Shadow Flight

Matthews and Evans, using their eight multipurpose displays, continually cross-checked their altimeter readouts with the radio altimeter. Both pilots felt a series of bumps as the bomber flew through a low-lying cloud deck. The soft, bluish white cockpit lights cast a faint glow on the "glass" instrument panel.

Shadow 37 had been equipped with EICAS (engine instrument and crew alerting system), the final link to the "all-glass" cockpit. The synoptic displays monitored engine, electric, hydraulic, fuel, air-conditioning, pressurization, pneumatic, and other ancillary systems. The glass tubes, when called upon, or during an anomaly, also projected aircraft systems diagrams resembling the illustrations in the flight manual. If the B-2 experienced a ground or an airborne emergency, the color-coded electronic displays would come to life with motion.

Matthews checked the operating parameters of the four powerful General Electric engines. Fuel flow, rpms, temperature. All in the green.

The four nonafterburning engines, each producing 19,000 pounds of thrust, had been designed to use a fuel additive and cold-air baffle system to eliminate contrails. The highly visible white contrails would give away the bomber's position to the human eye. The exhaust outlets, filtering through V-shaped ceramic tiles similar to those on the space shuttles, were on top of the smooth wings.

"Four thousand feet to level-off," Evans reminded the command pilot.

"Okay," Matthews replied, easing the B-2's nose up three degrees. "I'm starting the level-off. Watch our altitude."

"Roger," Evans replied, scanning the various instrument displays.

Larry Simmons watched the altimeter unwind through 3,900 feet, then removed his flying gloves and wiped his perspiring palms on his thighs. He reached over to the panel at his shoulder and pushed in the circuit breaker to the temporary transponder. He left it activated for seven seconds, then pulled it out. The tech-rep then placed a retainer around the circuit breaker, as he had the other transponder breakers, to prevent it from being shoved in accidentally.

"Thousand to go, Chuck," Evans said, following the routine descent checklist. The copilot monitored closely all phases of the flight.

"Check," Matthews replied quietly, slowly raising the nose of the B-2 as he moved the throttles forward gently. "Four hundred feet… we're level."

The acceleration produced from 76,000 pounds of thrust pressed the crew into their seats as the bomber accelerated to 460 knots.

"Terrain avoidance verified," Evans reported, referring to the highly sophisticated terrain anticollision radar system.

The radar screen cast a dim glow on the faces of the pilots. Evans switched the scale to three nautical miles, scanning the instrument intently, looking for any obstacle in their path of flight. Shadow 37 was now traveling over the bay at almost eight nautical miles a minute.

The strategic bomber had been designed to be subsonic to avoid detection from the supersonic "footprint." The mission of the B-2, whether flying a high-altitude profile or hugging the deck, was to penetrate the target area unnoticed.

Matthews darted a look at the electro-optical display, then concentrated intently on the terrain-avoidance system flying the speeding bomber. He did not trust the terrain-hugging system this close to the surface, especially at night.

Matthews had already experienced two failures in Shadow 37's quadruple-redundant fly-by-wire digital flight control system. One failure, at 220 feet above the Tehachapi Mountains, had almost cost him his life. His uncanny reflexes had saved three lives in less than a second.

"Paul," Matthews said, again scanning his flight instruments, "how about dimming the panel lights just a tweak?"

"Yessir," Evans responded, reaching for the interior light control switches. He gave the instrument panel knob a slight turn. The cockpit darkened as the pilots' vision adjusted to the black, overcast night.

Matthews, fighting the insidious feeling of vertigo, keyed his intercom system. "How you doin', Larry?"

Five seconds passed without a response from the weapons systems technician. Evans cocked his head to the left to look at Simmons. What he saw horrified him.

Chapter Two

TORONTO AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL CENTER

Peter Dawson, journeyman traffic controller, stared at his radarscope, mesmerized. The emergency transponder squawk-7700was real. The code, which set off the control center alarm, had appeared instantaneously without even a primary radar return.

Dawson's supervisor, Bruce Cochrane, was already standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder. "Where the blazes did that come from?"

"You've got me," Dawson replied, looking confused. He had not been tracking any traffic twenty-five nautical miles west of the southern tip of Belcher Islands.

"Get on the land-line, Peter," the supervisor ordered, looking closer at the radarscope, "and find out what's going on out there."