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Couple of interesting aviation stories.
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The Air Force decision to give incentive pay to their Unmanned Aerial Vehicle operators certainly makes sense. However, Air Force's announcement that UAV operators would qualify for flight pay has been met with some controversy.
As one retired USAF four-star opined, "I believe the personnel and PA folks who wrote this release would have been better served had they not used the term 'flight pay,' but it was their computer and their task."
The officers and enlisted sensor operators clearly deserve a unique Air Force Specialty and pay for the extremely high skills and training required to fly and control the expanding Air Force inventory of UAVs.
The Air Force says the decision has broken down barriers to career field differences and flight pay eligibility -- but what barriers did it build?
Surely the Air Force could develop a professional, sustainable UAV population to handle whatever combat requirements the mission calls for, now and in the future, without granting them equal status to those Airmen who are actually engaged in manned aerial operations.
To put console operators on a par (status and incentive pay) with past and current rated officers and enlisted personnel on flying status seems a bit much. It sort of reminds me of the Army decision to allow everyone to wear "special forces" berets.
Do UAV pilots actually fly UAVs, or just control them electronically? A pilot, for example, is the person in the cockpit of an A-10 Warthog bearing down on a column of Iraq army tanks, while taking direct missile and ground fire.
If you are a "dead" butt in a B-52, F-15, F-16, C-5, C-141 or any other manned weapons system, you are a traditional crewmember. You understand a max load takeoff on a short runway in a rainstorm, a hot landing in an ice storm, SAMs on the way, wind shear, or the concussion of an exploding rocket off your wingtip. It's hard to imagine a UAV operator feeling the rising pucker factor of that type airmanship.
During WWII, 52,173 Airmen were killed in action. Another 13,093 Airmen lost their lives in aircraft accidents. Those aircrews set the standard for all others that followed. Korea, Vietnam, Kosovo, Iraq and all aerial combat and support missions in between.
A friend and former B-52 pilot thinks a few of our current pilots and aircrew members will just be amused at a UAV crew being compared to them. Others will not. However, one thing he was sure of is when the UAV "pilots" go to the bar they will have their own corner uncluttered by airborne pilots, weapon system operators, navigators, or electronic warfare officers.
While pilots talk with their hands showing how they bank and maneuver the aerospace vehicle they are strapped to, will a UAV systems operator likewise slide his chair and wiggle his joystick?
Will we have to come up with new decorations? For the Distinguished Flying Cross shall we create the Distinguished Sitting Cross for "meritorious activity while under seriously remote hostile fire?"
Since there will be no requirements to shield the UAV Operators from high altitude cold, as an added retention incentive the Air Force could provide them with a fake leather jacket, like Naugahyde, for fake pilots.
Perhaps the cadre of space cadets tracking the thousands of pieces of junk orbiting the earth could be included in the great flight pay giveaway as well.
Kidding aside, the UAV operators and controllers could provide a majority of our future reconnaissance, strike and combat operations.
That capability -- if not usurped by enemy hackers wresting control of the UAVs remote systems -- is, no doubt, the future of air combat operations.
Until then we need to give our airborne weapons systems flying devils their due -- they deserve every bit of respect, admiration, animosity, and disdain we can heap on them.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot via Plane and Pilot Magazine
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question
I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more
speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute =
2100 nautical Miles Per Hour.
Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual "high" speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let's just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn't previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, "what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?" This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.
I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron
Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we
scooted
across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach.
No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.
Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing.
Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field-yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of
the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray
overcast.
Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges.
As I
noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the
shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.
Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.
After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet's hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of "breathtaking" very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since "the pass."
Finally,
Walter looked at me and said, "One hundred fifty-six knots.
What did you see?" Trying to find my voice, I stammered, "One hundred fifty-two." We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, "Don't ever do that to me again!" And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer's club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71
fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story
included kids
falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred.
Walt just shook his head and said, "It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane." Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories.
It's ironic that people are interested in how slow the world's fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it's always a good idea to keep that cross-check up.and keep your Mach up, too.
Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Air Force decision to give incentive pay to their Unmanned Aerial Vehicle operators certainly makes sense. However, Air Force's announcement that UAV operators would qualify for flight pay has been met with some controversy.
As one retired USAF four-star opined, "I believe the personnel and PA folks who wrote this release would have been better served had they not used the term 'flight pay,' but it was their computer and their task."
The officers and enlisted sensor operators clearly deserve a unique Air Force Specialty and pay for the extremely high skills and training required to fly and control the expanding Air Force inventory of UAVs.
The Air Force says the decision has broken down barriers to career field differences and flight pay eligibility -- but what barriers did it build?
Surely the Air Force could develop a professional, sustainable UAV population to handle whatever combat requirements the mission calls for, now and in the future, without granting them equal status to those Airmen who are actually engaged in manned aerial operations.
To put console operators on a par (status and incentive pay) with past and current rated officers and enlisted personnel on flying status seems a bit much. It sort of reminds me of the Army decision to allow everyone to wear "special forces" berets.
Do UAV pilots actually fly UAVs, or just control them electronically? A pilot, for example, is the person in the cockpit of an A-10 Warthog bearing down on a column of Iraq army tanks, while taking direct missile and ground fire.
If you are a "dead" butt in a B-52, F-15, F-16, C-5, C-141 or any other manned weapons system, you are a traditional crewmember. You understand a max load takeoff on a short runway in a rainstorm, a hot landing in an ice storm, SAMs on the way, wind shear, or the concussion of an exploding rocket off your wingtip. It's hard to imagine a UAV operator feeling the rising pucker factor of that type airmanship.
During WWII, 52,173 Airmen were killed in action. Another 13,093 Airmen lost their lives in aircraft accidents. Those aircrews set the standard for all others that followed. Korea, Vietnam, Kosovo, Iraq and all aerial combat and support missions in between.
A friend and former B-52 pilot thinks a few of our current pilots and aircrew members will just be amused at a UAV crew being compared to them. Others will not. However, one thing he was sure of is when the UAV "pilots" go to the bar they will have their own corner uncluttered by airborne pilots, weapon system operators, navigators, or electronic warfare officers.
While pilots talk with their hands showing how they bank and maneuver the aerospace vehicle they are strapped to, will a UAV systems operator likewise slide his chair and wiggle his joystick?
Will we have to come up with new decorations? For the Distinguished Flying Cross shall we create the Distinguished Sitting Cross for "meritorious activity while under seriously remote hostile fire?"
Since there will be no requirements to shield the UAV Operators from high altitude cold, as an added retention incentive the Air Force could provide them with a fake leather jacket, like Naugahyde, for fake pilots.
Perhaps the cadre of space cadets tracking the thousands of pieces of junk orbiting the earth could be included in the great flight pay giveaway as well.
Kidding aside, the UAV operators and controllers could provide a majority of our future reconnaissance, strike and combat operations.
That capability -- if not usurped by enemy hackers wresting control of the UAVs remote systems -- is, no doubt, the future of air combat operations.
Until then we need to give our airborne weapons systems flying devils their due -- they deserve every bit of respect, admiration, animosity, and disdain we can heap on them.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot via Plane and Pilot Magazine
As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question
I'm most often asked is "How fast would that SR-71 fly?" I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It's an interesting question, given the aircraft's proclivity for speed, but there really isn't one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more
speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute =
2100 nautical Miles Per Hour.
Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual "high" speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let's just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn't previously seen.
So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, "what was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?" This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and relayed the following.
I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron
Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we
scooted
across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach.
No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refueling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.
Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing.
Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field-yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of
the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray
overcast.
Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn't see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges.
As I
noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren't really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the
shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane leveled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.
Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn't say a word for those next 14 minutes.
After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet's hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of "breathtaking" very well that morning, and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.
As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn't spoken a word since "the pass."
Finally,
Walter looked at me and said, "One hundred fifty-six knots.
What did you see?" Trying to find my voice, I stammered, "One hundred fifty-two." We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, "Don't ever do that to me again!" And I never did.
A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer's club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71
fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story
included kids
falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred.
Walt just shook his head and said, "It was probably just a routine low approach; they're pretty impressive in that plane." Impressive indeed.
Little did I realize after relaying this experience to my audience that day that it would become one of the most popular and most requested stories.
It's ironic that people are interested in how slow the world's fastest jet can fly. Regardless of your speed, however, it's always a good idea to keep that cross-check up.and keep your Mach up, too.
Brian Shul, Retired SR-71 Pilot