Sled Driver

eflections and could more easily see important things like other aircraft, or the
runway. I had to make a trade-off between being able to read all the instruments, or
being able to see outside. During aerial refueling, I spent most of the time staring at
the tanker's director lights and didn't need to study cockpit gauges, so the lights
remained dimmed. Once we started the acceleration maneuver, I turned the cockpit
lighting up. We weren't as concerned with seeing and avoiding other traffic at the
altitudes we frequented. Above 50,000 feet, the sky was ours. My cockpit became a
womb of brightly lit instruments climbing into the black sky. With no outside
references, I sometimes felt as if we were in the simulator instead of the jet.
Whether the moon was full or in its last quarter, it dominated the sky. High above
the haze and pollution of the earth's atmosphere, its light was so intense, I had to
squint when I looked outside. I could see more of the moon's surface and its craters
and textures than I had ever seen from the ground. Sometimes I had to use the
sunshades to block the moonlight's glare from disrupting my view of the gauges.
I described earlier how fuel seeped through the minute seams outlining the
panels composing the surface of the jet. Although little leakage occurred when the
skin heated up and sealed the seams, some fuel remained on the surface. Through
the periscope, I could see the moon's incandescent image shimmering in the
residual fuel. The top of the aircraft glowed in the eerie light, like a wet street after
a downpour. Although this was beautiful, I was more intrigued by the sights in a dark
sky on a certain night when there was no moon at all.
It happened during the early hours of the morning, while Walt and I were over the
Pacific, having passed the northwest coast of the United States. We were heading,
in a round about way, back toward Beale. Our jet was running smoothly and we
would soon be home resting our weary bodies after another training mission. With
no moon above and no lights from the ocean below, the night was darker than
usual. Out of habit, I peered outside through the glare of the cockpit lighting and
noticed the faint glimmer of stars. To fully see the night sky, I would have to turn
down important cockpit lights to reduce the glare on my windows. I was reluctant to
turn my lighting too far down because I didn't want to be in an awkward position if
something were to go wrong with the airplane.
Desire to see the stars overruled my caution and I began to turn the lights down
one at a time, carefully leaving a few critical gauges well lit. My eyes adjusted to the
lower level of light and I gradually saw more stars through the remaining reflections
on the windows. On impulse, I flicked the remaining lights off, then quickly back on. An