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June
8th, 1966.
Major Carl Cross sits
in the Valkyrie's cockpit for the first time, with Al White
in the pilot's seat. Their flight plan is simple: they will
make several passes over recording instruments at a speed of
Mach 1.4 at 32,000 feet, then, at the request of General
Electric, they will fly in formation with 4 other GE-powered
aircraft so that GE photographers can take some publicity
pictures. The boom-testing went smoothly, then, dropping
subsonic speed and raising the wingtips back to 25 degrees,
the Valkyrie joined up in formation with the other aircraft,
including, just off her right wingtip, an F-104 Starfighter
piloted by Joe Walker.
As the photo shoot
progressed, the photographers asked several times for the
formation to close up, until all five planes were in close
proximity, and had been for over 45 minutes. Finally, at
9:26am, the photographers were done, and everyone prepared
to break formation and return to Edwards.
Disaster struck at
this moment as somehow, Walker's F-104 collided with the
Valkyrie. The complex airflow surrounding the XB-70 lifted
the F-104 over her back, spun the Starfighter around 180
degrees, causing it to smash down along the centre of the
Valkyrie's wing, tearing off both vertical stabilisers and
damaging the left wingtip before falling away in flames.
Already, Joseph A. Walker, one of America's greatest pilots,
was dead.
"Midair!
Midair! Midair!"
Al White and Carl
Cross heard the impact, but felt nothing. Flying in the T-38
off the left wingtip, Joe Cotton called out "207
(identifying AV/2) you've been hit! You've been hit!" But in
those first moments, neither White nor Cross heard the call.
Even as Cotton continued "okay, you're doing fine, he got
the verticals, but you're still doing fine," White turned to
Cross and asked "I wonder who got hit?"
16 seconds after the
impact, the XB-70 started a slight roll. Al White corrected
the roll -- and instantly recognised the Valkyrie's peril as
she began a snap roll to the right. Ramming the number six
engine's throttle to maximum afterburner, he tried to save
AV/2 -- but after 2 slow rolls, the plane broke into a
sickening spin, taking any hopes of recovery with it. White
pushed his seat back into the eject position, but caught his
arm in the ejection pod's clamshell doors (see inset photo
at left) as they closed. Unable to communicate with the
struggling Carl Cross, and unable to eject until getting his
arm clear, White could only watch his co-pilot fail to get
into his pod for ejection. Finally, with the realisation
that he needed to get out now, Al White worked his arm clear
and ejected just moments before AV/2 slammed into the ground
a few miles north of Barstow, California.
Although the drogue
chutes deployed from White's pod, he realised the airbag
underneath the pod -- designed to absorb much of the impact
-- had failed to inflate. Striking the ground, White took a
44G impact -- lessened to 33Gs as his chair broke free of
its mountings. Amazingly, although banged, battered, and
bruised, he suffered no broken bones. Although White
returned to flight status just three months later, he never
flew the XB-70 again.
Carl Cross was not so
lucky. Still in his seat, he impacted the ground with AV/2
in a relatively flat configuration and was killed
instantly.
In just 76 seconds, 2
men, and one of the greatest planes ever built were
gone.
The
Final Flights
Following the crash
and subsequent investigation, which blamed several people
for allowing the "unofficial" photo shoot, several key
modifications were made to AV/1. Amongst the important
changes were modifications to the ejection system to make it
easier, and the installation of modified brakes to allow for
return springs for the brake pads. Unsurprisingly, the brake
modification cured the of brake chatter at low speeds. The
instrumentation package was upgraded to a system similar to
the package installed on AV/2.
Both the USAF and
NASA were unsure that AV/1, with her Mach 2.5 speed
limitation and general gremlin troubles, could perform the
research intended for AV/2. Ultimately, after a few more
flights, the Air Force bowed out of the XB-70 program,
leaving NASA to carry on additional flights on its
own.
Although not doing as
well as AV/2 would have, the older Valkyrie soldiered on for
33 additional flights, garnering valuable data about
high-speed flight.
Finally, on February
4th, 1969, AV/1 took off for her eighty-second, and final
flight, to the Air Force Museum at Wright Field, in Dayton,
Ohio. Gathering data throughout the entire flight, Fitz
Fulton made a pass over the runway before bringing the XB-70
down for a perfect landing, then, handing the logbook to the
museum curator, officially ended the XB-70 program. Today,
the Valkyrie resides inside the recently built Modern
Aviation hanger, finally protected from the ravages of
time.
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