Getting to know the RB-47
by
Ben White
THE 55th GETTING TO KNOW THE RB-47H
When I checked into my new
assignment to the 343rd SRS, 55th SRW at Forbes AFB, KS, in the fall of
1955, I was excited and enthusiastic about crewing on a new, all-jet
aircraft. I was a 33-year old first lieutenant, married, who had just spent
three years as a crow on RB-36s based at Ellsworth AFB. Approximately half
of that time was as a raven one.
A number of crows from
After several weeks of
paper shuffling and equipment orientation, I was assigned to a crew. During
the equipment orientation I discovered that the ECM equipment I would be
using was not very different from that in the RB-36.
Eugenius Zeisjof Dziejowski
was my AC, a diminutive 5-foot, jovial captain from
Bachelor Huey Waple, a
first lieutenant from
Gene and I had seen combat
service with the Army Air Forces during World War II. The other crewmembers
had not. Gene, I think, had flown in the
A primary objective of my
first mission in the RB-47H was an orientation for me and another raven one,
my buddy Ted Mitchell.
The ECM instructor for our
initial flight was Captain John McCaffrey. To say that John McCaffrey was a
colorful character is like saying that Curtis Lemay was a pilot. He had the
black hair, brows and mustache of a riverboat gambler. His visored cap
didn't have a 50-mission crush, it had a 500-mission crush. The sharp edge
of his
On non-flying days, at noon
John and his buddies could be found in the officers' club bar in a noisy
game of hearts, the Japanese phrases bouncing off the wall.
At the aircraft John
introduced us to the RB-47H. He showed us the hinged hatch on the plane's
forward left side through which all crew members entered and exited. When
opened, a telescoping ladder was revealed. You climbed this ladder to reach
an aisle which accessed the navigator's position in the nose and the two
pilot's positions some four feet above.
He pointed out a steel
spoiler door on the forward side of the hatch opening. If the crew were to
bail out, rather than eject, the AC would activate the spoiler door.
Compressed air would thrust this spoiler door downward into the air stream
so that air pressure would not prevent the crew from exiting the hatch. The
pilots had upward ejection seats. The navigator and ravens had downward
ejecting seats.
Three positions in the
aisle, where the ravens would sit during takeoffs and landings, were
equipped with slings of webbing. The ravens sat on the floor leaning back
into these slings. John pointed out that each raven would be plugged into
the intercom but only the raven one would have a mike.
John explained that,
shortly after takeoff, the AC would depressurize the plane and put it in
level flight for a few minutes during which time the ravens would open a
roll-type hatch above the telescoped ladder, take a giant step across the
empty space above the hinged hatch, open a small door and enter a cramped
tunnel leading aft to the ECM compartment. In the ECM compartment (which in
a bomber version of the aircraft was the bomb bay) the ravens would close
the compartment door, buckle into their seats and notify the AC that they
were in position. Forward and ECM compartments had separate pressurization
systems. The raven one controlled ECM compartment pressurizing.
In our hard hats, oxygen
masks, bulky flight suits, jackets and parachutes with bailout bottles
(cylinders of compressed oxygen needed during high altitude bailout), we
were a tight fit as we positioned ourselves for this muggy, summer night
takeoff (SAC never began a training mission during business hours.)
As I settled into my sling,
sitting on the floor in the aisle, with Ted in front of me and John behind,
centered in the cacophonous vortex of six screaming jet engines, deafening
even inside the plane and with earphones in my hard plastic helmet padded
with sponge rubber, it is not an exaggeration to say that my sensory
equipment was experiencing overload. I had some apprehensions about the
complete safety of my person. I had certain anxieties. You could truthfully
say I was afraid of this airplane. Subsequent events illustrated that I was
not alone in my trepidation.
Takeoff was uneventful. At
an altitude of a few hundred feet, the aircraft leveled off and the AC told
us over the intercom to proceed to the ECM compartment. John opened the
hatch and crawled through the door into the tunnel leading aft. I followed
taking great care to secure a tight grip on handholds while crossing the
ladder well. I feared that if I should fall upon the hatch, it might open
and drop me out into the black
Halfway through the tunnel,
I felt my chute snag onto something and suddenly I was surrounded by billows
of white silk (maybe nylon). During my training I had fully accepted the
maxim that a parachute should not be deployed inside an aircraft. Yet I had
inadvertently done so. My chute had opened. Ted, following me, was shrouded
in my parachute. I struggled to gather armloads of parachute cloth and stuff
it ahead of me into the ECM compartment. Inside the compartment, I got out
of my parachute harness and managed to wind shroud lines about the material
and to form it into a sloppy bundle that I stowed out of the way.
Ted closed and latched the
door and John explained to the AC how things were going with the three
stooges in our end of the airplane.
The AC told John to
pressurize, which he did. The moment he flipped the pressurization control
white vapor poured from the air vents engulfing the cabin. The three of us
instantly concluded that smoke was issuing from the vents. Because the ECM
cabin was surrounded by fuel tanks, this idea was panic-loaded. When John
reported this to the AC, Gene made the lightning decision to order us to
depressurize and move forward. This we did without anything dramatic
happening. Twenty minutes after takeoff, the ECM portion of the mission had
been scrapped. The mission continued, with us ravens in slings forward.
Over the intercom the
pilots were discussing the poor performance of number four engine. After a
few minutes number four was shut down. When this information was radioed to
the 55th command post, the AC was ordered to abort the mission and return to
base. Shortly thereafter, a counter-decision was issued: Proceed to Hunter
AFB, SC. This apparently was based upon weather conditions at Forbes and the
presumed availability of either repair or replacement of our defective
engine, Hunter being a B-47 base.
I was totally unprepared
for our descent (or penetration, in jet-speak) to Hunter. John McCaffrey had
not told me, nor had anyone else, that in going from 35,000 feet to 5,000
feet a B-47 didn't fly to the lower altitude. It went into a virtual free
fall, the wings and stabilizer providing no lift. As we hurtled quietly
downward, I was aghast that any flying organization as professional as
Curtis Lemay's SAC would even consider such a mindless maneuver. Had I been
given the choice at that point of continuing my flying career or walking
safely away from it, I would have give it serious consideration.
We landed at Hunter in
Saturday's wee hours, no SAC rarity.
The Hunter officers' club
was conveniently located just across the street from our BOQ. Ted and I,
sharing a room, arose Sunday morning in time to get some breakfast there. On
entering the club, an elderly man clad in suit and tie, dressed for church I
thought, was busily arranging a beautiful display of, to me at least, exotic
flowering plants. I commented that this was a splendid display to someone
else who had paused to admire it. That person whispered that the old
gentleman was Major General Somebody who had a command relationship with
Hunter's past. I walked over to him and said, "They're beautiful. Did you
raise them?" "I didn't steal them," he responded crustily. So much for
southern gentility.
We learned that our engine
could not be repaired at Hunter and that a replacement would take a few days
to deliver. With only flight uniforms and no toilet kits, we were in a poor
position to enjoy our unplanned sojourn. This was neither the first nor the
last such experience for any of us.
We bought toothbrushes and
razors, we read, we went to movies, we ate at the officers' club. We called
home and talked to our families. After several days of this we began to go
stir crazy. The three crows and the navigator decided to make a foray into
Someone on base had
recommended the food at an antebellum, architecturally impressive hotel in
downtown
After a martini or two,
John McCaffrey hit his tale-telling stride and regaled us with one war story
after another about TDY in the Land of the Rising Sun.
We were relaxing after our
tasty meal, our boredom from the monotony of days in the BOQ having
evaporated.
"I think I'll have a
cigar," John declared. "And I believe I'll have some brandy," I responded as
we placed these orders with our deep-voiced waiter.
Minutes later, he
approached the table with cigar and brandy snifter on a silver salver. With
a flourish, he handed John his cigar and asked imperiously, "Which one gets
the COGNACK?"
We waited six days for a
replacement engine and its installation. The ECM compartment pressurization
system was checked out and deemed safe. The vapor was determined to have
been moisture that had condensed under pressure. The ravens planned a
mission for the homeward bound flight and all went well until we reached
When we reached level off,
all three ravens transited the tunnel, door and hatch without incident. We
got into our landing positions and John closed the hatch. I felt proud as
punch that I had mastered my job on the RB-47H. All of my earlier anxieties
had been for naught
C
A careful check of
instruments and crew conditions revealed no unsafe indicators.
What we deduced was that in
my moving to landing position, the tube had somehow been pinched and that
the green knob, which I would have pulled to provide oxygen to my mask in
case of bailout at altitude, had been pulled. It apparently had hung up on
one of a number of control cables running along inside the fuselage next to
my takeoff and landing position. When I sat down, I pulled the knob, opening
the valve in the bailout bottle. Oxygen under high pressure gushed into the
rubber hose that was pinched. It ballooned until it went KERBLAM.
That was my introduction to
the finest military aircraft on which I ever flew as a crew member. In time
I even slept through the penetration.
.........................................................Ben White ,
Corolla, NC
