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Authors: Dale Brown
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three-quarters of the line-replaceable units the jet originally had.”
As the two stood aside in the empty systems officers’ compartment, a woman appeared through the tunnel connecting the systems officers’ compartment and cockpit and maneuvered herself between them. “Colonel Cuthbert, I’d like to introduce you to Sondra Eddington, part of the Excalibur flight test crew,” Patrick said. Cuthbert shook her hand. Even wearing bulky flying gear, Cuthbert could see how extremely attractive Eddington was.
“Nice to meet you, Colonel,” Eddington said. “Have a nice flight.”
“You’re not coming with us, Miss Eddington?”
“I don’t want to know what General McLanahan is going to do on your hop, sir,” she said with a bright smile, “but I know he wants to water your eyes. I’ll see you when you get back.” She gave him a surprising and alluring wink, then headed through the hatch and down the ladder.
“I’ll get in first so I can hold the brakes, and then you switch with the AC,” Patrick said to Cuthbert, and he headed up to the cockpit, shook hands with the pilot, then began to strap into the copilot’s ejection seat. After he was strapped in, the pilot unstrapped and headed aft. The guy was immense and filled up the narrow corridor between the cockpit and systems officers’ compartment. He went back to Cuthbert and shook his hand. “Colonel Cuthbert, I’m . . .”
“I know who you are: Colonel Thomas Hoffman, Operation Desert Fox, the B-1’s first operational deployment,” Cuthbert said. “You were the one who came up with the idea of launching Bones into ‘kill boxes’ without preplanned targets, getting target coordinates passed from other aircraft or special-ops guys on the ground. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Same, Colonel,” Hoffman said in a booming voice that was easy to hear even in the loud compartment. “Have a good one.” He started to move past Cuthbert.
“You’re not going with us either, Colonel?”
“You’re in good hands with McLanahan, Colonel—except for me and Sondra, he’s got more experience in Excaliburs and Vampires than almost anyone else on the patch,” Hoffman said. “I’ll see you later, sir. Have a nice flight.” Cuthbert had to retreat into the vacant offensive systems officers’ space so Hoffman could get by, and even so Hoffman’s broad shoulders brushed Cuthbert’s chest as he lumbered past.
After checking that the aft entry hatch was secure, Cuthbert ducked under the empty systems officers’ panel, past the crew rest compartment—he was happy to see that the Excalibur still had a relief pilot’s bunk, tiny galley, and chemical commode—then went up to the cockpit and looked around a bit before hoisting himself up into the aircraft commander’s seat. Both the pilot’s and copilot’s sides of the instrument panel had two twelve-inch color multifunction displays. On the pilot’s side, the left one was displaying flight information, with an artificial horizon on the top half and a horizontal situation indicator on the bottom; the right display showed a checklist, with electronic buttons and switches beside each line on the screen. There were two more MFDs in the center of the instrument panel between the pilot’s and copilot’s pairs with engine, fuel, electrical, and other systems’ readouts. Patrick’s MFDs displayed a moving map of the airport and his own checklist page. The center console between the seats contained most of the controls and switches he was familiar with. Rows of standby flight instruments were arrayed below the crewmembers’ MFDs.
Cuthbert strapped in and plugged in his headset cords and oxygen hose. “Quite a nice job with this instrument panel—it looks like a bizjet,” he said after checking in with Patrick on the intercom.
“All off-the-shelf stuff that most bizjets and airliners have been using for years,” Patrick said. “The checklists are mostly automated: you set normal or
As the two stood aside in the empty systems officers’ compartment, a woman appeared through the tunnel connecting the systems officers’ compartment and cockpit and maneuvered herself between them. “Colonel Cuthbert, I’d like to introduce you to Sondra Eddington, part of the Excalibur flight test crew,” Patrick said. Cuthbert shook her hand. Even wearing bulky flying gear, Cuthbert could see how extremely attractive Eddington was.
“Nice to meet you, Colonel,” Eddington said. “Have a nice flight.”
“You’re not coming with us, Miss Eddington?”
“I don’t want to know what General McLanahan is going to do on your hop, sir,” she said with a bright smile, “but I know he wants to water your eyes. I’ll see you when you get back.” She gave him a surprising and alluring wink, then headed through the hatch and down the ladder.
“I’ll get in first so I can hold the brakes, and then you switch with the AC,” Patrick said to Cuthbert, and he headed up to the cockpit, shook hands with the pilot, then began to strap into the copilot’s ejection seat. After he was strapped in, the pilot unstrapped and headed aft. The guy was immense and filled up the narrow corridor between the cockpit and systems officers’ compartment. He went back to Cuthbert and shook his hand. “Colonel Cuthbert, I’m . . .”
“I know who you are: Colonel Thomas Hoffman, Operation Desert Fox, the B-1’s first operational deployment,” Cuthbert said. “You were the one who came up with the idea of launching Bones into ‘kill boxes’ without preplanned targets, getting target coordinates passed from other aircraft or special-ops guys on the ground. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Same, Colonel,” Hoffman said in a booming voice that was easy to hear even in the loud compartment. “Have a good one.” He started to move past Cuthbert.
“You’re not going with us either, Colonel?”
“You’re in good hands with McLanahan, Colonel—except for me and Sondra, he’s got more experience in Excaliburs and Vampires than almost anyone else on the patch,” Hoffman said. “I’ll see you later, sir. Have a nice flight.” Cuthbert had to retreat into the vacant offensive systems officers’ space so Hoffman could get by, and even so Hoffman’s broad shoulders brushed Cuthbert’s chest as he lumbered past.
After checking that the aft entry hatch was secure, Cuthbert ducked under the empty systems officers’ panel, past the crew rest compartment—he was happy to see that the Excalibur still had a relief pilot’s bunk, tiny galley, and chemical commode—then went up to the cockpit and looked around a bit before hoisting himself up into the aircraft commander’s seat. Both the pilot’s and copilot’s sides of the instrument panel had two twelve-inch color multifunction displays. On the pilot’s side, the left one was displaying flight information, with an artificial horizon on the top half and a horizontal situation indicator on the bottom; the right display showed a checklist, with electronic buttons and switches beside each line on the screen. There were two more MFDs in the center of the instrument panel between the pilot’s and copilot’s pairs with engine, fuel, electrical, and other systems’ readouts. Patrick’s MFDs displayed a moving map of the airport and his own checklist page. The center console between the seats contained most of the controls and switches he was familiar with. Rows of standby flight instruments were arrayed below the crewmembers’ MFDs.
Cuthbert strapped in and plugged in his headset cords and oxygen hose. “Quite a nice job with this instrument panel—it looks like a bizjet,” he said after checking in with Patrick on the intercom.
“All off-the-shelf stuff that most bizjets and airliners have been using for years,” Patrick said. “The checklists are mostly automated: you set normal or
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