrun). The newer gauges have a setscrew in place of the button, so it's impossible for the puckish Instructor Pilot to mess with a nervous pilot's mind.

Preflight: *double-click behind the instrument panel while you're checking the electrical compartment in the nose*

During Flight:

Option One: "Okay, what are your normal torque limitations?"
*victim scans frantically for anything saying "torque" and blows right past the "water gauge"*

Option Two: "Water pressure's a tad high--did you check the overflow reservoir for crud?"
*victim knows damwell there's nothing in the Huey that uses water except the crew, but sees the "water pressure" gauge and panics*

Option Three: "Hey--this gauge is marked bassackwards. Water pressure redline is 45psi, not 35..."
*victim tries to assess information, starts blinking in confusion, gives himself a case of flicker vertigo*

Okay--next snipe hunt won't be quite this esoteric. And the pics will at least be in focus *crossing eight fingers and both thumbs*

Heh! Can't wait to see what Neffi comes up with when he tries to figger out what an intervalometer is...

Whatsis?

Okay, a disclaimer: technically, this isn't Plane Pr0n, it's Helicopter Pr0n, but it *is* an expos� of some of the fiddly bits.

Y'see, my collection differs from John's in that my items are either obsolete, non-functional (and uneconomically repairable), and/or of "no further military value"--and (except for the weaponry) they all are souvenirs of odd things that occurred in the course of one of my flights.

In a couple of instances, they were the *cause* of the odd things that occurred, hence, the non-functional aspect.

This thing is still functional.

Yeah--a water gauge. It's from the instrument panel of one of the (several--heh) types and models of rotary-winged beasties I used to hurl myself through the heavens in and it ain't PhotoShopped. If you're suspicious, check out the hi-rez here. Sorry about the quality--my camera-holding paw is still a bit shaky.

The gauge is a tad over two inches (51.2mm) in diameter across the face and exactly two inches (50.8mm) across the body. Note the slippage mark at 3 o'clock--that tells you the operating ranges are externally applied. The shiny stuff on the face of the gauge is Scotch (don't forget--tomorrow's "Wear A Kilt To Work" Day) tape.

Here's the two-part question:

1. What helicopter used a water gauge on its instrument panel and

2. Why?

Heh. Guess away. I won't be around until later tonight, so you'll have plenty of time to research in between ironing the pleats of your kilts...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Judging from the comments, it's time for a hint.

As we all know, oil and water don't mix.

Ever wonder...

...how an aircraft manufacturer like Sukhoi manages to keep cranking out fighters despite shakeups in the Russian economy?

The secret's out...

Art of the Liberators!

Remember this pic? Meet 439 Squadron, Canadian Forces, who operated the best-looking Starfighters I've ever seen.

Just click "Next" for additional pix. Then click it again. And again. And again. A gazillion photos and the site's even dial-up friendly...

Toque tip to Captain JMH.

Even Warthogs can be technically agile...

Glenn Reynolds significantly increased the level of class on his world-famous blog with this post.

The quality is terrible, but the end reveals something about the American fighting man that is the direct result of living in a free society--initiative and creativity.

Drove the Russians/Chinese nuts, it did/does.

In this case, it may have been a maintainer who thought of it, the squadron weapons officer, or maybe even a line pogue. (Really. One of my former charges used to build black boxes for the Voyager space probe but he wanted to fly. So he did--on a 5-year sabbatical from Motorola.)

Anyway, when you take an ACMI pod (the thingie you hang on your jet that collects and transmits flight data to a range ground station for training purposes) and turn it into a radio range extender, that's just, well, very, very cool.

...and we wonder why the American people take pride in their soldiers...

Rules of the Air

This is an oldie-but-goodie, updated, amended and modified for the non-zoomie Denizens. I thought it'd be appropriate, given John's penchant for posting pix of aircraft in various stages of distress...

1. Every takeoff is optional. Every landing is mandatory.

2. If you push the stick forward, the houses get bigger. If you pull the stick back, they get smaller. Unless you keep pulling the stick all the way back�then they get bigger again.

3. Flying isn't dangerous. Crashing is what's dangerous.

4. It's always better to be down here wishing you were up there than up there wishing you were down here.

5. The ONLY time you have too much fuel is when you're on fire.

6. The propeller is only a big fan in front of the plane used to keep the pilot cool. When it stops, you can actually see the pilot start sweating.

7. When in doubt, hold on to your altitude. No one has ever collided with the sky.

8. A good landing is one from which you can walk away. A great landing is one after which they can use the plane again.

9. Learn from the mistakes of others. You won't live long enough to make all of them yourself.

10. You know you've landed with the wheels up if it takes full power to taxi to the ramp.

11. The probability of survival is inversely proportional to the angle of arrival. Large angle of arrival, small probability of survival and vice versa.

12. Never let an aircraft take you somewhere your brain didn't get to five minutes earlier.

13. Stay out of clouds. The silver lining everyone keeps talking about might be another airplane going in the opposite direction.

14. Always try to keep the number of landings you make equal to the number of takeoffs you've made.

15. There are three simple rules for making a smooth landing. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.

And click on Flash Traffic (extended entry) for the remainder (gotta keep you awake somehow...)

Aviation Obfuscation...

It ain�t easy being a pilot. The actual stick-wiggling is a piece of cake compared with complying with the myriad rules, regulations, administrative directives, pilotage procedures, ad infinitum. You don't have to take my word for it--ask Neffi. Sometimes the publications are crystal clear (�No smoking within fifty feet of the aircraft�) and sometimes they�re--ummmm--see for yourself. I think you�ll get a whole new perspective on flying the friendly skies.

And on why, in general, some of us are nuts.

Reprinted below is the notice that British Airways sent to its pilots explaining the cockpit crew duties during the conduct of what we in the US refer to as a "monitored approach"--on an instrument approach to an airfield under conditions of low ceiling and visibility, one pilot flies the approach and the other pilot divides his scan between the instruments and the view outside. As the aircraft nears that point in space where the runway should be visible, the non-flying pilot concentrates on the outside view, and when he sees the runway, takes the controls and performs the landing; this eliminates the problem of the pilot flying the approach having to make a sudden, sometimes disorienting, transition from flying instruments to looking �outside� at the last minute to try to acquire the runway. If the non-flying pilot announces that he sees nothing by the time the aircraft reaches minimums, the pilot on the controls, who is still on the instruments, simply initiates the Missed Approach procedure and the non-flying pilot handles the radio calls and other assorted details.

Simple, right? Geez, even *I* understood that.

Now try the explanation of this procedure from the British Airways Pilot�s Manual.

*** British Airways Flight Operations Department Notice ***

There appears to be some confusion over the new pilot role titles. This notice will hopefully clear up any misunderstandings.

The titles P1, P2 and Co-Pilot will now cease to have any meaning within the BA operations manuals. They are to be replaced by Handling Pilot, Non-handling Pilot, Handling Landing Pilot, Non-Handling Landing Pilot, Handling Non-Landing Pilot, and Non-Handling Non-Landing Pilot. The Landing Pilot is initially the Handling Pilot and will handle the take-off and landing except in role reversal when he is the Non-Handling Pilot for taxi until the Handling Non-Landing Pilot hands the handling to the Landing Pilot at eighty knots. The Non-Landing (Non-Handling, since the Landing Pilot is handling) Pilot reads the checklist to the Handling Pilot until after Before Descent Checklist completion, when the Handling Landing Pilot hands the handling to the Non-Handling Non-Landing Pilot who then becomes the Handling Non-Landing Pilot. The Landing Pilot is the Non-Handling Pilot until the decision altitude call, when the Handling Non-Landing Pilot hands the handling to the Non-Handling Landing Pilot, unless the latter calls "go-around", in which case the Handling Non-Landing Pilot, continues handling and the Non-Handling Landing Pilot continues non-handling until the next call of "land" or "go-around", as appropriate.

Ow. Somebody rub my head.

A pic for Dusty.

Since I managed to pi$$ him off yesterday... a peace offering.

Hi-res (worth it!)

Let's see who the geeks are.

Which aircraft cockpit is this?

Hi-res.

Really busy day today. But if you know your airplanes... there are enough clues to get this. If you don't, well, have fun anyway!

Heh. Well, we know what *I'm* not...

..a fighter pilot. Boy, was I wrong. So is Bill. Sanger and Dusty however...

Update: Here's our resident ATTACK pilot's reponse

The pict looks like a Viper about to go beak to beak with an F-15. Both guys would have shot each other about 30 minutes previous to this position...if both were armed with AAMRAMs. The Eagle would have had the range on him though (radar range, that is...which is what counts in a Fox 1 shot). At normal closure rates (180-degree aspect, i.e., nose-to-nose), both would have the energy to get the missile to target but the Eagle would probably have seen him first, driven into optimum range, shot and then gone for the notch (hard 90 left/right to dick up the opponent's fire control/radar Doppler shift calculations and befuddle his missile just enough to preclude a lock and counter launch). That said, once the AAMRAM shifts to internal guidance, I understand it's pretty hard to beat.

Look boss! Da plene! Da plene!

Looking back over the last coupla week's posts, I see we've been neglecting a segment of our audience. We've had tanks, firearms, submarines, Marines... but I don't see any airplanes. Well we did have that English-Electric munchkin.

Soooo... let's have a multi-national moment of Aero-Zen.

Two RAF Phantoms flying by a Castle in, I assume, Germany. I at first glance thought it was Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria. ... except for being the wrong shape, color, and not in the mountains...

Anybody know which castle that is?