Brain Needed Space

Originally posted on BigRedKitty in January 2008, this story is one of the first I ever wrote. It evolved from a thank-you note I sent to the 15th Special Operations squadron that got passed around the whole building, the friends of “Frank” being very happy to make fun of him. I could spend a few hours re-writing it, as I can see how my writing style has evolved and, hopefully, improved.

I wanted to be a pilot and conquered the application tests in college, achieving a 98 on the navigator test and a 97 on the pilot test. But my eyesight disqualified me completely; I’m legally blind without contacts or glasses. I wasn’t allowed to even join the military without a waiver from some medical committee in Texas. But I always wanted to fly.

When one is in the Air Force, one of the Big Deals is getting an incentive flight. There are lots of awards and paper certificates that commanders can give out, but the one just about everyone prays for is the chance to get to fly in something that’s not a cargo plane.

On some fighter bases, like Misawa Air Base, Japan, where I were stationed for three years, those lucky few got to churn and burn in a F-16 two-seat trainer. Unfortunately, I was never selected for one of these. But I did help the Misawa base commander load air-to-air missiles after he “died” in an attack on his command bunker. Another story, another time.

Now when I was in Special Operations, Hurlburt Field, Florida, I did get an incentive flight on an AC-130 gunship. My squadron commander, a Lieutenant Colonel former pilot who had to give up his wings due to too many ejections, visited my workcenter one day.

“Sergeant Howell, I heard that you were using the Internet for other-than-business purposes.”

“Sir, I was researching parts for a test-machine I’m building.”

“A test machine?”

“Yes sir. Our current equipment is outdated and frequently down for parts. But I think I can cobble together a similar machine from off-the-shelf components that, while it won’t have the fancy LCD-computer, will perform the job just as well but be repairable with parts we have in the shop, except for some special connectors we don’t have, which I was researching.”

“Interesting. Write up something and send it to me for review, would you?”

“Yes sir, will do. And as long as you’re here, I need your Visa card.”

“My Visa card? You want me to buy the connectors? I can get you a government card and you can do it yourself.”

“No sir, I need your personal card. This gambling-for-pornography site needs a valid credit card number.”

…

And the next thing you know, I got a flight on an AC-130 gunship. Coincidence?

About a week later, I was escorted to the AC-130H Spectre Gunship an hour before takeoff by the loadmaster to get a safety and emergency procedures briefing and a general tour of the place. We grabbed parachute harnesses and then went for parachutes.

I asked, “How do I carry it?” but he heard, “Which one should I carry?”

He slapped the one in front of me with his hand and his slap landed on the D-Ring. I only found out it was the D-Ring when I tried to carry the parachute by grabbing the D-Ring.

The parachute was very pretty and white. I know this because it exploded into a knee-high pile around me. This is the function of the D-Ring, that much I knew.

The stunned loadmaster said, “I’ve never seen anybody do that before.”

“Well, it looks as if you guys need to add a line to your checklist that says, ‘Tell the passenger to grab the parachute by the carrying handing on the side and to not touch the D-Ring, even if they don’t know what a D-Ring looks like and the loadmaster tells the passenger to carry the parachute by grabbing the D-Ring, but the entire conversation was a complete misunderstanding.’”

Hopefully that was incorporated into the next checklist change. I do know that the Life Support sergeant that was called out to replace the parachute wasn’t impressed with my explanation and I totally owed him a beer.

The motors were started and we taxied to the end of the runway, where everybody jumped overboard and took a communal leak in the grass. I partook in the ritual – one doesn’t want to buck tradition – but am quite certain I am now part of some bizarre “Airfield Weirdness as Recorded by Air Traffic Controllers” movie.

So we finally took off, circled the base for twenty minutes to align all the sensors, and then headed for Crestview to do a Dry Fire exercise. This is a pre-printed scenario, simulating talking to ground controllers to pick out targets in a hostile urban environment.

I was doing just fine until the first emergency call on the aircraft’s-comm box, “MISSILE INBOUND, BREAK LEFT!” At which point the aircraft went full-power, banked to the left at 45 degrees, and pulled almost straight up.

SouthWest 737′s don’t do this sort of thing and I was not prepared.

Well, I was prepared in the fact that I purposefully hadn’t had lunch, but my stomach didn’t care, as it was violently objecting to every pitch, yaw, and roll the pilot performed. I was very airsick for the next hour during the dry fire exercise. I tried looking out the windows to orient myself, but every time the lights of the city were suddenly directly beneath me because we were flying on a wingtip, I got the dry heaves again. Why the crew started talking about the great mushroom soup and raw oysters that were waiting for them at home, I don’t know, but that started a story from the chief loadmaster.

“One time we were ferrying a group of Army Rangers and Korean army paratroopers to a drop zone. The Koreans didn’t react well with the maneuvers we were doing and vomited their kim-chi lunches all over the flight deck. This, of course, stunk the entire aircraft to h3ll and back and the Rangers were looking extremely green. The Ranger commander looked at his guys and said, ‘If any Ranger blows chunks, he’s not leaving a single piece on this aircraft, and that includes the kim-chi!’

“So one of the Rangers starts thinking about possibly having to slurp up his and the Koreans’ smelly goo, and can’t take it and throws up. But was able to keep his mouth closed and swallow it all again. Worst bunch of pansies ever.”

Aircrew personnel are sadists. I think the Air Force tests for it.

Well the dry fire ended and we flew to the gunnery range to practice firing the big guns. As we flew over the range we saw deer and wild pigs. The Electronic Warfare Officer kept saying to one of the camera gunners, “Kill ‘em Frank.” To which the gun-targeter would say that the environmentalists, not to mention his wife, would be very upset if he expended 105mm artillery rounds on a pig. The EWO replied,

“You know that nobody will know, as they’ll be nothing left of that dead pig to be found. Kill ‘em Frank.”

The EWO asked the gunner to “Kill ‘em Frank” when he targeted the trucks on the range, Burger King, the Sports Bar, the Wing HQ building, his own home, and the Navarre Bridge.

The live fire was a lot easier to stomach for two reasons: one, we did no more emergency procedures and just flew in a steady circle at a 30 degree bank for an hour, and two, I was allowed to lie down, put a parachute under my head, and suck oxygen for a while. I did get to watch the explosions on the infrared and TV cameras, participate with the gunners to load the howitzer, and visit the cockpit. I told the pilot I would have preferred to do the live fire first as I would have been able to stand up for the whole thing. He laughed and went into an unplanned decent that had me screaming.

We returned to base without further incident. When we landed I pretended to be the Pope and kissed the tarmac after I stepped off. And I didn’t have to buy the entire crew a beer as I never let any of my DNA touch the aircraft; my plastic baggie was safely tied and going to the trash.

The moral of the story was that I learned that if my eyesight hadn’t kept me out of the pilot’s seat, I’m pretty sure my chronic airsickness would’ve done the trick too.

Which was a travesty, as I would’ve looked good in a flight suit.

Share on Facebook