During the summer of 1996, I was a student at the US Army Aviation Center and School at Fort Rucker, Alabama. Birthplace for all new army aviators, it is the home of flight training. It is the busiest patch of sky in the world. On any given day hundreds of helicopters launch out, on every conceivable type of military flight training. I spent 6 weeks enrolled in the Warrant Officer Advanced Course, a requirement for CW2's being promoted to CW3. The course's main goal was to add at least a modicum of civility and polish to the Warrant Officer corps otherwise gritty and somewhat colorful image. And teach us fractions. And teach us not to write in the third person.
During my attendance at the Advanced Course, I was member of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. A member since 1994, I was recently granted FMQ status as a PIC in the MH-6 "Little Bird" helicopter. A process that took over 18 months and many, many demanding evaluations with brutal after action reviews. Reaching that status, to me, was the pinnacle of my military career. Being FMQ meant I was qualified as a night vision goggle, pilot in command, in all environments and techniques necessary to be a pilot in the Regiment. Any aviator in that position requires a great deal of training, and recency of flight experience, to maintain the skill sets needed to operate at the required level. I had 1700 hours.
I graduated from the advanced course, somewhat ahead of my usual middle of the pack class standing I dutifully maintained through flight school. Upon returning to Ft Campbell, I was tasked to participate in an over water operation, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Over water has a different meaning to Night Stalkers. Without disclosing tactics, techniques or procedures, lets just say extremely tight formations are flown very low over the water, at night. This somewhat routine operation had hundreds of participants, from a wide range of services, connected to JSOC. Sea state that night was briefed as a 12 foot swell with winds from the South at 30 knots.
Tonight, I was literally the tip of the spear. Our element was the eyes of the op, and made first contact. Approaching from the south, with a 30 knot tailwind, we began our decel at a VERY low altitude. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware I had a 30 knot tailwind. But with the pressure of an immense assault force behind me, and numerous tasks demanding awareness, the least of which was flying NVG's watching a target that was barely visible, I continued my deceleration to an out of ground effect hover. As soon as I had dropped below effective translational lift speed, (15 knots +/-) I had to rapidly apply full left pedal. By full left, I mean to the stops. My foot would remain planted there for the next several minutes, or hours, I'm still not sure how long.
At this point the helicopter begins to spin, and spin and spin. Clear right? Yep. Now, normally you would lower the collective, follow it around with cyclic, and maybe lower the nose for some airspeed to reacquire tail rotor effectiveness. A maneuver that requires some altitude to accomplish, under the best of conditions. Tonight I did not have the luxury of altitude. Something I do today, 5200 flight hours later, without even barely thinking about.
At that moment I instantly knew I'd never get out of this aircraft alive. With my large size, 215 lbs at the time, all the gear I had on; vest, flight suit, helmet, water wings, heeds bottle, knee boards and it being night, I was not going to have a successful water egress. But also, at that same instant, I knew I did not want to die....I decided right then I wasn't going to die here, not tonight.
I did the only thing left at this point, I pulled power to gain some height above the water. This increased the spin to the point where my eyes were bugging out, but they were still focused on the radar altimeter. After about 4 1/2 revolutions I saw 70' on the digital altitude readout. I started the recovery maneuver with my foot still jammed in full left pedal, and my copilot Dana Jones faithfully jamming his foot in for good measure. Together, I felt him on the controls too, we lowered the collective and dropped the nose. The helicopter spin started to slow but the water was coming up fast. As pedal authority was recovered, into the wind miraculously, we applied collective to stop the descent. I saw a huge spray of water, my eyes dove to the radar altimeter. 11 feet. It said 11 feet. Wait, the seas were 12' so......Holy Shit, we're in a wave trough.
The PIC of a sister ship nearby, began to key his mic to request SAR. He saw the huge could of spray and assumed we went in. But then, he said, "like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I saw your bird rise up out of the spray and and fly out of it." All of our instruments were spinning wildly and we were totally disoriented. It took a few moments to avoid the rest of the package, and reacquire the target. We had a rather terse exchange with the flight leader, and we knew, I knew, it would be a hard debrief back at the flight line.
I was right. Sitting alone in the corner, on my footlocker of shame and embarrassment, I had committed a cardinal sin. A violation of the First Rule. Not looking cool in front of the customer. Returning everyone home alive was a successful outcome, I thought. Being shunned was my penance for that night. Our first sergeant, a rather gruff and slightly humorous man we called Top said, "Well Mr. Tappe, you just about had Salmons swimming in your chin bubble." The plural of Salmon is Salmon, not Salmons I thought. Weird what you think of at a time like that. NSDQ
 |
| Night Stalkers doing urban infils |
During my attendance at the Advanced Course, I was member of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. A member since 1994, I was recently granted FMQ status as a PIC in the MH-6 "Little Bird" helicopter. A process that took over 18 months and many, many demanding evaluations with brutal after action reviews. Reaching that status, to me, was the pinnacle of my military career. Being FMQ meant I was qualified as a night vision goggle, pilot in command, in all environments and techniques necessary to be a pilot in the Regiment. Any aviator in that position requires a great deal of training, and recency of flight experience, to maintain the skill sets needed to operate at the required level. I had 1700 hours.
 |
| Little Bird |
I graduated from the advanced course, somewhat ahead of my usual middle of the pack class standing I dutifully maintained through flight school. Upon returning to Ft Campbell, I was tasked to participate in an over water operation, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Over water has a different meaning to Night Stalkers. Without disclosing tactics, techniques or procedures, lets just say extremely tight formations are flown very low over the water, at night. This somewhat routine operation had hundreds of participants, from a wide range of services, connected to JSOC. Sea state that night was briefed as a 12 foot swell with winds from the South at 30 knots.
Tonight, I was literally the tip of the spear. Our element was the eyes of the op, and made first contact. Approaching from the south, with a 30 knot tailwind, we began our decel at a VERY low altitude. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware I had a 30 knot tailwind. But with the pressure of an immense assault force behind me, and numerous tasks demanding awareness, the least of which was flying NVG's watching a target that was barely visible, I continued my deceleration to an out of ground effect hover. As soon as I had dropped below effective translational lift speed, (15 knots +/-) I had to rapidly apply full left pedal. By full left, I mean to the stops. My foot would remain planted there for the next several minutes, or hours, I'm still not sure how long.
At this point the helicopter begins to spin, and spin and spin. Clear right? Yep. Now, normally you would lower the collective, follow it around with cyclic, and maybe lower the nose for some airspeed to reacquire tail rotor effectiveness. A maneuver that requires some altitude to accomplish, under the best of conditions. Tonight I did not have the luxury of altitude. Something I do today, 5200 flight hours later, without even barely thinking about.
At that moment I instantly knew I'd never get out of this aircraft alive. With my large size, 215 lbs at the time, all the gear I had on; vest, flight suit, helmet, water wings, heeds bottle, knee boards and it being night, I was not going to have a successful water egress. But also, at that same instant, I knew I did not want to die....I decided right then I wasn't going to die here, not tonight.
I did the only thing left at this point, I pulled power to gain some height above the water. This increased the spin to the point where my eyes were bugging out, but they were still focused on the radar altimeter. After about 4 1/2 revolutions I saw 70' on the digital altitude readout. I started the recovery maneuver with my foot still jammed in full left pedal, and my copilot Dana Jones faithfully jamming his foot in for good measure. Together, I felt him on the controls too, we lowered the collective and dropped the nose. The helicopter spin started to slow but the water was coming up fast. As pedal authority was recovered, into the wind miraculously, we applied collective to stop the descent. I saw a huge spray of water, my eyes dove to the radar altimeter. 11 feet. It said 11 feet. Wait, the seas were 12' so......Holy Shit, we're in a wave trough.
The PIC of a sister ship nearby, began to key his mic to request SAR. He saw the huge could of spray and assumed we went in. But then, he said, "like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I saw your bird rise up out of the spray and and fly out of it." All of our instruments were spinning wildly and we were totally disoriented. It took a few moments to avoid the rest of the package, and reacquire the target. We had a rather terse exchange with the flight leader, and we knew, I knew, it would be a hard debrief back at the flight line.
I was right. Sitting alone in the corner, on my footlocker of shame and embarrassment, I had committed a cardinal sin. A violation of the First Rule. Not looking cool in front of the customer. Returning everyone home alive was a successful outcome, I thought. Being shunned was my penance for that night. Our first sergeant, a rather gruff and slightly humorous man we called Top said, "Well Mr. Tappe, you just about had Salmons swimming in your chin bubble." The plural of Salmon is Salmon, not Salmons I thought. Weird what you think of at a time like that. NSDQ
No comments:
Post a Comment