Kelly Johnson was synonymous with Lockeed’s “Skunk Works” since at least World War II. This was Lockheed’s R&D facility but it was more than that. Ben Rich understood this and understood some of his responsibilities to the entity as well as Lockheed and the job of defending the USA against attack.
Other aircraft manufacturers saw Ben Rich as a ticket to getting up to speed. This is what Kelly thought of them: "The bottom line is that most managements don’t trust the idea of an independent operation, where they hardly know what in hell is going on and are kept in the dark because of security. Don’t kid yourself, a few among our own people resent the hell out of me and our independence. And even those in aerospace who respect our work know damned well that the fewer people working on a project, the less profit from big government contracts and cost overruns. And keeping things small cuts down on raises and promotions. Hell, in the main plant they give raises on the basis of the more people being supervised; I give raises to the guy who supervises least. That means he’s doing more and taking more responsibility. But most executives don’t think like that at all. Northrop’s senior guys are no different from all of the rest in this business: they’re all empire builders, because that’s how they’ve been trained and conditioned. Those guys are all experts at covering their asses by taking votes on what to do next. They’ll never sit still for a secret operation that cuts them out entirely."
But Ben Rich’s time at the helm had different challenges: "If the Skunk Works hoped to survive as a viable entity, we somehow would have to refashion the glory years last enjoyed in the 1960s when we had forty-two separate projects going and helped Lockheed become the aerospace industry leader in defense contracts."
"Kelly was known far and wide as “Mr. Lockheed.” No one upstairs had dared to cross him. But I was just plain Ben Rich. I was respected by the corporate types, but I had no political clout whatsoever." Ben Rich was up to the challenge. (Would this book have been written otherwise?)
This memoir chronicles the development of “stealth technology” and the F-117A. The result played out years later in Iraq:
"In spite of undertaking the most dangerous missions of that war, not one F-117A was hit by enemy fire. I know that Colonel Whitley had privately estimated losses of 5 to 10 percent in the first month of the air campaign. No one expected to escape without any losses at all. The stealth fighters composed only 2 percent of the total allied air assets in action and they flew 1,271 missions—only 1 percent of the total coalition air sorties—but accounted for 40 percent of all damaged targets attacked and compiled a 75 percent direct-hit rate. The direct-hit rate was almost as boggling as the no-casualty rate"
The first third of this book takes us from the time Rich succeeded Kelly to the above successes with stealth aircraft. The next portion of the book takes us back to Rich’s family’s beginnings in the Philippines and his time as a student. We then learned how he got to Lockheed, joined the Skunk Works and almost left. "I had actually given notice to Lockheed, but at the last moment changed my mind: I loved building airplanes a lot more than baking bagels or curing corned beef."
"I enjoyed the goodwill of my colleagues because most of us had worked together intimately under tremendous pressures for more than a quarter century. Working isolated, under rules of tight security, instilled a camaraderie probably unique in the American workplace."
This memoir jumps back and forth, guided more by projects than by a timeline. The narrative is most Ben’s in the first person but there are over a dozen other voices inserted to expand on certain projects or events. Though they are mostly validations of Rich’s assertions by those in authority, they tend to make the narration choppy.
The last third of the book was a series of goodbyes – to Kelly, to the job, to a way of doing business that is no longer possible. It is the least interesting unless you are willing to suspend your imagination and think that speculations like shipping oil by dirigible are likely to happen.
Aside from that, this book appeals to the avio-geek in me and provide loads of interesting information on the how and why of exotic airplane development.
Additional quotations from this book mostly dealing with stealth applications and spyplanes:
"The Soviet SAM-5, a defensive surface-to-air missile of tremendous thrust, could reach heights of 125,000 feet and could be tipped with small nuclear warheads. At that height, the Soviets didn’t worry about impacting the ground below with the heat or shock wave from a very small megaton atomic blast and estimated that upper stratospheric winds would carry the radiation fallout over Finland or Sweden. An atomic explosion by an air defense missile could bring down any high-flying enemy bomber within a vicinity of probably a hundred miles with its shock wave and explosive power."
"As he was leaving, Brzezinski asked me a bottom-line question: “If I were to accurately describe the significance of this stealth breakthrough to the president, what should I tell him?” “Two things,” I replied. “It changes the way that air wars will be fought from now on. And it cancels out all the tremendous investment the Russians have made in their defensive ground-to-air system. We can overfly them any time, at will.”"
"Military aircraft were so expensive and complex and represented such a sizable investment of taxpayers’ money that no manufacturer expected to win a contract without first jumping through an endless series of procurement hoops, culminating in the flight-testing phase, that under normal circumstances stretched nearly ten or more years. From start to finish, a new airplane could take as long as twelve years before taking its place in the inventory and become operational on a flight line long after it was already obsolete. But that was how the bureaucracy did business."
Very interesting and geeky discussion of the attempts to build a hydrogen powered aircraft in the Sixties. "On the drawing boards was a design for the dart-shaped CL-400 that would fly at 100,000 feet at Mach 2.5 with a 3,000-mile range. The body was enormous, dwarfing any airplane on the drawing boards. On the playing field at Yankee Stadium, for example, the tail would cover home plate and the nose nudge the right-field foul pole, 296 feet away….And the reason the body was so gigantic was that it would carry a fuel load of liquid hydrogen weighing 162,850 pounds, making it the world’s largest thermos bottle. Flying at more than twice the speed of sound, the outer shell of the body would blaze from heat friction above 350 degrees F while the inside skin would hold the frosty fuel at temperatures of minus 400 F—an 800-degree temperature differential that represented an awesomely complicated thermodynamic problem."
"The drone we designed had the flat triangular shape of a manta ray, was forty feet long, weighed about seventeen thousand pounds, would be built from titanium, powered by the same kind of Marquardt ramjet we once used for an experimental ground-to-air missile developed in the 1950s, called Bomarc. The drone had the lowest radar cross section of anything we had ever designed and could cruise faster than three times the speed of sound. It was equipped with a star-tracker inertial guidance system that could be constantly updated via computer feeds from the system aboard the mothership until the moment of launch. The system was fully automated, and the drone’s steering was directed by stored signals to its hydraulic servo actuators. It was capable of a sophisticated flight plan, making numerous turns and twists to get where it was going, then repeating them in reverse to return to where it came from. The payload was detached on radio command after the mission and parachuted to a waiting cargo plane equipped with a Y-shaped catching device. After the nose detached, the drone self-exploded."
"Viewed from head-on the ship looked like Darth Vader’s helmet. Some Navy brass who saw her clenched their teeth in disgust at the sight of the most futuristic ship ever to ply the seas. A future commander resented having only a four-man crew to boss around on a ship that was so secret that the Navy could not even admit it existed. Our stealth ship might be able to blast out of the sky a sizable Soviet attack force, but in terms of an officer’s future status and promotion prospects, it was about as glamorous as commanding a tugboat."
"I took our design and test results to the Pentagon office of a Navy captain in charge of submarine R & D. By the time I left his office, I was grimly reciting Kelly’s Skunk Works Rule Number Fifteen. Fourteen of his basic rules for operating a Skunk Works had been written out, but the fifteenth was known only by word of mouth, verbal wisdom passed on from one generation of employees to the next: “Starve before doing business with the damned Navy. They don’t know what in hell they want and will drive you up a wall before they break either your heart or a more exposed part of your anatomy.” I’d been a fool to ignore Kelly’s wise words of warning."