USAF SR-71 Blackbird Thread

Jeff Head

General
Registered Member
This thread will be about the SR-71 Blackbird which was retired from US Service several years ago.

This was a simply AMAZING aircraft, which routinely flew in excess of Mach 3.2 at altitudes up to and over 80,000 feet.

What is most amazing is that the US first flew this aircraft in 1964, which was a variation on the YF-12 interceptor version (later cancelled) which first flew in 1963.

Thirty two SR-71 aircraft were built, and they remained in very top secret operation until 1998-1999.

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To kick off the thread, here is a link to the true stoy of a pilot who survived (his backseater was killed) when their aircraft disintegrated round them at 78,000 feet, flying in excess of Mach 3!

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The Aviationist said:
Built as a strategic reconnaissance aircraft able to fly at 88,000 feet and Mach 3, the iconic
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required aircrews to wear a special silver pressure suit to ensure their safety. This proved to be much useful during the time, as the aircraft experienced several accidents at very high speeds and altitudes during its test flights.

The protection provided by these suits was put to test on Jan. 25, 1966 when
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tail number 952 disintegrated mid-air during a systems evaluation flight. The mission was intended to investigate procedures designed to reduce trim drag and improve high Mach cruise performance while the center of gravity (CG) was located further aft than normal, reducing the Blackbird’s longitudinal stability.

The SR-71 was driven by Bill Weaver with a
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, Jim Zwayer in the back seat and it took off from
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at 11:20 am .
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, accelerated to Mach 3.2 and climbed to 78,000 feet, which was their initial cruise altitude.

During a programmed thirty-five-degree bank right turn they experienced an “inlet unstart” that caused the immediate unstart on the right
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, forcing the aircraft to roll further right and start to pitch up. An inlet unstart happened when a shock wave was rapidly ejected back outside the inlet. When an inlet unstart occurred a device called the cross-tie system was enabled to minimize the extreme rolling and yaw of the aircraft and to prevent the good inlet from unstarting. At the same time the cross-tie system also restarted the good engine. As Weaver himself told to former Blackbird pilot Col. Richard H. Graham in his book, “
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”: “I jammed the control stick as far left and forward as it would go. No response. I instantly knew we were in for a wild ride.”

Since the chances to survive an ejection at Mach 3.18 and 78,000 feet weren’t very good, Weaver and Zwayer decided to stay with the aircraft to restore control until they reached a lower speed and altitude, but the cumulative effects of system malfunctions exceeded flight control authority. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion, even if the time from event onset to catastrophic departure from controlled flight was only two to three seconds.

Weaver recalls that he was “still trying to communicate with Jim, I blacked out, succumbing to extremely high g-forces. Then the SR-71 literally disintegrated around us.”

Weaver struggled to realize what was really happening. “I could not have survived what had just happened. I must be dead. As full awareness took hold, I realized I was not dead. But somehow I had separated from the airplane. I had no idea how this could have happened; I hadn’t initiated an ejection. The sound of rushing air and what sounded like straps flapping in the wind confirmed I was falling, but I couldn’t see anything. My pressure suit’s face plate had frozen over and I was staring at a layer of ice.”

It was at that point that the pressure suit proved to be very effective protection for Weaver. In fact, once it was inflated, an emergency oxygen cylinder in the seat kit attached to the parachute harness was functioning. It not only supplied breathing oxygen, but also pressurized the suit, preventing Weaver’s blood from boiling at the extremely high altitude. In this way the suit’s pressurization had also provided physical protection from intense buffeting and g-forces. That inflated suit had become like a tiny escape capsule.

Another system conceived to safeguard the Blackbird aircrew during the bailout procedure was the SR-71’s
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. To prevent body tumbling motions and physical injury due to the centrifugal forces it was designed to automatically deploy a small-diameter stabilizing parachute shortly after ejection and seat separation.

Since Weaver had not intentionally activated the ejection sequence, he thought that stabilizing chute might not have deployed. But he quickly determined he was falling vertically and not tumbling, meaning that the little parachute had deployed and was doing its job. The next concern was for the main parachute, which was designed to open automatically at 15,000 feet, but again he had no assurance the automatic-opening function would work. So Weaver decided to open the faceplate, to estimate his height above the ground but as he reached for the faceplate, he felt the reassuring sudden deceleration of main parachute deployment.

After landing, Weaver was rescued by Albert Mitchell Jr., owner of a ranch in northeastern New Mexico, who helped him with the chute, then reached Zwayer who had landed not far away, with his own Hughes helicopter. Mitchell returned few minutes later reporting that Zwayer was dead: in fact he had suffered a broken neck during the aircraft’s disintegration and was killed almost instantly. Moreover Mitchell said that his ranch foreman would watch over Zwayer’s body until the arrival of the authorities and he flew Weaver to the Tucumcari hospital.

Investigation of the incident determined that the nose section of the Blackbird had broken off aft of the rear cockpit and crashed ten miles from the main wreckage. The resultant very high g-forces had literally ripped Weaver and Zwayer from the airplane. After this crash, testing with the CG aft of normal limits was discontinued, and trim-drag issues were resolved via aerodynamic means. Moreover the inlet control system was improved and the inlet unstarts almost stopped with the development of the Digital Automatic Flight and Inlet Control System.

Two weeks after the accident Weaver was back in a Blackbird. As he recalls: “It was my first flight since the accident, so a flight test engineer in the back seat was probably a little apprehensive about my state of mind and confidence. As we roared down the runway and lifted off, I heard an anxious voice over the intercom. “Bill! Bill! Are you there?” “Yeah George. What’s the matter?” “Thank God! I thought you might have left.” The rear cockpit of the SR-71 has no forward visibility – only a small window on each side – and George couldn’t see me. A big red light on the master-warning panel in the rear seat had illuminated just as we rotated, stating: “Pilot Ejected”. Fortunately, the cause was a misadjusted micro switch, not my departure.”

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TerraN_EmpirE

Tyrant King
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SR-71 Blackbird Communication to Tower
Written by Brian Schul—former sled (SR-71 Blackbird) driver.
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 who asked Center for a read-out 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 in Beech. "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 read-out? 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.
 

Jeff Head

General
Registered Member
I have heard this before...it is legend in the aircraft industry and amongst pilots...both civilian and military.

Article said:
"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. 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."
 

Jeff Head

General
Registered Member
Here are some highlights of SR-71 (and the other derivatives, like the YF-12) operations up until 1990:

There were 3,551 Mission Sorties flown
There were a total of 17,300 accumulated Sorties flown as a result of the Missions.
There were a total of 11,008 Mission Flight Hours
There were a total of 53,490 total flight hours
There were a total of 2,752 hours flown at Mach 3 or above during actual missions

The program was ended in 1998-1999, so the total hours at the end of that time was undoubtedly substantially higher...but all of those missions' detail are wrapped in secrecy.

The USAF retired them in 1998, NASA flew the last two birds until retirement in 1999.

The last flight mission of an SR-71 was on October 9, 1999 in AF aircraft Serial No. 61-7980/NASA 844.
 

TerraN_EmpirE

Tyrant King
Somewhere out there Hopefully alive and well maybe flying commercial airliners there is a old Hornet Driver who tells the story of the day he tried to show up some crop dusters only to be body slammed (proverbially) by a SR71.
SR71 was created to replace the U2 dragon lady which ironically remains in service today. It's direct precursor was the A12 Oxcart whos mission goals included the YF12 a Interceptor which would have been armed with 3 Aim47 Falcon Air to Air missiles the project was scrubbed but it went through a full testing program. The A12 it's self was developed in a joint between the USAF and CIA. SR71 was fielded in three Versions SR71A was the Full Production model, SR71B was a Trainer and the singular SR71C composed of the forwards half a SR71 bolted on to the Tail half of a A12 ( it crashed ). There was a Third and fourth member of the Family as well, The third member was My Favorite member of the Family. The D21 Drone.
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D21 on M21 mother bird I love the look of that third Nacelle.
In pop culture This was used in the Video Game Metal Gear Solid 3 Snake eater by Naked Snake to infiltrate Russia

D21 consisted of a Marquardt RJ43-MA ramjet then used in missiles mounted in a aerodynamic body resembling the engine nacelle of a SR71 scaled down with a straightened Stabilizer. It would mount atop the Dorsal fuselage of the fourth member of the A12 family the M21 a A12 Air frame with it's camera equipment removed and replaced with a small cockpit for a launch controller. M21 however crashed when the Drone and mother bird collided, the flight crew ejected but the operator died another version of the D21 that could be launched off a pylon on the wing of a B52.
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Under the Wing of a B52 note the rocket booster under the Drone used to get it up to speed for Ramjet ignition.

38 were built due to the limited Command and control capabilities of the 1960's it never really succeeded. 4 Operational flights are know to have happened over the Peoples Republic of China the first Flew into the USSR and was never heard form again, the second Sank due to parachute failure The third was lost during recovery and the fourth Crashed in the PRC and can be seen in a Chinese Museum
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Jeff Head

General
Registered Member
Some other neat photos:


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Single seat A-12...the precursor to the YF-12A and the SR-71. First flight was Jan1962

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Two seater YF-12A Interceptor. First flight Aug 1963.

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Dual seat SR-71 recon aircraft. first flight, Dec 1964.

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SR-71B trainer version with the elevated second cockpit.

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Rare picture of fifty years of American advanced aircraft development with an SR-71, an F-117A Stealth Fighter, and the X-35A demonstrator of the 5th generation JSF. Taken in July 2000 at Lockheed Martin's Advanced Development Projects group in Palmdale, California.​

The SR-71 in that last photo (Air Force serial number 61-7962) photo was one of the last Black bird's kept in storage at Palmdale after the retirement of the aircraft. It is seen there being towed to its hanger.
 
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Jeff Head

General
Registered Member
Seems the 1st stealth aircraft with some shapes, coating also ?

I am not so sure that it was stealth per sey.

They did have to do some pretty exotic shaping for the time period because of the high Mach number and the material they were using.



It has been said of these aircraft that they leaked pretty good on the ground because those seals back then were designed to be tight at altitude and at speed.
 
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