Foreign Fliers - Major Potty Break

Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon - photo by JoAnn Sturman

by Steven R. Oberst

As Fort Wolters was being drawn down in the 1970s and eventually closed in 1974, the TH-55 trainers there were being gradually moved to Fort Rucker. The Army planned to move all of the helicopter training there once Fort Wolters closed. All of the Army’s flight training would be done at one location instead of two. In order to accommodate the basic helicopter training program of the TH-55, the Army had to create a number of remote landing areas that students could use during training. Because Alabama was much more heavily vegetated then the prairie around Mineral Wells, TX, the Army created landing areas by clearing vegetation from a circle of land large enough to allow for helicopter landings. Some of these new landing areas were on the tops of small hills that are common in that area of Alabama.

Students, accompanied by an instructor, would practice remote site landings using these landing areas. In order to learn basic navigation skills, students in the TH-55 were also sent on solo training navigation flights. Solo landings and takeoffs were to be done only at the stagefields. Students were not allowed to land by themselves in a remote landing area.

One spring day Lieutenant Tango Delta from the country of Viceroy was flying a solo navigation mission in a TH-55. Feeling the need to take an immediate potty break, Lt Delta made a split second decision to land at a remote hilltop landing area to accomplish his number two task.

Fortunately, he had made several landings to this hilltop just a couple of days ago with his instructor, so he had no problems executing a perfect approach and landing to the middle of the area. Unfortunately, Lt Delta, in his hurry to exit the aircraft, forgot to throttle back the engine and lock down the collective. Intent on his mission, he exited to the right of the aircraft and went a ways down the hill to complete his job. Since the collective not be locked down, ground resonance began to occur and the helicopter started jumping off the ground. With each bounce it got a little higher until finally it went airborne, made a sharp left turn, and crashed halfway down the hill, exploding in a ball of flame.

Meanwhile, a TH-55 was flying overhead. The instructor, an Army Major, and the student, a Warrant Officer Candidate, both saw the helicopter crash. A radio call was made, but the Major was unable to contact anyone. Immediately the Major landed the aircraft in the clearing on the hilltop. The engine was throttled back and the collective locked down. Grabbing the fire bottle in the aircraft, the Major and the student exited the helicopter and went down the hill to investigate the crash.

Oblivious to all of this, and with his task completed, Lt Delta came up the other side of the hill. He got into the Major’s helicopter, throttled up the engine and took off. (Imagine the look on the Major’s face when he looked up and saw his aircraft taking off.) Lt Delta dutifully completed his navigation mission and returned to his stagefield. Since this was a Friday, he left with his buddies for a weekend in Enterprise, where they probably took turns posing for pictures in front of the boll weevil statue.

A couple of hours went by before the maintenance supervisor at Lt Delta’s stagefield was scratching his head about having the right number of aircraft, but having one with the wrong tail number. At about the same time the operations officer, a Chief Warrant Officer at the Major’s stagefield, realized he had a helicopter with the Major and his student on it that was long overdue. Just as he was about to initiate search operations for the missing aircraft, the telephone rang. It was the Major. He and the student had walked a couple of miles to a farmhouse. “You are not going to believe this.” he said. “We saw a helicopter crash, went down to investigate, and someone stole ours.”

“No shit!” the Chief replied.

Swooping and Diving

Milford Trek.
South Island
New Zealand
Photo by JoAnn Sturman









W.R. Priskna
fliesinyoureyes.com

A pilot who says he has never been frightened in an airplane is, I'm afraid, lying.
— Louise Thaden

I had another bright idea. If only I could convince Lt. Wayne to go along with it. How far could we fly a Huey helicopter and return to base without running out of gas? It wouldn't count to fly in circles within the local area and then make a final short flight back to base. No, it had to be one way outbound and the same way inbound without any last minute diversion to burn off extra fuel.

You'll never become a good helicopter pilot if you don't take chances. The standard Air Force take offs and landings interspersed by cruising at least 500 feet above the ground will not prepare an aviator for situations where airman ship makes the difference between life and death. A helicopter pilot graduates from flight training with less than 200 hours of flight experience; most of which are spent with an instructor, allowing little time to experiment and make independent decisions. A recent graduate possesses adequate mechanical skills but is short on judgment and understanding the limitations of the aircraft.

When I arrived at the squadron as a newly graduated helicopter pilot, Lt. Harley Wayne was assigned to look after me. He had been flying for a couple years, including an overseas tour in the Far East, and believed in the “swooping and diving” approach to aviation. Once out of sight of the air force base, the helicopter should be flown like a bird – up, down, sideways, forward, backwards, fast, slow, high, low, straight, and serpentine over every conceivable piece of terrain. He liked to say, “This is the only way when you get into the cockpit you'll feel like you strap the helicopter on your back. It will become a part of you, if you let it.”

I was an average pilot in flight school, but after a year of flying with Lt. Wayne and other like minded pilots, my abilities increased considerably. We flew aggressively, but other than Lt. Johnson's crash when he hit power lines in New Mexico (See Cover Up from “Tales of the Blue” Feb 26, 2010), I cannot recall any major accident during my four years with the unit.

A UH-1 Huey is powered by a jet turbine engine and without extra tanks holds 1550 pounds of JP4 fuel. It burns approximately 600 pounds or 90 gallons of fuel per hour for routine missions, although this requirement increases with aircraft weight and maneuvers which require more thrust – hovering and takeoffs. Conversely, flying at a consistent altitude at 80-90 knots airspeed enhances fuel economy. Most missions were restricted to two hours to insure an adequate fuel reserve, so it was rare to fly more than 120 miles from base unless we refueled at another airport.

To escape the Arizona summer heat I camped occasionally in the White Mountains of Central Arizona, passing through Show Low, a small town along the way. At 160 air miles from Tucson it was probably the limit at which a Huey could fly and return to base. I made my case to Harley:

“The round trip is 320 miles. If we fly for maximum fuel efficiency, the aircraft will burn about 450 pounds of fuel per hour which should allow us to fly for 350 miles – a 30 mile cushion.”

“To be on the safe side, W.R., we'll turn back towards base when the fuel indicator reads 5/8 of a tank. The instrument is not precise, so if things get tight, we'll be using inexact information. I know you want to see Show Low from the air, but if we have to land in the desert because we run out of gas both you and I will be grounded.”

We departed base early in the morning on a day when winds were predicted to be calm over the entire flight route. Our fuel efficiency proved to be better than expected since the helicopter's rotor system was trimmed perfectly and there was little turbulence. We arrived at Show Low with 5/8 of a tank and immediately turned around to return to base.

Thirty minutes later our progress slowed significantly as we encountered unanticipated head winds. The margin of safety narrowed as we tried flying at different altitudes and airspeeds to try to gain an advantage. As we approached the Santa Catalina Mountains north of Tucson, the low fuel light illuminated. We continued west through Redding Pass where we picked up a slight tail wind. It was less than ten minutes home, and the low fuel light had been blinking for what seemed to be hours, as the fuel gage indicator pegged on zero.

Final approach to the helipad required flying over residential Tucson, although the flight corridor passed close to empty spaces where a helicopter could autorotate in an emergency. We either had to land in the desert now or risk a flame out. “We've come this far, W.R., and we only need two or three minutes to get to base. We can make an emergency autorotation if necessary. Let's land at the base.”

What a relief when we safely landed at the helipad with the fuel gage at zero but not so much as a shutter from the engine! We hovered 30 seconds to our parking spot on the flight line and shut down the engine. Sgt. Russell, the crew chief was there to meet us. “Good morning, gentlemen. Did you land in the desert and take a nap? You have been gone for three and a half hours.”
“Don't ask, Russ. I have to go clean my underpants now.”

Later that morning Sgt. Russell took us aside, “I just refueled the bird with 1510 pounds of JP4. There were only five gallons left in the tank.” It was too close for comfort, but five gallons made the difference between a story with a happy ending and an unpleasant confrontation with our commander and a desk job in North Dakota.

Just remember, if you crash because of weather, your funeral will be held on a sunny day.— Layton A. Bennett