???
Thu Nov 08, 2007 9:52 pm
Found this thread and had to bump it up!!!
Thu Nov 08, 2007 10:45 pm
Quick one Frank Strickler told me.
He was stationed in Germany at the time, and his squadron was flying the F-84. After a sortie, a guy came back with a "bird strike". This strike took his F-84's lower part of the intake, and curled it back to the leading edge. Afterwards in the O-Club, the higher-ups came into the bar, in Search and not rescue mode. Frank says, "when someone comes into a room looking for someone/something, it's wise to be inconspicuous". So Frank watches these guys ask "who had the bird stike?" Some guys raises his hand, "that was me". This guy gets hauled out of the o-club. Turns out, his "bird-stike victim", was a CHICKEN
He was stationed in Germany at the time, and his squadron was flying the F-84. After a sortie, a guy came back with a "bird strike". This strike took his F-84's lower part of the intake, and curled it back to the leading edge. Afterwards in the O-Club, the higher-ups came into the bar, in Search and not rescue mode. Frank says, "when someone comes into a room looking for someone/something, it's wise to be inconspicuous". So Frank watches these guys ask "who had the bird stike?" Some guys raises his hand, "that was me". This guy gets hauled out of the o-club. Turns out, his "bird-stike victim", was a CHICKEN
great stories
Thu Nov 08, 2007 10:49 pm
A number of years ago i attended a 31SQU (R.A.A.F) Beaufighters, reunion. One of the pilots told this yarn, As a new Sergeant pilot i was keen to impress my C.O. We were doing a lot of ship busting sorties in the Bismark sea. The C.O. was fearless, his catch cry was in tight and down low chaps. After one particular successful sortie, i was keen to get the approval of the C.O. As he got out of his A/C, he looked around his charges and walked over to me, with a smile he said "not bad son, but remember in tight and down low, i was feeling a bit bewildered as we walked back to the hut for debrief we walked under the wing of my Beau dodging the bits of antenna mast and wire embedded in the leading edge. "
Thu Nov 08, 2007 11:59 pm
THIS IS A GOOD ONE, ITS FROM A E-MAIL THAT I GOT WHILE DOING RESEARCH ON A UH-1H AIRFRAME THAT WAS DERLICT IN VT. HE WAS A PILOT THAT WAS INVOLVED IN A INCIDENT THAT IS ON RECORD BUT THIS DAY I GOT THE FULL STORY!!!! ITS LONG BUT GOOD READING!!
Did not mean to blow you off here. Please accept my apology. I don't even have a good excuse except that I just haven't taken the time to be attentive.
I have a number of pictures I took while we were waiting to get recovered. Haven't found anything that shows the copilot or DG. The CE was Dan Dotson. I'll make copies and get those to you since I'm thinking about this again now and its fresh on my mind.
I also have an 8mm movie reel with the actual recovery by CH-47 on it. I was taking the movies from the Huey that picked us up. I would like to get the 8mm stuff transferred to DVD and send it along to you.
I don't recall the exact dates when the transition from A/101 to F 2/17 began. But Paul Delazoppa and I were the two senior aircraft commanders in the organization and he was due to DEROS about a month before me. I believe he left in December and I would DEROS on 4 January 1970. Anyway, throughout the two month or so transition, I would be staying in slicks since I was "short" and I would not transition into Guns or Scouts. For a while they had us sitting in classes in the club with Cav slick pilots telling us how to insert and extract Rangers. Hell, we had been doing that for the past year with Rangers and SF teams all over Laos. So the fun of the training classes wore off pretty quick and there wasn't much else to do except get bored since we were not allowed to fly until the transition to F Troop was complete. I had just turned 20 years old, so you can imagine my level of interest at just sitting around after a year of much more interesting activity.
The Commander as Maj. Charlie James. He was one of those nice guy kind of folks, although I didn't realize that at the time. He was the commander and that was the only way I looked at it. Plus he was much older than I was. Probably mid thirties. Anyway, we got along very well, in fact he was the IP that gave me my aircraft commander checkride some months earlier. Well, he saw how bored I was and did me a favor. He got me a mission for 12 December to fly some resupply and log missions for the ARVNs. He called me into this hooch the evening of 11 December and told me he got me this mission from division just to get me off the ground and give me something to do. The caveat was "Don't let anything happen" We are not supposed to be flying and it will be his ass if division finds out I was flying. I assured him that nothing would go wrong, wouldn't get shot, and everything would be fine.
The next morning started off normal enough. We took off and went to some pad somewhere (can't recall where) and picked up some pax to take to Alpha 4 or 5, which were small outposts near the DMZ. They were also close enough that one could see the NVA outpost, with commie flag attached, just across the border in North Vietnam.
As we were getting close to Alpha 4 or 5, I called inbound and asked for smoke. They popped white smoke, and we all though "sugar" darn ARVN's! They should know that white smoke was reserved for targets and was not to be used for identification. But, we knew the area was secure and decided to land anyway. Just about the time we were landing and the rotor wash swirls inside and all around the aircraft, it became obvious that the darn white smoke was CS (tear gas). Well, my face started burning, eyes were stinging shut (nobody had any reason to think about putting on a gas mask, and even so it was now too late) and the same thing was happening to the crew and everybody on board. I don't think anybody even got a chance to get off because I pulled pitch so fast. We jumped up into the air and I kicked it out of trim to get some airflow through the cabin area. We climbed out for a ways, cussed every ARVN in the entire world and called to return for landing. It took a few minutes to get recovered from the gas. Face still stung, but at least we could see well enough to land. We landed discharged our pax and picked up a load to take down south to wherever it was we started.
We picked up our next load and headed back up north towards the DMZ. Had we known the day was not going to improve, we would have just gone home. We called for landing at the same pad where we got gassed. We made it real clear that we did not need smoke. Once was enough. The landing was fairly normal. Can't remember who was flying, but the degree of skill demonstrated was certainly exceptional. As we took off heading south to get another load and nosed the aircraft over to gain airspeed, I heard this dull thump - thump - thump. I couldn't imagine what was happening, and nobody on the crew either heard the noise or saw anything unusual. Out of my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of a round green ball rolling past my feet into my chin bubble. Did not get a good look at it, but quickly ascertained it was a concussion grenade that had probably fallen off one of the previous ARVN pax. Since I did not know if the spoon was attached or not, my stomach immediately lodged in my throat and I didn't know what to say (nobody could do anything to help anyway). I think I just waited for it to explode down there about 10 inches in front of and below my feet. After the eternity passed it appeared that it was not going to explode. The CP was flying, I unstrapped and somehow found a way to reach this thing in the chin bubble. I don't like those darn grenades anyway and now I owned one. We climbed up to 1500 feet or so and I pulled the pin and threw it out the left side front door window. It fell about 100 or so feet and exploded. The mid air explosion was kinda cool and I commented to that effect. I was just glad it didn't explode between my legs.
By this time the crew was thinking this flight was doomed. But we had been through worse and it seemed that Anderson and Dotson were with me whenever we had some sort of emergency. They were great guys. I know where Dotson is today, I just haven't gotten off my ass to contact him. Guess you can relate.
This next sortie back up to the same location was going to be the last for that day - but we didn't know that.
Another normal pickup down south and headed back up north. This time the landing, besides be a demonstration of exceptional aviator skill was uneventful. Upon takeoff life was good and all was right with the world until another unexplained noise. The unexplained noise was the left jump door (small door open front of the main cargo door) flapping open and closed. Didn't know it right then, but one of the ARVNs had inadvertently held onto the door handle latch on the inside and left it undone when he departed. The door swung probably two or three times before it came off completely. Of course the door would not simply fall away clear of the aircraft. It had to go up into the main rotor system. The darn thing cut one blade near the root, bent the two main pitch change tubes on the head, and naturally destroyed the door.
Things were not looking good at this point. The cyclic was all over the cockpit and Anderson and I both had to be on the cyclic to keep control. We had a hydraulic failure together before, and this situation was much more pronounced and violent. The way the push/pull tubes were bent, it was only a matter of little time before they came unglued and then control would be impossible. Didn't know how bad the tubes were bent at this point. I'll send the pics.
We wrestled this thing to the ground from about 500 to 700 feet and it seemed like it took forever to get to the ground. Once again we harnessed the greatest of piloting skills all at one time and planted the aircraft in the sand. The engine shutdown was immediate. While waiting for the blades to stop turning, I thought "sugar" what else could wrong with this day?" Finally the blades stopped and Dotson was already outside and said something real profound like "darn Jim, You oughta see the head, its all do you kiss your mother with that mouth? up" Upon exiting the aircraft I surmised he was right and I agreed. So now what?
We had gotten off a MAYDAY call before landing and Shortly thereafter an AF OV-10 was overhead asking what he could do. We had a PRC 77 radio on board and I was talking with the OV-10 on that radio. I explained the situation and he asked if we could fly it out of there. I thought about how much exceptional flying skill we had between us and responded to the negative. He said he would call back to the rear (101 Division) and get a recovery effort under way.
About 20 minutes after we were on the ground, an ARVN M113 platoon rolled up with an Australian advisor and offered to provide security until we got recovered. The company was certainly welcome. Things stared calming down and I now had time to think, Maj James is going to be pissed. We removed all our equipment, guns, radios, etc. and sat awaiting the recovery bird.
Don't know how much time passed, but after a while we heard the Chinook and another Huey coming up from the south. While we were loading everything on the Huey and the maintenance guys were preparing 994 to sling out, one of the recovery crew guys told me that everybody at division headquarters knew about the incident and we weren't a secret anymore. We all climbed aboard the Huey, I started taking movies of the recovery and we headed home.
Major James was pretty cool about the whole thing. He told me that everyone knew we went down by the DMZ in an aircraft and on a mission that was not supposed to happen. I am not aware of any fallout over the incident. Probably some issues about disobeying orders, but I never heard anymore about it. Hell, I went back over there a year later and actually launched a pair of rockets from an AH-1G Cobra towards the NVA outpost across the border. That should have created some comment, but never heard anything about that either.
That's about it. I'll get more enthusiastic about getting pics to you and getting the 8mm converted.
Sorry for the long wait.
Jim
-----
Did not mean to blow you off here. Please accept my apology. I don't even have a good excuse except that I just haven't taken the time to be attentive.
I have a number of pictures I took while we were waiting to get recovered. Haven't found anything that shows the copilot or DG. The CE was Dan Dotson. I'll make copies and get those to you since I'm thinking about this again now and its fresh on my mind.
I also have an 8mm movie reel with the actual recovery by CH-47 on it. I was taking the movies from the Huey that picked us up. I would like to get the 8mm stuff transferred to DVD and send it along to you.
I don't recall the exact dates when the transition from A/101 to F 2/17 began. But Paul Delazoppa and I were the two senior aircraft commanders in the organization and he was due to DEROS about a month before me. I believe he left in December and I would DEROS on 4 January 1970. Anyway, throughout the two month or so transition, I would be staying in slicks since I was "short" and I would not transition into Guns or Scouts. For a while they had us sitting in classes in the club with Cav slick pilots telling us how to insert and extract Rangers. Hell, we had been doing that for the past year with Rangers and SF teams all over Laos. So the fun of the training classes wore off pretty quick and there wasn't much else to do except get bored since we were not allowed to fly until the transition to F Troop was complete. I had just turned 20 years old, so you can imagine my level of interest at just sitting around after a year of much more interesting activity.
The Commander as Maj. Charlie James. He was one of those nice guy kind of folks, although I didn't realize that at the time. He was the commander and that was the only way I looked at it. Plus he was much older than I was. Probably mid thirties. Anyway, we got along very well, in fact he was the IP that gave me my aircraft commander checkride some months earlier. Well, he saw how bored I was and did me a favor. He got me a mission for 12 December to fly some resupply and log missions for the ARVNs. He called me into this hooch the evening of 11 December and told me he got me this mission from division just to get me off the ground and give me something to do. The caveat was "Don't let anything happen" We are not supposed to be flying and it will be his ass if division finds out I was flying. I assured him that nothing would go wrong, wouldn't get shot, and everything would be fine.
The next morning started off normal enough. We took off and went to some pad somewhere (can't recall where) and picked up some pax to take to Alpha 4 or 5, which were small outposts near the DMZ. They were also close enough that one could see the NVA outpost, with commie flag attached, just across the border in North Vietnam.
As we were getting close to Alpha 4 or 5, I called inbound and asked for smoke. They popped white smoke, and we all though "sugar" darn ARVN's! They should know that white smoke was reserved for targets and was not to be used for identification. But, we knew the area was secure and decided to land anyway. Just about the time we were landing and the rotor wash swirls inside and all around the aircraft, it became obvious that the darn white smoke was CS (tear gas). Well, my face started burning, eyes were stinging shut (nobody had any reason to think about putting on a gas mask, and even so it was now too late) and the same thing was happening to the crew and everybody on board. I don't think anybody even got a chance to get off because I pulled pitch so fast. We jumped up into the air and I kicked it out of trim to get some airflow through the cabin area. We climbed out for a ways, cussed every ARVN in the entire world and called to return for landing. It took a few minutes to get recovered from the gas. Face still stung, but at least we could see well enough to land. We landed discharged our pax and picked up a load to take down south to wherever it was we started.
We picked up our next load and headed back up north towards the DMZ. Had we known the day was not going to improve, we would have just gone home. We called for landing at the same pad where we got gassed. We made it real clear that we did not need smoke. Once was enough. The landing was fairly normal. Can't remember who was flying, but the degree of skill demonstrated was certainly exceptional. As we took off heading south to get another load and nosed the aircraft over to gain airspeed, I heard this dull thump - thump - thump. I couldn't imagine what was happening, and nobody on the crew either heard the noise or saw anything unusual. Out of my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of a round green ball rolling past my feet into my chin bubble. Did not get a good look at it, but quickly ascertained it was a concussion grenade that had probably fallen off one of the previous ARVN pax. Since I did not know if the spoon was attached or not, my stomach immediately lodged in my throat and I didn't know what to say (nobody could do anything to help anyway). I think I just waited for it to explode down there about 10 inches in front of and below my feet. After the eternity passed it appeared that it was not going to explode. The CP was flying, I unstrapped and somehow found a way to reach this thing in the chin bubble. I don't like those darn grenades anyway and now I owned one. We climbed up to 1500 feet or so and I pulled the pin and threw it out the left side front door window. It fell about 100 or so feet and exploded. The mid air explosion was kinda cool and I commented to that effect. I was just glad it didn't explode between my legs.
By this time the crew was thinking this flight was doomed. But we had been through worse and it seemed that Anderson and Dotson were with me whenever we had some sort of emergency. They were great guys. I know where Dotson is today, I just haven't gotten off my ass to contact him. Guess you can relate.
This next sortie back up to the same location was going to be the last for that day - but we didn't know that.
Another normal pickup down south and headed back up north. This time the landing, besides be a demonstration of exceptional aviator skill was uneventful. Upon takeoff life was good and all was right with the world until another unexplained noise. The unexplained noise was the left jump door (small door open front of the main cargo door) flapping open and closed. Didn't know it right then, but one of the ARVNs had inadvertently held onto the door handle latch on the inside and left it undone when he departed. The door swung probably two or three times before it came off completely. Of course the door would not simply fall away clear of the aircraft. It had to go up into the main rotor system. The darn thing cut one blade near the root, bent the two main pitch change tubes on the head, and naturally destroyed the door.
Things were not looking good at this point. The cyclic was all over the cockpit and Anderson and I both had to be on the cyclic to keep control. We had a hydraulic failure together before, and this situation was much more pronounced and violent. The way the push/pull tubes were bent, it was only a matter of little time before they came unglued and then control would be impossible. Didn't know how bad the tubes were bent at this point. I'll send the pics.
We wrestled this thing to the ground from about 500 to 700 feet and it seemed like it took forever to get to the ground. Once again we harnessed the greatest of piloting skills all at one time and planted the aircraft in the sand. The engine shutdown was immediate. While waiting for the blades to stop turning, I thought "sugar" what else could wrong with this day?" Finally the blades stopped and Dotson was already outside and said something real profound like "darn Jim, You oughta see the head, its all do you kiss your mother with that mouth? up" Upon exiting the aircraft I surmised he was right and I agreed. So now what?
We had gotten off a MAYDAY call before landing and Shortly thereafter an AF OV-10 was overhead asking what he could do. We had a PRC 77 radio on board and I was talking with the OV-10 on that radio. I explained the situation and he asked if we could fly it out of there. I thought about how much exceptional flying skill we had between us and responded to the negative. He said he would call back to the rear (101 Division) and get a recovery effort under way.
About 20 minutes after we were on the ground, an ARVN M113 platoon rolled up with an Australian advisor and offered to provide security until we got recovered. The company was certainly welcome. Things stared calming down and I now had time to think, Maj James is going to be pissed. We removed all our equipment, guns, radios, etc. and sat awaiting the recovery bird.
Don't know how much time passed, but after a while we heard the Chinook and another Huey coming up from the south. While we were loading everything on the Huey and the maintenance guys were preparing 994 to sling out, one of the recovery crew guys told me that everybody at division headquarters knew about the incident and we weren't a secret anymore. We all climbed aboard the Huey, I started taking movies of the recovery and we headed home.
Major James was pretty cool about the whole thing. He told me that everyone knew we went down by the DMZ in an aircraft and on a mission that was not supposed to happen. I am not aware of any fallout over the incident. Probably some issues about disobeying orders, but I never heard anymore about it. Hell, I went back over there a year later and actually launched a pair of rockets from an AH-1G Cobra towards the NVA outpost across the border. That should have created some comment, but never heard anything about that either.
That's about it. I'll get more enthusiastic about getting pics to you and getting the 8mm converted.
Sorry for the long wait.
Jim
-----
Fri Nov 09, 2007 3:11 am
If I wanted to tell you a fairy tale…it would have to start something like this, “Once upon a time, there was a bunch of Wixers who could all get along”….
But you would probably prefer a true story.
In 1980,when I was going through Pathfinder School at Fort Benning, were making a jump out of an Alabama (I think) Air Guard C7A onto a drop zone at Fort Benning. We noticed that these "wimpy weekend warrior" types had a couple of cases of beer strapped under the web seats in the back. Without saying a word several of us waited until the loadmaster wasn't looking and we quietly shoved a six each in our rucks and then jumped out as nothing happened. When we got on the ground we were laughing our a$$es of when the last guy out was telling us that the loadmaster was yelling about the beer on his way out. We were all MFing them until the Col flying the caribou made a wicked low pass, right over us and started bitching on the radio to our Cpt. We were still talking about "what's the pilot really going to do about it" when much to my horror it became obvious that the low approach was actually a high overhead, and he was turning downwind and dropping the gear.
Turns out the "wimpy weekend warrior" Col was ex Air America, and landed the Caribou on the drop zone and ripped the Capt, who was our Pathfinder Cadre, a new orifice, right there on the drop zone. It was a close as I ever got to a court martial. Needless to say, we didn't get to keep the beer.
But you would probably prefer a true story.
In 1980,when I was going through Pathfinder School at Fort Benning, were making a jump out of an Alabama (I think) Air Guard C7A onto a drop zone at Fort Benning. We noticed that these "wimpy weekend warrior" types had a couple of cases of beer strapped under the web seats in the back. Without saying a word several of us waited until the loadmaster wasn't looking and we quietly shoved a six each in our rucks and then jumped out as nothing happened. When we got on the ground we were laughing our a$$es of when the last guy out was telling us that the loadmaster was yelling about the beer on his way out. We were all MFing them until the Col flying the caribou made a wicked low pass, right over us and started bitching on the radio to our Cpt. We were still talking about "what's the pilot really going to do about it" when much to my horror it became obvious that the low approach was actually a high overhead, and he was turning downwind and dropping the gear.
Turns out the "wimpy weekend warrior" Col was ex Air America, and landed the Caribou on the drop zone and ripped the Capt, who was our Pathfinder Cadre, a new orifice, right there on the drop zone. It was a close as I ever got to a court martial. Needless to say, we didn't get to keep the beer.
Sat Nov 10, 2007 1:52 am
I said that I would post this here as it was pretty funny at the time.
My cousin and I were haning out at the terminal in BTV. My uncle at the time was the director for AirNorth. We were bored and we were hanging out at the counter when they asked if we wanted to ride to boston and back. We both said sure. So they printed us a ticket and gave us seats. I was 10 and justin was 7. We both knew the pilots so we were told to stay with them durring the turn. Elle let us stuff our pockets with the little bags of peanuts (the good eagle honey roasted!) As we climbed, i noticed my cousin seemed uncomfortable and was squirming in his seat. He told me that his pants were getting tight. We realised that the peanut bags were inflating. He pulled out like 9 bags and the last bag he squeezed it and it blew and peanuts flew all over him and the aisle of the airplane. The flight attendant and myself laughed our asses off.
My cousin and I were haning out at the terminal in BTV. My uncle at the time was the director for AirNorth. We were bored and we were hanging out at the counter when they asked if we wanted to ride to boston and back. We both said sure. So they printed us a ticket and gave us seats. I was 10 and justin was 7. We both knew the pilots so we were told to stay with them durring the turn. Elle let us stuff our pockets with the little bags of peanuts (the good eagle honey roasted!) As we climbed, i noticed my cousin seemed uncomfortable and was squirming in his seat. He told me that his pants were getting tight. We realised that the peanut bags were inflating. He pulled out like 9 bags and the last bag he squeezed it and it blew and peanuts flew all over him and the aisle of the airplane. The flight attendant and myself laughed our asses off.
Sat Nov 10, 2007 11:32 pm
I'll throw this one out there, perhaps someone else can fill in unit names and numbers.
After the war in Europe ended, there was an extended period of "hurry up and wait" while squadrons were reassigned, new roles were established, etc. There also wasn't a whole lot to do, other than parade, drill, drill, and parade, interspersed with the occasional drill.
A squadron of P-51's and a squadron of B-17's were left sharing very close quarters (same base IIRC) and, boys being boys, the drinking and fighting soon followed. Now, the B-17 guys had a squadron mascot, a dog. Well, after one extended night of brawling the dog disappears, never to be seen again. The bomber guys blame the fighter jocks, and demand blood.
Several days later, the P-51 squad has a full inspection. Men are lined up in dress uniforms and P-51's are lined up with them, buffed and polished to within an inch of their lives. As the inspection is underway, the drone of four 1820's is heard. A lone B-17 appears over the field and lines up to buzz a row of P-51's. When she gets close, the bomb bay doors open and out drops a load of fresh, wet cow manure.
Another week goes by. Now it's the 17's that are lined up for inspection. During the inspection, a lone Merlin engine is heard, and the B-17 guys wince, knowing that something bad is coming. A P-51 buzzes the field, and drops a small parcel. Inside the parcel is a letter, lamenting the loss of the B-17 squad's commanding officer, who was apparently dropped over the field the week before.....
After the war in Europe ended, there was an extended period of "hurry up and wait" while squadrons were reassigned, new roles were established, etc. There also wasn't a whole lot to do, other than parade, drill, drill, and parade, interspersed with the occasional drill.
A squadron of P-51's and a squadron of B-17's were left sharing very close quarters (same base IIRC) and, boys being boys, the drinking and fighting soon followed. Now, the B-17 guys had a squadron mascot, a dog. Well, after one extended night of brawling the dog disappears, never to be seen again. The bomber guys blame the fighter jocks, and demand blood.
Several days later, the P-51 squad has a full inspection. Men are lined up in dress uniforms and P-51's are lined up with them, buffed and polished to within an inch of their lives. As the inspection is underway, the drone of four 1820's is heard. A lone B-17 appears over the field and lines up to buzz a row of P-51's. When she gets close, the bomb bay doors open and out drops a load of fresh, wet cow manure.
Another week goes by. Now it's the 17's that are lined up for inspection. During the inspection, a lone Merlin engine is heard, and the B-17 guys wince, knowing that something bad is coming. A P-51 buzzes the field, and drops a small parcel. Inside the parcel is a letter, lamenting the loss of the B-17 squad's commanding officer, who was apparently dropped over the field the week before.....
Sat Nov 10, 2007 11:48 pm
'Nuther story, again probably a well-worn tale.
We find ourselves at jump school, where a gaggle of Army Rangers are set to make one of their first major jumps. It's an ungodly hot day, and the jump has already been postponed once due to high winds over the drop zone. So you've got a C-141 worth of loaded up paratroops who are sweating like pigs, waiting for the OK to go. The winds die down enough that word comes down from on high: we're jumping today.
Once the C-141 is airborne, things take a turn. The unbearable heat on the ground is throwing up some serious thermals, and the aircraft is bouncing all over the skies. The jumpmaster is standing at the rear of the aircraft looking at a young paratrooper who is not handling things well at all. Between the heat, the turbulence, and the thought of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, this kid is four shades of green and getting greener.
Finally as they near the drop zone, the door is opened and the troopers hookup. Unfortunately, that rush of air was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the kid at the back of the aircraft just blows chunks. Then his buddy yaks. Then another.....then things take a turn for the worse. High winds over the drop zone have returned, no jump today. The aircraft is closed up, but now has the smell of vomit creeping forward inside a hot, bouncing, rolling aircraft. Rangers by the dozen are now yakking like it's going out of style.
I never heard if there was a post-script to that story about who ended up having to clean up the mess, but they certainly deserve the order of the purple airsick bag.
We find ourselves at jump school, where a gaggle of Army Rangers are set to make one of their first major jumps. It's an ungodly hot day, and the jump has already been postponed once due to high winds over the drop zone. So you've got a C-141 worth of loaded up paratroops who are sweating like pigs, waiting for the OK to go. The winds die down enough that word comes down from on high: we're jumping today.
Once the C-141 is airborne, things take a turn. The unbearable heat on the ground is throwing up some serious thermals, and the aircraft is bouncing all over the skies. The jumpmaster is standing at the rear of the aircraft looking at a young paratrooper who is not handling things well at all. Between the heat, the turbulence, and the thought of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, this kid is four shades of green and getting greener.
Finally as they near the drop zone, the door is opened and the troopers hookup. Unfortunately, that rush of air was the straw that broke the camel's back, and the kid at the back of the aircraft just blows chunks. Then his buddy yaks. Then another.....then things take a turn for the worse. High winds over the drop zone have returned, no jump today. The aircraft is closed up, but now has the smell of vomit creeping forward inside a hot, bouncing, rolling aircraft. Rangers by the dozen are now yakking like it's going out of style.
I never heard if there was a post-script to that story about who ended up having to clean up the mess, but they certainly deserve the order of the purple airsick bag.
Sun Nov 11, 2007 2:15 am
There never were a great many civilian Hercs in Canada, and as it happens my uncle used to fly one of the very airplanes that I fly now. This is his story:
At the time Ron was a first officer on the Hercules with Pacific Western Airlines, and spent a great deal of time flying with one particular captain who was a fiend for practical jokes. I guess this guy was forever harrassing his crew with the usual gags (tieing your shoelaces to the bunk, sooting up headsets, Kleenex sandwiches, etc) and it got to be time for some payback. On their way to Resolute Bay one morning, cruising along up in the high twenties or so the mechanic who was sitting on the lower bunk got up, went in the back, picked up his sizeable metal toolbox and quietly brought it back up to the cockpit. The loadmaster tossed his parka over it so it couldn't be seen.
At the time -HPW had a Very pistol mounted in the roof up overhead the nav/loadmaster's desk, and our imaginitive engineer removed it and began playing with it and "studying it" until the Captain noticed him.
"What's this thing for, skipper?" he innocently enquired.
After a bit of discussion about flare guns and star shells the captain turned his attention back to the business of flying and started updating the INS or making a position report or something. The mechanic lit a cigarette, took a big mouthful of smoke and blew it down the muzzle of the flare gun while the loadmaster picked up the toolbox and then dropped it on the floor from about four or five feet making a heck of a "BANG!!". The captain snapped around in his seat to see the loadmaster and the mechanic both staring wide-eyed and open mouthed into the back of the Herc over top of the blow down door while the smoke rolled out the barrel of the flare gun! My uncle in the right seat and the F/E were pre-briefed about the gag but I guess the pilot just about sh-t himself!!
They laughed for days about that. As for me, the flare gun is long gone.
Dan
At the time Ron was a first officer on the Hercules with Pacific Western Airlines, and spent a great deal of time flying with one particular captain who was a fiend for practical jokes. I guess this guy was forever harrassing his crew with the usual gags (tieing your shoelaces to the bunk, sooting up headsets, Kleenex sandwiches, etc) and it got to be time for some payback. On their way to Resolute Bay one morning, cruising along up in the high twenties or so the mechanic who was sitting on the lower bunk got up, went in the back, picked up his sizeable metal toolbox and quietly brought it back up to the cockpit. The loadmaster tossed his parka over it so it couldn't be seen.
At the time -HPW had a Very pistol mounted in the roof up overhead the nav/loadmaster's desk, and our imaginitive engineer removed it and began playing with it and "studying it" until the Captain noticed him.
"What's this thing for, skipper?" he innocently enquired.
After a bit of discussion about flare guns and star shells the captain turned his attention back to the business of flying and started updating the INS or making a position report or something. The mechanic lit a cigarette, took a big mouthful of smoke and blew it down the muzzle of the flare gun while the loadmaster picked up the toolbox and then dropped it on the floor from about four or five feet making a heck of a "BANG!!". The captain snapped around in his seat to see the loadmaster and the mechanic both staring wide-eyed and open mouthed into the back of the Herc over top of the blow down door while the smoke rolled out the barrel of the flare gun! My uncle in the right seat and the F/E were pre-briefed about the gag but I guess the pilot just about sh-t himself!!
They laughed for days about that. As for me, the flare gun is long gone.
Dan