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A Pilot's Story: SR-71 Blackbird
In April 1986, following an attack on American soldiers in a Berlin disco,
President Reagan ordered the bombing of Muammar Qaddafi's terrorist camps in
Libya. My duty was to fly over Libya and take photos recording the damage our
F-111's had inflicted. Qaddafi had established a 'line of death,' a territorial
marking across the Gulf of Sidra, swearing to shoot down any intruder that
crossed the boundary. On the morning of April 15, I rocketed past the line at
2,125 mph.

I was piloting the SR-71 spy plane, the world's fastest jet, accompanied by a
Marine Major (Walt), the aircraft's reconnaissance systems officer (RSO). We had
crossed into Libya and were approaching our final turn over the bleak desert
landscape when Walt informed me that he was receiving missile launch signals. I
quickly increased our speed, calculating the time it would take for the weapons
-- most likely SA-2 and SA-4 surface-to-air missiles capable of Mach 5 -- to
reach our altitude. I estimated that we could beat the rocket-powered missiles
to the turn and stayed our course, betting our lives on the plane's performance.

After several agonizingly long seconds, we made the turn and blasted toward the
Mediterranean. 'You might want to pull it back,' Walt suggested. It was then
that I noticed I still had the throttles full forward. The plane was flying a
mile every 1.6 seconds, well above our Mach 3.2 limit. It was the fastest we
would ever fly. I pulled the throttles to idle just south of Sicily, but we
still overran the refueling tanker awaiting us over Gibraltar.

Scores of significant aircraft have been produced in the 100 years of flight,
following the achievements of the Wright brothers, which we celebrate in
December. Aircraft such as the Boeing 707, the F-86 Sabre Jet, and the
P-51 Mustang are among the important machines that have flown our skies. But the
SR-71, also known as the Blackbird, stands alone as a significant contributor to
Cold War victory and as the fastest plane ever-and only 93 Air Force pilots ever
steered the 'sled,' as we called our aircraft.

The SR-71 was the brainchild of Kelly Johnson, the famed Lockheed designer who
created the P-38, the F-104 Starfighter, and the U-2. After the Soviets shot
down Gary Powers' U-2 in 1960, Johnson began to develop an aircraft that would
fly three miles higher and five times faster than the spy plane-and still be
capable of photographing your license plate. However, flying at 2,000 mph would
create intense heat on the aircraft's skin. Lockheed engineers used a titanium
alloy to construct more than 90 percent of the SR-71, creating special tools and
manufacturing procedures to hand-build each of the 40 planes. Special heat-
resistant fuel, oil, and hydraulic fluids that would function at 85,000 feet and
higher also had to be developed.

In 1962, the first Blackbird successfully flew, and in 1966, the same year I
graduated from high school, the Air Force began flying operational SR-71
missions. I came to the program in 1983 with a sterling record and a
recommendation from my commander, completing the weeklong interview and meeting
Walt, my partner for the next four years He would ride four feet behind me,
working all the cameras, radios, and electronic jamming equipment. I joked that
if we were ever captured, he was the spy and I was just the driver. He told me
to keep the pointy end forward.

We trained for a year, flying out of Beale AFB in California, Kadena Airbase in
Okinawa, and RAF Mildenhall in England . On a typical training mission, we would
take off near Sacramento, refuel over Nevada, accelerate into Montana, obtain
high Mach over Colorado, turn right over New Mexico, speed across the
Los Angeles Basin, run up the West Coast, turn right at Seattle, then return to
Beale. Total flight time: two hours and 40 minutes.

One day, high above Arizona, we were monitoring the radio traffic of all the
mortal airplanes below us. First, a Cessna pilot asked the air traffic
controllers to check his ground speed. 'Ninety knots,' ATC replied.

A Bonanza soon made the same request. 'One-twenty on the ground,' was the
reply. To our surprise, a navy F-18 came over the radio with a ground speed
check. I knew exactly what he was doing. Of course, he had a ground speed
indicator in his cockpit, but he wanted to let all the bug-smashers in the
valley know what real speed was 'Dusty 52, we show you at 620 on the ground,'
ATC responded.

The situation was too ripe. I heard the click of Walt's mike button in the rear
seat. In his most innocent voice, Walt startled the controller by asking for a
ground speed check from 81,000 feet, clearly above controlled airspace. In a
cool, professional voice, the controller replied, ' Aspen 20, I show you at
1,982 knots on the ground.' We did not hear another transmission on that
frequency all the way to the coast.

The Blackbird always showed us something new, each aircraft possessing its own
unique personality.

In time, we realized we were flying a national treasure. When we taxied out of
our revetments for takeoff, people took notice. Traffic congregated near the
airfield fences, because everyone wanted to see and hear the mighty SR-71 You
could not be a part of this program and not come to love the airplane. Slowly,
she revealed her secrets to us as we earned her trust.

One moonless night, while flying a routine training mission over the Pacific, I
wondered what the sky would look like from 84,000 feet if the cockpit lighting
were dark. While heading home on a straight course, I slowly turned down all of
the lighting, reducing the glare and revealing the night sky.

Within seconds, I turned the lights back up, fearful that the jet would know and
somehow punish me. But my desire to see the sky overruled my caution, I dimmed
the lighting again. To my amazement, I saw a bright light outside my window. As
my eyes adjusted to the view, I realized that the brilliance was the broad
expanse of the Milky Way, now a gleaming stripe across the sky.

Where dark spaces in the sky had usually existed, there were now dense clusters
of sparkling stars. Shooting stars flashed across the canvas every few seconds.
It was like a fireworks display with no sound.
I knew I had to get my eyes back on the instruments, and reluctantly I brought
my attention back inside. To my surprise, with the cockpit lighting still off,
I could see every gauge, lit by starlight. In the plane's mirrors, I could see
the eerie shine of my gold spacesuit incandescently illuminated in a celestial
glow. I stole one last glance out the window.

Despite our speed, we seemed still before the heavens, humbled in the radiance
of a much greater power. For those few moments, I felt a part of something far
more significant than anything we were doing in the plane. The sharp sound of
Walt's voice on the radio brought me back to the tasks at hand as I prepared
for our descent.

The SR-71 was an expensive aircraft to operate.

The most significant cost was tanker support, and in 1990, confronted with
budget cutbacks, the Air Force retired the SR-71.

The SR-71 served six presidents, protecting America for a quarter of a century.
Unbeknownst to most of the country, the plane flew over North Vietnam,
Red China, North Korea, the Middle East, South Africa, Cuba, Nicaragua, Iran,
Libya, and the Falkland Islands. On a weekly basis, the SR-71 kept watch over
every Soviet nuclear submarine and mobile missile site, and all of their troop
movements. It was a key factor in winning the Cold War.

I am proud to say I flew about 500 hours in this aircraft. I knew her well. She
gave way to no plane, proudly dragging her sonic boom through enemy backyards
with great impunity. She defeated every missile, outran every MiG, and always
brought us home. In the first 100 years of manned flight, no aircraft was more

The Blackbird had outrun nearly 4,000 missiles, not once taking a scratch from
enemy fire. On her final flight, the Blackbird, destined for the
Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, sped from Los Angeles to Washington
in 64 minutes, averaging 2,145 mph and setting four speed records.