Wing
"Wing"
v93 FS Command
v303 FG Command
2 Years - Longevity Service Ribbon
Operation Hedge Of Protection Campaign Medal
2
1k MSGs - Contributor Ribbon
Investor Medal
Military Service Medal
Founding Member Medal
Group Commander
F-16C Instructor (IP)
200 F-16C Flight Hours
Virtual 93rd Fighter Squadron 'Makos'
Senior Pilot (SP) / Combat Mission Ready (CMR)
Even today, many people take note of this legendary BUFF sortie.
It dates back to early 1990, in the Persian Gulf, during joint exercises between U.S. carriers and B-52s. Two B-52s called the USS Ranger (CV-61) and requested to perform a fly-by, which the carrier air controller approved.
When the B-52s reported they were about 9 kilometers out, the controller said he couldn’t see them. The bombers responded, “Look down.”
Due to their paint scheme, the B-52s were hard to spot from above, but as they got closer, sailors could make them out, along with the ocean spray from their engines. It’s extremely rare for a USAF aircraft to fly this low over a carrier’s flight deck, let alone the massive B-52...
But these B-52s had been training for low-level flights for years, evading Soviet radar. They even trained in SEAD roles. The pilots then asked if the carrier crew wanted them to pass by again, and the carrier crew agreed. This time, many more sailors had cameras ready.
The resulting photos are legendary (this would most likely never be approved again in the USAF):
Recreated in DCS:
Official news story from Public Affairs:
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN — Like elephants performing ballet, B-52 bombers traced intricate paths low over the Atlantic Ocean east of Bermuda on Aug. 24.
The three ships from Barksdale Air Force Base's 2nd Bomb Wing pumped new life into their type of aircraft during two hours of swoops over the deck of an innocent-looking ship, toying with the vessel as it plowed through waves like cats pawing a mouse on a kitchen floor.
They made history, re-creating an important flight of nearly 70 years ago and trying out LITENING, a "targeting pod" that transmits video and other data through cyberspace to planners on shore. They were the first active-duty bombers to use the pod, pioneered by a sister unit, the Reserve 917th Wing.
And though the nearly 10-hour flight ground the crews down some, the eight fliers crammed into each bomber's crowded cabins had fun and flew their huge planes in ways they rarely can.
"This is awesome," co-pilot Amber "Gidget" Hunt, a captain in the 96th Bomb Squadron and an Air Force pilot just over nine years, said as she banked bomber Rex 52 low over its target, a Navy supply ship.
Chatter on headphones aside, there's more said between Hunt and aircraft commander Lt. Col. Jim "Nuts" Noetzel, the 96th's commander, by hand signals, glances and what must be intuition and practiced professionalism than by voice.
The crew is a seasoned mix. Besides Noetzel and Hunt, there are three other members of the 96th Bomb Squadron: instructor radar-navigators Maj. Brent "B-Dub" Williams and Capt. Kyle "Mudflaps" Smet and Capt. Jeff "El SOS" Smith, electronic warfare officer. Co-pilot Capt. Jesse "The Beast" Hildebrand is with the Air Force Reserve's 917th Wing, part of its 93rd Bomb Squadron. And there are two crew members from the 49th Test and Evaluation Squadron, part of the 53rd Wing but at Barksdale: Capt. Les Hall, engineer, and Maj. Ron "Wheels" Wheeler, instructor radar-navigator.
Only Noetzel, Hunt and Hildebrand normally have any glimpses outside the airplane during the long flights. For the most part, the rest stay in the deep inner sanctum of the crew cabin with gear that can't be photographed and that occasionally even flashes "secret."
The takeoff from Barksdale is uneventful, but late. It starts soon after Noetzel and his crew accept the airplane from their launch ground crew, Staff Sgt. Nayhem Ahmed and Staff Sgt. (select) Marcus McKee. Engine 1 was slow to respond and some instruments that required initial positioning took time to behave.
So instead of getting airborne about 7:30 a.m., Rex 51, with Lt. Col. Bob Nordberg of the 917th Wing in control, and our Rex 52, with Noetzel in charge, take to the air just after 8 a.m.
Fuel, weapons, the targeting pods and augmented crews nearly double the norm for today's flights; we're "heavyweights." The airplanes come to almost 470,000 pounds each, more than 230 tons.
"The end of the runway is going to look like it's getting mighty close," Noetzel says just before pushing the throttle levers forward. "Don't worry."
The plane rapidly rises, banking sharply to the east.
Behind us, the 11th Bomb Squadron's instrument plane, Rex 53, commanded by Lt. Col. Ricardo "Bear" Beruvides of the 49th Test and Evaluation Squadron, has trouble calibrating some equipment. It follows by about a half hour. That's acceptable. It doesn't have 10 GBU-12 laser-guided bombs hanging from pylons like the other two planes. A "slick wing," it will fly faster than we do and won't have to refuel, so it will catch up.
Ears pop from the rapid ascent. Within minutes, it seems, we're at 10,000 feet, then 12,000, then 18,000, then above 20,000, flying at better than 400 knots (460 mph).
It's no joyride. The airplane is so noisy that headphones and earplugs barely keep out the thunder. Rumbles and shakes make you think oil field roughnecks are fighting nearby. Banks and turns let you know you're way off the ground.
Midair refueling is lazy mating with a KC-10 just out over the Atlantic.
Rex 51 refuels first, with the aircraft commander taking the 70,000 pounds of fuel, then the co-pilot making a few practice connects and disconnects. Then Rex 52 takes its 70,000 pounds, Noetzel handling the main transfer and Hildebrand taking a few practice connections.
Then we break away and seek out the target.
Over the water, the complicated arsenal of lifesaving gear is augmented by an automatically inflating horse-collar flotation device. It's all tight and hard for the first-timer to get in and out of. Noetzel, Hunt and the others make it look easy.
Hemingway once described war fliers of another generation as sunburned young gods. This crew may be sunburned and many are young, but they work too hard today to be gods.
All through the flight, Noetzel is in the left-hand seat as aircraft commander. Crew members pass him gear he needs, including food. And through the flight, he carefully drinks water. All the crew members do. The dry whole-oxygen air is deceptive. You can sweat away a gallon or more easily and never know it.
For the first third of the mission, Hildebrand is in the right-hand co-pilot's seat. He stays there through the end of the midair refueling, then swaps with Hunt, who has the right seat the rest of the flight.
Hunt is young and aggressive, one of two women fliers on this mission. Aside from low-level flying and sharing the helm with Noetzel, she is part of the frantic picture taking that occupies much of the two hours of low-level passes past the target.
That is the lumbering Navy supply ship USNS 2nd Lt. John P. Bobo. Part of the Navy's Military Sealift Command, it is named after a Marine officer who died fighting the enemy in early years of the Vietnam War and was awarded the Medal of Honor.
The target of the original 1938 mission was the Italian cruise liner Rex, pride of that Fascist nation's maritime fleet, twice as fast and half as far in the Atlantic then as the Bobo was this day. Our weather was good and the skies and the sea were both blue, while the B-17s that flew the original mission were in overcast skies and storms.
The Times' reporting on that flight the following day, May 13, 1938, notes the big four-engined Boeings "cruised for 650 miles, riding through storm areas which at times were so severe that the big machines dropped hundreds of feet in downdrafts.
"The altimeter of one bomber indicated a descent of 600 feet in less than 10 seconds."
Our flight is not nearly as rough. The only sudden drops are intentional, as the B-52s bank as sharply as their geometry allows at the low altitude. Sometimes it seems as though you can reach out and touch another plane or the deck of the ship below.
It's a seductive thought, but don't fool yourself. Aside from the midair refueling, the low-level flying is the most dangerous part of the mission. A sudden downdraft or some unexpected mishap could drop an airplane like a fly smacked by a swatter.
But under Noetzel's and Hunt's touch, the five planned runs seem effortless.
Run one comes and goes.
The second run is more complicated, and the airplanes go through it several times until the identification is made and the data transmitted through the real-time link to commanders on land.
The vast expanse of the ocean stretched endlessly beneath the deep blue sky, a never-ending ocean that seemed to hum with its own rhythm. On the horizon, the USS Ranger cut through the water, its towering superstructure casting a shadow on the waves.
High above the ocean, a B-52 Stratofortress, a heavy bomber dating back to the Cold War, roared across the sky. The iconic plane, a mix of old-school power and modern technology, was an imposing sight. Its massive wings stretched wide, a profile instantly recognizable by anyone who had spent time near military airfields or watching history unfold in the skies.
At 800 feet, the B-52 was low for a bomber, skimming the ocean's surface like a predator hunting its prey. The roar of its engines vibrated through the air, growing louder as it neared the carrier. Onboard the US Carrier, sailors looked up instinctively, some pausing in their tasks, others instinctively reaching for the cameras slung over their shoulders.
They were conducting a training mission, part of a series of high-intensity maneuvers designed to test their capabilities and simulate a potential strike against hostile forces. But today, it was all about showing presence.
As the B-52 passed directly overhead, the men and women aboard the aircraft carrier could feel the tension in the air, like the moment before a storm. The thunderous roar of the engines reverberated off the water, shaking the deck and rattling the windows. It was a reminder—subtle but undeniable—that the sky was not only filled with fighter jets, but with far more formidable power.
The plane’s shadow seemed to stretch across the water as it flew low, almost ghost-like, before veering off to the right and climbing into the heavens. In its wake, the ocean looked eerily still, as if the great beast that had passed had stirred the air itself.
On the carrier, the sailors exhaled, some chuckling nervously while others made quick photos of this rare flyby. They had just witnessed something rare: a B-52 so low over the ocean, flying past their mighty ship as if to remind them of the power that lay beyond the horizon.
In the cockpit, Lawson and Richards shared a look of quiet satisfaction. Their mission wasn’t about engagement; it was about presence—an unmistakable reminder that, just as they had been out there, so too could they be called upon to protect and defend, swiftly and without warning.
As they ascended back into the cloudless sky, the USS Ranger drifted further into the vast ocean, its sailors left with some outstanding photographs to remember forever.
Runs three, four and five are completed in turn, each requiring precision passes so the LITENING pod gathers its data and videographers, the crews and two civilian media representatives, Air Force Magazine's Adam Hebert on Rex 51 and The Times on Rex 52, can capture digital photos.
The mission was deemed a success by planners since the airplanes proved they could quickly find and identify a moving ship in busy sea traffic, loiter for hours while transmitting data back to headquarters then wait for further orders. Those orders included assignments on the way home, "targets of opportunity" intended to further exercise the new LITENING pods.
In one case, it's a dam at the north end of a lake. In another, it's the parking ramp for aircraft at an airport. Each could be a target or a staging area for terrorists. Each could be the victim of a natural disaster.
Knowing a B-52 could be airborne and looking at either in a matter of hours is another tool for planners, another notch in the grip of the B-52.
Rex 52 approaches bad weather over Georgia and has to detour south of Atlanta. Noetzel, Hunt and Williams get new headings to stay away from the rough weather. Rex 52 edges farther south, occasionally going north, tracing intricate doglegs, heading home.
Otherwise, the scenes aboard the airplanes are probably strikingly similar.
With the pressure off, for the most part, the crews relax a little. Heads pop out of the back and the lower compartment. Crew members put foil-wrapped food in a small but powerful electric stove built into a breaker-packed bulkhead in the right center part of the upper compartment, over small sliding shelves that hold several laptop computers for the pilots and radar-navigators. Toasty aromas fill the air. It's almost like summer camp.
One crew member plugs a device, perhaps an iPod, into the interphone. We continue to hear important radio chatter, but there's music in the background.
"It's '80s time, guess that song," a voice says from the back of the airplane. "Hair music." Wild Cherry, Cheap Trick, Ratt and Poison fill the headphones as we head home.
It dates back to early 1990, in the Persian Gulf, during joint exercises between U.S. carriers and B-52s. Two B-52s called the USS Ranger (CV-61) and requested to perform a fly-by, which the carrier air controller approved.
When the B-52s reported they were about 9 kilometers out, the controller said he couldn’t see them. The bombers responded, “Look down.”
Due to their paint scheme, the B-52s were hard to spot from above, but as they got closer, sailors could make them out, along with the ocean spray from their engines. It’s extremely rare for a USAF aircraft to fly this low over a carrier’s flight deck, let alone the massive B-52...But these B-52s had been training for low-level flights for years, evading Soviet radar. They even trained in SEAD roles. The pilots then asked if the carrier crew wanted them to pass by again, and the carrier crew agreed. This time, many more sailors had cameras ready.
The resulting photos are legendary (this would most likely never be approved again in the USAF):
Recreated in DCS:
Official news story from Public Affairs:
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN — Like elephants performing ballet, B-52 bombers traced intricate paths low over the Atlantic Ocean east of Bermuda on Aug. 24.
The three ships from Barksdale Air Force Base's 2nd Bomb Wing pumped new life into their type of aircraft during two hours of swoops over the deck of an innocent-looking ship, toying with the vessel as it plowed through waves like cats pawing a mouse on a kitchen floor.
They made history, re-creating an important flight of nearly 70 years ago and trying out LITENING, a "targeting pod" that transmits video and other data through cyberspace to planners on shore. They were the first active-duty bombers to use the pod, pioneered by a sister unit, the Reserve 917th Wing.
And though the nearly 10-hour flight ground the crews down some, the eight fliers crammed into each bomber's crowded cabins had fun and flew their huge planes in ways they rarely can.
"This is awesome," co-pilot Amber "Gidget" Hunt, a captain in the 96th Bomb Squadron and an Air Force pilot just over nine years, said as she banked bomber Rex 52 low over its target, a Navy supply ship.
Chatter on headphones aside, there's more said between Hunt and aircraft commander Lt. Col. Jim "Nuts" Noetzel, the 96th's commander, by hand signals, glances and what must be intuition and practiced professionalism than by voice.
The crew is a seasoned mix. Besides Noetzel and Hunt, there are three other members of the 96th Bomb Squadron: instructor radar-navigators Maj. Brent "B-Dub" Williams and Capt. Kyle "Mudflaps" Smet and Capt. Jeff "El SOS" Smith, electronic warfare officer. Co-pilot Capt. Jesse "The Beast" Hildebrand is with the Air Force Reserve's 917th Wing, part of its 93rd Bomb Squadron. And there are two crew members from the 49th Test and Evaluation Squadron, part of the 53rd Wing but at Barksdale: Capt. Les Hall, engineer, and Maj. Ron "Wheels" Wheeler, instructor radar-navigator.
Only Noetzel, Hunt and Hildebrand normally have any glimpses outside the airplane during the long flights. For the most part, the rest stay in the deep inner sanctum of the crew cabin with gear that can't be photographed and that occasionally even flashes "secret."
The takeoff from Barksdale is uneventful, but late. It starts soon after Noetzel and his crew accept the airplane from their launch ground crew, Staff Sgt. Nayhem Ahmed and Staff Sgt. (select) Marcus McKee. Engine 1 was slow to respond and some instruments that required initial positioning took time to behave.
So instead of getting airborne about 7:30 a.m., Rex 51, with Lt. Col. Bob Nordberg of the 917th Wing in control, and our Rex 52, with Noetzel in charge, take to the air just after 8 a.m.
Fuel, weapons, the targeting pods and augmented crews nearly double the norm for today's flights; we're "heavyweights." The airplanes come to almost 470,000 pounds each, more than 230 tons.
"The end of the runway is going to look like it's getting mighty close," Noetzel says just before pushing the throttle levers forward. "Don't worry."
The plane rapidly rises, banking sharply to the east.
Behind us, the 11th Bomb Squadron's instrument plane, Rex 53, commanded by Lt. Col. Ricardo "Bear" Beruvides of the 49th Test and Evaluation Squadron, has trouble calibrating some equipment. It follows by about a half hour. That's acceptable. It doesn't have 10 GBU-12 laser-guided bombs hanging from pylons like the other two planes. A "slick wing," it will fly faster than we do and won't have to refuel, so it will catch up.
Ears pop from the rapid ascent. Within minutes, it seems, we're at 10,000 feet, then 12,000, then 18,000, then above 20,000, flying at better than 400 knots (460 mph).
It's no joyride. The airplane is so noisy that headphones and earplugs barely keep out the thunder. Rumbles and shakes make you think oil field roughnecks are fighting nearby. Banks and turns let you know you're way off the ground.
Midair refueling is lazy mating with a KC-10 just out over the Atlantic.
Rex 51 refuels first, with the aircraft commander taking the 70,000 pounds of fuel, then the co-pilot making a few practice connects and disconnects. Then Rex 52 takes its 70,000 pounds, Noetzel handling the main transfer and Hildebrand taking a few practice connections.
Then we break away and seek out the target.
Over the water, the complicated arsenal of lifesaving gear is augmented by an automatically inflating horse-collar flotation device. It's all tight and hard for the first-timer to get in and out of. Noetzel, Hunt and the others make it look easy.
Hemingway once described war fliers of another generation as sunburned young gods. This crew may be sunburned and many are young, but they work too hard today to be gods.
All through the flight, Noetzel is in the left-hand seat as aircraft commander. Crew members pass him gear he needs, including food. And through the flight, he carefully drinks water. All the crew members do. The dry whole-oxygen air is deceptive. You can sweat away a gallon or more easily and never know it.
For the first third of the mission, Hildebrand is in the right-hand co-pilot's seat. He stays there through the end of the midair refueling, then swaps with Hunt, who has the right seat the rest of the flight.
Hunt is young and aggressive, one of two women fliers on this mission. Aside from low-level flying and sharing the helm with Noetzel, she is part of the frantic picture taking that occupies much of the two hours of low-level passes past the target.
That is the lumbering Navy supply ship USNS 2nd Lt. John P. Bobo. Part of the Navy's Military Sealift Command, it is named after a Marine officer who died fighting the enemy in early years of the Vietnam War and was awarded the Medal of Honor.
The target of the original 1938 mission was the Italian cruise liner Rex, pride of that Fascist nation's maritime fleet, twice as fast and half as far in the Atlantic then as the Bobo was this day. Our weather was good and the skies and the sea were both blue, while the B-17s that flew the original mission were in overcast skies and storms.
The Times' reporting on that flight the following day, May 13, 1938, notes the big four-engined Boeings "cruised for 650 miles, riding through storm areas which at times were so severe that the big machines dropped hundreds of feet in downdrafts.
"The altimeter of one bomber indicated a descent of 600 feet in less than 10 seconds."
Our flight is not nearly as rough. The only sudden drops are intentional, as the B-52s bank as sharply as their geometry allows at the low altitude. Sometimes it seems as though you can reach out and touch another plane or the deck of the ship below.
It's a seductive thought, but don't fool yourself. Aside from the midair refueling, the low-level flying is the most dangerous part of the mission. A sudden downdraft or some unexpected mishap could drop an airplane like a fly smacked by a swatter.
But under Noetzel's and Hunt's touch, the five planned runs seem effortless.
Run one comes and goes.
The second run is more complicated, and the airplanes go through it several times until the identification is made and the data transmitted through the real-time link to commanders on land.
The vast expanse of the ocean stretched endlessly beneath the deep blue sky, a never-ending ocean that seemed to hum with its own rhythm. On the horizon, the USS Ranger cut through the water, its towering superstructure casting a shadow on the waves.
High above the ocean, a B-52 Stratofortress, a heavy bomber dating back to the Cold War, roared across the sky. The iconic plane, a mix of old-school power and modern technology, was an imposing sight. Its massive wings stretched wide, a profile instantly recognizable by anyone who had spent time near military airfields or watching history unfold in the skies.
At 800 feet, the B-52 was low for a bomber, skimming the ocean's surface like a predator hunting its prey. The roar of its engines vibrated through the air, growing louder as it neared the carrier. Onboard the US Carrier, sailors looked up instinctively, some pausing in their tasks, others instinctively reaching for the cameras slung over their shoulders.
They were conducting a training mission, part of a series of high-intensity maneuvers designed to test their capabilities and simulate a potential strike against hostile forces. But today, it was all about showing presence.
As the B-52 passed directly overhead, the men and women aboard the aircraft carrier could feel the tension in the air, like the moment before a storm. The thunderous roar of the engines reverberated off the water, shaking the deck and rattling the windows. It was a reminder—subtle but undeniable—that the sky was not only filled with fighter jets, but with far more formidable power.
The plane’s shadow seemed to stretch across the water as it flew low, almost ghost-like, before veering off to the right and climbing into the heavens. In its wake, the ocean looked eerily still, as if the great beast that had passed had stirred the air itself.
On the carrier, the sailors exhaled, some chuckling nervously while others made quick photos of this rare flyby. They had just witnessed something rare: a B-52 so low over the ocean, flying past their mighty ship as if to remind them of the power that lay beyond the horizon.
In the cockpit, Lawson and Richards shared a look of quiet satisfaction. Their mission wasn’t about engagement; it was about presence—an unmistakable reminder that, just as they had been out there, so too could they be called upon to protect and defend, swiftly and without warning.
As they ascended back into the cloudless sky, the USS Ranger drifted further into the vast ocean, its sailors left with some outstanding photographs to remember forever.
Runs three, four and five are completed in turn, each requiring precision passes so the LITENING pod gathers its data and videographers, the crews and two civilian media representatives, Air Force Magazine's Adam Hebert on Rex 51 and The Times on Rex 52, can capture digital photos.
The mission was deemed a success by planners since the airplanes proved they could quickly find and identify a moving ship in busy sea traffic, loiter for hours while transmitting data back to headquarters then wait for further orders. Those orders included assignments on the way home, "targets of opportunity" intended to further exercise the new LITENING pods.
In one case, it's a dam at the north end of a lake. In another, it's the parking ramp for aircraft at an airport. Each could be a target or a staging area for terrorists. Each could be the victim of a natural disaster.
Knowing a B-52 could be airborne and looking at either in a matter of hours is another tool for planners, another notch in the grip of the B-52.
Rex 52 approaches bad weather over Georgia and has to detour south of Atlanta. Noetzel, Hunt and Williams get new headings to stay away from the rough weather. Rex 52 edges farther south, occasionally going north, tracing intricate doglegs, heading home.
Otherwise, the scenes aboard the airplanes are probably strikingly similar.
With the pressure off, for the most part, the crews relax a little. Heads pop out of the back and the lower compartment. Crew members put foil-wrapped food in a small but powerful electric stove built into a breaker-packed bulkhead in the right center part of the upper compartment, over small sliding shelves that hold several laptop computers for the pilots and radar-navigators. Toasty aromas fill the air. It's almost like summer camp.
One crew member plugs a device, perhaps an iPod, into the interphone. We continue to hear important radio chatter, but there's music in the background.
"It's '80s time, guess that song," a voice says from the back of the airplane. "Hair music." Wild Cherry, Cheap Trick, Ratt and Poison fill the headphones as we head home.
