Shadow Flight (1990) (2 page)

Now, Levchenko thought as he adjusted the radio volume, Rykhov can execute the final step to carry the hijacking to completion. The Motherland would have an American B-2 Stealth bomber in a matter of weeks.

Chapter
One

ON BOARD SHADOW 37

The Northrop B-2 banked gently to the left, then returned to level flight, as U. S. Air Force Lt. Col. Charles E. Matthews scanned the clouds below his "invisible" bomber. A tall, ruggedly handsome man of thirty-six, Matthews unzipped the top of his flight suit, stretched the underlying turtleneck, and rubbed his irritated skin.

"Shadow Three Seven, Mystic," drawled a deep voice with a southern twang.

"Three Seven," replied the Stealth's copilot, Maj. Paul Tyler Evans.

"Ghost Two Five is closing from your eight o'clock, three miles," responded the airborne controller in the orbiting Boeing E-3C AWACS. The four-engine warning and control aircraft, operating from the 552d AWAC Wing at Tinker Air Force Base, Oklahoma, was 115 miles southwest of the B-2.

Evans keyed his radio mike, heard the voice scrambler hum, then spoke. "We've got a radar lock."

The copilot, a recently qualified B-2 aircraft commander, watched the radar display for a few seconds, then keyed his mike again. "Should have a visual shortly."

"Concur, Three Seven," the airborne warning and control officer replied. "Ghost Two Five will be up your frequency in fifteen seconds."

Chuck Matthews glanced at his copilot, then back to the civilian tech-rep occupying the cramped third seat. The new bomber, afte
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inal air force testing, would be configured for a two-man flight crew.

Shadow 37, the sixth B-2 off the Northrop assemblyie, was undergoing a series of technical evaluations before final acceptance by the Strategic Air Command (SAC). For the present, the aircraft had been fitted with three crew seats.

The subcontractor-supplied electronics specialist was responsible for certification of a half-dozen electronic warfare systems. He checked the laser radar and the infrared detectors, then adjusted the covert strike radar.

"Ready, Larry?" Matthews asked the slight, bespectacled man in the aft seat.

"All set, colonel. Avionics automation up," Lawrence M. Simmons answered nervously, trying to quell his anxiety. He could feel his pulse racing as he contemplated executing his mission. The dimmed cockpit lights masked the tension on his face. Frail, prematurely gray at thirty-two, Simmons knew instinctively that after today his life would never be the same. He would finally receive the respect he deserved. He hoped that the other two crew members had not noticed his shaking hands.

Chuck Matthews, aircraft commander of the advanced technology bomber, checked the bright radar screen, then keyed his mike. "Ghost Two Five," Matthews paused, glancing over his left shoulder through the cockpit side window, "we have a radar lock at our eight o'clock, two and a half miles."

The radio scrambler hummed as a new voice, crisp and articulate, sounded in the helmets of the Stealth crew. "That's us, Shadow," responded the aircraft commander of the Rockwell B-1 B strategic bomber. "Are you on top?"

"That's affirm, Ghost Two Five," Matthews answered quietly, searching visually for their teammate. "We show you out of thirty-three point two. You should break out in a couple hundred feet."

"Roger," the B-1B pilot radioed, still flying in instrument conditions.

Both air force aircraft, although different in appearance, size, and mission capability, would be operating as a team during the joint
United States/Canadian forces Operation Veil. The purpose of the operation was to evaluate each bomber's ability to penetrate random radar defenses, survive the simulated bombing raid, then safely egress from the target area.

The new Stealth bomber continued to be a controversial subject on Capitol Hill, openly criticized by various lawmakers. Most of the political opposition centered around the diminishing Soviet threat, along with the procurement cost of the Northrop B-2. Not lost in the controversy, and discounting cost overruns, was the undeniable fact that Soviet leaders had been frightened by the supersecret advanced technology bomber.

The outdated B-52 bomber had a large radar cross section (RCS) of approximately 1,080 square feet. Soviet air defense radar systems could locate the aging craft hundreds of miles from any intended destination.

The Rockwell B-1B, with engines mounted at the far end of long, curving inlet ducts, presented an RCS of less than 11 square feet. Advanced Soviet radar units, airborne and on the surface, could still provide a minimal amount of warning time against the B-1 Bs.

As shocking as the B-1B radar cross section news had been for the Russians, the RCS report on the B-2 had been devastating. The dreaded Stealth strategic bomber had an RCS the size of a small bird. Soviet radar experts, using small drones to duplicate the radar cross section of the B-2, had confirmed that their long-wave radars were incapable of detecting the Stealth bomber. The Russian radar sites KNIFE RESTS and TALL KINGS glimpsed the intruders occasionally but could not track the aircraft at long range. When the stealth decoys closed on the long-wave sites, the radar units lost the drones completely.

The Kremlin military planners knew that the "invisible" B-2 could become their Trojan horse. An unseen, undetectable, airborne nuclear nightmare. Thwarting the Stealth bomber would be akin to sparring with an invisible opponent.

A tight cadre of top Russian scientists and technicians, along with their military counterparts, had worked feverishly to develop a similar stealth aircraft. The Soviets had discovered the basic technological ingredients--carbon fiber and composite materials--to make an aircraft invisible, but the final solution had evaded even the brightest of the distinguished academicians.

Soviet scientists and engineers had reached an impasse in the area of constructing radar-transparent and radar-absorbent materials (RAM) into airframe components strong enough to withstand high-altitude, high-speed flight. But Vladimir Golodnikov, director of the KGB, had devised a daring operation to break the deadlock and gain the stealth technology for the Rodina--the Motherland.

The setting sun forced the Stealth's pilot to squint as he watched the B-1B emerge slowly from the puffy overcast. First the tail, like the dorsal fin of a shark, then the cockpit became visible from the tops of the pea green clouds.

"Okay, Ghost," Matthews radioed, banking the B-2 into the approaching strategic bomber. "I've got a visual."

"Roger, Shadow Three Seven," the B-1B copilot replied. "We have a tally."

The B-1B pilot stared at the odd-looking aircraft for a moment, thinking that the slate gray B-2 resembled a boomerang with a saw blade attached to the trailing edge. Eleven control surfaces, comprising 15 percent of the total wing area, were mounted across the entire aft section of the irregular wing. A powerful 4,000-psi hydraulic system actuated the large flight controls.

At the outboard edge of each wing were split rudders, each having upper and lower sections that moved separately. If the split rudder on one side opened and the other remained closed, the drag would increase on the open side and the Stealth would turn in that direction. If both split rudders on each wing tip were opened at the same time, the four large sections would act as speed brakes.

Three elevons were mounted on each wing, with one adjacent to the split rudders at each tip. The six large panels, although separated mechanically for safety, worked in unison to stabilize the B-2. The elevons functioned as both elevators and flaps.

The "beaver tail" was mounted at the center of the sawtoot
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lying wing. The pointed tail moved up and down to help trim the Stealth bomber longitudinally. Four General Electric F-118 engines were buried deep in the flying wing, aft of the molded cockpit, to prevent radar waves from bouncing off the spinning turbine blades.

The batlike airplane did not have a conventional vertical stabilizer, necessitating the installation of a small yaw-angle sensor on top of the cockpit.

Every pilot who had flown the B-2 loved the flying characteristics and the stability. Most crew members felt that the aircraft had fighterlike control stick forces.

The B-1B pilot grinned, then checked his closure speed on the "Batmobile."

"Colonel," Evans said over the aircraft intercom system (ICS). "We're fifteen from the initial point, and we have computer alignment."

Matthews, who had been a major five days before, was still uncomfortable with his new rank. He had not had an opportunity, being on deployment, to change the gold oak leaves on his flight jacket. The new silver leaves would have to wait until he returned to Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri, his home field.

"Okay," Matthews replied, "let's go heads up. Nav lights out." The well-built, sandy-haired pilot adjusted his helmet chin strap, then looked at Evans. "Checklist."

The copilot placed the three-position master mode switch in the go to war setting. The flight controls now operated in a "stealth" mode, the radio emitters were turned off, and the weapons systems were readied.

Larry Simmons, wearing an unadorned air force issue flight suit, looked nervously around the cockpit. He felt a constriction in his chest but dismissed the pain as psychosomatic.

Simmons finally forced himself to look forward between the helmets of the two bomber pilots. They appeared to be totally relaxed, completing their descent checklist.

"Shadow Three Seven," radioed the AWACS senior control officer. "Strangle your parrot in thirty seconds--mark!"

"Wilco," Evans responded, looking at the new digital watch his wife had given him on their tenth anniversary. "Stop squawk in thirty seconds. Three Seven."

Matthews, turning his head slightly, watched the B-1B as the dark camouflaged bomber settled into a loose formation to the left of the Stealth. The sun was descending over the Canadian horizon, turning the rugged terrain below the overcast into night.

"Ghost Two Five," the AWACS controller ordered, "turn left to three-zero-five, descend to your strike profile, and stop squawk out of flight level three-one-zero. Good hunting."

"Roger, Mystic," replied the B-1B copilot. "We're outta thirty-five, comin' left to three-oh-five."

The sinister-looking strategic bomber simultaneously rolled to the left and descended toward the black, eerie overcast. Neither bomber crew would communicate with anyone until the four-hourfifteen-minute mission had been completed. Only an emergency would take precedence over the sortie. The order from the AWACS controller to "stop squawk" provided the bomber pilots with the opportunity to disappear--literally vanish--from any type of radar that might be tracking the aircraft. When the crews turned off their transponders, their radar signatures disappeared.

Transponders, used by most aircraft, both civilian and military, provided a means for air traffic controllers to keep aircraft separated in the crowded skies. Ground controllers assigned a different four-digit code to each aircraft. Transponders provided position and altitude information, making them invaluable in an organized and civilized environment. They were, however, a death knell in a combat arena.

The B-1B was not completely stealthy, but it would be almost impossible to distinguish the bomber from radar ground clutter during a low-level attack. The B-1B had been designed to penetrate deep into hostile territory, hugging the terrain at supersonic speeds, deploy nuclear cruise missiles, then egress the same way.

"Now," ordered the stocky, dark-haired copilot, glancing over his left shoulder at Simmons, who had access to a third transponder.

The normal transponder, with a primary and a secondary transmitter, was located on the console between the pilots' seats. A single-head backup transponder, with a separate, power supply, had been installed for the testing and evaluation of each B-2. The Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) had insisted on the third transponder for safety reasons. If the normal system, primary and secondary, failed during a test flight, the backup transponder would provide a means for ground controllers to follow the Stealth.

"Number three off," Simmons answered in a pensive, quiet manner.

Paul Evans sensed that something was wrong. "You okay, Larry?" Evans asked, half turning his head.

"Yeah," the diminutive technician answered, averting his eyes. Perspiration soaked his sage green flight suit. "Must've been the burritos I ate."

"Here we go," Matthews said as he lowered the Stealth's nose and reduced power on the four General Electric engines.

"We're only four seconds off," Evans reported, writing on his knee board.

"Computer tracking?" Matthews asked his right-seater.

"You bet, boss," Evans answered, smiling under his oxygen mask. "Locked on like a poor bachelor at a rich widows' convention."

Matthews chuckled softly as Shadow 37 penetrated the dense cloud cover, rocking gently in the light turbulence. The airspeed was passing 440 knots as the covert strike radar began to see "enemy" radar emissions.

Simmons squirmed in his seat, clearly ill at ease, as he adjusted the setting in his transponder head. The tech-rep fumbled with three circuit breakers, one for each transponder, then pulled all three and placed clips over the two marked primary and secondary. He then placed the temporary transponder switch to the on position, patted his zippered thigh pocket, and wiped his forehead with the back of his flight glove.