Chilling Nanoseconds

Have you ever experienced a chilling nanosecond in your life? Especially while flying? The psychology is real but difficult to explain. I have experienced more than the three that I share here, but I hope you find these interesting and helpful in understanding what I mean by “chilling nanoseconds”.

My first chilling nanosecond took place during a takeoff in 1964 at Zaragoza Air Base in Spain. The base was used by the Strategic Air Command for nuclear alert duty with up to eight B-47s (six engine medium bombers) on 24/7 nuclear alert duty. We would fly in from Lincoln Air Force Base, Nebraska. We would be briefed on our target, go on alert the next day for seven days of alert duty followed by seven days of R&R (rest & relaxation) in Europe, return to Zaragosa, go back on nuke alert duty, and after seven days fly back to Lincoln.

The nanosecond came on a hairy takeoff from Zaragoza for Lincoln. It was a very hot day with no wind. I calculated our necessary takeoff performance which that day would require the entire runway minus the distance to continue if one engine failed. If that happened, we could still safely continue by using the full length of the runway. This procedure is used every day by the airlines if an engine fails on takeoff.

If an engine failed at that point, we could abort and have enough runway to stop. If we lost the engine before that point, we could continue the takeoff on our five working engines, using the remaining runway. However, I knew that the numbers used in the B-47 flight manual to calculate takeoff distance were based on a new aircraft with new engines; there were no safety factors to be used as aircraft get older.

We were on the max-book edge for takeoff roll. It was a given for me that if we lost an engine on takeoff, we would try to use the overrun, but if we were not airborne by then, I planned to eject and avoid the fireball as the aircraft went beyond the overrun to break up and explode. There was no room for error. Cooler weather or a headwind or less fuel would have given us an advantage. And there was a definite problem for the navigator, because in a B-47 his ejection seat had downward trajectory, and he needed at least 400 feet of altitude to survive an ejection.

The takeoff calculations also included an acceleration time element. At 120 knots of airspeed, I would call out “HACK” to the navigator, and if we did not have the calculated airspeed necessary to takeoff at the time calculated, we would abort and have enough runway to stop. We would then download fuel or wait for a better, cooler day.

The nanosecond came as we accelerated down the runway. I started the time hack and since we were at a maximum, my attention was locked on the airspeed indicator. The increase in airspeed was normal until it neared the end of the time, and it was at that chilling moment–in that nanosecond–that the airspeed stopped increasing. I almost called for an abort, but the airspeed suddenly jumped ahead, and we continued the takeoff. As I’d feared, we used far more than the book distance. We were at the edge of the overrun before we got airborne. We turned to the south, using the best climb-out airspeed.

We then climbed for many miles at the same distance above the ground. Our climb angle matched the climb rate of the ridgeline, and for a long time the ground below us “gained altitude” as fast as we did. Finally clear, we headed for home and our families. That entire takeoff was very hairy, but the most chilling nanosecond was when the airspeed stopped increasing.

Another chilling nanosecond came in 1972 south of Hanoi, North Vietnam. We were southbound heading for my base. The chilling nanosecond came when I checked the fuel gauge and saw that I had only 800 pounds left. That was not enough fuel to return to base, and my guess was that we would have to eject over Laos.

My first action was to slow to “best cruise fuel burn” speed. Then I called a tanker (KC-135 mid-air refueling aircraft) telling them how to meet me. Using the DME, he would turn onto the radial toward Udorn when we were 25 miles apart.

He acknowledged my instructions. I then prepared to jettison all external stores to decrease the weight and drag. There was a red button to push, but before doing that I selected the outboard tanks as my fuel source to get the last drops of fuel from them before jettisoning. That was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, because there was fuel in them, and it was a very pleasant surprise as my fuel gauge suddenly indicated that I had the fuel I needed to “RTB” (Return To Base).

The takeaway? Do not design a combat aircraft that does not have an automatic low level fuel transfer system. I refueled off the tanker, though only 1,000 pounds, so the tanker crew could get a “SAVE”.

My third experience of a “good” chilling nanosecond was in 1969 landing a KC-135 A/B at Pease Air Force Base near Portsmouth, New Hampshire. We had departed Plattsburgh Air Base, New York, with maintenance personnel and spare engines. Our destination was RAF Mildenhall Air Base in England. The mission included a stop at Pease Air Force Base to pick up more maintenance personnel.

That chilling nanosecond came when we were near touchdown. I thought–for a nanosecond–that I had forgotten to lower the landing gear. We were at the level where our tires should have hit the runway, but there was no sensation of landing. The reason? It was the best landing I ever made in over 6,000 hours of flying. For a landing to be that soft – so soft as to not feel the touchdown and not realize that the aircraft was on the ground – several good things all had to be in your favor. All the tires had to be perfectly balanced; the runway had to be perfectly smooth; and I had to round out just right for it to happen.

Only after I realized that we were safely on the tarmac, could I smile and let go of that chilling, heart-stopping nanosecond.

Cornelius “Neil” Cosentino became a US Air Force pilot in 1960 and went on to log over 6,000 hours in military, commercial and private flying. He flew the B-47, KC-135, F-4CDE, including three tours in Vietnam. He was awarded nine Air Medals and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Neil joined OLLI-USF in 2018. He has taken classes in writing, music, teaching, activism and online searches. Neil is always interested in new projects and currently heads up the new OLLI Think Tank SIG.