In 1947, the United States Air Force underwent a transformative shift, emerging as an independent entity, separate from the Army, and falling under the purview of the freshly established National Military Establishment. This pivotal moment heralded a series of formidable challenges for the fledgling service. Internationally, the specter of the Soviet Union loomed large, while domestically, tensions simmered. The Navy, perceiving the newcomers in their distinct uniforms as rivals vying for a dwindling pool of defense resources, posed a significant obstacle. Moreover, internally, the Air Force grappled with the intricate task of integrating jet-powered aircraft into active service.
Spring of 1949 ushered in a change in leadership with the appointment of Louis Johnson as the new secretary of defense. Johnson, a prosperous lawyer, aspiring politician, and former Convair Corporation official, brought with him a controversial association, one that in contemporary times might raise eyebrows. However, during that era, such affiliations were not uncommon. After all, who possessed greater insight into weaponry than those involved in its creation?
When President Harry Truman mandated austerity measures, Johnson promptly complied by halting the construction of the 65,000-ton super-carrier United States, a decision made merely a week after its keel had been laid. Nevertheless, this seemingly innocuous act sparked a fierce inter-service dispute of unprecedented magnitude.
The rift between the Army and Navy, initially exacerbated in the 1920s over territorial defense responsibilities, had only deepened during World War II. The postwar establishment of the Air Force and the Department of Defense further stoked tensions, perceived by the Navy as dual political threats to its longstanding dominance as the guardian of U.S. shores. The cancellation of the United States became the flashpoint for what would later be termed “the revolt of the admirals,” a clash pitting the Navy’s aircraft carrier against the Air Force’s strategic bombing capabilities, epitomized by Convair’s imposing B-36 bomber, introduced in the summer of 1948.
Fast forward a year, and the confrontation reached a fever pitch. The opening salvo was delivered by Cedric Worth, a civilian assistant to Navy Undersecretary Dan Kimball, whose responsibilities included “special study and research,” as he later attested under oath. Worth penned a scathing nine-page memorandum, intended for internal Navy consumption but clandestinely disseminated to select members of Congress and aircraft manufacturer Glenn Martin. In this damning document, the B-36 was denounced as “outmoded and ineffective,” with allegations surfacing of its procurement being influenced by Convair’s substantial political contributions to Democratic figures.
This narrative gained traction when the Navy League joined the fray, allocating a significant sum—by contemporary standards—to decry the mega-bomber. The B-36 was derided as a “cumbersome behemoth” and a “costly blunder,” with the Navy boasting superior jet fighters capable of outmaneuvering it at high altitudes. Despite the admirals’ eagerness for a showdown, such a spectacle would never materialize.
The recommendation against the test came from the Joint Chiefs of Staff to Johnson, citing its imprudence. Concurrently, the Air Force presented its findings, indicating that previous demonstrations had proven the incapability of fighters to maneuver effectively at such altitudes. The scenario involved simulated B-36 attacks on bases located in Florida and California, which were intercepted by three frontline fighters: a North American F-86A Sabre, a Lockheed F-80C Shooting Star, and a Republic F-84 Thunderjet. Radar detected the intruder 30 minutes prior, while the fighters required 26 minutes to ascend to 40,000 feet and an additional two minutes to locate the B-36. Although faster than the large bomber, the fighters’ high wing loading hindered their ability to turn alongside the bomber without risking stalling in the rarified atmosphere. Furthermore, the Air Force asserted that even if a B-36 were detected and pursued by Soviet fighters, the pilot could evade them through evasive maneuvers, such as S-turns.
Contrary to assumptions, British engineer Harold Saxon argued in a mid-summer edition of Aviation Week that the Russians would not be employing USAF jets. Saxon highlighted the British approach to aircraft design, emphasizing maneuverability at stratospheric altitudes. This was exemplified by the de Havilland Vampire, designed around the first British turbojet engine, which had undergone extensive development flying between 50,000 and 60,000 feet since 1947.
By early June, the controversy had spilled into the chambers of Congress, with Republican Congressman James Van Zandt of Pennsylvania, a Navy reserve captain, championing the allegations revealed in Worth’s memo. Van Zandt called for an investigation on the House floor, decrying the “ugly, disturbing reports” suggesting the bomber project’s continuation due to behind-the-scenes negotiations involving Louis Johnson, Convair officials, and Stuart Symington, the civilian head of the Air Force.
Symington, in a speech delivered at Brookline, Massachusetts, portrayed the B-36 as a formidable asset capable of launching from continental bases, penetrating enemy defenses, decimating urban industrial areas worldwide, and returning uninterrupted to its point of origin. While Symington’s assertions were met with skepticism, they found wide acceptance. Consequently, Congress scheduled hearings, initially postponed until August, much to Van Zandt’s chagrin. The hearings evolved into a broader discussion concerning the strategic roles of the Air Force and Navy. Amidst the dramatic proceedings, Cedric Worth, the author of the contentious memo, was compelled to retract his statements. “I think I was wrong,” he admitted under questioning, acknowledging the gravity of his error.
American bombers had been steadily increasing in size, and the sheer magnitude of the B-36 might have appeared to fit within this trend. However, the genesis of this colossal aircraft lay not in American military doctrine alone but also in the looming shadows cast by hostile regimes, beginning with Adolf Hitler’s Germany. By the spring of 1941, German forces had seized control over much of western Europe, raising concerns that Britain might be the next conquest. In response, the U.S. Army sought a formidable aircraft capable of departing from American soil, striking Germany, and returning safely.
Consolidated Aircraft, based in San Diego and renowned for its B-24 Liberator, presented the most compelling proposal. This new aircraft, the B-36, represented a significant advancement over existing heavy bombers like the B-17 and B-24, as well as Boeing’s forthcoming “very heavy” B-29 Superfortress. Envisioned as a behemoth of the skies, the B-36 boasted a wingspan of 230 feet, promising to traverse the Atlantic, penetrate German airspace at 300 mph, and unleash a devastating payload of 10,000 pounds of ordnance from an altitude of 40,000 feet, beyond the reach of flak or enemy fighters. The Army, impressed by the concept, promptly commissioned two prototypes on November 15, 1941.
However, the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japan just three weeks later thrust the United States into a conflict spanning two oceans. Consequently, the development of the B-36 was temporarily sidelined as Consolidated prioritized the production of proven Liberators. Further delays ensued when the B-36 project was relocated to Texas and later when designers were diverted to develop a transport variant based on the bomber.
While the war effort in Europe relied on bases in England, plans to target Japan were centered around the Boeing Superfortress operating from China. The Japanese, recognizing the threat posed by these airfields, refocused attention on the B-36. Suddenly, from its base in Hawaii, it was poised to strike Tokyo, a role initially envisioned for Berlin. In June 1943, the Army requested 100 units of the mega-bomber, with the first deliveries scheduled for the summer of 1945.
Meanwhile, the U.S. Marine Corps surged ahead, particularly following the capture of Guam, Saipan, and Tinian, facilitating the commencement of devastating bombing campaigns against the Japanese mainland by Superfortresses. Consequently, the Pacific theater concluded six months earlier than anticipated, just six days prior to the unveiling of the inaugural B-36 prototype, which required special adjustments to fit through hangar doors. Although christened the Peacemaker, this designation failed to resonate, and the aircraft is best remembered simply as the B-36.
Despite the prevailing mood of peace, geopolitical realities soon necessitated a reassessment. The Soviet Union’s expansionist ambitions paralleled those of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, prompting a strategic pivot within the U.S. military. General Leon Johnson characterized the post-war period not as demobilization but as a rout, akin to the events of 1941. Faced with an assertive adversary, the United States found itself compelled to wield the “strategic” card—the threat of nuclear annihilation—as its primary deterrent.
The establishment of the independent Air Force in 1947 marked a pivotal moment in military organization. Two primary arms emerged: Tactical Air Command (TAC) to support ground operations, and Strategic Air Command (SAC) to prosecute offensive actions against adversaries. With a fleet double the size of the Navy’s, boasting 24,000 aircraft compared to 11,500, and exclusive control over heavy bombers, the Air Force assumed a central role in America’s post-war military strategy.
After the withdrawal of the United States forces back to their mainland and amidst Joseph Stalin’s expanding ambitions, the strategic mission of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) gained prominence, leaving no doubt as to who the primary adversary was. Coincidentally, the long-range capacity of the B-36 aircraft matched the weight of a single atomic bomb, approximately 10,000 pounds, while its operational range covered the direct route from Maine to Leningrad. With the imminent arrival of the new multi-million-dollar B-36 fleet, SAC relied on its 160 seasoned B-29 Superfortresses. These aircraft were promptly deployed to European bases when the Soviets blocked ground access to Berlin in the summer of 1948.
However, this display of strength was largely illusory. Out of SAC’s entire fleet, only 27 Superfortresses had undergone the necessary “Silver Plate” modifications to carry atomic bombs, and these were exclusively allocated to the 509th Bomb Group, stationed domestically. Furthermore, the U.S. possessed a mere 13 atomic bombs, tightly controlled by the Atomic Energy Commission under President Harry Truman’s discretion. Even if the order was given to launch an attack, logistical constraints meant that it would take at least five days for the 509th to prepare and transport the weapons overseas.
Nevertheless, the Soviet Union seemed unfazed by these realities. Their modus operandi during the Cold War involved probing until met with resolute opposition, then receding until the next opportunity arose. Despite having the capability to disrupt U.S. radio communications and thwart any potential airlift, the Soviets refrained from doing so. Astonishingly, when General Curtis LeMay orchestrated the aerial supply of Berlin, the Soviets quietly reopened land routes in spring 1949. This blockade served only to bolster LeMay’s reputation, intensify American apprehension towards the Soviet Union, and reinforce the perception that the B-36 was America’s primary deterrent against communism.
In June 1948, Convair delivered the inaugural operational B-36A to SAC’s 7th Bomb Group at Carswell Air Force Base, adjacent to its Fort Worth manufacturing facility. The sheer size of the B-36 dwarfed the B-29 Superfortress, with one B-36 wing nearly accommodating the entire span of the latter. Despite this contrast, both aircraft shared similar features such as slender fuselages, divided into pressurized crew compartments and bomb bays connected by a tunnel.
However, their wings differed significantly. While the Superfortress boasted thin, straight, glider-like wings, the B-36’s wings were over seven feet thick at their base, with tapered, swept-back leading edges. Positioned far back on the fuselage, they imparted an appearance of imbalance to the aircraft. Most peculiarly, the B-36’s six Pratt & Whitney Wasp Major engines were integrated into the trailing edges, with propellers mounted aft in a pusher configuration. Although unconventional for U.S. aircraft, this design remarkably minimized drag, albeit at the cost of insufficient cooling air intake, particularly at high altitudes.
The propellers, spanning 19 feet in diameter, were geared to rotate at less than half the speed of the engines to prevent supersonic tip speeds, resulting in a distinctive throbbing sound when the B-36 flew overhead. The aircraft’s transparent Plexiglas canopy enclosed the flight deck, providing a limited space for the crew of four, resembling a prairie dog’s burrow with its scanning blisters and radar dome akin to ears and paws, respectively.
Control surfaces such as ailerons, flaps, rudder, and elevators exceeded the combined surface area of both wings of a B-24 bomber. Pilot inputs manipulated trim tabs, inducing movement in the desired direction. Two flight engineers oversaw the operation of the six 4,360-cubic-inch “corncob” engines, each arranged in four rows of seven cylinders. Additional crew members in the forward cabin, including bombardier, navigator, radioman, and gunners, brought the total occupancy to ten.
Accessing the aft cabin involved traversing an 85-foot-long, two-foot-wide tunnel using a wheeled cart, which doubled as a food delivery system between compartments. The aft section, accommodating five crew members, featured bunks, an electric range, and a compact external urinal. Anecdotes from B-36 veterans recount instances of mishaps, such as a new captain inadvertently soiling his boots due to a lack of instruction on operating the urinal.
Subsequent B-36 variants accommodated larger crews, with reconnaissance versions capable of hosting up to 22 personnel. Each crew member had designated responsibilities, with gunners tasked with dual roles. Preparing the bomber for a mission required six hours of ground crew effort, followed by an additional hour for the flight crew to complete a meticulous 600-step preflight check, underscoring the complexity and thoroughness of B-36 operations.
The B-36A proved inept in combat due to the frequent malfunction of its electrically operated cannons, which were eventually removed. Consequently, it served primarily as a training platform for crews. Only twenty-two units were produced, each painstakingly crafted by hand. According to Jim Little, who served on one converted to an RB-36E, they were so poorly constructed that the upper wing skin would detach from the ribs. Little vividly recalls occasions when a crew of 30 or 40 sheet metal workers was needed to address structural issues.
The aircraft’s propellers were designed to reverse for braking upon landing, but they occasionally reversed mid-flight or during takeoff attempts, resulting in fatal accidents. Furthermore, the stainless steel firewalls surrounding the engines developed cracks, and the cylinders frequently overheated. Lead in the fuel caused spark plug fouling during cruising speed, necessitating the replacement of all 336 spark plugs after a day and a half of flight. Engine oil leaks were common, with flight engineers sometimes having to shut down engines due to oil depletion.
Another notorious issue was the “wet wing,” where the outboard fuel tanks formed within the wing panels tended to leak after several hundred hours of wing flexing. Jim Little recounts an instance where the leakage was so severe that the ground beneath the aircraft was stained purple from the dye in the high-octane fuel.
Despite these challenges, pilot opinions of the B-36 varied greatly. While some, like Colonel Jim Edmundson, affectionately referred to it as a “big, wonderful old bird,” others found it cumbersome to handle, likening it to “sitting on your front porch and flying your house around.” Yet, for many crew members, the B-36 held a special place in their hearts. Raleigh Watson, a former radioman/gunner, described it as noisy but comfortable and safe, while pilot Moxie Shirley credited it with keeping potential adversaries at bay. Nevertheless, every crew had harrowing tales to share about their experiences with the aircraft.
In “Thundering Peacemaker,” Ed Griemsmann offered a contrasting perspective, describing the B-36 as a cumbersome and sluggish aircraft to pilot. Griemsmann’s firsthand experience surviving a fiery crash in 1956 underscored the perilous nature of B-36 flights, often ending in flames due to the magnesium components in its construction. Griemsmann’s aversion to flying another B-36 was so strong that he quipped he would rather enlist in the infantry.
While the B-36A proved ineffective, the Strategic Air Command (SAC) faced its own challenges. General George Kenney, SAC’s inaugural commander, held reservations about the B-36’s capabilities. Kenney argued that the bomber’s sluggish speed and structural limitations rendered it unsuitable for sustained operations deep into enemy territory. He advocated for investing in bombers capable of supersonic flight, even if it necessitated reliance on overseas bases.
Though Kenney’s foresight was later validated, his dissenting stance was perceived as disloyal at the time. Kenney’s subsequent dismissal, amidst his pursuit of higher positions within the Air Force, marked the ascension of General Curtis LeMay to SAC’s leadership. LeMay, renowned for his tenacity and expertise in aerial warfare, wasted no time in reforming SAC’s operations.
Upon assuming command, LeMay confronted the deficiencies within SAC head-on. He pushed crews to simulate bombing raids using outdated photographs, highlighting the lack of intelligence on potential targets. LeMay’s rigorous training regimen aimed to rectify these shortcomings, reshuffling personnel to bolster the effectiveness of key bomber groups.
By late 1948, the introduction of the improved B-36B marked a turning point for SAC. Equipped with formidable armaments and enhanced defensive capabilities, the B-36B demonstrated its potential during a daring flight to Hawaii. Lieutenant Colonel John Bartlett’s successful mission, conducted on the anniversary of Pearl Harbor, showcased the B-36’s long-range capabilities and stealthy profile.
LeMay recognized the strategic implications of such feats. If the B-36 could reach Hawaii undetected, it could potentially penetrate deep into Soviet airspace from mainland America. LeMay’s vision extended even further, contemplating the aircraft’s deployment in the harsh climates of Alaska to project American power across Siberia.
The B variant was also equipped with the necessary modifications for accommodating a hydrogen bomb, a massive weapon measuring 30 feet in length and weighing 43,000 pounds. The development of this bomb had been shrouded in such secrecy that Convair had not obtained its dimensions in time for the A models.
The B-36B stood as the final embodiment of reciprocating-engine bombers within the U.S. strategic bomber fleet. In retrospect, the wisdom of employing jet propulsion from the outset appears self-evident. However, during World War II, turbojets had been designed primarily for swiftly ascending, high-altitude interceptors, albeit at an exorbitant fuel consumption rate. The notion of these engines crossing oceans seemed fantastical. Two pivotal advancements altered this perspective: the emergence of a new generation of twin-spool turbojets with significantly enhanced fuel efficiency, and the introduction of aerial refueling. By 1949, Boeing’s B-47 Stratojet was entering production, while progress was being made on paper with the intercontinental behemoth, the B-52 Stratofortress.
Even preceding the tumult in Congress during the summer of ’49, concerns regarding the vulnerability of the B-36 had apparently gripped the Air Force. As an interim solution, Convair was tasked with affixing a pair of jet pods near the B-36’s wingtips. By March, a B-36B had successfully flown with four Allison J35s installed. The subsequent production versions, unveiled in July, featured each pod housing two General Electric J-47-GE-19s, modified to operate on gasoline—a diminutive contrast to the Wasp Majors, yet effectively doubling the aircraft’s installed horsepower. These jets were utilized for takeoff, ascent to extreme altitudes, and rapid traversal of hostile territories. With “six turning and four burning,” as the adage went, a B-36 could finally attain speeds surpassing 400 mph. However, fighter pilots were already flirting with the sound barrier in their North American F-86 Sabre jets. Regardless of the armaments—be it nuclear warheads, missiles, or supersonic jets—the Russians mirrored American advancements, commencing with imitations and occasionally culminating in superior weaponry.
To assuage congressional concerns, the Air Force divulged what Aviation Week heralded as “remarkable new performance metrics” for the jet-assisted B-36D: a top speed of 435 mph, a ceiling of 50,000 feet, and a range of up to 12,000 miles. General LeMay supplemented this with his personal assurance: “I am confident that we can deploy the B-36 over a target without alerting the enemy until the bombs are unleashed.”
Even George Kenney emerged from seclusion, temporarily departing his role as commander of the Air University officer training center, to extol the virtues of the aircraft. “The B-36 exceeded expectations in altitude, speed, and range,” he remarked, “and it was well-received by the pilots. It was a fortuitous anomaly.” Nevertheless, Kenney speculated that both the U.S. Navy Banshee and the Royal Air Force Vampire possessed the capability to intercept the B-36 during daylight operations, suggesting that it be exclusively employed for nocturnal sorties.
On September 5, Aviation Week reported “Symington and Defense Chiefs Exonerated,” as the House Armed Services Committee absolved Johnson, Symington, the Air Force, and Convair of any wrongdoing. The committee concluded that there was not “a shred of evidence… to substantiate allegations or insinuations of collusion, fraud, corruption, influence, or favoritism in the procurement of the B-36 bomber.” Even Congressman Van Zandt concurred with the exoneration resolution.
At 4 a.m. local time on June 25, 1950, North Korean forces breached the 38th parallel. They were later joined by Chinese “volunteers.” These developments marked the demise of President Truman’s defense austerity measures. Following Germany, Japan, and Russia, the events in Korea bolstered the case for the B-36. Suddenly, ample funding became available for mega-bombers, as well as for super-carriers.
The Korean War ushered in another milestone for SAC: Truman authorized the release of nine atomic bombs to the military. While these likely did not depart American soil, the B-36 did, undertaking flights from Texas to airfields in Britain and Morocco during the spring and autumn of 1951. Though the involvement was limited to six aircraft and their stays brief, the message was unmistakable to Moscow. Briefly, the capital and a significant portion of the Soviet Union fell within the combat radius of the B-36.
Overall, 1951 proved to be a promising year for mega-bombers. Margaret Bourke-White waxed lyrical about the B-36 in a Life magazine photo-essay, capturing images at an altitude of 41,000 feet, where the sky “took on a hue unlike any other, the deepest blue imaginable, yet radiant like molten cobalt, too brilliant for the eyes to behold.” She documented the fluffy white contrails trailing from the reciprocating engines, a 55-foot scaffold utilized for rudder repairs, and (from both perspectives) the wondrous flying boom facilitating mid-air refueling.
An astute reader might have detected anomalies in Bourke-White’s narrative. The bomber undergoing refueling was a Superfortress, not a B-36, none of which were outfitted for in-flight refueling. She was aboard a B-47, evident from its swept-back tail in one photograph. Additionally, the accompanying map depicted a Soviet Union encircled by small bombers stationed in Alaska, Canada, Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and Japan, while the Peacemaker remained grounded at home.
With Superfortresses stationed near the Russian border and midair refueling capabilities offering indefinite flight durations, one might question the necessity of the B-36. The addition of jet pods significantly increased its weight and fuel consumption, resulting in a dwindling combat radius. General Curtis LeMay’s strategic intentions became a subject of speculation. From bases in Maine, South Dakota, and Washington, the B-36 could barely penetrate the periphery of the Soviet Union, encountering severe operational challenges in winter conditions.
Maintenance complexities were evident at bases like Rapid City, where specialized repair docks were constructed to service the B-36 amid snowy conditions. Despite having airfields in Alaska and Greenland, LeMay avoided stationing B-36s there due to the harsh climate. These Arctic bases served primarily as staging points for missions, with bombers returning to more hospitable locales post-operation. The concept of shuttle missions, exemplified by takeoffs from Fairchild Air Force Base in Washington and refueling stops in Okinawa after bombing missions in Siberia, showcased the B-36’s global reach.
However, for meaningful impact, LeMay recognized the necessity of launching missions from overseas bases or even contemplating one-way sorties. LeMay’s sentiment, articulated in his memoir “Mission With LeMay,” reflected his pragmatic approach: every bomber, including the B-36, was transitional in the evolving landscape of aerial warfare. Despite his loyalty to the B-36, alternative strategies were explored, such as equipping it with pilotless drones or manned parasite aircraft like the XF-85 Goblin and modified F-84 Thunderjets.
Convair’s response in 1955 involved stripping down the B-36 to its essentials, resulting in a lighter and more efficient variant. This “featherweight” B-36, optimized for reconnaissance missions, reflected LeMay’s recognition of the aircraft’s value beyond conventional bombing roles. The RB-36 variants, equipped with high-resolution cameras, underscored its utility as a spy plane, capable of capturing detailed imagery from high altitudes and long distances.
The B-36’s legacy, although transitional, remained significant. It served as a precursor to the B-52 Stratofortress and played a pivotal role during its operational tenure. Despite its eventual retirement, the B-36 fulfilled its strategic responsibilities without engaging in combat, symbolizing the era of transition between traditional aerial warfare and the emergence of new strategic paradigms.
