experience factor, The

It seemed a long time since Major John Sykes had entered this place. Three years had passed since he last sat in the left seat of the C-141. Those 11-hour Elmendorf-toYokota runs - when he was a new aircraft commander were "butt busters." Now, that same seat was the most comfortable he'd occupied in a long time.

John had recently finished his three-year command staff tour. The tour had been a nice change of pace. Coming home every night and spending weekends with the family was a welcome change from leaving home 10-20 days at a time, while his wife raised the children and kept the house together. Amazingly enough, his family rarely complained about his extended absences. They were all happy, though, when the staff assignment came through and Dad could spend more time at home.

Those three years were over now. "Flying a desk" was beginning to become very tedious and those 0700 to 1800 days of paper pushing had begun to wear on him. Since the chances of returning to flying were slim for many field graders, John considered himself pretty lucky to return to a flying unit. He was a pilot's pilot and the flight deck was where he belonged.

The instructor's request for the "Before Starting Engines Check" broke John out of his revelry. He looked over at his instructor wondering, how could someone who looked as if he'd just graduated from high school be an Altus IP? The guy knew the C-141 though. His professionalism was obvious by the thorough prebrief and expeditious checklist completion. John taxied the big aircraft to the runway, gradually reacquainting himself with the feeling of controlling 300,000 pounds of fuel and aluminum. The new simulators were better than ever, but nothing was like being in the real thing. Getting back to flying form would be no sweat, John thought. He'd show this "kindergarten" IP a thing or two.

As he prepared for the first approach, it was embarrassingly apparent John hadn't flown in a while. He was behind the aircraft and only helpful hints from the IP kept his head straight. Finally, after flailing around in the pattern for about an hour, things started to come back. All the experience he had gained flying all over the world began to return. John began to feel as if he were flying the plane instead of the plane flying him. By the end of the second ride, it was all coming back.

The checkride went well. Sure, John had the occasional "mind block" or two, but he remembered the 3-Ds, "don't do anything different, dumb, or dangerous," and you'll be okay. After a short and painless debrief, John hurried back to his room, packed his car, and was on his way to his new assignment.

Shortly after arriving at his new base, John was again thrown behind a desk, this time as a flight commander. Being in charge of someone else's career was a new experience for him. It also gave him the opportunity to review the flight records of all the people in his flight. Looking at the flight hours for the supposed "experienced" people in the unit was an eye-opener. No one had more than 2,500 hours. The hightime person was the stan-eval chief, and she was only a captain with 2,450 hours. John could remember when it seemed as if everyone in the squadron had 2,500 hours. There were even a few majors and lieutenant colonels hanging around with over 7,000 hours. These folks were the "fountain of all wisdom and knowledge," to whom everyone went with a '141 question. Like it or not, John was now one of these old heads, and the realization came none too soon.

About a month after arriving, John was commanding a three-ship, high priority mission, flying a security force to protect a U.S. Embassy threatened by local rebels. His job was to lead the formation to drop a marine unit and their equipment on a dirt strip near the embassy. The paradropped marine unit would then gather the embassy staff and escort them to the international airport. John would land at the international airport, held by loyal government troops, and transport the embassy staff back to Germany. The special forces troops and equipment would return to navy ships via helicopter. Number two and three in the C-141 formation would remain off the coast with tanker and fighter support to provide additional evac capability and fire power if needed.

As the three-ship descended to 500 feet for the drop, John tried to stop the butterflies in his stomach. As he mentally prepared for the drop, he also thought about the youth within the flight. The oldest AC in the formation, besides him, was a 31-year-old captain with 2,300 hours' experience. None had any combat experience and all airdrop hours had been accumulated under peacetime conditions. Could he trust them to hold together if the situation got out of hand?

The loadmaster opened the troop doors in preparation for the drop. The Combat Control Team, inserted hours earlier under cover of darkness, reported successful equipment drops by the previous formation. John's crew began their drop. In no time, the 140 troops were off the plane and safely on the ground. The crew was just starting to think the mission might go without a hitch when the copilot called out, "Tracers!" John looked just in time to see the fire stream slowly walk towards the right side of the airplane. A Marine Cobra gunship rolled in and waxed the flak site with rocket and cannon fire, but it was too late! The sickening sound of metal exploding in the cockpit and cargo compartment filled the plane.

The ceramic armor mats installed in critical cockpit areas took some of the impact from the small cannon shells. Unfortunately, the armor wasn't designed to handle that kind of firepower and the damage was devastating. Each crewmember had donned flak vests and helmets for the drop, but one loadmaster and the copilot were wounded anyway. The engineer's panel took a direct hit, disintegrating in his face, killing him instantly, and starting a fire. Shrapnel from the exploding shells and fragments of the demolished ceramic armor ripped open the copilot's right leg and peppered her arm and neck. One of the loadmasters was wounded in the arm from a stray fragment. Blood, smoke, and fire were everywhere, adding to the confusion.

The pilots pulled away from the drop zone and the nowsmoking flak site, easing the Starlifter into a slow left turn so as to not increase the damage. The scanner pulled the dead engineer from the burning panel and put the fire out with the flight deck fire extinguisher. He then picked up the engineer's body off the flight deck door and laid him gently on the bottom bunk, covering him with a blanket.

John was furious at the rebels for killing his engineer and wounding his crew. He also knew landing at the international airport was now out of the question. He didn't want to crash-land on the only available runway and jeopardize the success of the entire mission.

After finally leveling off and bringing the airplane under control, the crew began to take stock of their situation: two wounded crewmembers, one critical, and a third crewmember killed by the blast. The engineer's panel was a mess and totally unusable. John knew he was losing fuel, oil, and hydraulic fluids - at least he assumed so from the numerous holes trailing various colored fluids in the wings and engines three and four. Engine four appeared to be running well, but number three's oil temp and pressure were approaching the critical range.

Flying five hours to RheinMain was not an option. It was very doubtful whether the airplane or copilot would make it. The copilot was in pain and feeling weak from loss of blood, but she told John she could still run checklists and flick switches. Although young and inexperienced, this crew was certainly acting like a crew who knew what to do, thought John

Now that the fires were out, emergency checklists accomplished, and the situation somewhat stabilized, the crew could start thinking about getting the plane down. John informed the tanker and the holding 141s of the situation. Number two was sent, with fighter support, to the international airport to complete the rescue portion of the mission. Two fighters were sent to rendezvous with John, check his aircraft over, and guide him to the tanker. At the rate the fuel was streaming from the holes in the wing, fuel would soon become a high priority. He had to find the tanker ASAP. After refueling, John asked the tanker to escort him to whatever landing field they could find in case fuel became a problem again. The tanker crew was more than happy to do so, and offered to assist in any way they could. John then released the fighters back to the carrier with big thanks for guiding the damaged 141 safely to the tanker.

The last 141 remaining from the formation told John's crew he'd work on coordinating a landing field and needed to know their situation. The loadmaster checked the three hydraulic systems and found the number three system leaking. He also found two tires on the right main gear shredded from cannon fire. Not only would John need a long, wide runway, but there would also be a definite possibility of shutting down the runway if the remaining tires blew. His wounded crewmember also required medical facilities.

John's crew discussed the situation with the other planes in the formation and came up with a plan. All three would fly to the recently announced emergency landing strip about an hour away. It was a contingency strip being used as part of a joint international exercise and had everything they needed to handle the stricken airplane and crew. After such a horrible beginning, it was nice to have something go their way.

As the Starlifter headed toward the strip and the crew prepared for descent, John held one last huddle to make sure everyone knew what to do. As John pulled the throttles back to start down, the number three engine finally gave out. He reviewed all emergency and normal checklists with each crew position, and made sure everyone was strapped in tight.

John flew a flawless approach with a smooth touchdown. In spite of this, the remaining tires on the right main gear bogey blew due to the high speed, no flap landing. The two pilots did everything they could to keep the plane on the runway but, without the nosewheel steering it was almost impossible. As the wounded aircraft slid off the runway, the copilot shut the remaining three engines down. They finally came to rest in a cloud of dust and smoke. The emergency crews were immediately on the scene helping the crew evacuate the smoldering wreckage.

Later in the medical tent, John sat reflecting on the day's events. He and the crew were deeply upset by the loss of the engineer. Telling his wife and two children that Dad would not be coming home would be the most difficult assignment of his career. However, as the aircraft commander, he felt he owed it to the family. But looking beyond this tragedy, he also felt pride and tremendous satisfaction as he recalled how the entire team pulled together.

The mission could have ended up in disaster and his crew lost, had not everyone, from crew dog to fighter jock, pulled together. These were the kind of people he was proud to serve with. As John stood up to visit his crew, he smiled. He thought about how good crew coordination, a sincere desire to accomplish the mission, and the ability to adapt to stressful situations could sure make up for a lack of experience.

Major Nelson, a 1983 AFROTC DG from Brigham Young University, has logged over 4,000 mishapfree hours in the T-37, T-38, T-1, C-23 and C-141. He is currently the 8 AS ADO at McChord AFB WA.

Copyright Superintendent of Documents, Military Airlift Command Mar/Apr 1997
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