While they were testing the hemisphere gunsight in the nose turret of the B-36, I was assigned to make a series of head-on passes because of my experience on Project Agate. The tests were conducted at 10,000 feet, which cut down the time we spent climbing to altitude. Although I was now used to the size of the B-36, for some reason it looked much larger when approaching head-on, causing me to break off the attack at too great a distance for proper evaluation of the sight. After about three passes, each one closer than the last but still too far out, the pilot radioed, "What's the matter, Lope? Are you chicken?" Evidently he hadn't heard of my midair collision in China, or he wouldn't have been so rash. I didn't reply, but on the next pass I came so close that I instinctively ducked behind the instrument panel as I broke below him. He yelled, "Lope, you're not chicken, you're not chicken! I could read the numbers on both sides of your tail. By the way, I'm calling from the tail-gunner's position." The rest of the passes that day and later went well, with no further references to poultry.
The B-36 was the center of a major controversy between the Navy and the Air Force in 1949. In April, shortly after the Joint Chiefs of Staff had recommended and Secretary of Defense Johnson had approved cancellation of the plans to build the supercarrier United States, several documents were circulated anonymously in the Congress and among the press charging that corruption had influenced the selection of the B-36 by the Air Force, that its performance was lower than claimed, and that the Air Force had exaggerated the effectiveness of strategic bombing. After a long investigation the House Committee on Armed Services concluded that there was no evidence whatsoever to substantiate the charges of corruption. The other charges against the B-36 and the effectiveness of strategic bombing were debated for many months afterward without any firm conclusion. Actually, the fight was really over roles and missions for the respective services and ultimately for a greater share of the defense budget. That fight is still going on. Despite the controversy, 383 B-36s were constructed, and the last one was retired from active service on February 12, 1959. Only one example of this giant aircraft exists today, dominating one of the hangars of the U.S. Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio. It is worth the trip just to see it.
I had a rather humbling experience during this period, causing me to believe, momentarily, that my flying ability was not as great as I thought. The only photo reconnaissance pilot on the base was enjoying a short leave, and I was asked to fly a few of his missions while he was gone. Flying an RF-80 (a standard F-80 with a modified nose containing cameras instead of guns), I was to photograph a resolution target from various altitudes ranging from 25,000 to 40,000 feet. A resolution target is a square of asphalt about 100 feet on a side, with black-and-white rectangular patterns painted in various sizes on its surface. It is used to evaluate the sharpness of the photographic images.
I thought it would be a simple task and, after learning how to operate the cameras, took off and shot the photos from the assigned altitudes. When I reviewed the film the following day I was embarrassed to find that the target showed up on only a few frames, and even on those I had barely caught the edge. I realized how difficult it is to fly precisely over a small target from high altitude without being able to see directly below the plane. Also, if the wings are not perfectly level the photograph will be off to the side of the target. I did a bit better on later missions, but it would have required a great deal more practice to master the art. I also did some aerial mapping in an F-82 in which the radar in the pod had been replaced with a camera installation. There was a camera operator in the right cockpit to handle the photography, but I had to fly a precise course over the ground, correcting for wind drift, for about ten minutes and then fly successive parallel courses adjoining the previous course. These flights were much more successful. My experience increased my already profound respect for photo reconnaissance pilots. I had always admired the courage and navigational skills required to fly unarmed deep into enemy territory, but I thought that taking the photos was quite simple. The pilot just flew over the target city in occupied France and yelled, "Dites fromage, tout le monde," and turned on the camera.
To me, one of the most beautiful large aircraft ever built was the Republic XF-12 Rainbow, built to meet an Army Air Force requirement for a long-range, high-altitude, high-speed photo reconnaissance airplane, for use in the Pacific theater. More than just a camera plane, it included a darkroom, where cameras could be reloaded and film developed in flight. The Rainbow was powered by four Pratt & Whitney 28-cylinder, 3,250-horsepower turbosupercharged engines turning four-bladed propellers, each sixteen feet in diameter. The exhaust was ejected from the rear of the engine nacelles to provide a small amount of jet thrust. The pilots sat well forward in the glass nose, which provided both good visibility and excellent streamlining.
The performance of the Rainbow was outstanding. In May 1946 it set a new speed record for four-engine aircraft on a flight between Wright Field, Ohio, and New York, averaging 426 mph. Although the AAF had ordered twenty Rainbows in October 1946, the coming availability of jet aircraft led to the cancellation of the contract in 1947, and only the two prototypes were constructed. A proposed airliner version ordered by American Airlines and Pan American Airways also was cancelled because of its high cost.
One of the Rainbows was delivered to Eglin in the fall of 1948 to test the concept of a flying laboratory, not to test the aircraft itself. Everyone admired its looks, both in the air and on the ground. The testing had been progressing well when it caught fire in the air a few thousand feet over the bay, not far from the field. Five of the seven on board bailed out successfully, but the two photographers in the rear were not wearing their parachutes and were killed in the subsequent crash.
In addition to my wedding, there were a great many other momentous events in the year 1948. In Czechoslovakia, a Soviet-backed coup ousted the legal government and replaced it with a pro-Communist one; the new Jewish state of Israel was formed and was recognized almost instantly by the United States; American athletes dominated the Olympic Games in London, winning thirty-eight medals; the first nightly television news program, featuring John Cameron Swayze, was inaugurated; the transistor, which revolutionized electronics, was invented; and Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated. Not as important but possibly more appreciated was the appearance of the bikini bathing suit, which was said to cover nothing atoll. Prosperity in the United States was the highest it had ever been, but there was trouble on the horizon.
On June 24, 1948, the Soviets imposed a blockade on all land and water traffic into Berlin, which was surrounded by the Russian occupation zone, in an attempt to drive the Americans, British, and French from the city. Within a few months the citizens of Berlin would be without food and fuel. President Harry Truman, with his usual courage, ordered that Berlin be supplied by air. At first, there was concern that it would not be possible to provide enough airlift capability to meet the requirements of 2.5 million people, especially in the winter, when the requirements for coal would increase markedly. But they were met. Aircraft and crews from all over the world were flown in, and an amazingly effective system of loading, unloading, and air traffic control was established. The massive Berlin airlift would continue until September 1949, although the Russians had admitted defeat and lifted the blockade on May 12, 1949. During the fourteen months of the airlift, more than 275,000 supply flights delivered 2,325,809 tons of supplies. It had shown decisively that the West would not cave in to Soviet threats.