My Turn!

[Author note – the other issues of AMST are probably worth a read to get full context. #1 – #2 – #3.]

Summer, 1994

By summer, I’m closing in on PQM – and starting to get some of my “X’s” (graded flights) for Attack Helicopter Commander. The upcoming Combined Arms Exercise (CAX-9/10) in July and August at 29 Palms Ground Air Training Center is a Big Deal for the squadron. It’s a Big Deal for the whole Marine Corps, in fact. Twice a year, in February and March, and then July and August, the Marine Corps has these giant 3-week exercises that allows infantry units, light armored vehicles, tanks, jets, helicopters, and artillery engage in an orgy of high-explosive destruction in the high desert near Joshua Tree and north of Palm Springs.

While we can do some training at the ranges north of us near Cherry Point, we can’t fire certain ordnance (like Hellfire laser-guided missiles), there are limited range fans, and shooting at the same half-sunken ship hulks jutting out of the coastal North Carolina waters doesn’t offer a lot of training variety. We often refer to the rather flat, pine-tree forests of North Carolina as a “billiard table.” By comparison, 29 Palms has massive mountain ranges that form canyons, which are very convenient for keeping bombs, rockets, and other high-explosives from going astray and allowing for better fire coordination of all the various supporting arms. There are a variety of Soviet-era tanks hulks and other targets spread throughout all of the various ranges, which allows for a much more fulsome, realistic training environment for all of us. As a consequence, throughout the year, the squadron is careful, though not really frugal, with its Non-Combat Expenditure Allowance (NCEA) – its allotment of ordnance to train our pilots – so that we have plenty of boom-sticks for when we get to 29 Palms each year. Our squadron’s training schedule is built around these exercises.

The whole squadron will load a bunch of our Cobras and Hueys into the back of a C-5, then the personnel will climb up into the seats and we will all fly in that giant aircraft across the country to March Air Force base in California, unload, and we lucky pilots will get to fly in a series of division formations (3 or more aircraft) from March AFB, CA, out to 29 Palms.

“No. No. We’re Not Doing That.”

Before we go, the squadron has a live AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile to fire.1 The squadron’s Weapons and Tactics Instructor says the only fair way to determine who gets to fire it is by having a knowledge test about the AIM-9 with top 2 scores getting to be a part of the missile shoot. This means for a couple of weeks we’re all finding time to go into 269’s tiny secret compartmented facility (SCIF) to read the SECRET Tactical Manual to get the no-shit classified info on the AIM-9’s capabilities, procedures, etc. No, I do NOT win the test – my good friend and shipmate Clark “Swab” Cox does… I come in second and thus “win” the prize of being the “flare bird.” To be clear, myself and another pilot will be carrying a pod of LUU-2 parachute flares, which come in a big rocket pod that shoots the flares out the back of the pod. I will be flying with Tom “Q” Stone, a Gulf War veteran and senior Captain who is on his very last flight in the squadron; Swab is to fly with Bill “Schlep” Dunn, the WTI.

We brief the plan, which includes me and Q filming the missile shoot for the squadron and posterity. Here’s how it’s supposed to go:2 we fly together out over the Atlantic Ocean, climb up to 7,000 feet MSL, contact Range Control in Virginia, get clearance, and then me and Q will go up to 8500 feet or so, sprint out ahead of Swab and Schlep, then turn around and head right back at them. At 5 miles away or so, we will “poop” out our magnesium parachute flares, which will begin to drop…

We will haul ass straight ahead, then call “Clear” when we get abeam of our lead – so the missile doesn’t accidentally track our exhaust.

After that we are supposed to turn back 180 degrees and join on their wing – Q has the video-camera up front – to record the shoot. Hopefully, the the AIM-9 seeker head will lock onto the heat source of the dropping parachute flares, track, and big kablooie at 3-4 miles.

Because it’s Tom’s last flight in the squadron, and because he is a kind soul who has always been nice to me – and to everyone, actually – I make sure my shit is tight and that I can troubleshoot any problems with the flare pods from the back seat, where I am sitting for this flight.

Everything goes according to plan and Q and I have punched out our flares and are heading inbound toward Bill and Clark. There are a few moments to ponder that we are traveling right at someone who is carrying a “hot” – i.e. live – air-to-air missile. Of course, it’s being carried by each of our respective besties in the squadron, so (relatively) low worry factor.

Right as we get abeam and I start to call “Clear”, Tom “steps” on my radio call by keying the internal cockpit comms (ICS) and saying: “NOT YET. NO.” We’re well past their tail when he finally lets me call “Clear.” I start to turn to join on their tail because, for one, I would really like to see a live Winder come off of their aircraft. For two, that’s what we briefed in the mission.

As I start to try to turn, Tom keys the mic and forces the stick forward:

“No. No… We’re not doing that, Barney. Take us fucking home. And get us down from eight-thousand feet. It’s making my skin crawl.”

His tone is gentle, but brooks no argument. He’s signed for the aircraft and I’m just the guy wiggling the sticks. In fact, I start laughing because the way he says it makes me realize that he never had any intention of dropping in behind them. I ask about the videocamera and he laughs:

“Yeah. Right here” he says and I can see that he hasn’t even taken it out from behind his left shoulder. He never was going to follow Bill’s plan and I can’t help but chuckle.

“This is my last flight in this aircraft ever, Barn, and I am not fuckin’ around.”

“You want to fly us back?” I ask respectfully.

“Nah. You got her. I’d like to just enjoy the ride. Just get us closer to the ground before I shit my pants. Being in a helicopter this high up does not make me comfortable…”

“Roger.” I reply, laughing.

“Wait until you get through with your first deployment. Five-hundred feet will feel like you’re going to the Moon.”

I’m perfectly comfortable at altitude, but I know he is correct. A helicopter’s chief safety advantages are (1) in being able to land in small areas vertically – i.e. we don’t need runway or rollout, and (2) being close to the ground so we can get down quickly if when something goes wrong.

For the rest of the flight home Tom “Q” Stone drops as much helicopter wisdom as he can on me, free of charge. And not the condescending “Old Guy” to “Young Guy” kind of talk; this was a friend and colleague trying to tell a younger brother some things that might serve him well. He talked about his crash the prior year at 29 Palms. While 269 had a fatal mishap (mentioned in AMST 2) that had gotten a lot of coverage, less known was that Tom and another guy had a tail-rotor hydraulic failure while in a hover near Quackenbush Lake. He had an instant to make a decision as his severed hydraulic line led to the helicopter spinning around to cut his own engines to stop the spin and drop to the ground below – an “autorotation” from 100 feet or so. His back was fucked-up as a result of that crash and he was working through the VA disability system.

Neither of us could possibly know or that in 60 days or so that Bill and I would crash in the same exact wash, about 1000m from where Tom had survived his crash.

PostScript and Prologue

Just across the street from the two helicopter training squadrons – HT-8 and HT-18 – at NAS South Whiting Field are the simulator buildings. On a plaque outside is this quote by Harry Reasoner from a piece he wrote in 1971 about helicopter pilots in Vietnam:

The thing is, helicopters are different from airplanes. An airplane by its nature wants to fly, and if not interfered with too strongly by unusual events or incompetent piloting, it will fly. A helicopter does not want to fly. It is maintained in the air by a variety of forces and controls working in opposition to each other. And if there is any disturbance in this delicate balance the helicopter stops flying immediately and disastrously. There is no such thing as a gliding helicopter. That’s why being a helicopter pilot is so different from being an airplane pilot, and why in generality airplane pilots are open, clear-eyed, buoyant, extroverts. And helicopter pilots are brooders, introspective anticipators of trouble. They know if something bad has not happened, it is about to.

1 The AH-1W is the only helo that has an air-to-air missile capability. We don’t generally carry them, but it does give us the ability to shoot at fast-movers if they’re an expected threat.

2 To the best of my recollection. The altitudes might be off a little here or there, but it’s been 3 decades, so cut me some slack.