âThe Interesting -> Concerning -> Really Bad Continuumâ
The VF-154 Black Knights were onboard the USS Kitty Hawk in the Persian Gulf in 1999 doing regular/routine patrols over southern Iraq as Operation Southern Watch was winding down. I was in my Department Head tour as a Lieutenant Commander and had the honor of being the Maintenance Officer, working with some of the finest wrench-turning Sailors in the Tomcat Community. The Maintenance Master Chief (MMCPO) was truly a righteous dude and the salt of the earth. He and I were very close as is often the case in that kind of command relationship.
We were running maybe 14-16 sorties per day/night, normally loaded with 1 Phoenix (station 1B), a LANTIRN Pod (station 8B), a couple âWinders (1A, 8A), two GBU-16s (3 and 6), and sometimes a âstinger Sparrowâ (station 4 aft on centerline). By that time we were in âResponse Optionâ mode where if the Iraqiâs did anything hinky they risked getting a little âhate and discontentâ delivered in the form of GBU-16s (the âGentlemanâs GBUâ as we called it). That was pretty rare so it was fairly routine Gulf Ops. As routine as that can be at least.
Weâd often have non-squadron but former Tomcat Bubbas fly with us. They were happy to get the flight time and we were happy to have the extra Stick Monkey or Scope Dope to ease our workload a bit. We even flew our Flight Surgeon who turned into a pretty good RIO. In fact, we flew him so much that he got the requisite 20 flights over Iraq to qualify for an Air Medal. CAG had no idea we were doing this so when we put Doc in for the award, he shit a peach he was so mad. We all shrugged our shoulders. âSorry, CAG.â We werenât sorry.
One night, we were flying a guest player Pilot (canât recall if CAG Staff or Paddles) and things went from interesting to concerning to really bad in the course of about 10 minutes. It was a decent evening; good weather, half-moon in the sky, steady winds. The kind of night you prefer, if you have to land on the boat at night. Our guest player launched with the gaggle of other aircraft taking off for the mid-evening cycle. I had the night off so was sitting in the Ready Room watching the launch and getting some paperwork done.
Not 15 minutes later we get word in that our guest Pilot was returning to the ship single engine. Heâd had a âbreather pressure lightâ, a new indicator recently installed after it was learned that the TF-30 could fail catastrophically (meaning âboomâ) if the oil breather system over-pressured. Thanks for the safety tip, Egon.
The light was semi-reliable; half the time it was erroneous but you didnât know that in the air so you had to shut the engine down immediately and come back to the boat single engine. Iâve had maybe four single engine landings at the boat. During the day, theyâre a bit of a handful. At night theyâre an armload. In this case, we had an âoccasional Pilotâ now faced with a pretty varsity emergency. He was obviously NATOPS qualified to fly the jet and had lots of experience. But not recent experience; thereâs qualifications and then thereâs currency (recent experience). Those are two completely different things.
Naturally, word gets around that our guest Pilot is coming back with an engine out so several JOs come to the Ready Room to watch the show. The CO was flying and the XO was on a Det, so I sat in the front of the RR to watch the recovery on the PLAT TV (or âScare-A-Visionâ as we called it), with a half dozen JOs behind me. Our pilot starts his first pass, and it looks a little rough. Not surprising at all, really.
He crossed the ramp a little high and fast (flatter attitude), touched down and boltered (missed the wires). As he cobbs the power the jet lumbers airborne off the angle safely and he climbs away. As per the usual Fighter gallows humor, a cheer erupts from the crowd of JOs as he boltered. Shouts of âbone job!â and âyou suck!â fill the Ready Room. Trust me, this is entirely normal.
I smiled at their youthful exuberance but also knew this was not a normal emergency situation. Guest Pilot, heavy jet, single engine (which brings fuel transfer problems), night trap. As we often sarcastically say, âwhat could possibly go wrong?â In this case, lots of things.
He came around for his next pass. The JOs were still in JO-hijinks mode but I was a bit more focused. At the ball call I heard his fuel state; â210, Tomcat Ball, 2.6, single engine.â 2,600 pounds of gas. Thatâs not much.
At this point, many things are happening at once. The duty helo repositions closer to be ready to respond if SAR is needed. The duty airborne tanker now becomes the âHawk Tankerâ. This means he departs his holding pattern over the boat and takes up a position near the emergency Tomcat, forward and left of him and stepped up 500 feet. The tanker is watching the emergency jet âlike a hawkâ and flying formation ahead of him so that if he needs gas he glances up and left and there he is, as opposed to having to go find the tanker.
High start, a little wobbly. High and over-powered in close. Bolter. JOs do their JO thing again. Paddles calls â210, your signal Texacoâ. Go get some gas.
I calmly stood up, walked out the back of the Ready Room and over to our Maintenance Control desk where the MMCPO was watching the same movie. I said, âHey, Master Chief. Can I have 210âs ADB?â We exchange a knowing glance, both aware of what could happen in the next few minutes.
The ADB is the Aircraft Discrepancy Book, a binder full of the most recent maintenance actions performed on the jet. Aircrew read it before they go flying and then add any problems (or âgripesâ) when they get back. Itâs also one of the first things that is secured (positive possession/control) in the event of a mishap or accident.
Master Chief hands me the book; again we exchange the look of men that have been doing this for a while. We turn our attention back to the PLAT TV in maintenance control, now only playing the radio comms from Paddles/Tower since 210 is off trying to get gas. Not two minutes later, we hear it.
âTWO GOOD CHUTES!!! TWO GOOD CHUTES!!â
They ran out of gas and had to eject. I walked back in to the Ready Room and obviously the tone in the room is somber. Aviators now intently focused, praying that âtwo good chutesâ translates into two of their fellow warriors safe and sound in a helo. Many of you out there have lived this limbo in any number of situations. For those that havenât, it seems to last for hours. Sitting there, just hanging on a meat hook, trying to remember to breathe.
After what seems like hours but was only 10 minutes: âTwo onboard, condition good, inbound Mother.â Itâs hard to describe the feeling when you hear that. Iâm tearing up a bit now as I type this, recalling the profound sense of relief that washes over you like a physical wave. No notification visits to spouses by an Officer and Chaplain. No funeral. No flyover. No Taps. Just our friends back aboard the boat safe and sound. So we can mercilessly tease the shit out of them for losing a jet.
Later, my friend Skippy said âDude, Iâve never seen anyone as calm as you throughout that whole thing.â As many of you have read my posts about my Dad, youâre probably not surprised that I managed to get that calmness under duress from him. I replied to Skippy with something my Dad had said on a number of occasions: âOnce the aircrew is safe, itâs just a paperwork drill.â Indeed it is, Dad.
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