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alert5 · 7 years

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It’s just after lunch on a cold, dreary Wednesday in Eastern Ontario, Canada. A pristine lake with mist settled above the waters sits quietly, surrounded by densely-forested hills, cabins and cottages scattered around the shores. A dull noise in the distance approaches, turning quickly into a roar as two grey C-130J Super Hercules tactical airlift transports race over a hill at altitudes so low, you could probably touch their bellies if you raised your hands above your head.

In the cockpit of Burma 2-1, the lead Herc in this two-ship formation, we’re dodging missiles fired off by unseen enemy combatants on the ground. Captain Jeff Moorhouse calmly calls out missile launches as the two aircraft in Burma Flight maneuver in response. You can feel the G forces coming on as the Herc suddenly banks, its left wing aimed at the ground and the horizon turning into a rapidly decreasing obtuse angle. My 2 lb Canon camera somehow feels like it’s now 30 lbs, and I’m hefting it to my face, trying to grab a shot of the spectacular scene unfolding right in front of me as I sit in the jump seat behind the two pilots of Burma 2-1.

Of course, we’re not trying to outfox real missiles – this is just a drill, but a highly realistic mission nonetheless. Today, I get to fly with the best of Canada’s best on a training run in a C-130J (known as the CC-130J in Canadian military parlance) at altitudes that would make most ordinary pilots feel thoroughly uncomfortable, especially in an aircraft of this size. It’ll be a two-ship flight, meaning that two Super Hercs will fly this mission, always in close formation throughout the entire flight… even during takeoff. These two aircraft belong to one of the most storied Canadian transportation units in existence – 436 Transport Squadron of the Royal Canadian Air Force’s 8 Wing, based out of Canadian Forces Base Trenton.

436 Squadron traces its lineage back to the Second World War, where it was officially stood up in 1944 in India to serve as a forward-deployed logistics support element for Allied forces fighting the Imperial Japanese military in neighboring countries. 436 soon became known as “Canucks Unlimited”, and its pilots and crew earned a reputation for themselves thanks to their adoption of a spartan lifestyle and highly rigorous training methods. In order to save time between sorties, crew opted to eat dry meals instead of hot cooked meals, spurning a luxury widely available to aircrew at Allied bases. Maintenance methods were revamped by the squadron’s innovative engineering officer, who devised a way for crews to swap out their aircraft’s engines in two days instead of the usual three, returning grounded aircraft back to flight status quickly. Back then, Douglas C-47s, known as Dakotas in Canada, were 436’s workhorse of choice. In the years since, the highly-dependable C-130 filled that role. Today, we’re flying in the most advanced C-130s in the world, the Super Hercules.

Escorting me on-base today is Lieutenant Karyn Mazurek, a career military officer who formerly served on Canadian naval warships before her current job in public affairs. Lt. Mazurek and I are ushered into a briefing room upon reaching 436’s hangars. This room lined with computers hooked up to databases networks full of information which aircrew study intensely prior to a flight. We’re told to turn off our phones as we enter, and we quietly stand at a table. Everything is timed perfectly, and to that end, the officer leading the briefing calls out warnings prior to the start of the information session. Data sheets relevant to the training mission are handed out and everybody gets a copy. What we’re witnessing is actually called a “concept”, where everything the pilots and aircrew need to know about the mission they’ll soon fly is disseminated via ranking officers and critical personnel, like air traffic controllers and weather monitors. Today’s flight is a training exercise – two new pilots will be getting more hands-on time with the C-130J under the watchful eyes of experienced tactically-qualified pilots, while a pair of loadmasters will also be training, one as a new instructor, also observed by another experienced trainer.

Fin 601, aka “Senior”. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

Every flight is assigned a callsign, and the two aircraft flying today are labeled “Burma Flight”, a pointed reminder of the squadron’s history in the Asian theater of the Second World War. The lead aircraft will be dropping a pair of pallets, one on the ground in a COFF (Combat OFFload), and the other while in the air in a traditional airdrop. In combat situations, Hercules aircrew are expected to be fully proficient on these methods of battlefield supply delivery. The pallets we’ll be flying with are loaded down with weights to simulate an actual load; in battle, they’ll be chock full of ammunition, rations, gear, and other vital necessities for soldiers on the ground. Though C-130s are designed to land virtually anywhere, there are situations which require airdrops – cargo offloaded while in-flight through the rear main door of the aircraft – because landing the aircraft is simply out of the question for safety purposes. The RCAF has been doing this for years, ever since they bought their first C-130 legacy Hercs. Today, I’ll get to see them doing it with the newest technology available to them.

We’re bussed out the flight line, a neat row of dark gray C-130Js sitting quietly before us. I’m going to go up with Burma 2-1, the lead aircraft in the flight. For this run, 2-1 is assigned Fin 601, the very first C-130J delivered to the RCAF… so technically, I’m sitting on a piece of history. But before Fin 601 can be loaded up, it needs to be pre-flighted. As we’re technically flying with three loadmasters today, the three of them go about the preflight together with one observing and the other two executing. It’s rigorous and every minute detail is checked and rechecked. Nothing can be left to chance. It’s not just for the sake of those flying in the Herc, but it’s also for the sake of everyone they support on the ground. If an aircraft is disabled or incapacitated in any way, that puts the soldiers these aircraft are designed to support at a distinct disadvantage, and for the airmen of 436 Squadron, many of whom have and maintain ties to the Canadian Army’s infantry community, failure simply won’t do.

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After the loadmasters strap the cargo in using a forklift to help with the lift, a quick lunch and another pre-flight brief later, we’re now in the final prep stages for mission launch. Captains Joe Tufenkdjian and Jeff Moorhouse are Burma 2-1’s aircraft commander (left seat) and first officer (right seat) respectively. Now fully strapped into the jumpseat, it doesn’t take very long for a loud whine to fill the cockpit. We’ve switched to the aircraft’s auxiliary power unit and the ground power unit has been disconnected. A few short minutes later, the aircraft rumbles and vibrates noticeably – the first engine has been fired up and brought to idle. The pilots do the same for each engine in the startup sequence while communicating with air traffic control to get the necessary clearances and

“Burma 2-1, you’re cleared to Runway 06, hold till Burma 2-2 converges.”

Through the right-side windshield, we see Burma 2-2 holding short on a taxiway, ready for the formation takeoff. 2-2 will close in behind us on the runway, entering its takeoff roll when we’re all the way through ours. After lifting off, 2-1 and 2-2 will meet up and maintain that formation all the way through the flight. We begin banking away from Trenton on our climb, farmland falling away below us. But we don’t climb very high as today’s mission is meant to be flown at a low level. Most aircraft as big as the C-130 aren’t built to do this, but the Hercules excels at it. We’ll be flying through valleys, skirting hills and ridges, and we’re doing it through “bad guy country”. That means that everybody on the ground is hostile unless we’re informed otherwise, and they’re trying to kill us.

For any farmers and spring vacationers out there who might’ve heard or seen Burma Flight fly over, don’t worry, you’re not actually hostile combatants. 2-1 and 2-2’s pilots need practice avoiding the most common threat they’d face overseas in a country like Afghanistan – man-portable air defense systems, or MANPADS for short. And in no time, we’re under attack. And like the professionals they are, 2-1 and 2-2’s pilots quickly and efficiently respond to these attacks with a variety of tricks up their sleeves, keeping their aircraft and the important cargo in their holds safe and sound, still on track for the drop. Even FedEx couldn’t get delivery done as well as Burma Flight’s about to do it. We fly on through Eastern Ontario, banking sharply low over lakes and rivers, rising over hills when the terrain avoidance system voices its concern with repeated “Terrain, terrain, pull up!” warnings. It’s thoroughly shocking and yet highly comforting at the same time that Capts. Tufenkdjian and Moorhouse are idly chatting about the weather, sports, snowmobiles and vacation home property values while we’re roaring low over Ontario, passing small towns and logging camps in the blink of an eye. Somewhere behind us, at our 5 or 6 o’clock position, is Burma 2-2 doing the same thing. These two pilots are so damned good at their jobs that they make today seem like just another walk in the park for them.

Capt. Joe Tufenkdjian at the helm of Burma 2-1 while en route to the training area for today’s flight. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

Over the ICS, I hear Capt. Moorhouse talk with one of the loadmasters on the flight. “Reporter wants to get some time on the ramp with his camera, let’s do it. Someone come get him.” He turns around and asks me if I’m okay with the change in plan – originally, we were considering me going out on the ramp after concluding the airdrop, but this plan works better. I flash him a thumbs up and respond affirmatively via the ICS. Hell yes, I’m ready! Having never done this before, I grab the helmet and make for the ladder before anybody changes their mind, not that they will. Master Corporal Jared “Jay” Conroy is there to greet me and get me harnessed-up.

I’m still getting my bearings, stumbling through the hold while we’re hitting turbulence every so often. One of the loadmasters helps me into a harness and I put a borrowed flight helmet on, replete with a tinted visor and microphone. Jay and I move to the back of the aircraft and we hook into the floor. Jay disappears from my line of sight to manipulate a set of controls. The ramp soon drops and I start to stumble towards the gaping maw in front of me, forests, rivers and lakes falling behind us quickly. But I don’t have time to be uneasy because I get to feast my eyes on an incredible sight… out of nowhere, Burma 2-2, the second C-130J in the flight swoops into sight, parrying with the winds assaulting it. I’ve never seen or experienced anything like this in my life and my first instinct is to grab my camera. Buffeting winds make taking pictures of the trailing aircraft nearly impossible but I grab a few shots. Jay motions to me to sit down, and I do. At times, we bank so steeply that I need to hold onto the rollers on the floor of the ramp to keep me from shifting down.

It’s awesome.

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We’re zipping along merrily, the second C-130 flying less than 1000 feet behind. The brilliance of the situation I’m in gets to me and I start laughing as though I’ve completely lost my sanity. There I am, sitting on an open-air ramp at the back of an aircraft traveling hundreds of miles an hour in turbulent skies, hooked up to a solitary nylon strap behind me… and I’m having the time of my life! Jay has served in the Canadian Forces for over sixteen years, having begun his career in the military as an enlisted armored infantry soldier in the Canadian Army Reserve; an open ramp of a C-130 is the last place you’d expect to find an armored crewman. However, I look over and I see him casually enjoying the view, a grin stretching from ear to ear. This is just another day at work for him, but the experience never gets old.

MCpl Jared “Jay” Conroy stands in front of Fin 601, one of two CC-130J-30 Super Hercules transporters on today’s mission. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

The job of a Hercules loadmaster is very involved and challenging. The aircraft essentially becomes the loadmaster’s baby for the duration of the mission. His or her responsibility ranges from helping power the aircraft up from its dormant stage by plugging it into a GPU (a ground power unit), checking the hydraulically-actuated cargo ramp, to calculating weight and balance and appropriately distributing the cargo load to help keep the aircraft at a stable attitude while in-flight. Conroy is known as a combat-qualified loadmaster, meaning that he’s capable of doing his job under the stresses of battle. In fact, he’s already deployed with the C-130J to Afghanistan, having flown strategic airlift missions out there in support of coalition forces on the ground. For him and other airmen, one of the biggest perks of the job isn’t just getting to see the world – which they do a lot of – but it’s getting to fly in ways no ordinary person could ever fathom. “We were over Portugal once, and we dropped the ramp… I was just sitting there admiring the view below me, it was incredible! You don’t see that on a civilian jet … just amazing!” recalls Jay of an RCAF mission that took him to Western Europe and beyond.

We eventually make it back into the hold of the aircraft and Jay closes up the ramp. The C-130J is very similar to every other Herc I’ve ever been in, yet incredibly different. The one I’m on today was one of 17 C-130J-30s purchased by the Canadian Forces in 2008 with deliveries beginning a few years later. The -30 is the longest iteration of the C-130 line, which got its start in the mid-1950s. It possesses a glass cockpit with an array of multifunction displays, two heads up displays (HUDs) which projects important data on a see-through screen in front of the pilots faces, allowing them to keep their eyes outside their aircraft instead of constantly pointed at the cockpit’s instruments, and it only needs a crew of three to function – two pilots and a loadmaster, instead of the older Hercules’s crew of five (a flight engineer and navigator were the other two roles required). It can essentially do everything its predecessors, known as “legacy” Hercs, can do, and more.

Loadmaster Jay Conroy preps a pallet for the CDS drop. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

I’m back in the cockpit and Capt. Moorhouse chimes in over the comms again: “How was it?” I yell back “Awesome! Can’t wait to do it again!” before I realize I didn’t key my microphone. Moorhouse laughs and resumes paying attention to flying. The C-130J is his first fleet flying assignment in the RCAF, and he’s been at it ever since the Super Hercules entered Canadian service. “It’s a great plane, love it, nothing like it and it’s perfect for the job” says Moorhouse when we land. Having served with the Canadian Forces since 2006, he encourages prospective pilots to consider flying with the RCAF and notes that flight experience has never really been a prerequisite, having never flown an aircraft himself before he joined up. “You get to see and do incredible things … things you would never get to do in a civilian airliner, we get to do in military aircraft. The experience is well worth it.” he says.

We’re still very low over the countryside, but it’s almost time for the highlight of today’s mission – the airdrop, also known as a Cargo Delivery System (CDS) drop. Behind us, in the hold, the loadmasters have rigged up the cargo and they’re ready to do the drop. I clamber back down and am seated towards the front of the hold while Jay and another loadmaster move to the back of the aircraft. The ramp opens and the outside world comes back into focus. We don’t have to wait long, the aircraft’s attitude changes and its nose lifts, angling the hold slightly. Once again, timing is everything and the aircraft commander coordinates with the loadmasters to ensure the drop occurs within seconds of reaching the drop zone, or DZ for short. A load snapping noise briefly permeates my helmet and the pallet rolls towards the mouth of the ramp. A line connecting a parachute rigged to its top surface and a “static line” hooked up inside the Herc plays out and then goes taut. The parachute billows out, arresting the descent of the heavy pallet full of supplies and who-knows-what destined for the DZ we’re now climbing away from. Burma 2-2 does the same and re-enters formation.

Soon after dropping the first pallet, as we bank away from the drop zone. Copyright: Ian D’Costa, 2017

It’s almost time for the second feature of today’s show, the COFF. A combat offload is basically what Herc crews do when there’s no forklift around to help unload the aircraft. Similar to the widebody civilian airliners I’ve worked on in the past, the C-130’s cargo hold has rollers on its floor to facilitate the movement of large pallets bearing all sorts of cargo. Crew push the pallets into place, then lock them down using sturdy chains and straps to keep them from shifting; load-shift while in-flight can bring down an aircraft, and that’s the last thing anybody wants. During a COFF, a crew will use Newton’s first law of motion: “An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” This basically means that any object sitting at rest will tend to stay that way unless a force is inflicted upon it. In the same way, a COFF involves using the inertia of the heavy pallet in the hold, a rapid forward movement and a sudden brake in order to drop the pallet out the rear, using the rollers to smoothen out the motion. This is exactly what we do upon landing and moving out to a taxiway. The pallet falls away from the C-130, and the ramp closes. In minutes, we’re back up in the air.

The remainder of the flight involves touch-and-go landing practice, which Burma 2-1 executes with ease and precision. We’ll later find out on the bus ride out of the flight line that 2-1 hit their DZ during the airborne drop with absolutely perfect aim – full points. Today, the crews of Burma 2-1 and 2-2 have flown at altitudes so low you can see your shadow chase after you on the ground, clear as day. They’ve outmaneuvered and warded off attacks by ghost teams of enemy combatants, dropped thousands of pounds out the back of the aircraft onto a drop zone with pinpoint accuracy, many feet below us, and hurled another thousand pounds out the back of the Hercules upon landing as though that’s a totally normal thing for any aircraft to be able to do. Today, Burma Flight has done things no ordinary aircraft or aircrew is capable of without even breaking a sweat. This is all in a day’s work for the highly professional aviators of Canada’s only Super Hercules tactical airlift squadron.

A huge thanks to Lt. Karyn Mazurek of 8 Wing, the members of 436 Squadron, and the crews of Burma 2-1 and 2-2 for their graciousness in hosting me, entertaining my incessant questions with patience, and tolerating my constant photography! Allowing me to observe what you do in serve of your country was both an honor and a privilege!

Editor-in-Chief Ian D'Costa gets to go behind the scenes with the RCAF's 436 Squadron in a C-130J Super Hercules! Check out the full experience in the link. It's just after lunch on a cold, dreary Wednesday in Eastern Ontario, Canada. A pristine lake with mist settled above the waters sits quietly, surrounded by densely-forested hills, cabins and cottages scattered around the shores.

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alert5 · 8 years

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It’s midsummer 1964 and the unthinkable has just happened.

Radar picket stations frantically clog up the airwaves with congruently dire messages. The USSR has launched a massive nuclear strike on North America and Europe. Scores of intercontinental ballistic missiles, deployed from silos in the Soviet Union and from surfaced submarines in the Atlantic and Pacific, are well on their way to reaching their apogee. In less than an hour, entire metropolises will be wiped out and replaced with charred ruins of twisted metal and melted concrete. Everybody’s worst nightmare has come to life.

As NATO-members including the United Kingdom and the United States respond in kind with devastating fury, the business suit-clad members of the United States Secret Service’s elite presidential protective division have shifted into high gear with a mission of their own. The President is unceremoniously hustled out of the White House and into an austere Lincoln limousine, while National Guard jeeps with mounted machine guns sweep the roads ahead of all traffic. The presidential motorcade zips out while klaxons blare and civilians scurry to bunkers and shelters across the city. Soon, the motorcade arrives at Andrews Air Force Base, the gates having been opened in advance with a cleared path straight to the tarmac. The motorcade stops in front of a parked grey and white Boeing 707, and the President is yanked out and then shoved up the airstairs attached to the side of the airliner amidst the incredibly loud howl of the four turbojet engines underneath the wings of the aircraft.

An EC-135 Looking Glass. (USAF photograph, released)

The stairs are pulled away, the doors are shut and the pilots taxi out to the nearest runway, disregarding traditional procedure and ignoring the need to request clearance for departure. After entering a steep climb, the 707 will bank onto a heading which will take it to the American Midwest, where a fully-stocked bunker and command and control center awaits the President’s arrival. Though by now, it is an established custom to hail any USAF aircraft carrying the President as “Air Force One”, this modified 707 carrying the leader of the free world is actually called “Nightwatch”. It is the Air Force’s not-so-secret doomsday jet, an airborne command center from which the President and other high-ranking members of government and the military can control and coordinate rescue, response and retaliation efforts in the event that our nightmares come true, and global nuclear Armageddon comes to fruition.

Looking Glass and the Early Days of Nightwatch

Back when the Cold War still posed the threat of going “hot”, the US government decided that it would be prudent to stand up a fleet of special missions aircraft which would serve as insulated aerial command centers, all operated by the Air Force. The aircraft selected as the base platform of the fleet was the C-135 Stratolifter, the military transport version of the Boeing 707 airliner, the first commercially successful jetliner in history. Eleven C-135s were ordered and re-designated EC-135Cs for the “Looking Glass” fleet, a group of command and control jets which would function as a link to America’s nuclear arsenal if ever ground control centers were destroyed or unable to communicate with silos and warships with nuclear weapons delivery capabilities.

Each Looking Glass jet was rewired and outfitted with the latest and greatest in communications gear, countermeasures and range-extension modifications. Specialized air conditioning and modulation systems were installed to prevent radioactive air from penetrating the pressurized cabin and poisoning everybody inside. Radiation shields that would cover the windshield glass in the cockpit were custom-made and kept within easy reach of the pilots and flight engineer. Looking Glass EC-135s were crewed similarly to land-based command posts, with specialized personnel trained in communicating and controlling American nuclear delivery vehicles and weapons. In fact, Looking Glass was officially designated a weapons system, though it couldn’t itself fire a shot; it could still direct hundreds upon hundreds of launches and attacks from American military elements in the air, on the ground or at sea. From 1961 onward, the Air Force kept a minimum of one EC-135C airborne at any given time somewhere in the world, 365 days a year. Programs similar to Looking Glass were also implemented, including “Nightwatch”, “Silk Purse”, “Scope Light”, and “Blue Eagle”, each providing emergency airborne command centers for important military officers, such as

This practice of having an EC-135 airborne at all times carried on till 1990, having accumulated a whopping 281,000 combined flight hours with not a single accident to report. Arguably the most successful Air Force flight program in history. After 1990, Looking Glass EC-135s were still kept on duty, albeit on constant ground alert. These aircraft, as well as those in sister programs like Blue Eagle and Silk Purse, remained serviceable and ready as command posts, but were all eventually retired and replaced.

An EC-135 Stratolifter aircraft refuels a second Stratolifter assuming the position of Looking Glass, the code name for the backup command and control post of Strategic Air Command (SAC). In the event that SAC’s underground command center was destroyed by enemy attack, the crew of the flying command center would assume all functions from the air. Three Looking Glass sorties are flown daily by the 2nd Airborne Command and Control Squadron (ACCS) and the 4th ACCS. (Photograph by Chief Master Sgt. Don Sutherland, USAF)

The Nightwatch fleet’s mission was similar to that carried out by the EC-135C jets, but with a slightly different purpose. The fleet’s special callsign was indicative of its unique mission. It would be the platform for a national airborne-based communications network that would be operated should a nuclear war break out; the network was also codenamed “NIGHTWATCH”. Once again, the aircraft of choice was based off the C-135, this time designated the EC-135J. Instead of providing four-star generals and admirals the ability to stay in touch with America’s nuclear arsenal during a hypothetical nuclear war, the EC-135Js would be used exclusively for the President of the United States. If the Cold War went hot, the Commander in Chief would have an unparalleled capability to stay in command of the military, and would be able to manage various assets (including the nuclear force) while on his way to a secure bunker, which contained communications gear of its own. Three EC-135Js were kept at Andrews AFB, Maryland, within close proximity to the White House. All three jets were placed on a permanent rotational standby state, ready to take to the air at a moment’s notice, the flight crews nearby on alert.

A New Era for Nightwatch

Fast forward to the early 1970s.

The 747, more popularly known as the “Jumbo Jet” was soaring into widespread use with Pan American World Airways. The first ever widebody airliner in existence, the 747 was gaining in popularity with other carriers and in no time, Boeing was already developing the upgraded successor to the 747-100, the first of the series. Dubbed the 747-200, it featured better range and improved engines built by Pratt & Whitney. Orders poured in for the aircraft from around the world. Thanks to an airline reneging on its contract, Boeing wound up with a pair of 747-200Bs without a customer to deliver them to. Seeing a potential opportunity to sell those two aircraft to the military, Boeing executives shopped the jumbo jets to the Pentagon as prospective replacements for the EC-135C Looking Glass birds. The 747-200Bs, after being refitted, could do more than the EC-135C, and grant a higher capacity and improved capability to the Strategic Air Command (which managed the EC-135 fleet) when flying a mission analogous to Looking Glass. Boeing decided to focus their offer specifically towards replacing the EC-135J Nightwatch jets still based at Andrews AFB. The Air Force accepted Boeing’s offer and ordered up the completion of the first 747 in the package, with the intention of buying a total of seven, one of which would be used solely for research purposes.

The interior E-4A Advanced Airborne Command Post, circa 1976. The interior was extensively reworked and redeveloped on the E-4B upgrade. (National Archives)

Boeing finished the first Nightwatch replacement jet in 1973, officially given the designation E-4A by the Air Force. E-Systems, now known as Raytheon Intelligence and Information Systems, was given the contract to rewire and refit the E-4A with all of the improved versions of the various computers, communications and control gear which its predecessors used, and the Air Force took delivery of the first E-4A in 1974, also basing it at Andrews. Officially, it was called the National Emergency Airborne Command Post (NEACP), colloquially known as “Kneecap” via the phonetic pronunciation of the acronym.

An E-4A taking off from Andrews Air Force Base, circa 1973. Note the absence of the communications array blister, which was later made standard on all E-4s after the B upgrade. (National Archives)

By the end of the 1970s, the Air Force had in its possession three E-4As and one improved E-4B. The first two Nighwatch aircraft were powered by four standard Pratt & Whitney JT9D high-bypass turbofans, while the latter two used General Electric F103 (CF6) turbofans as their powerplants. Eventually, the JT9Ds were replaced with F103s as well, and brought up to the same standard of equipment as the E-4B by the mid-1980s. The

Though the E-4B ostensibly looks like a harmless Boeing 747, such an appearance belies what’s really under its hood, so to speak. Since they were, after all, the Air Force’s doomsday jets, the E-4Bs were tooled accordingly. They were hardened to withstand the effects of a severe electromagnetic pulse (EMP), like one emitted from the detonation of a nuclear warhead, allowing functionality and operability even after a debilitating nuclear attack had commenced. The cabin air conditioning and filtration systems were modified to block and expunge radiation for lengthy periods of time, and special screens with wire mesh similar to the doors you find on your average household microwave oven were created to shield the cockpit windows from absorbing radiation into the aircraft. Though digital flight decks and glass cockpits were quickly gaining in popularity by the late 1980s and early 1990s, the Air Force left the E-4B’s instrument panels with their original analog configuration, as the dials and gauges are less likely to be affected by an EMP than digital displays.

The Battle Staff Area, where a joint services planning staff operates during a typical NOAC mission. Note the overhead baggage bins, which were leftover from the original Boeing 747-200 passenger model the E-4A/B was based on. (Photograph copyright: Sagar N. Pathak)

Now, not only is the E-4B capable of resisting the effects of a nuclear detonation, it’s also designed to fly for a hell of a long time. According to Jim Winchester’s Encyclopedia of Modern Aircraft, the E-4B could hypothetically remain flying for up to a week. Thus far, it’s estimated that the Air Force has pushed its E-4Bs to a max of 35 hours in testing and training, though they have the option to greatly exceed those fligh hours if necessary. An in-flight refueling receptacle, located below the cockpit windshield, allows for E-4Bs to be refueled while airborne, using a probe system. To account for the possibility of extended operations, a number of crew qualified to serve on the E-4B are cross-trained so that can not only work their regular assigned stations, but can also often troubleshoot and fix technical issues with the systems they’re assigned to, while in-flight. A typical mission flight roster on an E-4B does include dedicated technicians and crew chiefs, though.

Probably the most important component of the E-4B is its advanced communications suite. The aircraft comes equipped with various antennae, some of which can be trailed behind the plane up to five miles while in-flight. A large blister on top of the fuselage, just behind the cockpit, houses the aircraft’s satellite communications array. The entire suite allows personnel aboard the ability to stay in continuous contact with every American (and allied) military asset available, including nuclear submarines, carrier strike groups, and even land-based missile silos.

A rare look inside an E-4B’s cockpit. Note that the cockpit hasn’t been updated with “glass screen” multifunction displays (MFDs) or digital flight instruments, other than a few attitude indicators and what appears to be a Traffic Avoidance Collision System display (TCAS). (DOD photo by Army Sgt. Amber I. Smith)

Today, the US Air Force refers to Nightwatch as the National Airborne Operations Center (NAOC, pronounced “Nay-Och”). In the years following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the “end” of Mutually Assured Destruction, Nightwatch has essentially become the sitting US Secretary of Defense’s command post away from the Pentagon. All four E-4Bs still retain their extensive shielding, computers and communications systems, albeit updated to more modern standards. LCD screens have replaced older cathode ray tubes (CRTs) and projectors, and the aircraft has been outfitted with latest and greatest in top-level encrypted gear. Newer send/receive satellite links allow for higher fidelity connections with the American defense network across the world. The E-4B’s cockpit, however, hasn’t changed much. The aircraft’s flight instruments, for the most part, remain a mix of dials and vertical tape gauges. A modern NAOC crew contingent consists of pilots, navigators and flight engineers, flight attendants (yes, the US Air Force has those) communications specialists, and battle staff from the various military branches of the United States.

Secretary of Defense James Mattis briefs reporters aboard an E-4B inside its projection room, which doubles as a conference/briefing area. Hi-resolution LCD screens have long since replaced the projectors, however. (DOD photo by U.S. Air Force Tech. Sgt. Brigitte N. Brantley)

America’s fleet of three NAOCs are available to the Secretary of Defense for official travel outside the country, but are still kept in the alert emergency rotation should the worst conceivable event, man made or otherwise, occur. Should the President of the United States have to travel outside mainland America for whatever reason, an E-4B will usually tag along for the ride, ready to serve as a command center and a backup Air Force One, should something happen to ground the aircraft the President normally flies on. NAOC crew maintain the aircraft with food and provisions, typically large stacks of Meals Ready to Eat (MREs), the same meal packs issued to ground combat troops. When a NAOC is scrambled, its pilots and crew have just minutes to get into the E-4B and buckle into their stations and the aircraft up in the air. The US Air Force ensures that all personnel attached to the NAOC mission are constantly trained and ready for any mission they might be faced with. Security personnel, armed with M9 sidearms and M4 carbines, also travel with the aircraft to safeguard it and its sensitive gear whenever it’s on the ground. All through the aircraft, you’ll find bunk beds and reclining seats, ready for crew rest on especially long missions that could last days. You could probably say that NAOCs are among the most prepared and alert posts in the entire US military!

The E-4A’s original projection/conference room. (National Archives)

But all of this does come at a price, and not a very small one at that. Modern military planes are typically very expensive pieces of hardware, and the more specialized they are, the costlier they tend to be. That’s partly why aircraft like the Northrop B-2 Spirit, the United States Air Force’s super-stealthy long-range bomber, rang up massive price tags, numbering in the hundreds of millions per unit produced, not to mention the price of parts, testing, outfitting, etc. The B-2, actually, is one of the costliest aircraft to operate in the US Air Force’s inventory… but not THE costliest. That dubious title goes to Nightwatch. A Boeing 747-400, the most popular iteration of the 747 Jumbo Jet series, in service today with airlines around the world costs around $24,000 to $29,000 USD per hour to operate. An E-4B, on the other hand, costs the USAF a staggering $159,529 USD per hour to fly. Big difference.

Today, Nightwatch’s original mission doesn’t really exist anymore, but all four aircraft are still extremely useful assets to maintain. The last time an E-4B flew during a national crisis situation was during the September 11th attacks of 2001. Thankfully, the aircraft hasn’t had such a mission since. In 2007, then-Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld brought out a plan to retire the E-4B fleet altogether, but this was quickly nullified the following year, when it was determined that there was no suitable replacement for the E-4B. The aircraft so specialized and uniquely equipped for the range of duties it was built for, that no other aircraft in Air Force service could possibly come close to fulfilling the E-4B’s mission and role. By 2039, however, all four E-4Bs will have reached their maximum lifetime operational limits, and will need to be retired. It’s not out of the question for the Air Force to explore a replacement for the E-4B, though it’s not very likely that the follow-on will be another 747 Jumbo Jet, unless Boeing keeps its 747-8 (the latest version of the 747) production line open. Decades upon decades after the first concept of a doomsday plane took to the skies, these powerful aircraft have still yet to fly the mission they were originally designed for… and that’s a good thing. But in the event that the worst does happen, the US Air Force stands prepared with its small but potent fleet of E-4B NAOCs, ready to execute the Nightwatch mission as soon as the Klaxon alarm sounds.

The crew of the E-4B National Airborne Operations Center greets the delegation of Secretary of Defense Jim Mattis at Al Dhafra Air Base in the United Arab Emirates, Feb. 20, 2017. (DOD photo by U.S. Air Force Tech. Sgt. Brigitte N. Brantley)

This is arguably one of the coolest and baddest aircraft the US Air Force has ever operated. It is America's doomsday plane, callsign: "Nightwatch". It's midsummer 1964 and the unthinkable has just happened. Radar picket stations frantically clog up the airwaves with congruently dire messages.

#747-200 #B747 #Boeing #Boeing 747 #Costliest plane in the Air Force to operate #Doomsday Plane #E-4B #James Mattis #Kneecap #NAOC #National Airborne Operations Center #National Emergency Airborne Command Post #NEACP #Nightwatch #Presidential Aircraft

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