Drones over New Mexico
Most people, when asked if they know the definition of a drone will respond with, “Yes. I think it’s a four winged hairy insect that lives in a hive and mates with the queen bee.” And for that answer an entomology teacher would give them an A. However, I’ve worked with drones five and sometimes six days a week for the past eighteen years and the last time I came in contact with a bee was three years ago. I was mowing my lawn when the angry little pollen harvester buzzed around my face for a second and then stung me on the nose. You may think the following statement strange, nonetheless I can take the car you drive to work or the last airplane you took to visit Grandma and convert it into a drone. Yes you read this correctly – I can convert your car into a drone.
* * *
It’s four a.m. on a Tuesday morning as I dim my lights and slow the car almost to a stop. There is a large military guard post occupying the medium in front of me and as I come abreast of the structure. A shadowy uniformed figure emerges from a doorway and approaches my car. The gate-guard looks at the sticker on my windshield and waves me through. I’m now on White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico: birthplace of America’s space program. White Sands is the largest weapons test facility in the Western world. It stretches over two hundred miles from Fort Bliss, Texas to Socorro, New Mexico. The first atom bomb was tested here at Trinity site in July 1945.
I drive on a quarter of a mile then make a left turn, pull into a large parking lot and shut off the engine. In front of me stands a towering thick wire mesh fence that surrounds an immense three-story building. High intensity security lights mounted on tall metal poles illuminate the mammoth structure. Three-foot tall letters over the huge double door front entry, read: “RANGE CONTROL CENTER.”
Leaving the car, I swiftly approach a second guard-shack and flash my badge. A uniformed security officer steps forward, scrutinizes the laminated document clipped to my shirt pocket and once more I am waved on. Late, I hurriedly cover the twenty-yards to the front steps. In the still early morning my shoes echo on the concrete as I climb the steps, then soundless as I go through the entrance and onto the burgundy carpet. I cross the lobby and proceed down a long brightly lighted corridor and stop at a door marked: “DRONE FORMATION CONTROL SYSTEMS, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” I thumb open the cipher lock and enter a large control room. The scene, reminiscent of a setting from Star-wars, is quiet and eerie. Panning left to right I scan the area, taking in the rows of control consoles with their bright cathode ray tubes glowing in the vast dimly lit chamber. The screens display the various data that will be required to successfully execute this morning’s mission. I will act as TARGET CONTROL OFFICER on today’s sortie. Walking to a locker, I retrieve a headset and slide it on as I move to the TCO console, and jack in. Of the fifteen buttons on the panel I punch the one marked, “COMMO.” I key the mike button and speak softly. “Commo, this is DFCS, mission code: Fox Echo. How do you read?”
A man’s voice comes back through my headset’s earpiece. “I read you five-by, DFCS. Are you ready for UHF commo checks?”
“Roger, commo. Let’s do it.” Together, the communications technician and I verbally check each radio circuit that will be used during the mission. Finishing the check, I remove the headset and hear movement near one of the target control consoles. Stepping closer, I observe Pete Saxman at a console, flipping toggle switches and looking at instrumentation gauges. He’s calibrating the system that will control the QF-106 drone that’s to be flown as the prime target. The desired results of today’s mission are to test the reliability of the Patriot missile’s guidance system. I approach the console and ask, “Hey Pete, how are you doing this morning -- and how are the calibrations coming along?”
He glances at me and says, “Good morning, Fred. I didn’t see you come in. The cals are good and the datalink check is good to the radar. The only thing left is to wait for the drone controllers to show up.”
I check my watch and reply; “We’re scheduled for target launch at 0830. They won’t be here for another two or three hours.”
* * *
Fifty miles away at Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico a sleek QF-106 delta-winged jet fighter plane sits on runway-22, being prepped for flight by a well-trained ground crew. Thirty years ago the airplane was in the US Air Force active duty inventory serving with NORAD (North American Air Defense) as an all weather interceptor. Now obsolete, its service has been extended by being electronically and mechanically converted into an unmanned airborne drone target.
* * *
Down Nike Boulevard just one mile from the Range Control Center, a facility called LC-34 (launch complex-34) is bustling with Patriot missile technicians completing last minute checks on a fifteen-foot long needle looking vehicle that’s mounted on a wheeled mobile launcher. In two-hours and fifty-minutes this deadly ground-to-air intercept weapon will try to kill the QF-106 drone, hence the reason we are all up so early.
* * *
Meanwhile back at the DFCS control room the rest of the players for this morning’s mission have started to file in. Lloyd Henderson from missile flight safety has ambled in drinking a cup of coffee. He will be responsible for sending an autonomous VHF radio signal to the onboard explosive-package if the need arises. The expac is a safety precaution to destroy the drone in the unlikely event we should loose control of it while in flight. Around eight-pm, Larry, an ex-air force fighter pilot turned drone controller, walks in and takes a seat in front of the drone control console. He puts on a headset and calls the drone launch crew at Holloman to find out if the pre-launch preparations have been completed. After getting a confirmation from launch he grips the control stick on the console -- a stick not unlike the one in the airplane. He moves the stick full left as he calls out, “Left roll.” At the stick’s movement an electronic command traveling at the speed of light goes from Larry’s console through a maze of analog / digital conversion equipment to a modem. The sojourn continues on through telephone wires out to an FPS -16 three-megawatt tracking radar twenty miles away. At this point the command is converted to RF (radio frequency) energy then shipped from the radar’s dish to a transponder mounted on the drone’s tail. The final leg of the signal’s journey is from the transponder to the aircraft’s autopilot telling it to move the left aileron to the up position. The complete process is counted in microseconds.
One of the launch crew calls Larry over the net and confirms aileron movement. Larry continues through a checklist until all the flight control surfaces have been “wiggled.” A wiggle is the pre-flight check to make sure the drone is going to perform correctly. Upon completing the check Larry looks over at me and asks, “Do we have a green range?” The question means, do we have permission to launch the aircraft / drone?
After selecting the range control button I key my mike and ask, “Range, this is DFCS. Are we green?”
“Roger, DFCS. Let me know when to pick up the count.”
I reset the large red glowing digital clock over my console to minus two minutes. Then punching the button to simulcast, I speak distinctly. “All stations, on my mark drone launch in two minutes . . . mark.” On the second, “mark,” I flip a toggle switch that starts the range countdown clock, which in turn starts the clocks in every facility connected with this mission.
Two minutes later with the drone’s engine running at 100% RPM, Larry flips a switch on his console that releases the drone’s brakes.
I glance at my monitor and watch as the drone starts its take-off roll down the runway. As the drone reaches a speed of one hundred and eighty knots Larry pulls back on the stick and the drone lifts off, gains altitude, and enters a racetrack pattern at twenty thousand feet AGL (above ground level).
Through my headset I hear range controller Billy Power’s voice, “T-minus sixty seconds to drone intercept.”
Continuing to watch the TV monitor I wait as the seconds tick-off. Then I see a red symbol streak across the screen indicating the Patriot missile has been launched. The drone and missile quickly close the distance. I glance at a different screen and watch the closing speed measured in meters-per-second and see they are coming together at a speed in excess of mach-three: over three times the speed of sound. An explosion followed by a fireball erupts across the screen and we all know that the missile has accomplished its mission. With the pressure off we all take a deep breath and relax, at which point a loud cheer goes up in the control room.
A post mission briefing follows and then it’s on to data-analysis and pre-planning for the next mission. To date, we have converted the following airplanes: F-86 Saber Jet, F-102 Delta Dagger interceptor, F-100 Super Saber, F-106 Delta Dart and F-4 Phantom Jet. We have also converted the Russian T-72 medium battle tank, M-47 and M-60 American heavy battle tank and last but not least, a variety of trucks. Although this article was written for the QF-106 -- depending on requirements, similar operations can be accomplished using any vehicle that can be flown or driven. After all, we are DRONE FORMATION CONTROL SYSTEMS and New Mexico remains on the cutting edge.
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