My role as a navigator was to make sure the nuclear laden aircraft (we carried four bombs in the bomb bay and two nuclear tipped missiles, one under each wing) would get to Moscow without, of course, electronic navigational aid. (Satellite navigation was not yet in place.) This meant that I had to learn how to use a sextant placed in the bubble of the aircraft to take readings from the sun or the stars. (Alas, the moon was not reliable because it was never at a fixed stellar location.) Navigating an aircraft speeding along at 500 mph was a very difficult task, and often I didn’t do so well. And here is the crux of the moment—a small crew is highly interdependent, so the marginal performance of one crew member affects everyone else.

One other B-52 moment is worth mentioning: when lightning strikes an aircraft. Did you ever imagine that doesn’t happen? Think again; it does—military and civilian. Boeing recognized this reality long ago and provided a technical solution. In the case of a B-52 strike, here is a personal account of what happens. We were returning from a 24-hour mission of round robin over the Mediterranean Sea when ZAP!, a lightning bolt hit us. I was resting in the upper deck when the bolt hit. A flash went down the aircraft above my head where I was located; this is called St. Elmos fire.

The aircraft immediately plunged 10 thousand feet before the pilots regained control. Me? I scrambled to get my parachute on and get downstairs to my ejection seat, prepared to bail out if the pilot so ordered. Whew! No order came and the moment passed as we headed homeward.