Foreign Fliers - Major Wrongway

Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by Steven R. Oberst

Among the favorite memories from my helicopter flying days are stories involving foreign pilots in flight training. For decades the U.S. has invited its allies to send pilots to this country for flight training. This practice has gone on pretty much below the radar of the general public, but is well known among military aviators. In the 1970s there were many countries that sent people to the U.S. Army for helicopter training at both Fort Wolters, TX and Fort Rucker, AL.

For most of the foreign trainees, English was a second language. And while some of them spoke it better than I did, many struggled to communicate. One can only imagine how difficult it would be for a person to learn a skill like flying, in which precise and accurate communications were critical, in other than one’s native language. I respect anyone who is able to take on such a challenge and succeed. And, most of these foreign pilots did succeed; however, some did not.
This was especially true for two foreign pilots in flight training during the time I was in training. Of course, I have intentionally not used the real names or the actual countries of these two “foreign flyers.”

Major Wrongway

My first encounter with foreign flyers was at Fort Wolters, TX during basic helicopter flight instruction. There were six foreign pilot candidates in our flight training class from three different countries. One of these was a Major Beta Alpha, from country Xray. A 40 year old artillery officer by trade, Major Alpha’s country apparently decided he should become a helicopter pilot. Major Alpha was of small stature, probably about 5 feet 2 inches tall. He had exceptional military bearing and was always very serious about things. He spoke nearly perfect King’s English. However, as I would discover over the next few months, Major Alpha frequently misinterpreted what he was told. In fact, on many occasions his interpretation would be 180 degrees wrong, or to use an old expression, “bass-ackwards”.

The primary training helicopter the Army used at Fort Wolters was a TH-55 Osage that was built by Hughes Aircraft. This aircraft was a piston-powered two seat light trainer with the unlikely nickname of “Mattel Messerschmitt”. There were 50 to 60 of these aircraft at each training airfield which the Army referred to as “stagefields”. The TH-55 was a relatively simple aircraft to fly, but learning to master the collective (power control), cyclic (pitch control) and pedals (anti-torque tail rotor control) simultaneously in order to smoothly operate the helicopter required some finesse and coordination. However, once a new flight student mastered the basics of hovering, proficiency in the other flight maneuvers seemed to come relatively quickly.

During those first few weeks of flight training, we soon discovered that Major Alpha could not hover and no amount of time spent working with the best instructors the Army could find seemed to make a difference. Just when you thought he had things under control, Major Alpha would lose control of his hover and enter into an uncontrolled spin until the instructor took the controls. The instructors assigned to fly with him spent most of the flight yelling over the intercom in an attempt to get him to do things right. The normal time to solo in the TH-55 was approximately 15 hours. Major Alpha had chalked up over 40 hours and still had not soloed.
For a U.S. Air Force or Army pilot candidate, not soloing by 20 hours probably meant being washed out of flight school. Foreign pilots had more leeway, especially those from country Xray. We heard a story that the Army had washed out an earlier candidate from Xray and he was sent home. Upon arrival of his flight back in Xray, he was taken to the end of the runway and shot by a firing squad. Needless to say, the Army did not want to send someone back to be shot, so Major Alpha continued to rack up the training hours.

Joe Saunders, a civilian flight instructor with over 15,000 flight hours, was assigned to “fix” Major Alpha. Joe was reputed to be the best helicopter instructor in the entire Army. After a couple of hours of flying with Major Alpha, Joe figured out that part of the Major’s problem was that his short legs were unable to move the pedals within the range needed to maintain a normal hover. To fix this Joe arranged with maintenance to have a special extension device made for the pedals. This had instant results for Major Alpha and his hovering became less erratic. Joe also determined that the less he said in the cockpit, the better Major Alpha performed. In fact, Joe started using hand signals and eventually saw enough improvement to recommend a solo flight.

Usually solo flights took place with little or no notice, but the notoriety of the amount of time invested in Major Alpha resulted in a crowd of several dozen watching this solo event. The solo was really simple – take off, fly a standard traffic pattern, make an approach to the helicopter marking on the end of the air strip, conclude the approach in a hover, and take the helicopter back to its parking spot. Major Alpha started his chopper with the special pedal extensions, and although his hover was somewhat erratic, he managed to get to the helipad and take off. The traffic pattern was uneventful, but while making his approach to a hover, Major Alpha applied too much pedal and did two 360 degree spins before managing to recover. Finally, he made it to his parking spot. Not a picture perfect solo performance, but the Army counted it and Major Alpha continued with the rest of the basic flight program.

Of course, all of his remaining basic flight training was done under the watchful eye of Joe Saunders. But Joe could not go on all of the many solo navigation flights that were in the flight training program. Major Alpha would invariably get lost somewhere in the middle of Texas and call in on the radio. Joe would patiently have Major Alpha describe a landmark or road sign. Joe quickly figured out what heading would get Major Alpha back to the right stagefield and would talk him back home. Frequently though Major Alpha would see a stagefield and mistakenly think it was his. He would be talking to the right stagefield control tower for clearance to land, but would be trying to land at the wrong one.

Being in the same airspace with Major Alpha on these return solo flights could be scary for other student pilots. Invariably Major Alpha would enter a stagefield traffic pattern going the wrong way. To make matters worse, Major Alpha had a habit of squeezing the radio transmit switch on the flight control stick (cyclic) at least 10 seconds before he would actually say anything. When he did speak, the words came out very slowly. With a lot of helicopters trying to get in a radio call so they could land, Major Alpha would effectively block everyone else trying to get through to the tower by holding his switch way too long.

A little note about stagefield traffic patterns: A normal airfield traffic pattern consists of left or right turns and starts with the takeoff, or upwind leg. The pilot then makes a 90 degree turn to the crosswind leg, followed by another turn to the downwind leg, then the base leg and then a turn to final approach. Generally, the faster the aircraft, the bigger the pattern, so helicopter patterns tend to be fairly close to an airfield. At a stagefield with numerous helicopters in the pattern, it was necessary to keep things moving while maintaining safe distances between aircraft. Normally a student pilot flying to a stagefield on a solo navigation flight would enter the traffic pattern by setting up a 45 degree entry flight path to join other aircraft on the downwind leg of the pattern. Aircraft already in the traffic pattern have priority, and pilots entering the traffic pattern were to adjust their entry accordingly and alert the stagefield tower via radio of their presence in the pattern.

I vividly recall one day being in a stagefield traffic pattern with several other aircraft. Shortly after making my turn for the downwind leg, I suddenly see a helicopter descending at a 45 degree angle to my flight path heading directly at me and going the wrong way. As I took evasive action, the other helicopter was so close I could see the pilot’s face – it was Major Alpha, totally oblivious to the fact he had just entered the pattern going the wrong way. Behind me other aircraft were also maneuvering to avoid a collision. Ignoring all of the pilots yelling at him over the radio for going the wrong way, Major Alpha confidently completed his own traffic pattern and landed down wind, seemingly oblivious to the many aircraft going the other direction.
In spite of his obvious lack of piloting skills, when our flight training class moved on to advanced rotary training at Fort Rucker, AL, Major Alpha went with us. At least there were no solo flights in the H-1 Huey used for the advanced training. But, there was also no Joe Saunders, so it was back to flight instructors trying to yell the Major into the right course of action.

I only got to fly with Major Alpha on one training flight. For training flights in the Huey, the instructor was in the left seat and the student pilots took turns in the right seat, with the student not flying sitting in the jump seat between the two pilots. This particular flight was an instrument training flight. I flew first and managed to not screw up too much. Then it was Major Alpha’s turn at the controls. He adjusted the pedals as far back as possible and moved the seat as far forward as it would move. I knew we were in for a long flight when he could not get the Huey into a stable hover prior to takeoff. “Oh no,” I thought, “next this guy is going to be flying in the clouds on instruments.” Communications with Air Traffic Control were a challenge from before takeoff to the end of the flight. Not only did he continue his habit of keying the radio switch too long, he seemed to not understand any instructions or replies from the controllers, causing the instructor to have to repeat them and assist with the radio calls. As to the flying, true to form, Major Alpha got almost every instrument maneuver backwards. Plus, he was still so erratic on the controls, the aircraft was constantly being jerked around left or right, up or down. Sharply banked heading changes meant the aircraft was only on course momentarily as Major Alpha literally zig-zagged his way back and forth trying to stay on course. Abrupt power changes meant the aircraft was also only momentarily at the right altitude, as we went above or below the assigned altitude by 500 feet or more. I felt myself getting queasy while sitting in the jump seat. It was one of the most unpleasant flights from a physical perspective I have ever been on. The instructor, an Army Chief Warrant Officer, was hoarse by the end of the 1.5 hour flight. Through it all, Major Alpha remained outwardly calm. I barely managed not to puke and was thankful I was never paired with Major Alpha again.

When our flight training class graduated each student had accumulated about 200 hours of basic helicopter training. Major Alpha did not graduate with our class. The Army kept trying different instructors and kept sending him out for more training. He easily had over 400 hours when I left Fort Rucker. Shortly before graduation I overheard a Chief Warrant instructor in the bar at the FROOM (Fort Rucker Officers Open Mess) talking about flying with Major Alpha.

Remarking that the Major had tried to kill him on an autorotation, the Chief said, “If they assign me to fly with him again, maybe I should just ask if I can be taken out to the end of the runway to meet a firing squad instead.” I never heard what became of Major Alpha, but I always figured the good guys would be in more trouble than the bad guys if they ever put him into combat.