Mar

22

 As AG correctly notes, most military "news" is very, very old information. But it sometimes seems to take its own sweet time about arriving where the world of money is concerned.

"Beautiful Day For A BONE Flight"

"B-1B Deployments"

Chris Tucker writes: 

So these aren't Bones, but BUF's. (Big Ugly F**ckers), other wise known as B52's. But it's a cute story. And I made up the call sign.

Around about twenty four maybe twenty five years ago. I'm a fresh, new radar controller at ZNY. I'm getting "seasoning" time, working the radar on my own, in full command of the sector, but with a highly experienced old hand sitting next to me in the radar hand-off position (sort of like an assistant) to keep me out of trouble. Happily, the old hand on this particular day was one of the best, most naturally gifted air traffic controllers I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I've known a few. His name is Dominic.

We are working the Yardley Sector, Sector 55, a busy and complex departure sector that blends southwest bound NY Metro departure traffic from EWR and LGA area airports with west bound and northwest bound JFK departures from the south east. At the same time, we descend BWI and DCA arrivals from the northeast through the departures and sequence the bunch. It's a fun sector to work, some people don't like it because, and I'm serious here, the angles are funny. You have to understand aircraft types and decide, long before they cross, who is going to be on top in any merging situation. We love Boeings - they climb fast. We hate Airbus - they don't.

So I'm working my tail off and I have this great big gaggle of traffic in the southwest corner of the sector, everybody is crossing and I've used almost every single altitude available to me between Flight Level One Eight Zero and Flight Level Two Eight Zero (essentially eighteen to twenty eight thousand feet). I'm waiting for a few pairs of planes to deconflict so I can climb every body and ship them over to the next controller, so my attention is focused (too much so) on this area. A departure checks on the frequency off of LGA, up in the northeast corner of the sector, level at one seven thousand, itching for higher. Standard stuff. So as I'm dragging my eyes up towards him I've already begun speaking: "U.S. Air Seven Forty One, New York Center Roger. Cliiiimb aaaand (eyes not yet there) maiiintaaaaiiiin." And Dominic explodes with a resounding "NO!!!" Aah. Yes. Now, very nonchalantly, I say "U.S. Air Seven Forty One, disregard. Maintain One Seven Thousand. Traffic, twelve o'clock, four miles, opposite direction, a flight of nine B52's in the block, Flight Level One Eight Zero through Flight Level Two Zero Zero". "US Air Seven Forty One roger - we weren't going anywhere - we heard him!"


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