I watched and listened as the pilot ran each engine up to military power and checked the RPM and temperatures to insure all was well. At 30,000 pounds of thrust, only one engine was run up to military power at a time. The jet's exhaust kicked up a whirlwind of dust and debris behind the run up area.
The sound of the engines set this day apart. The gutty roar of the J-58s grabbed my insides and tugged at me. This engine sound was born from 1950s technology and was a trademark of the Century Series fighters I was born too late to fly. The older jets were loud, big, and built solidly. New technology emerged in the 1970s and I had flown aircraft with the newer fan jets. These engines were more fuel efficient but they didn't sound the same, nor were they as rugged. The SR-71 stood before me as something out of the past. It had all the defiance and pride of the older jets, the kind that had made a 10-year-old boy in 1958 want to fly. As this sound penetrated my ears, I again felt that same desire. I worried little now about space suit discomfort or what affect this assignment would have on my career or my personal life. The Blackbird was talking to me and I was listening.
I stood halfway down the runway to watch the takeoff. The pilot lit the afterburners and I heard two distinct booms that sounded like cannons in the distance. As the jet passed me, the thunderous, piercing sound of the engines at maximum power was not so much heard as it was felt. The sound vibrated my body and reached in and grabbed my soul. It had me. Here was a jet built long ago, still flying the same mission for which it had been designed. It could go places other airplanes couldn't, and bring back intelligence information vital to our nation. It was playing for keeps and still winning. I wanted to be a part of it.
