Maj Brian Shul - The SR-71 Blackbear is said to have outgunned Gaddafi's SAMs during the BDA Libya mission in support of Operation El Dorado Canyon.
The story of the SR-71 Blackbird that destroyed Gaddafi's SAMs during the Libyan BDA attack in support of Operation El Dorado Canyon.
Maj Brian Shul
"This SR-71 race will not let us down. Mash will drop to 3.5 and reach 80,000 feet. We have a bullet now - faster. Screaming in front of Tripoli, we are still increasing quickly, and the roaring Sledge knocks back the enemy, leaving the sonic split…”
Jan. 26th, Presentation With Brian Shul
On April 14, 1986, Operation El Dorado Canyon began airstrikes against Libya in response to the bombing of Berlin by US forces. The attack was conducted by a group of 18 United States Air Force (USAF) F-111 aircraft, supported by several United States Navy and United States Marine Corps (USMC) A-6, A-7 and F/A-18 aircraft. .
After the attack on April 16, 1986, SR-71 #64-17960 flown by Maj. Brian Shull and RSO Maj. Walter Watson flew over Libyan airspace at 2, 125 mph to describe negative assessment objectives. ). Near the end of the session, they began to receive signals of launching from the Libyan air base (SAM).
Shul himself tells the same story before the SR-71 miraculously allows them to continue and safely return to Mildenhall via rockets.
"After the April 1986 attack on American troops at the Berlin disco, President Reagan ordered the bombing of Muammar Gaddafi's terrorist camps in Libya. My mission was to fly over Libya and photograph from the damage caused by our F-111s. Gaddafi pointed out a 'dead line' across the Gulf of Sidra, vowing to shoot down any aggressors crossing the border.
Major Brian Shul's Sr 71 \
I flew the SR-71 spy plane, the fastest plane in the world, with Major Walter Watson, the airline's intelligence systems officer. We crossed into Libya and were nearing the end of the dark desert country when Walter told me we were getting signals from missile launches. I quickly increased our speed and calculated the time for the attack, probably the SA-2 and SA-4 surface-to-air missiles, to reach Mach 5. I I think we can kill the rocket boosters, and risk our lives in terms of how the plane works and continues.
SA-2 surface-to-air missile in the South Asian War Museum at the United States Army Museum.
After a few painful seconds we turned into the Mediterranean Sea. "You might want to take it back," Walter suggested. That's when I noticed that the throttles were very forward. An airplane flies a mile every 1.6 seconds, which is above our Mach 3.2 limit. That's the fastest we've ever flown. I towed the galleys to work in southern Sicily, but we preferred the fuel tank waiting for us on Gibraltar.
[…] As we neared the coast of Libya, Walt asked me for the third time if I thought the plane would reach the speed and altitude we wanted. I said yes to him. I know he is worried. It's about data; that's what engineers do, and I'm glad it's there. But I have my hands on the trees and the thorns, and I feel the heart of that species, running with the strength and perfection that it now has. I will tell him again. Like a soldier in battle, he hears where he is following the plane and prepares himself.
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For the first time in two days, the front door closed and the vibration disappeared altogether. We were used to hearing the noise all the time, and now the jet was quiet in comparison. As Mach increases again, the jet flies in the boldest and most stable manner we can see at that speed. We reach our peak and speed, five miles. Entering the target area, in response to the new life of the jet, Walt said, "That's great," and pushed the two clubs forward with my left hand, thinking to myself that no they teach that in engineering school.
From my left window, Libya looks like a big box. The brown earth stretches to the horizon. No sign of any work. Walt told me that he was getting a lot of electrical signals and it wasn't good. The plane is flying well now, even better than the weekend. He seems to know where he is. It enjoys high Mach as we penetrate deep into Libyan airspace. I left the path of our slow sound through Benghazi, and I sat down, clinging to the colleges and authorities, my hands on the scales.
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Only the Mach number moves, from one hundred to the next, in a rhythmic sequence, like a teleporter speeding while maintaining a second distance. The plane was designed for this type of work, and he didn't allow a faulty entry door to spoil the show. With the power of forty locomotives they pierce the calm African air and head south through the dark land.
Kudos To Dan Quayle
Walt keeps me updated on how many reactions he sees on the DEF team. It provides arrow tracking signals. Every kilometer and every second I don't want to go deeper into this barren, dangerous land. I'm glad the DEF panel isn't in the front seat. Seeing the light shining, there is now a big problem. Instead, my cockpit was 'quiet' as the jet took off and kept going, enjoying its newfound power.
The trays are now complete, twenty-six inches deep on the nacelles. With all intakes closed, at Mach 3.24, the J-58 looks like ramjets, blowing 100,000 cubic feet of air per second. We're now a grunt, hoping to maintain our speed to hit the missile radars below as we move through the enemy's backyard. We are nearing a turning point, and that is good. This makes it difficult for missiles to be launched to hit our aircraft.
I went as fast as Walt ordered. The plane doesn't jump, there's no change, the cameras are rock solid. Walt got the shot put points. Before he could say another word, my left hand went up in circles. I now have my eyes glued to the temperature gauges because I know that the plane will speed up and crash. The weather is very cool, from all the warm temperatures we've had so far I'm surprised, but I'm not surprised yet. Mach 3.31 Walt is now silent.
I move the club finder through the small silver wheel on the autopilot panel that controls the plane's aperture. With the attention known to Swiss watchmen, surgeons, and "dinosaurs" (they "don't" just fly), I turn the wheel well somewhere between one-sixteenth and one-eighth of an inch, the base I want to climb. 500 feet per minute. The nose of the plane rose about one-sixth of a level knowing that the faster I went, the higher my thrust. The mash continues to rise, but on this part of our route, I don't like going back on the throttles.
Sled Driver Flying The World's Fastest Jet (sr 71) By Brian Shul
Walt's voice pierces the silence of my cockpit and other rocket launch signals. The strength of Walter's voice tells me that he believes that the signs are stronger than others. Within seconds he told me to "push" and I pressed both collars into their positions. For the next few seconds, I let the jet go as fast as it wanted. The final round is coming and we know if we get this fast then we will beat the Rockets. We weren't there yet, and I thought Walt would call to stop us on our way.
Without a word, I think Walter intends to continue with the course he had planned for me. Don't worry, I'll look outside, thinking I can get a shot coming our way. The thoughts that run through a person's mind at such times are strange. I remembered the words of the former SR-71 pilots who flew over North Vietnam. They said there were many mistakes
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