Chapter 5 Part 5 THE Trip "You Are What You Wear"

Nomad tent in High Atlas Mountains, Morocco. Photo by JoAnn Sturman

By S.R. Oberst

The next morning at seven I met LT in the motel lobby, but Charlie was a “no show.” The previous evening Charlie told us he wanted a 9 AM departure for Tucson, so we would be well ahead of Captain SK Reamer who had to ferry his aircraft all the way from Wichita. After waiting a few minutes, I went to Charlie’s room and knocked on the door – no answer. I wondered if he was still in Juarez. Although I was not looking forward to hearing about his exploits with Juanita, we could not leave without him.

A cab took LT to the helicopter so he could conduct his pre-flight checks and then dropped me off at the flight operations building. I filed a VFR flight plan and got a weather briefing. We would not have any weather issues, so I planned my flight using the Victor Airways (these are low altitude airways in the U.S. that can be navigated using VOR navaids between 1,200 feet above ground level up to 18,000 feet above sea level [MSL]). This technique would keep us clear of Mexican airspace and the many military no fly zones found in the Southwest. To take advantage of the winds, I filed for a flight altitude of 8,000 ft MSL.

I returned to the helicopter where LT had completed his preflight inspection, but still no Charlie. Looking back on the situation makes me appreciate the convenience of cell phones. All we could do was sit and wait. As it got closer to our scheduled departure time, I decided to go ahead and start the engine and make sure the aircraft was good to go. Other than the hydraulic pump sounding shriller than normal, everything seemed okay. I was about to radio Air Traffic Control to delay the flight plan for a later departure when a cab pulled up.

It was Charlie, still wearing the brown corduroy pants and the brightly colored Hawaiian shirt. As he struggled to get out of the cab, he motioned LT to get his bag. Charlie wobbled over to the helicopter and pulled himself into the passenger compartment. What a sight to behold! Clearly hung-over from all the tequila, his face was a pasty white with confetti stuck to the butch wax in his crew cut. He did not say a word, but pulled a rumpled flight suit out of his bag and put it on over his clothes. He replaced the hush puppies with his flight boots, leaving his tan colored socks in place. With great effort he finally managed to climb into the co-pilot’s seat. I asked if he was ready to go, and he nodded. We took off right on time.

Un-leadership Insight Un-leaders cannot usually be counted on to contribute to a team effort. Charlie had been more un-help during THE Trip than anyone could expect from a crew member. When it comes to “crunch time” un-leaders are often un-seen, or in the case of Charlie on the last leg of this trip - un-aware.

Instead of regaling us with stories about Juanita of Juarez, Charlie tried to sleep. He was very uncomfortable, and to add injury to insult, the air turbulence was strong and made for a bumpy flight. Every time he nodded off, we would hit a pocket of rough air, or a strong up or downdraft.

The aircraft did not have enough fuel to fly nonstop to Tucson, so I decided to land in Deming, New Mexico, about 300 miles away. I was tempted to do a full autorotation descent from our relatively high altitude, but realized making Charlie lose his cookies was not a career enhancing move.

We landed in front of a small concrete building that served as base operations, a cafe, and gas station all in one. Cars could pull off the highway on one side and planes were refueled on the other side by an ancient World War II vintage fuel truck. While LT helped the attendant refuel, I went into the cafe with Charlie. He immediately headed for the restroom. LT was always hungry, so he had asked me to order him a cheeseburger and fries to go. When Charlie returned to the helicopter the sight and smell of LT’s burger made him gag and turn green.

It was common to fly H-1 helicopters with a single pilot, especially on local missions. Nonetheless, I was quite surprised when Charlie announced that he wanted LT to sit in the copilot’s seat while he occupied the passenger compartment for the flight to Tucson. After takeoff Charlie stretched himself out full length on the bulkhead seat and within minutes he was sound asleep. He had a headset on, but it was not connected to the intercom.

The flight to Tucson was uneventful until we were about 50 miles east of Davis-Monthan AFB. Perhaps the old aircraft was sensing this was its last flight, or maybe it was just bad luck, but the hydraulic pump started making more noise. In spite of the racket, Charlie slept soundly in the back. Since I could not communicate with him, LT and I were on our own. I knew the hydraulic pump was failing, so I asked LT to open the charts to look at the airfield layout. Without hydraulics we would need a runway or some suitable landing area for a running landing (see Chapter 3, The Checkride, Part 2, for description of a hydraulics off landing).

In-flight emergencies are never fun, but at least the loss of hydraulics does not require the split second reactions required with an engine failure. Still, when the pump failed about 20 minutes from our destination, I could feel the adrenaline make my heart race. Loss of hydraulics makes the controls so stiff you must use a fair amount of muscle to keep them where you want them or to move them where they need to be.

I called Air Traffic Control on the radio and declared an emergency. Figuring it would be easier to explain the nature of our emergency to the tower controller, I asked to speak to Davis-Monthan tower directly. I explained the nature of the emergency to the tower. From the tower controller’s nonchalant responses, I got the feeling that in-flight emergencies were common at a base where so many aircraft were put in mothball status. We were directed to land on a seldom used parallel runway. As I set up a shallow approach, I told LT to wake up Charlie, but no amount of yelling could arouse him. At least Charlie had a seat belt wrapped around his over-sized torso.

Winds were calm as we touched down right on the numbers of the runway at 20 knots. I remember the smell of burning rubber caused by the helicopter skids scraping over the tire marks left by countless landing aircraft. As we came to a stop, I shut down the engine and watched the rotors come to a stop. The fire and rescue trucks arrived immediately but not needed. This did not stop them from charging the helicopter in full gear, ready to cover us with foam. I gave them a thumbs up and wave to show we were fine, but they seemed genuinely disappointed.

LT had to shake Charlie to wake him up. Charlie complained to the paramedic of a sharp pain in his left ear, so at least the paramedic and ambulance driver did not leave empty handed. As we waited for an aircraft tug to tow the helicopter to the Boneyard, I overheard LT talking with the fire chief. The chief wanted to know who the old guy with the Hawaiian shirt under his flight suit was. “Oh, that’s Captain Crown, our Ops Officer. He was just along for the ride. Me and the lieutenant had every thing covered.”

One last bit of irony – as we approached the Boneyard office to turn in the flight records for our helicopter, out walked Captain SK Reamer,who just turned in the flight records for his aircraft. After all the drama of the past couple of days, SK still beat Charlie to the punch.