Cuthbert said. The Excalibur made another low pass, thankfully not in ear-shattering afterburner this time, then maneuvered in the runway traffic pattern to set up for landing—he couldn’t take his eyes off the sleek, menacing-looking bird. “So, how many of those things can you build?”
“There were twenty-six B-1s at AMARG in flyable storage, plus another nineteen airframes not flyable and designated for spare parts,” Patrick said. “There are just six B-1Bs in the inventory now—all the rest were lost in the American Holocaust or the counterattack. We’ve refurbished two B-1s that were in storage already, on our own dime. Out of the twenty-four flyable airframes left at AMARG, we’ve identified twenty suitable for refurbishment, for a total of twenty-two planes—two set aside for training and two squadrons of ten birds.”
“And how long did it take you to refurbish the two you’ve done?”
“About eight months.”
“ Eight months? No friggin’ way, sir! One plane refurbished in just eight months?”
“We did both planes in eight months, Cutlass,” Patrick said, smiling as he saw Cuthbert’s stunned expression. “Assuming we don’t find any major problems with the airframes, it will be quicker than that for the next batch. As I said, we don’t really do that much to them—the engines, avionics, and AESA radar are practically plug-and-play, and we have a large staff of some of the best and most experienced engineers and technicians in the country. We’ve already got the engines, and the Air Force gives us equipment already in their inventory—literally off-the-shelf—so there’s no waiting for suppliers.”
The XB-1 had landed and was now taxiing toward them. While Patrick and Cuthbert donned flying helmets, a ground crewman in a light blue flight suit with an orange safety vest trotted out, wearing a headset and safety goggles and carrying bright yellow marshaling batons, and he directed the Excalibur bomber to its parking spot. Patrick plugged his helmet-mounted headset to a portable radio and keyed the mic: “How did it go, Colonel?” he asked.
“Flew like a homesick angel, General,” came the reply. “Coming aboard?”
“You bet we are,” Patrick said. “Keep ’em running. I’ll get the ladder.” Patrick motioned for Cuthbert to follow him, and together they walked up to the bomber. Patrick clasped the ground crewman’s shoulder as he stepped past him; Cuthbert shook hands with him, then looked at him quizzically as he headed to the plane. Patrick unlocked the entry ladder control lever on the nosegear door, then activated a switch that extended the boarding ladder, and he and Cuthbert climbed up. Patrick opened the hatch to the crew compartment, and they entered the aircraft.
The first area they stepped into, the systems officers’ compartment, was incredibly spacious, because the ejection seats and instruments had all been removed. “No offensive or defensive systems operators on a big-ass jet like this . . . pretty amazing,” Cuthbert shouted through the noise of the big idling engines. “Those systems are controlled from the ground now?”
“Yep,” Patrick replied, “just like the sensor operators do with Reapers, Avengers, and other remotely piloted attack aircraft. The aircraft commander can also do a lot of the en route navigation chores from the cockpit, and the mission commander can control the Sniper targeting pod if necessary. The defensive suite is pretty much automatic. So it wasn’t that great a leap—the Vampires switched to just two crewmembers years ago. Datalink technology is so sophisticated now that operating the offensive and defensive suites from the ground are the closest to real-time we can get. In an emergency, the pilots can operate the Sniper targeting pod and locate their own targets and manually fire chaff and flares and activate the jammers. I’ll show you the electronics bays after we get back—we’ve eliminated about
“There were twenty-six B-1s at AMARG in flyable storage, plus another nineteen airframes not flyable and designated for spare parts,” Patrick said. “There are just six B-1Bs in the inventory now—all the rest were lost in the American Holocaust or the counterattack. We’ve refurbished two B-1s that were in storage already, on our own dime. Out of the twenty-four flyable airframes left at AMARG, we’ve identified twenty suitable for refurbishment, for a total of twenty-two planes—two set aside for training and two squadrons of ten birds.”
“And how long did it take you to refurbish the two you’ve done?”
“About eight months.”
“ Eight months? No friggin’ way, sir! One plane refurbished in just eight months?”
“We did both planes in eight months, Cutlass,” Patrick said, smiling as he saw Cuthbert’s stunned expression. “Assuming we don’t find any major problems with the airframes, it will be quicker than that for the next batch. As I said, we don’t really do that much to them—the engines, avionics, and AESA radar are practically plug-and-play, and we have a large staff of some of the best and most experienced engineers and technicians in the country. We’ve already got the engines, and the Air Force gives us equipment already in their inventory—literally off-the-shelf—so there’s no waiting for suppliers.”
The XB-1 had landed and was now taxiing toward them. While Patrick and Cuthbert donned flying helmets, a ground crewman in a light blue flight suit with an orange safety vest trotted out, wearing a headset and safety goggles and carrying bright yellow marshaling batons, and he directed the Excalibur bomber to its parking spot. Patrick plugged his helmet-mounted headset to a portable radio and keyed the mic: “How did it go, Colonel?” he asked.
“Flew like a homesick angel, General,” came the reply. “Coming aboard?”
“You bet we are,” Patrick said. “Keep ’em running. I’ll get the ladder.” Patrick motioned for Cuthbert to follow him, and together they walked up to the bomber. Patrick clasped the ground crewman’s shoulder as he stepped past him; Cuthbert shook hands with him, then looked at him quizzically as he headed to the plane. Patrick unlocked the entry ladder control lever on the nosegear door, then activated a switch that extended the boarding ladder, and he and Cuthbert climbed up. Patrick opened the hatch to the crew compartment, and they entered the aircraft.
The first area they stepped into, the systems officers’ compartment, was incredibly spacious, because the ejection seats and instruments had all been removed. “No offensive or defensive systems operators on a big-ass jet like this . . . pretty amazing,” Cuthbert shouted through the noise of the big idling engines. “Those systems are controlled from the ground now?”
“Yep,” Patrick replied, “just like the sensor operators do with Reapers, Avengers, and other remotely piloted attack aircraft. The aircraft commander can also do a lot of the en route navigation chores from the cockpit, and the mission commander can control the Sniper targeting pod if necessary. The defensive suite is pretty much automatic. So it wasn’t that great a leap—the Vampires switched to just two crewmembers years ago. Datalink technology is so sophisticated now that operating the offensive and defensive suites from the ground are the closest to real-time we can get. In an emergency, the pilots can operate the Sniper targeting pod and locate their own targets and manually fire chaff and flares and activate the jammers. I’ll show you the electronics bays after we get back—we’ve eliminated about
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