B-36 Peacemaker mechanic
In response to the US Army Air Force’s requirement for a strategic bomber with an intercontinental range, Consolidated Vultee (later Convair) designed the B-36 during World War II. The aircraft made its first flight in August 1946, and in June 1948 the Strategic Air Command received its first operational B-36.
As Lee Burtman explains in his book, “Waiting in the Wings: Arming the Bomb in a World Gone MAD,” as the largest warplane ever built, the B-36 served as part of SAC a key nuclear deterrent role. Her father, Neal, was responsible for the aircraft’s in-flight maintenance. In fact, much was made of the fact that the B-36’s wing was deep enough for engineers to enter and maintain the engines in flight.
Neal felt honored to be chosen to fly the Peacemaker, but his assignment was certainly no walk in the park! His typical route was called the “milk run”, where minimal enemy resistance was expected. After gassing in Rapid City, the team flew to Maine. If all systems checked out, the plane made a rough circle from Newfoundland to Greenland, through Norway and Sweden, grazing Russia and North Africa, and then back across the Atlantic. Neal wasn’t sure where they even were half the time!
These simulated bombings lasted fourteen to forty hours, an average of thirty-two hours during the week. Neal exclaimed that even after getting over his initial fear of flying and flying for several months, the initial hours of tension in the air still “scared the hair out of your teeth!” Despite his excellent care of the plane, it could be brought down by system malfunctions, not to mention Soviet MiGs hovering below.
Nervous sound
Just the sound of the bomber was unnerving. A distinct undulating hum created by her engines running at top speed passed through his lungs and stomach. He felt the reverberation throughout his body long after returning to earth. It was so loud that Neal couldn’t hear anything else, and his ears would ring for hours and hours after the flight. People on earth knew she was approaching within ten miles, and their houses and windows rattled wildly to announce her arrival.
The throbbing vibrations of the plane could be felt and sounded like they were ripping his body apart. It really looked like it did – Neal saw the light of day as the ‘skin’ and ‘ribs’ ripped apart and then pressed back together at the seams like an accordion. After each flight, sheet metal workers spent hours repairing the “skin” and securing dropped rivets.
Constant tension; gas fumes; lack of food, sleep and nicotine; and three days of intense in-flight cramps forced Neal and his buddies to violently throw up on the tarmac shortly after landing. He hated the shorter weekend flights, when the crew might only have three or four hours on the ground to refuel and acclimatize. To prevent the engines from freezing, the men had to head back into the sky until their stomachs settled.
F-1 electrically heated suit
Although Neal had spent many freezing Minnesota winters as a child, playing in the snow for hours, dressed in a thin jacket and wet gloves, he was not prepared for the bitter cold of the stratosphere. In some areas of the plane where he worked, it could be twenty to thirty below zero. In contrast, the bunk bed in the rear compartment could be ninety degrees at the top and twenty degrees at the bottom bunk, making it impossible to sleep on both levels. It was so uncomfortable that Neal slept very little in bed – dozing or reading where he could while sitting or even standing.
Neal was equipped with an electrically heated F-1 suit plugged into the aircraft. Unfortunately, it barely stopped the man from freezing to death. He wore gloves, boots, an oxygen mask, a heated high-altitude flight helmet with ear muffs and headphones to stay in touch with the cockpit. Most importantly, he wore a parachute and a “Mae West” (a life jacket named after the shapely, risque actress of Vaudeville, theater and film) on his chest.
There were two mini stoves in the small kitchen, but there was rarely time or motivation to cook anything. Typical meals consisted of sandwiches in heat packs or C or K rations. Rations usually included some kind of meat (Spam anyone?), powdered eggs, cheese and crackers, preserved purple plums, chocolate bars, instant coffee, and chewing gum (plus toilet paper and cigarettes).
The use of toilet paper was particularly problematic. It was often too cold to use the “head” so one could either wear a diaper, which Neal adamantly refused, or use a “pee tube” that emptied into a plastic bag. Neal admitted that he was too scared during the flights to try to eliminate anything else!
Tunnel
He couldn’t even use cigarettes, because smoking with gas crackling around and fumes seeping into the air was strictly forbidden. Neal had been a heavy smoker since his teens, and the nicotine withdrawal he experienced every time he flew was debilitating.
The first day in the smoke-free air made him feel anxious, restless, dizzy and irritable and gave him severe headaches. The second day resulted in insomnia, difficulty concentrating, and a drop in blood sugar, leading to sudden hunger and cravings for sweets and carbohydrates. Unfortunately, the air force’s pitiful refreshments did not quite satisfy him. On the third day, the withdrawal symptoms were at their peak. Just when he couldn’t take it a second longer, he hungrily pulled the saved cigarette from his pocket and took a deep breath – after landing and cleaning.
On these flights, Neal started at the front of the plane for a briefing with the bombardier responsible for targeting aerial bombs. He then spoke to the navigator who controlled the aircraft using radar, charts and maps. He then headed to an area at the stern that could be accessed through a pressurized tunnel called the “train”. A tunnel about thirty inches in diameter and 87 feet long ran along the hull and passed through the bomb bay. Neal moved the parachute to his chest and then lay on his back on the flat sled attached to the monorail. Grabbing the rope overhead, he laboriously dragged himself through the tunnel, which wasn’t easy with all his bulky gear on.
The important job of a B-36 mechanic: keeping the engines cool and the carburetors warm
Sometimes the pilots would have a bit of fun with the crew in the back – a slight nose down would make the men groan and work even harder to maneuver through the tunnel. If they tipped the nose up, the screams of the crew as they hurtled backwards at breakneck speed were laughable.
Neal’s first job was to climb into the wings of the plane to work on the engines in flight. The huge wings were over seven feet at the root (where they joined the fuselage) and tapered to the tips. While Neal was safely strapped in, he could check the fuel tanks and chassis, monitor the engines with the analyzer, check intercooler settings and gear movements, and reset blown circuit breakers on the electrical panel.
An important task was to keep the engines cool and the carburetors warm. The stainless steel baffles surrounding the engines occasionally cracked, overheating the cylinders and causing fires. The body of the aircraft was made of the highly flammable metal magnesium, creating a dangerous combination. Three B-36s were lost to in-flight fires – one was even carrying an atomic bomb, which fortunately had not yet been detonated.
The least worried is the B-36 mechanic
The engines were leaking oil, which had to be constantly wiped off and topped up. On occasion the 150 gallon engine supply was insufficient so it had to be shut down. Neal also completed the dreaded task of replacing hundreds of spark plugs in the engine block. Each of the six engines had 56 spark plugs, and all 336 required frequent replacement as leaded avgas continually fouled them when the aircraft was at cruising speed.
In addition to inhaling the ever-present toxic fumes, Neal often had direct contact with the fuel as he was sprayed by leaks in the injection lines. Also, after flexing for several hours, the fuel tanks in the wings loosened their joint sealants, allowing purple fuel to drip all over Neal. Additionally, when the plane did a “shotgun” turn and turned quickly and violently through 60 degrees, the gas spewed out and showered Neal with more poisonous liquid. During repeated trips, Neal probably received more than his share of lead and other chemicals. However, such a revelation proved to be the least of his worries.
Waiting in Wings
Lee Burtman was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota (USA) and lives in the northern suburbs with her husband Greg and son Kyle. They also have three other grown children, their spouses, and eight grandchildren.
Lee is a retired educator with a passion for telling the stories no one else is—the true experiences of the little-known everyday soldiers and airmen who put their lives on the line to secure our freedom.
“Waiting in the Wings: Arming the Bomb in a World Gone MAD” is her third book and highlights her father Neal’s work in the B-36 “Peacemaker”. It is available through the author by writing to burtmanlee@gmail.com or Amazon–Waiting in the Wings by Lee Burtman.
Photo credit: Lt. Col. Frank F. Kleinwechter / US Air Force