787 Features & Differences

The formatting is somewhat messed up, but it’s an interesting read, it shows how
aviation technology is progressing.

Post courtesy of 787 certified  Pilot… ‘John Doe’

Thanks John..

I just hope that in emergencies, the
pilots will be able to recognize what’s going on and take proper measures
to save the plane and its precious cargo, unlike the Air France pilots
whose training and situational awareness were so tragically flawed.
Over-reliance on technology can lead to complacency, confusion, and
Catastrophe.I just completed the first pilot training class on the 787 at United
Airlines, an airplane which is destined to replace the 767 and live
for many years after I retire. Here’s what I’ve learned in 787 training so
far. By the way, last night we passed our MV (maneuvers validation) check
ride, with emergency after emergency, and the FAA observing.

Tonight was our LOE
(line-oriented evaluation) [LOFT], again with FAA – this time 2 FAA
observers. It’s 0200 and I just got back to the hotel and poured a
well-earned glass of wine to celebrate. I now have a type rating in
the 787.

Phew. I’m pretty confident this will be the last one for me.
I’ve summarized some of the major differences and unique features
of the 787 versus more traditional “old school” airplanes like the 777 (not
kidding) – from the pilot’s viewpoint. Our “Differences” course
takes 11 days to gain an FAA type rating, which is a “common” type
rating with the 777.

The course has been like ‘drinking from a fire hose’,
but has finally come together. Some of our pilots attended Boeing’s 5-day
differences course, and deemed it unacceptable. The FAA approved the
Boeing 5-day course, but our guys decided it lacked too much information.
FAA is observing our check rides now, and taking our course as well, to
certify the training. We’re just the guinea pigs.

Computer nerds would describe the

787, as 17 computer servers packaged in a Kevlar frame. The central brains are

the Common Core System (CCS). Two Common Computing Resources (CCRs)

coordinate the communications of all the computer systems, isolating faults

and covering failed systems with working systems.

When battery power is first applied to the airplane in the morning,
it takes about 50 seconds for the LCCR to boot up. After this, a few displays
light up, and you can start the APU. If there is a major loss of cockpit
displays, this may require a CCR reboot, which would take about a minute.

Here are a few of the major features and differences from the 777.

Electrics – Though a smaller plane, the 787 has 4 times the electric
generating power of the 777 – 1.4 ‘Gigawatts’. Generators produce 235
VAC for the big power users.

Other systems use the traditional 115 VAC and 28 VDC.

There are 17 scattered Remote Power Distribution
Units which power about 900 loads throughout the plane. The big power
distribution system, is in the aft belly, along with a Power Electronics Cooling
System (PECS).

This is a liquid cooling system for the large motor, power
distribution system. There’s also an Integrated Cooling System (ICS),
which provides refrigerated air, for the galley carts and cabin air, and a
Miscellaneous Equipment Cooling System for Inflight Entertainment
Equipment.

IF 3 of the 4 engine generators fail, the APU starts itself. The APU
drives two generators, and can be operated up to the airplane’s max
altitude of 43 000 feet.

IFyou lose all 4 engine generators, the
RAT (ram air turbine) drops out (like a windmill), powering essential
buses. (It also provides hydraulic power to flight controls if needed).

IF you lose all 4 engine generators and the two APU generators (a
really bad day), you are down to Standby Power. The RAT will drop out and
provide power but even if it fails, you still have the autopilot and captain’s
flight director and instruments, FMC, 2 IRSs, VHF radios, etc.

IF you’re
down to batteries only, with no RAT, you’d better get it on the ground, as
battery time is limited. Brakes and anti-skid are electric – 28V – so you
don’t lose brakes or anti-skid, even when you’re down to just standby power.

Normal flight controls are hydraulic with a couple exceptions.

Engine driven and electric hydraulic pumps, operate at 5000 psi (versus normal
3000 psi), to allow for smaller tubing sizes and actuators, thus saving weight.

IF you lose all 3 hydraulic systems (another bad day), you still have two

spoiler panels on each wing which are electrically powered all the time, as

is the stabilizer trim. You can still fly the airplane (no flaps, though).

IF you’re having an even worse day and you lose all hydraulics and all generators, flight

control power is still coming from separate Permanent Magnet Generators

(PMGs) which produce power, even if both engines quit and are windmilling.

IF the PMGs fail, too, your flight controls will be powered by the 28 V standby bus.

IF you lose all 3 pitot/static systems or air data computers, the airplane
reverts to angle of attack speed (converts AOA to IAS), and this is
displayed on the normal PFDs (primary flight displays) airspeed indicator
tapes. GPS altitude is substituted for air data altitude and displayed on
the PFD altimeter tapes. Very convenient.

IF you lose both Attitude and Heading Reference Units (AHRUs), it
reverts to the standby instrument built-in attitude & heading gyro, but
displays this on both pilot’s PFDs for convenience.

IF you lose both Inertial Reference Units, it will substitute GPS
position, and nothing is lost.

IF someone turns one or both IRSs off in flight (I hate it when they do that),

you can realign them… as long as one of the GPSs is working!

There is No pneumatic system. The only engine bleed, is used for that
engine’s anti-ice. Wing anti-ice is electric. Each of two air conditioning
packs control two CACs, which are electric cabin air compressors. The
four CACs share two air inlets on the belly. Each pack controller controls
two CACs, but if a pack controller fails, the remaining pack controller takes
over control of all 4 CACs.

There are No circuit breakers in the cockpit. To check on them, or
if you get a message that one has opened (more likely), you select the CBIC
(circuit breaker indication and control) display on one of the MFDs

(multi function displays). There you can reset the virtual C/B if
it is an “electronic” circuit breaker. You can’t reset a popped
“thermal” circuit breaker.

IF you have an APU fire on the ground or inflight, the fire
extinguishing bottle is automatically discharged.

IF there is a cargo fire, the
first two, of seven bottles will automatically discharge also.

There’s a Nitrogen Generation System which provides Automatic full-
time flammability protection, by displacing fuel vapors in the fuel
tanks with Nitrogen.

Like the 767 and 777, the 787 also has full CPDLC capability
(controller-to-pilot datalink communications). In addition, its
full FANS capability includes ADS-B in & out. The controller can uplink speed,
heading and altitude changes to the airplane. These show up on a second line
right under the speed, heading and altitude displays on the mode control
panel.

IF your pilot wants to use them, he can press a XFR button next to each
window. The controller can even uplink a conditional clearance, like. After
passing point XYZ, climb to FL390. If you accept this, it will do it automatically.

Fuel system – like the 777, the 787 has a fuel dump system, which
automatically dumps down to your maximum landing weight, if that is
what you want. In addition, it has a Fuel Balance switch, which
automatically balances your L & R main tanks for you. No more opening
crossfeed valves and turning off fuel pumps in flight. No more
forgetting to turn them back on, either.

Flight Controls – An “Autodrag” function operates when the airplane
is high on approach and landing flaps have been selected. It extends the
ailerons and two most outboard spoilers, while maintaining airspeed, to
assist in glidepath capture from above, if you are high on the glideslope. The
feature removes itself, below 500 feet.

Cruiseflaps is an automated function, when level at cruise. It symmetrically
moves the flaps, ailerons, flaperons, and spoilers based on weight,
airspeed and altitude, to optimize cruise performance, by varying the wing
camber, thus reducing drag.

Gust suppression – Vertical gust suppression enhances ride quality
when in vertical gusts and turbulence. It uses symmetric deflection of
flaperons and elevators to smooth the bumps. This should result in fewer
whitecaps in passengers’ coffee and cocktails. Lateral gust suppression improves
the ride, when on approach, by making yaw commands in response to lateral gusts and turbulence.

Instrument Approaches -

The airplane is actually approved for
Autoland, based not only on ILS, but on GLS approaches – GPS with Ground based
augmentation system, which corrects the GPS signals. GLS minimums are the same
as CAT I ILS – 200′ and 1/2 mile visibility.

Our airline is not yet approved
for GLS Autolandings, though we will be doing GLS approaches.

Special Cat I & II HUD approaches – These allow lower than normal
minimums when the Heads Up Devices are used at certain approved airports

(HUDs).

The HUDs includes runway centerline guidance, which helps you stay on the
centerline on takeoff, when visibility is greatly reduced. It uses either ILS or GLS for this.

Cabin – Pressurization. Differential pressure maximum is 9.4 psid,
so the cabin altitude is only 6000 feet, when at the max cruising altitude of
43,000 feet. There is a cockpit humidifier switch, and cabin air humidification
is fully automatic.

Cabin windows are larger than other airplanes, and
window shading is electronic. The passenger can select 5 levels of
shading, from clear to black. The flight attendants can control the cabin

lighting temperature, mood lighting, to aid in dealing with changing time zones

evening light after dinner, morning light to wake up, etc.

Much of the cockpit seems like it was designed by Apple. The Control
Display Units (CDUs) are virtual, so you can move them from one MFD to
another. In fact, you can configure the displays in 48 different
ways, I think though, we have found a few favorites we will use to
keep it simple.

To move the cursor from one MFD to another, you can either
use a button, or you can “flick” your finger across the
trackpad (Cursor Control Device) to fling the cursor from one
screen to the next – much like an iPad.

I’m going home this morning, and will return for a 777 simulator ride,
Before I go back to work. They want to make sure we’ve still got the
old-fashioned legacy airplane in our brain before we fly the 777 again, even
though it shares a “common type rating”.

We won’t get the first 787 until October, and begin operations in November or December.

At that time I’ll return for at least 4 days refresher training, before beginning IOE initial
operating experience in the airplane…. with passengers.

What a ride. It may be “fuel efficient”, but I’m glad someone else is
paying for the gas.
John Doe

P.S. If you wish to share this with someone else, be my guest. I think the
787 will be a great plane, but there could be some surprises with
this level of innovation. Time will tell. Thanks!

B-17 in 1943

An amazing story of survival. Pictures on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqNoRNJSXx0

A mid-air collision on February 1, 1943, between a B-17 and a German fighter over the Tunis dock area, became the subject of one of the most famous photographs of World War II. An enemy fighter attacking a 97th Bomb Group formation went out of control, probably with a wounded pilot then continued its crashing descent into the rear of the fuselage of a Fortress named All American, piloted by Lt. Kendrick R. Bragg, of the 414th Bomb Squadron. When it struck, the fighter broke apart, but left some pieces in the B-17. The left horizontal stabilizer of the Fortress and left elevator were completely torn away. The two right engines were out and one on the left had a serious oil pump leak. The vertical fin and the rudder had been damaged, the fuselage had been cut almost completely through, connected only at two small parts of the frame. The radios, electrical and oxygen systems were damaged. There was also a hole in the top that was over 16 feet long and 4 feet wide at its widest and the split in the fuselage went all the way to the top gunners turret. Although the tail actually bounced and swayed in the wind and twisted when the plane turned and all the control cables were severed, except one single elevator cable still worked, and the aircraft still flew – miraculously! The tail gunner was trapped because there was no floor connecting the tail to the rest of the plane. The waist and tail gunners used parts of the German fighter and their own parachute harnesses in an attempt to keep the tail from ripping off and the two sides of the fuselage from splitting apart. While the crew was trying to keep the bomber from coming apart, the pilot continued on his bomb run and released his bombs over the target. When the bomb bay doors were opened, the wind turbulence was so great that it blew one of the waist gunners into the broken tail section. It took several minutes and four crew members to pass him ropes from parachutes and haul him back into the forward part of the plane. When they tried to do the same for the tail gunner, the tail began flapping so hard that it began to break off. The weight of the gunner was adding some stability to the tail section, so he went back to his position. The turn back toward England had to be very slow to keep the tail from twisting off. They actually covered almost 70 miles to make the turn home. The bomber was so badly damaged that it was losing altitude and speed and was soon alone in the sky. For a brief time, two more Me-109 German fighters attacked the All American. Despite the extensive damage, all of the machine gunners were able to respond to these attacks and soon drove off the fighters. The two waist gunners stood up with their heads sticking out through the hole in the top of the fuselage to aim and fire their machine guns. The tail gunner had to shoot in short bursts because the recoil was actually causing the plane to turn. Allied P-51 fighters intercepted the All American as it crossed over the Channel and took one of the pictures shown. They also radioed to the base describing that the empennage was waving like a fish tail and that the plane would not make it and to send out boats to rescue the crew when they bailed out. The fighters stayed with the Fortress taking hand signals from Lt. Bragg and relaying them to the base. Lt. Bragg signaled that 5 parachutes and the spare had been “used” so five of the crew could not bail out. He made the decision that if they could not bail out safely, then he would stay with the plane and land it. Two and a half hours after being hit, the aircraft made its final turn to line up with the runway while it was still over 40 miles away. It descended into an emergency landing and a normal roll-out on its landing gear. When the ambulance pulled alongside, it was waved off because not a single member of the crew had been injured. No one could believe that the aircraft could still fly in such a condition. The Fortress sat placidly until the crew all exited through the door in the fuselage and the tail gunner had climbed down a ladder, at which time the entire rear section of the aircraft collapsed onto the ground. The rugged old bird had done its job.

Rec’d email: This story gives the term Test Pilot a whole new meaning. Joe Kittinger is not a household aviation name like Neil Armstrong or Chuck Yeager.  But what he did for the   U. S. space program is comparable.  On Aug. 16, 1960, as research for the then-fledgling US space program, Air Force Captain Joseph Kittinger rode a helium balloon to the edge of space, 102,800 feet above the earth, a feat in itself. Then, wearing just a thin pressure suit and breathing supplemental oxygen, he leaned over the cramped confines of his gondola and jumped–into the 110-degree-below-zero, near-vacuum of space.  Within seconds his body accelerated to 714mph in the thin air, breaking the sound barrier.   After free-falling for more than four and a half minutes, slowed finally by friction from the heavier air below, he felt his parachute open at 14,000 feet, and he coasted gently down to the New Mexico desert floor. Kittinger‘s feat showed scientists that astronauts could survive the harshness of space with just a pressure suit and that man could eject from aircraft at extreme altitudes and survive. Upon Kittinger‘s return to base, a congratulatory telegram was waiting from the Mercury seven astronauts–including Alan Shepard and John Glenn.   More than four decades later Kittinger‘s two world records–the highest parachute jump, and the only man to break the sound barrier without an aircraft and live–still stand.   We decided to visit the retired colonel and Aviation Hall of Famer, now 75, at his home in  Altamonte Springs, Florida , to recall his historic jump. FORBES GLOBAL: Take us back to   New Mexico and Aug. 16, 1960. Joe Kittinger:   We got up at 2 am to start filling the helium balloon.  At sea level, it was 35 to 40 feet wide and 200 feet high; at altitude, due to the low air pressure, it expanded to 25 stories in width, and still was 20 stories high! At 4 am I began breathing pure oxygen for two hours.  That’s how long it takes to remove all the nitrogen from your blood so you don’t get the bends going so high so fast.  Then it was a lengthy dress procedure layering warm clothing under my pressure suit.  They kept me in air-conditioning until it was time to launch because we were in the desert and I wasn’t supposed to sweat. If I did, my clothes would freeze on the way up. How was your ascent? It took an hour and a half to get to altitude. It was cold. At 40,000 feet, the glove on my right hand hadn’t inflated.  I knew that if I radioed my doctor, he would abort the flight. If that happened, I knew I might never get another chance because there were lots of people who didn’t want this test to happen. I took a calculated risk, that I might lose use of my right hand.  It quickly swelled up, and I did lose use for the duration of the flight.  But the rest of the pressure suit worked.  When I reached 102,800 feet, maximum altitude, I wasn’t quite over the target. So I drifted for 11 minutes.  The winds were out of the east. What’s it look like from so high up?   You can see about 400 miles in every direction.  The formula is 1.25 x the sq. root of the altitude in thousands of feet. (the square root of 102,000 ft is 319 X 1.25 = 399 miles) The most fascinating thing is that it’s just black overhead — the transition from normal blue to black is very stark.  You can’t see stars because there’s a lot of glare from the sun, so your pupils are too small.  I was struck with the beauty of it.  But I was also struck by how hostile it is: more than 100 degrees below zero, no air.  If my protection suit failed, I would be dead in a few seconds.  Blood actually boils above 62, 000 feet. I went through my 46-step checklist, disconnected from the balloonšs power supply, and lost all communication with the ground.  I was totally under power from the kit on my back.  When everything was done, I stood up, turned around to the door, took one final look out, and said a silent prayer: “Lord, take care of me now.”  Then I just jumped over the side. What were you thinking as you took that step? It’s the beginning of a test.  I had gone through simulations many times–more than 100.  I rolled over and looked up, and there was the balloon just roaring into space.  I realized that the balloon wasn’t roaring into space; I was going down at a fantastic rate!  At about 90,000 feet, I reached 714mph.   The altimeter on my wrist was unwinding very rapidly.  But there was no sense of speed.  Where you determine speed is visual–if you see something go flashing by.  But nothing flashes by 20 miles up–there are no signposts there, and you are way above any clouds.  When the chute opened, the rest of the jump was anticlimactic because everything had worked perfectly.  I landed 12 or 13 minutes later, and there was my crew waiting.  We were elated. How about your right hand? It hurt–there was quite a bit of swelling and the blood pressure in my arm was high.  But that went away in a few days, and I regained full use of my hand.   What about attempts to break your record?   We did it for air crews and astronauts–for the learning, not to set a record.  They will be going up as skydivers. Somebody will beat it someday.  Records are made to be broken.  And I’ll be elated.  But I’ll also be concerned that they’re properly trained.  If they’re not, they’re taking a heck of a risk.

Name: Al Slader, co-pilot … Dave Cronin Capt
Flight: United Flight 811, Honolulu to Auckland, New Zealand
Date: February 24, 1989
Incident: Explosive decompression owing to cargo-door failure
Fatalities: 9
Survivors: 346

We were about 72 miles from Honolulu, approaching 23,000 feet, when the cockpit door blew open. It felt like a bomb.
Mark Thomas, our flight engineer, went down the spiral staircase to see what was going on in the cabin. From where he stood, he could see no airplane—just sky and clouds and water. He came back and said, “The whole side of the airplane’s gone, and we’ve got people outside.” He meant that they’d died. He’d tried to talk to flight attendants but couldn’t because the noise was so bad. We found out later they didn’t even know if any of us in the cockpit were alive.

In a situation like that, the first thing you try and do is just keep the airplane in the air. We had two engines out, which meant we were a good 150,000 pounds heavier than the two remaining engines could sustain. We had about 220,000 pounds of fuel, which we could dump, but a Boeing 747 only dumps 5,000 pounds a minute, which wasn’t fast enough. So there was no doubt we were going to go down. It was just a matter of where.

In a decompression, the first thing pilots are supposed to do is put on the oxygen masks. Well, guess where the oxygen bottles were stored? Right next to the door. So when we put the masks on, there was no oxygen. We threw them on the floor.
After we established communication in the cockpit, the next step was to descend to breathable air, which the FAA considers to be 10,000 feet. As the pilot, Dave Cronin, started the descent, Mark Thomas and I were trying to figure out what systems we had left. I shut the two engines off at the fuel switch, which put the fire out that was shooting out of No. 4. According to United’s procedure for severe engine damage, the next step would have been to pull what’s called the firewall shutoff. But that would have meant losing two hydraulic systems and half of our flight control. We would have ended up in the water, for sure. So I abandoned protocol.

Dave did, too. He was supposed to get us to 10,000 feet as fast as possible, but with the second engine shut down he realized what we needed most of all was altitude. Nobody was going to die breathing at 20,000 feet, and we’d never make it to the airport if we continued our descent.

We had reversed course back to Honolulu, and we were just trying to get as close to the airport as we could. The explosion occurred over water 17,000 feet deep. We hoped we could at least get to the beach or the shallow water, where if we had to put the airplane in the water, Coast Guard might be able to help. By the time we got to 8,000 feet, I called Honolulu and said, “We may not be able to make it.”
But we were dumping fuel the whole way, which was making us lighter and helping us do a little better.

Finally I said, “My God, we’re gonna make it!” Landing wasn’t going to be easy, though. We didn’t know how much damage the airplane had sustained. Did we still have brakes? Would the landing gear come down? Would the flaps come down evenly, or would the airplane roll over on its back?

At about 4,000 feet we went through a layer of clouds and the airport came into view. The tower cleared us to land on the longest runway available. We started to try to get the flaps out, but sure enough, we ended up with an asymmetric flap condition.

Dave turned to Mark Thomas, the flight engineer, and asked for our approach. But all of Mark’s flight procedures and tables for landing weights had blown out of the cockpit. “I have no idea,” Mark said. “I don’t have any books or manuals or any of the stuff I need to do that.”
“Well, what do you think we should use?”
“Two hundred knots,” Mark said. He just pulled it out of the air. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Let’s use 200 knots.”

So that’s what we did. A half-mile out, Mark yelled through the PA: “Brace! Brace! Brace!” Dave held the landing gear until the last minute because we didn’t need drag, we needed power. We landed, and immediately the fire department started putting out fires. We’d been in the air for 22 minutes since the explosion.
I was the last one out of the plane. I walked through the cabin with my flashlight to make sure everybody was out. All the suction toward the front of the plane had torn out the projectors, the overhead bins, even the toilets. The first five rows of seats were gone.

A lot of pilots say, “God, I’m glad that was you and not me.” But you know what? We train and practice all sorts of emergency procedures our entire career. To take the final test, the big test, and pass it—I wouldn’t trade that. I think a lot of guys who fly airplanes would love to take the big test and find out if they could pass it.
I was at a restaurant in Denver a while back, and one of the guys from the flight, a lawyer, was having dinner with a friend. I hear this guy yell, “Slader! Slader!” And he jumps up and he’s walking through the restaurant, yelling, “This guy saved my life!” And he turns to the waiter and says, “Whatever he wants, give it to him and send the check to me.” I was embarrassed, but, yeah, sure, it made me happy.

After receiving the P-51 story:
I got this from Bobby Fisher on the 18th, and today I send it along as a message of thanks……. thanks to men who used these planes to keep us free of Nazi and Japanese enslavement, and thanks that life still offers the joys of seeing and remembering beautiful machines and the delight of seeing them fly, and flying them.

I was in the pattern at Lakefront Airport in 1962, flying out necessary solo hours in Hobley-Maynard’s 65HP Luscombe 8A, when the tower directed me to anchor on the downwind leg in 360 turns until called back into traffic. There was opposing traffic inbound. Although it seems to take forever, getting to the downwind leg in a Hobley-Wobbly Luscombe 8 doesn’t take you very far away from the runway.

I saw a Bearcat at my level, heading right down the runway centerline at what was to me an incredible speed. It was the senior Fornoff, and when he reached the approach end, the bird racked up onto a wingtip at 60 degrees of bank, cutting around in a circle as fast as you could slice a wheel of cheese. Before you could say BOB’S YOUR UNCLE, the Bearcat was on final and I was called back into the pattern.

I was greatly excited by what I had just witnessed. This was the first ‘overhead traffic pattern pitch out’, I’d ever seen – I didn’t even know what to call it. I was sure the tower was going to climb all over the pilot for shining his ass in traffic. It took me quite a few minutes of puzzlement before I concluded that somehow this nimble display of maneuverability must be allowed, and was in some way tied to planes possessing more power and speed than my 90mph Luscombe.

I relate all this just to say that the excitement of watching airplanes as related in this short vignette, is something I understand and remember.

Give thanks that all who read this likely have had a life somehow tied to aviation, and give thanks that we have made our livings around airplanes instead of following the behind-ends of two mules, down one row and up the next.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Denny

P-51 Pictures were file photos that X’d out

Old Aviators and Old Airplanes

This is a good little story about a vivid memory of a P-51 and its pilot, by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in 1967. It was to take to the air. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, the pilot had been tired.

I marveled at the size of the plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot’s lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn – it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show) then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the pilot returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he “flashed the old bird up… just to be safe.”

Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use — “If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!” I later became a firefighter, but that’s another story. The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked — I stepped back with the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at the others’ faces, there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did.

Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre flight run-up. He’d taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway.. We could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before, like a furious hell spawn set loose—something mighty this way was coming. “Listen to that thing!” said the controller. In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. Its tail was already off and it was moving faster than anything I’d ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.

We stood for a few moments in stunned silence trying to digest what we’d just seen. The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. Kingston tower calling Mustang?” He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment.

The radio crackled, “Go ahead Kingston.”

“Roger Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass.” I stood in shock because the controller had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show!

The controller looked at us. “What?” He asked. “I can’t let that guy go without asking. I couldn’t forgive myself!”

The radio crackled once again, Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?”

“Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass.”

“Roger, Kingston, I’m coming out of 3000 feet, stand by.”

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream.

Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air.

At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood, she passed with the old American pilot ‘Saluting’. Imagine. A salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded.

Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly into my memory. I’ve never wanted to be an American more than on that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the pilot who’d just flown into my memory. He was proud not arrogant, humble not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best. ‘That’ America Will return one day, I know it will. Until that time, I’ll just send off this story; call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove a memory for a young Canadian, one that’s lasted a lifetime.

(Forward to your Aviator Friends, and anyone who would enjoy a patriotic story)

WE ARE:

“Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Anyone Who Threatens It“

Below is an article written by Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated..
He details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in a
F-14 Tomcat.. If you aren’t laughing out loud by the time you get
to ‘Milk Duds’ , your sense of humor is seriously broken.

This message is for America ‘s most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country’s
most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have. John Elway,
John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity,
let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity…. Move to Guam .

Change your name.  Fake your own death!
Whatever you do.

Do Not Go!!!

I know.

The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped….
I was toast! I should’ve known when they told me my pilot would
be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station
Oceana in Virginia Beach ..

Whatever you’re thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks
like, triple it. He’s about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair,
finger-crippling handshake — the kind of man who wrestles
dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the
other way. Fast.

Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the
voice of NASA missions. (‘T-minus 15 seconds and counting’. Remember?)
Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad.
Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting
for him to say, ‘We have liftoff’.

Biff was to fly me in an F- 14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60 million
weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin Montgomerie.
I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I asked
Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning.

‘Bananas’, he said.

‘For the potassium?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Biff said, “because they taste about the same coming up
as they do going down”.

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name
sewn over the left breast. (No call sign — like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot.
But, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had
instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.

A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened
me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would ‘egress’ me out
of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked
unconscious.

Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me,
and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing nose
up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled…. over another F-14.

Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80.
It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over Hell. Only without rails.
We did barrel rolls, snap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and
dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute.
We chased another F-14,…… and it chased us.

We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at
200 feet, we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5,
which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing
against me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.

And I egressed the bananas.

And I egressed the pizza from the night before.

And the lunch before that.

I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade.

I made Linda Blair look polite.  Because of the G’s, I was egressing
stuff that I never thought would be egressed..

I went through not one airsick bag, but two.

Biff said I passed out….. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point,
as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock
bombing target and the G’s were flattening me like a tortilla and I
was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person
in history to throw down.

I used to know ‘cool’. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass,
or Norman making a five-iron bite.. But now I really know ‘cool’.
Cool is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves.
I wouldn’t go up there again for Derek Jeter’s black book, but I’m
glad Biff does every day, and for less $$ a year than a rookie reliever
makes in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said
he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said he’d
send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked.

‘Two Bags.’

World War II Aviation Art with descriptions: PP files sometimes need different approach to open. Firefox or? Copy/Paste?

http://powerpoint.officeapps.live.com/p/PowerPointFrame.aspx?PowerPointView=ReadingView&Fi=gyPMitCwj5GmYokZgiuKkApqQ8O1n8UzjX3psfvoJnRELWBPsbLdbWN2tKQ2%2bXMG2u9Y%2bjMRBM1%2bnBzdYUlVqdS2%2fAd3FXLRnzEq8lL%2fxF9rg13XvQrWkZmeiUXGmc0LARi%2fwmUqfsjy8AnfDF0b131z%2feke2Whhxrukwx1A2IWFMNpr9XQBT4PxUfJsgETleTt7VQsducRVcDwpd5C4mKVIWjBrVRaqkcFQd77QXMuaqQzmAsGJP77OYKoou2dn4CEeGwFhJzP3bCg90eW4dFPFMLrsDokk5gWlBKux53L1pbu5FuEhEg4tAgXG%2b%2bGa%2fb2Qy%2b2uQLQaGC%2fCbSDh2Zql9es0Cl89XbNHCugSnCcrYNd59T6BIxtBlIEBd%2fBrfd%2fd%2fQbkw%2fs92y2RvKVJ8Q%3d%3d&C=4__hm-bl152w-wshi&ui=en-us&rs=en-us&su=01_8ba6fe511b0bceb79e22b09b0dff40f83f73ddf26f19d489d7f886fc5143d172

Images may be lost, but facts are verified by credits:

Below is an excellent summary of the effort required in WWII. It focuses on the American side of things, but the British, Germans and Japanese expended comparable energy and experienced similar costs. Just one example for the Luftwaffe; about 1/3 of the Bf109s built were lost in non-combat crashes. After Midway, the Japanese experience level declined markedly, with the loss of so many higher-time naval pilots. This piece is worth saving in hard copy. I didn’t put it together. Someone else did lots of hard work.    Amazing WWII Aircraft Facts - – - – - - Most Americans who were not adults during WWII have no understanding of the magnitude of it. This listing of some of the aircraft facts gives a bit of insight to it. 276,000 aircraft manufactured in the US . 43,000 planes lost overseas, including 23,000 in combat. 14,000 lost in the continental U.S. The US civilian population maintained a dedicated effort for four years, many working long hours seven days per week and often also volunteering for other work.  WWII was the largest human effort in history. Statistics from Flight Journal magazine.   THE COST of DOING  BUSINESS —- The staggering cost of war.     THE PRICE OF VICTORY (cost of an aircraft in WWII dollars) B-17       $204,370.     P-40       $44,892. B-24       $215,516.     P-47       $85,578. B-25       $142,194.     P-51       $51,572. B-26       $192,426.     C-47       $88,574. B-29       $605,360.     PT-17     $15,052. P-38         $97,147.     AT-6       $22,952. PLANES A DAY  WORLDWIDE  From Germany’s invasion of Poland Sept. 1, 1939 and ending with Japan ‘s surrender Sept. 2, 1945 — 2,433 days From 1942 onward, America averaged 170 planes lost a day. How many is a 1,000  planes?  B-17 production (12,731) wingtip to wingtip would extend 250 miles.  1,000 B-17s carried 2.5 million gallons of high octane fuel and required 10,000 airmen to fly and fight them. THE NUMBERS GAME 9.7 billion gallons of gasoline consumed, 1942-1945. 107.8 million hours flown, 1943-1945. 459.7 billion rounds of aircraft ammo fired overseas, 1942-1945. 7.9 million bombs dropped  overseas, 1943-1945. 2.3 million combat sorties, 1941-1945 (one sortie = one takeoff). 299,230 aircraft accepted, 1940-1945. 808,471 aircraft engines accepted, 1940-1945. 799,972 propellers accepted, 1940-1945.  WWII MOST-PRODUCED COMBAT AIRCRAFT Ilyushin IL-2 Sturmovik                                  36,183 Yakolev Yak-1,-3,-7, -9                               31,000+ Messerschmitt Bf-109                                  30,480 Focke-Wulf Fw-190                                      29,001 Supermarine Spitfire/Seafire                        20,351 Convair B-24/PB4Y Liberator/Privateer       18,482 Republic P-47 Thunderbolt                          15,686 North American P-51 Mustang                     15,875 Junkers Ju-88                                              15,000 Hawker Hurricane                                        14,533 Curtiss P-40 Warhawk                                 13,738 Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress                         12,731 Vought F4U Corsair                                      12,571 Grumman F6F Hellcat                                  12,275 Petlyakov Pe-2                                             11,400 Lockheed P-38 Lightning                              10,037 Mitsubishi A6M Zero                                    10,449 North American B-25 Mitchell                        9,984 Lavochkin LaGG-5                                         9,920 Note: The LaGG-5 was produced with both water-cooled (top) and air-cooled (bottom) engines. Grumman TBM Avenger                                9,837 Bell P-39 Airacobra                                        9,584 Nakajima Ki-43 Oscar                                    5,919 DeHavilland Mosquito                                   7,780 Avro Lancaster                                              7,377 Heinkel He-111                                              6,508 Handley-Page Halifax                                    6,176 Messerschmitt Bf-110                                    6,150 Lavochkin LaGG-7                                         5,753 Boeing B-29 Superfortress                            3,970 Short Stirling                                                  2,383 Sources:  Rene Francillon,  Japanese Aircraft of the Pacific war; Cajus Bekker, The Luftwaffe Diaries;  Ray Wagner, American Combat Planes; Wikipedia.   According to the AAF Statistical Digest, in less than four years (December 1941- August 1945), the US Army Air Forces lost 14,903 pilots, aircrew and assorted personnel plus 13,873 airplanes — inside the continental United States.  They were the result of 52,651 aircraft accidents (6,039 involving fatalities) in 45 months. Think about those numbers. They average 1,170 aircraft accidents per month—- nearly 40 a day.  (Less than one accident in four resulted in totaled aircraft, however.) It gets worse….. Almost 1,000 Army planes disappeared en route from the US to foreign climes.  But an eye-watering 43,581 aircraft were lost overseas including 22,948 on combat missions (18,418 against the Western Axis) and 20,633 attributed to non-combat causes overseas. In a single 376 plane raid in August 1943, 60 B-17s were shot down. That was a 16 percent loss rate and meant 600 empty bunks in England.  In 1942-43 it was statistically impossible for bomber crews to complete a 25-mission tour in Europe. Pacific theatre losses were far less (4,530 in combat) owing to smaller forces committed.  The worst B-29 mission, against Tokyo on May 25, 1945, cost 26 Superfortresses, 5.6 percent of the 464 dispatched from the Marianas. On  average, 6,600 American servicemen died per month during WWII, about 220 a day. By the end of the war, over 40,000 airmen were killed in combat theatres and another 18,000 wounded.  Some 12,000 missing men were declared dead, including a number “liberated” by the Soviets but never returned.  More than 41,000 were captured, half of the 5,400 held by the Japanese died in captivity, compared with one-tenth in German hands.   Total combat casualties were pegged at 121,867. US manpower made up the deficit.  The AAF’s peak strength was reached in 1944 with 2,372,000 personnel, nearly twice the previous year’s figure. The losses were huge—but so were production totals.  From 1941 through 1945, American industry delivered more than 276,000 military aircraft. That number was enough not only for US Army, Navy and Marine Corps, but for allies as diverse as Britain, Australia, China and Russia.  In fact, from 1943 onward, America produced more planes than Britain and Russia combined.  And more than Germany and Japan together 1941-45. However, our enemies took massive losses.  Through much of 1944, the Luftwaffe sustained uncontrolled hemorrhaging, reaching 25 percent of aircrews and 40 planes a month.  And in late 1944 into 1945, nearly half the pilots in Japanese squadrons had flown fewer than 200 hours.  The disparity of two years before had been completely reversed. Experience Level: Uncle Sam sent many of his sons to war with absolute minimums of training. Some fighter pilots entered combat in 1942 with less than one hour in their assigned aircraft. The 357th Fighter Group (often known as The Yoxford Boys) went to England in late 1943 having trained on P-39s.   The group never saw a Mustang until shortly before its first combat mission. A high-time P-51 pilot had 30 hours in type.  Many had fewer than five hours.  Some had one hour. With arrival of new aircraft, many combat units transitioned in combat.  The attitude was, “They all have a stick and a throttle.  Go fly `em.” When the famed 4th Fighter Group converted from P-47s to P-51s in February 1944, there was no time to stand down for an orderly transition.   The Group commander, Col. Donald Blakeslee, said, “You can learn to fly `51s on the way to the target.     A future P-47 ace said, “I was sent to England to die.”  He was not alone.   Some fighter pilots tucked their wheels in the well on their first combat mission with one previous flight in the aircraft.  Meanwhile, many bomber crews were still learning their trade:  of Jimmy Doolittle’s 15 pilots on the April 1942 Tokyo raid, only five had won their wings before 1941.   All but one of the 16 copilots were less than a year out of flight school.   In WWII flying safety took a back seat to combat.  The AAF’s worst accident rate was recorded by the A-36 Invader version of the P-51: a staggering 274 accidents per 100,000 flying hours.   Next worst were the P-39 at 245, the P-40 at 188, and the P-38 at 139.  All were Allison powered.   Bomber wrecks were fewer but more expensive.  The B-17 and B-24 averaged 30 and 35 accidents per 100,000 flight hours, respectively– a horrific figure considering that from 1980 to 2000 the Air Force’s major mishap rate was less than 2. The B-29 was even worse at 40; the world’s most sophisticated, most capable and most expensive bomber was too urgently needed to stand down for mere safety reasons. The AAF set a reasonably high standard for B-29 pilots, but the desired figures were seldom attained. The original cadre of the 58th Bomb Wing was to have 400 hours of multi-engine time, but there were not enough experienced pilots to meet the criterion.  Only ten percent had overseas experience.  Conversely, when a $2.1 billion B-2 crashed in 2008, the Air Force initiated a two-month “safety pause” rather than declare a “stand down”, let alone grounding. The B-29 was no better for maintenance. Though the R3350 was known as a complicated, troublesome power-plant, no more than half the mechanics had previous experience with the Duplex Cyclone.   But they made it work. Navigators: Perhaps the greatest unsung success story of AAF training was Navigators.  The Army graduated some 50,000 during the War.  And many had never flown out of sight of land before leaving “Uncle Sugar” for a war zone.  Yet the huge majority found their way across oceans and continents without getting lost or running out of fuel — a stirring tribute to the AAF’s educational establishments. Cadet To Colonel:  It was possible for a flying cadet at the time of Pearl Harbor to finish the war with eagles on his shoulders.  That was the record of John D. Landers, a 21-year-old Texan, who was commissioned a second lieutenant on December 12, 1941.  He joined his combat squadron with 209 hours total flight time, including 20 in P-40s.  He finished the war as a full colonel, commanding an 8th Air Force Group — at age 24. As the training pipeline filled up, however those low figures became exceptions.  By early 1944, the average AAF fighter pilot entering combat had logged at least 450 hours, usually including 250 hours in training.  At the same time, many captains and first lieutenants claimed over 600 hours. FACT: At its height in mid-1944, the Army Air Forces had 2.6 million people and nearly 80,000 aircraft of all types.  Today the US Air Force employs 327,000 active personnel (plus 170,000 civilians) with 5,500+ manned and perhaps 200 unmanned aircraft.  The 2009 figures represent about 12 percent of the manpower and 7 percent of the airplanes of the WWII peak. IN SUMMATION:  Whether there will ever be another war like that experienced in 1940-45 is doubtful, as fighters and bombers have given way to helicopters and remotely-controlled drones over Afghanistan and Iraq.  But within living memory, men left the earth in 1,000-plane formations and fought major battles five miles high, leaving a legacy that remains timeless.      According to the AAF Statistical Digest, in less than four years (December 1941- August 1945), the US Army Air Forces lost 14,903 pilots, aircrew and assorted personnel plus 13,873 airplanes — inside the continental United States.  They were the result of 52,651 aircraft accidents (6,039 involving fatalities) in 45 months.

Letter of the Week: Airbuses Fly Like a Video Game

http://tinyurl.com/3f2d39y

AVmail: June 6, 2011

I would like to offer my comments and perspective with regard to the Air France Flight 447 accident:

I have been a A-330 captain since 2003 and have over 4500 hours in the aircraft. While many A-320 pilots undoubtedly have more series time, I believe this probably makes me one of the most experienced A330 pilots in the world.

When asked how I like the aircraft, I tell people that there is likely no easier airplane to take over an ocean, and that the systems design and presentation is superb.

That said, the automation is more complex and less intuitive than necessary, and the pilot-aircraft interface is unlike that of a conventional aircraft. Most important with regard to this accident is the fly-by-wire sidestick control.

The sidestick itself has a very limited range of motion, making inadvertent over-control very easy. Of even greater significance, the stick itself provides no “feel” feedback to the pilot. That is, unlike a conventional aircraft, the pilot does not get a sense through pressure of how much input is being sent to the control surfaces.

The most important advice I give to pilots new to the Airbus is to treat the aircraft not as an airplane, but as a video game. If you wait for the sidestick to tell you what you are doing, you will never get an answer.

Taking into consideration that Air France 447 was at FL 350 (where the safe speed envelope is relatively narrow), that they were in the weather at night with no visible horizon, and that they were likely experiencing at least moderate turbulence, it does not surprise me in the least that the pilots lost control of the aircraft shortly after the autopilot and autothrust disconnected.

Let’s keep in mind that these are not ideal conditions for maintaining controlled flight manually, especially when faced with a sudden onslaught of warning messages, loss of autofllght, confusing airspeed indications, and reversion to “alternate law” flight control, in which certain flight envelope protections are lost.

A very bad Airbus design feature is thrust levers that do not move while in autothrust. They are instead set in a detent which would equal climb trust in manual mode. If the pilots did not reset the thrust levers to equal the last cruise power setting, they likely eventually ended up in climb power, making it difficult to reset the proper cruise power setting and adding to what was likely already a great deal of confusion.

But the real problem probably occurred immediately after the pilot flying grabbed the sidestick and took over manually. Unfortunately, airline pilots rarely practice hand-flying at high altitude, and almost never do so without autothrust engaged. As a result, we forget that the aircraft is very sensitive to control inputs at high altitude, and overcontrol is the usual result. Because the Airbus sidestick provides no feedback “feel” to the pilot, this problem is dramatically compounded in this aircraft.

I believe the Air France pilot grabbed the sidestick, made an immediate input (because as pilots, that’s what we tend to do), and quickly became quite confused as to what the aircraft was truly doing. This confusion likely was exacerbated by fixating on airspeed indications that made no sense while trying to find a power setting with no airspeed guidance.

When transitioning from autopilot to manual control at altitude in the Airbus, the most important thing to do at first is nothing. Don’t move a thing, and then when you do, gently take hold of the sidestick and make very small inputs, concentrating on the flight director (which, in altitude hold, should still have been providing good guidance).

Of course, this is much easier said than done with bells and whistles going off all over the place, moderate turbulence and a bunch of thunderstorms in the area. As I said before, treat it like a video game.

So why did the Air France pilot find himself at the limits of sidestick travel, and then just stay there, maintaining a control input that simply could not logically be correct? When things go really bad and we are under intense pressure, it is human nature to revert to what we know from previous experience. Remember, the Airbus flies like no other aircraft in that the sidestick provides no feedback to the pilot. It is a video game, not an airplane.

I believe the Air France pilot unintentionally fell back on all of his previous flying experience, in which aircraft controls “talked” to him when he moved them. Distracted by many confusing inputs, he instinctively expected to be able to control the aircraft by “feel” while dividing his attention to address other matters.

I’ve seen it happen in the simulator, and in an Airbus this is a sure way to lose control of the aircraft and is possibly the most dangerous aspect of Airbus design philosophy.

One last note: Airbus pilots often claim that the aircraft “can not be stalled.” When the flight controls are in “normal law” this is a reasonably true statement. However, in “alternate law,” as was the case here, stall protection can be lost. If we ever practiced this in the simulator, I don’t remember it.

Lest anyone think I am blaming the Air France pilots for this accident, let me be clear. Despite all of my experience in the aircraft, I am not the least bit certain that I would have been able to maintain control under the same circumstances.

I do feel certain that were you to spring this scenario on pilots in a simulator without warning less than half of them would have a successful outcome.

Safely flying the 320, 330 and 340-series Airbus requires something of a non-pilot mindset.

Name Withheld

Editor’s Note:

We have spoken with the writer of this letter to confirm his identity and honored his request for anonymity.

For another analysis of the trials and challenges of flying an A330, be sure to listen to _Friday’s podcast with airline pilot Jason Goldberg:

(http://www.avweb.com/alm?podcast20110603&kw=AVmail) .