SR71

This may be the single greatest aviation story ever told, it�s about the iconic SR-71 Blackbird.

The story, from the now out-of-print book Sled Driver by former SR-71 jockey Brian Shul (available used on Amazon for just $700).

Here�s the ultimate aviation troll:

There were a lot of things we couldn�t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn�t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.

Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: �November Charlie 175, I�m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.�

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the � Houston Center voice.� I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country�s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn�t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna�s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. �I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.� Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. �Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check�. Before Center could reply, I�m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol� Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He�s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: �Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.�

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done � in mere seconds we�ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.

Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: �Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?� There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. �Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.�

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: �Ah, Center, much thanks, we�re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.�

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, �Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.�

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day�s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.

For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.


SR-71 Blackbird Pilot Trolls Arrogant Fighter Pilot with Ground Speed Check.

Awesome story, it never gets old!

Great story. Reminds me of one from Viet Nam:

It seems that B-52's would sometimes/regularly (I'm not sure, as I am a relator of the story, not its creator) be escorted by F-4's. And often/sometimes (see above parenthetical) the fighter jocks would show of by doing barrel rolls and other maneuvers around the BUF's. One bomber pilot had finally had enough of this and called to his show-off escort, "I bet I can do something you can't, smart-ass." The Phantom pilot said, "Yeah, what's that?"

"Watch" came the reply.

A few moments went by and the B-52 pilot said, "There|! I'd like to see you do that."

The fighter pilot, having seen nothing happen, asked, "What did you do?"

"I just shut down two engines."

A different punch line to the F-4 and B-52 story I heard was that after the F-4 pilot asks "what did you do?" the B-52 replies "Got up, stretched my legs, went to the restroom, and got some coffee."

Also heard same but replace B-52 with C-5.

Another spy plane story, this one from a bit further back and in a much slower bird.

My grandfather did some contractor work with U2s for the CIA during the mid 50's, mostly focused on the cameras that they mounted. He and the members of his team were listening to one of their aircraft on a test hop as the pilot (a former USAF fighter pilot turned CIA driver) was climbing higher and higher into the stratosphere. At one point in the flight, (this still being a VERY top secret aircraft) I guess the aircraft deviated a bit from it's flight plan (or something to that effect) and NORAD operators scrambled some fighter jets to intercept the unidentified aircraft. At this point this was all unknown to the U2 and crew in the control station.. until a phone call came in. I suppose everyone switched to the Guard channel or whatever they would have used to vector fighters because the rest of the event played out before the audience in the control station.

The fighter jets (probably ANG Sabres) could be heard on radio getting talked onto their target, something to the effect of "Control we're at XX thousand feet, with no contact in sight". The ground station kept trying to talk the jets on but still "Control we're at our maximum altitude and still no contact in sight". The interceptors tried radioing the contact "unidentified contact over California we are ANG flight of 2 Sabres please identify."

The hotshot former fighter pilot turned U2 driver, sitting comfortably at 70,000 feet, couldn't resist and came back with a very teasing: "Nyah nyah ni nyah nyah you can't catch me!"

Well this caused a fluster and before long a full bird Colonel was on the radio from NORAD. "This is Colonel so-and-so from North American Air Defense, you will identify yourself immediately!"

The U2 driver's response: "Well Colonel so-and-so, nyah nyah ni nyah nyah you can't catch me either!"

Given the top levels of secrecy involved with the U2 I strongly suspect the guy got away with it too!

Haha..thanks to all great stories

Those never get old Another good one is the B-52 declaring an emergency due to an engine failure, while at the same time a single-seat fighter is requesting priority due to low fuel. ATC tells him he's number two behind the B-52 because it has had an engine failure, whereby the fighter pilot responds, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice: "Ah, the dreaded 7-engine approach."

Who knew that military pilots could have such a great sense of humor?

lol. Love them all.

This reminded me of the Bill et John Machinima vids:





Gotta love the real life stories though!

Wheels

I like this from the comment section of OP's link

SR-71 pilot asks permission to fly at 80,000 feet.
The local tower responds that if he can get there it is all his.
The sled pilot says "Roger, descending to 80,000

Thats just great. That story gives a smile.

Recently read Sled Driver and it an awesome read, filled with cool stories and some nice pictures.