He was surprised to find the visual computer working away but the room totally empty
of human beings. He tracked Jerry down in the maintenance shed, where he was laboring to store a garden tractor. Jerry followed
him back to the bay to see what was going on.
Ron was standing on the catwalk of the flight station as they entered the bay. He just shrugged his shoulders when they told
him they didn’t know how the visuals came back on.
“You two go ahead and pull the plug on the computers and I’ll police up the console room,” he said.
They went into the supercooled computer room and started the process that removed all power from the banked computers. As
the thinking machine slowly ground down, the silence became overwhelming. When the last switch had been thrown, they reentered
the bay.
Above them, on the catwalk, Ron was standing in the door to the flight station. He appeared to be frozen to the spot.
“I thought you guys were going to turn everything off?” He yelled the question to the men below without turning from his perusal
of the flight station.
“What d’ya mean? We did,” answered Ted. “It’s dead as a doornail.”
“Dead, huh?” Ron turned from the doorway. His face was white and his eyes were wide.
“Maybe you better come up here and take a look at this then.”
The two technicians bolted up the stairs and into the flight station. There they stared at a technological impossibility.
For the flight station was anything but dead. Without the benefit of software or computers or even electrical power the station
was up and ready to go. All the lights blazed, all the gauges registered, all the dials moved. The sound of eight powerful
simulated engines poured from the speakers. The windows glowed with the scene of the runway stretched out in front of the
plane, clear and ready for the next flight.
But who was going to make that flight?
The three men locked and left the building. According to the laws of electricity as they knew them, the simulator was completely
shut down. If someone or something was running the computers with different laws, they were content to let them have at it.
Much conjecture has been expended concerning the ghost of the simulator. A ghost is usually tied to a place from his past
or a place where he died. But the sim is completely new and modern. It was built of new and sterile parts. The building was
constructed for the sole purpose of housing the simulator. Even the ground that it sits on has no history that would attract
a spirit. As far back as can be determined, the land was vacant, first as prairie, then as farmland, and finally as a vacant
lot on an Air Force base.
There is only one part of the simulator that was not constructed originally for its use, and therein may lie the answer. While
the flight station looks like an airplane on the inside, the outside only needs to look like a box. And for the most part
it does. But the designer was given the opportunity to add some flare to the device. Old models of the B-52 were retired and,
after years of faithful service, were on their way to the smelter to be recycled into newer vehicles. He was able to rescue
at least part of one of the old Buffs (Big Ugly Fat Fellows) and incorporate it into the modern simulator. The skin covering
the cockpit and windows was removed and included on the flight station nose.
Maybe this piece of the old war bird held more than metal and glass and plastic and rubber. Maybe it was the home of something
long dormant and resting. Maybe the simulation aroused it, attracted it, and now amuses it.
Or maybe another type of Air Force just needs the practice.
WHITE CHIEF
A S a young man sitting nuclear alert, I never really felt the enormity of my situation until one incident brought it all into
perspective. We were on alert at a West Coast base when a computer in the early warning system made a mistake. As a result
of the glitch we almost launched
of human beings. He tracked Jerry down in the maintenance shed, where he was laboring to store a garden tractor. Jerry followed
him back to the bay to see what was going on.
Ron was standing on the catwalk of the flight station as they entered the bay. He just shrugged his shoulders when they told
him they didn’t know how the visuals came back on.
“You two go ahead and pull the plug on the computers and I’ll police up the console room,” he said.
They went into the supercooled computer room and started the process that removed all power from the banked computers. As
the thinking machine slowly ground down, the silence became overwhelming. When the last switch had been thrown, they reentered
the bay.
Above them, on the catwalk, Ron was standing in the door to the flight station. He appeared to be frozen to the spot.
“I thought you guys were going to turn everything off?” He yelled the question to the men below without turning from his perusal
of the flight station.
“What d’ya mean? We did,” answered Ted. “It’s dead as a doornail.”
“Dead, huh?” Ron turned from the doorway. His face was white and his eyes were wide.
“Maybe you better come up here and take a look at this then.”
The two technicians bolted up the stairs and into the flight station. There they stared at a technological impossibility.
For the flight station was anything but dead. Without the benefit of software or computers or even electrical power the station
was up and ready to go. All the lights blazed, all the gauges registered, all the dials moved. The sound of eight powerful
simulated engines poured from the speakers. The windows glowed with the scene of the runway stretched out in front of the
plane, clear and ready for the next flight.
But who was going to make that flight?
The three men locked and left the building. According to the laws of electricity as they knew them, the simulator was completely
shut down. If someone or something was running the computers with different laws, they were content to let them have at it.
Much conjecture has been expended concerning the ghost of the simulator. A ghost is usually tied to a place from his past
or a place where he died. But the sim is completely new and modern. It was built of new and sterile parts. The building was
constructed for the sole purpose of housing the simulator. Even the ground that it sits on has no history that would attract
a spirit. As far back as can be determined, the land was vacant, first as prairie, then as farmland, and finally as a vacant
lot on an Air Force base.
There is only one part of the simulator that was not constructed originally for its use, and therein may lie the answer. While
the flight station looks like an airplane on the inside, the outside only needs to look like a box. And for the most part
it does. But the designer was given the opportunity to add some flare to the device. Old models of the B-52 were retired and,
after years of faithful service, were on their way to the smelter to be recycled into newer vehicles. He was able to rescue
at least part of one of the old Buffs (Big Ugly Fat Fellows) and incorporate it into the modern simulator. The skin covering
the cockpit and windows was removed and included on the flight station nose.
Maybe this piece of the old war bird held more than metal and glass and plastic and rubber. Maybe it was the home of something
long dormant and resting. Maybe the simulation aroused it, attracted it, and now amuses it.
Or maybe another type of Air Force just needs the practice.
WHITE CHIEF
A S a young man sitting nuclear alert, I never really felt the enormity of my situation until one incident brought it all into
perspective. We were on alert at a West Coast base when a computer in the early warning system made a mistake. As a result
of the glitch we almost launched
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