So, here we are on the last day of the make up, slinging these LGBs all over ranges in the southeast US, and missing half for a variety of reasons. I walk into the squadron at the beginning of my 12 hour duty period, to see that I’m on to lead a four ship of Pave Spike jets at the very end of the wing flying schedule for the day, on the last day of the make up ORI. The previous day’s scores were still iffy. As today progressed it wasn’t getting much better. There was just a tad bit of pressure building.
When the rest of the guys in my four ship showed in the squadron, I herded them to our flight briefing room for a pow wow. Of all days, today, we had to have our sh*t together and have it packed tightly in one sock. My normal Wizzo (the body condom expert) was flying with me. This guy had a photographic memory and was a math wizard. He was in charge of the mission planning and low level navigation for the route we would fly to the Elgin AFB ranges in the Florida panhandle, approximately 170 miles to the west. Normally, this would not be much of a fuel concern but, today we would each be carrying a 2,000 lb inert GBU-10 laser guided bomb with its $150,000 laser guidance package attached to the nose. The drag and weight of the bomb would result in higher than normal fuel consumption for the round trip. It was doable but, there wouldn’t be much to spare. We brief the mission, all of us doubled check the nav data card, the fuel, timing, and course numbers to the ranges. We use the total time to determine our takeoff time, flight to the low level start point/time in order to arrive at our IP (initial point) for the start of the attack and drop our bombs on the TOT (time on target).
We suit up, step to the jets, preflight, start up, taxi out, and arrive a few minutes early at the EOR (end of runway) checkpoint for one last look at the jets and removal of safety pins by the maintenance troops. Each jet checks good, eight thumbs up and we are a minute or so before our calculated takeoff time. I lead us onto the runway and line up in the pre briefed four ship formation. Watching the clock with anticipation (oh, did I mention, the wing is again about to fall on its butt again and we need TWO VALID BOMB HITS to pass this makeup ORI?). Our time is approaching, I give the spin up signal to check the engines, and at the predetermined time, I release brakes and push the throttles to the forward stops. Each jet is taking spacing for a trail departure and join up. I have dialed in a predetermined amount of rudder and aileron trim to counteract the asymmetrical drag of the 2,000 lbs of inert bomb hanging under our left wing.
We lift off and rejoin for the short trip south southwest to our low level start point. Joined up, everyone is looking good in the four ship route formation, each with the huge 2,000 pounder slung under the left wing. We’re gonna put some hurt on that dirt target at the Elgin range. I dial up a TACAN to reference the radial and distance of our start point in addition to ground references. As we are nearly at the start point, I glance at my cockpit clock that was synced with my watch that was synced with the other seven guys in the flight during the briefing. WE ARE 10 MINUTES EARLY from the time on the card that all eight of us doubled checked. I’m confused and bewildered as I ask my backseater how we did this. Frantically, he answers ”Just a minute! I’m double checking the times”, followed by a huge sighing “OH CRAP! There’s a ten minute addition error on the card”. As he says this, I’m looking at #2, #3, #4. Everyone is making various gestures of discovery at the same time. I call over the radio that we’re reducing to max endurance airspeed and will start on time. That was the l o n g e s t ten minutes in history.
Approaching the actual low level start time, I signal the flight to tactical formation and push the throttles up to attain our low level speed of 480 knots. My backseater is reworking time and fuel for the rest of the low level and attack. He says we’ll be good as long as no red air shows up along the way. “Red Air” is F-15s flown by IG guys out of Elgin AFB. If we see them, ROE states that we have to do a 90 degree turn off course to acknowledge them and continue the low level. Half way thru the low level, one of the backseater calls “Bandits, 12 o’clock high, tactical spread”. Sure enough, there they are. I initiate a 90 right for the flight and turn back on course. Now our fuel is not so good with absolutely now room for any more delay. We still have half the route to finish before reaching the IP, and then push the airspeed up to 540 knots for enough energy to pop up with our asymmetrical passenger to about 6,000 feet and complete the attack without exceeding the max carriage limit of 600 knots for the GBU-10. 600 knots was a good speed.
Faster forward. We’re up and in on the target. I’m watching on my repeater scope up front where my Wizzo has the laser pointed to confirm we’re looking at the same, correct spot. We are. Preceding the pop up, we’ve confirmed the bomb is selected and armed for release. With the nose down pointed at the target, I encourage the Rhino to settle in at 600 knots. This will give it the energy of a lightening bolt and go straight to the dirt target we are tasked to. At the computed release point, the beast comes off the wing. It feels like we’ve pickled off a Volkswagen. We watch the time of flight of our bomb in the scope while listening to the radio calls of the other three jets. Our bomb hits precisely on target, on time. Number two calls bomb away and we watch his hit precisely in the same spot as we translate our airspeed to altitude and zoom in a spiraling climb above the target. Number two follows us up. For mutual support and lasing of the target for the other guys in the event of an ill timed laser failure, we keep our aiming cue on the target and watch for subsequent bomb splashes on our scopes. Number three calls “Bomb away” followed shortly after by number four. Neither of their bombs hit in the field of view of our scopes. For some reason, both of their bombs went unguided and are probably still buried deep in the Florida panhandle forrest. As we climb to altitude, number four calls “Min fuel”. He’s been using more fuel getting cracked around at the end of the whip. I clear him off the flight, instruct him to contact center for for direct to Moody, and not hesitate to declare a fuel emergency if necessary. He makes it home without incident. The rest of us moseyed home with two hits and a miss.
Beer at the O’Club that night was especially tasty. We had just passed our ORI, barely.
Old fighter pilot saying, “I’d rather be lucky than good any day”.
