the ramp, the sound of engines cranking up or winding down, vehicles moving crews to and from aircraft, just the bustle of activity. It’s all gone leaving behind a surreal quiet; especially after coming from the activity around our sanctuary.
We step out onto the gray pavement where papers, leaves, and other debris are blowing across the surface in the light wind. It’s like stepping onto a surface of an archaeological site from a previous civilization; all of the objects and structures are here but the people who hovered around them are gone. It’s not far from the truth, but damn!
I stroll over to one of the Oh-58 Kiowa helicopters sitting on the ramp close by and, with Robert by my side, peek in. The rest of Red Team is looking around the area but they also seem to be getting ready for a show. It actually looks like they’re placing bets on which tree I’ll end up in by the way they are gesturing and pointing.
“Ever flown one of these?” Robert asks over my shoulder.
“Nope,” I answer.
“Ever flown a helicopter?”
“A couple of times but only in the air.”
“Hmmmm…” is all he says to that.
Looking inside, it’s not that different than a normal aircraft cockpit but I know different. Flying a helicopter is worlds apart from buzzing around in something with wings attached. I know the fundamentals and basic aspect of flying something with a propeller over my head, but I also know they’re tricky little buggers and take a lot of finesse. I’m beginning to wonder if this is actually a good idea. I rummage around the cockpit and come up with a checklist and start leafing through it. I’m not all that enthused about taking something up that I’m not familiar with; emergency procedures, systems, etc. However, this will be handy as long as I don’t wrap it around the nearest pole.
“Well, there’s nothing like the present,” I think getting in the pilot seat, yes, it’s also on the opposite side of where it should be, and sit looking at the instrumentation while going through the check list.
“Am I going with?” Robert asks.
“Oh hell no. This may be the shortest and warmest ride in history. I don’t think you should be within a mile of me,” I answer.
“Are you going to take it up now?” He asks.
“I was thinking about it,” I reply.
“You sure about this?” Robert asks looking over the cockpit with me.
“No, not really,” I say finding the various switches and trying to become familiar with them.
I run through the start-up checklist finding the switches as I progress through it, making dry runs to get acquainted. It’s not like I’m going to hop cross country right off the bat but I want to get familiar with their locations so I don’t have to do the hunt and peck thing while airborne. And, it’s not like I’m thinking I want to get more than six feet off the ground for a while either.
I spend a couple hours going through dry runs with the check list and visualizing flying with my hands on the controls. Robert hasn’t lost interest and has climbed in the other seat observing. The interior is heated as the sun pours through the Plexiglas windshield; the angle of the sun once bounces off at the right angle, blinding me at times. The smells of the interior are familiar; the smells of use. Sweat mixed with oil, fuel, and the cloth seats. Anyone who has sat in a cockpit knows those odors well.
I take a break and head over with Robert to where the rest of the team is milling about the vehicle. They’re alert for anything moving in the area but also have that “I’m bored” look of standing around. We break out some rations and water we brought for a quick lunch.
“Having a hard time getting it started, sir?” Henderson asks. “If you want, I could spin the blades around if that’ll help.”
“Or, we could go find a large rubber band to wind it up for ya,” McCafferty chimes in.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Be careful though or I may make you go up with me for the first time,” I reply to their quips.
“No, no I’m good thanks,” McCafferty says.
We eat in silence watching the stillness of the area around. Watching as scraps of paper are lifted from the tarmac to flutter momentarily in the light breeze before being deposited back down a short distance from their starting point. Birds sail over the area from time to time. At one point, two dogs trot across the runway in tandem. The stillness, that was once so surreal, begins to become common place and peacefulness settles in. All of us are enjoying a quiet lunch under the clear, blue skies with the sun warming our shoulders. The calm has an underlying quiet stillness to it as if it is just holding its breath. The peace is only a temporary one and there’s a storm and violence brewing just behind it. The day knows that night will come, bringing the night runners with it. There’s also a measure of hope with it that knows another day will come. It’s just that you have to make it through the tempest before you can enjoy the peace once again.
Lunch ends and I clamber back into the cockpit with a renewed focus. Part of me is worried about trying this little adventure. I’m not even remotely qualified to be doing this and worry about not knowing the systems. Like at all! I always thought it would be nice to drive a helicopter where, if you got into trouble, lost or otherwise, you could just set it down anywhere. Kind of like pulling over to the side of the freeway. That was youthful thinking and I certainly know better now. Anything that leaves the ground has an inherent danger associated with it and has the ability to come back to the ground in ways not desirable.
“Okay, time for you to leave and find your seat,” I tell Robert who is sitting next to me.
“You’re going to try it eh?” He asks.
“Yeah, with try being the key word,” I answer.
He climbs out and joins the others. I see them talking briefly and then all attention is focused on me. They even walk around to the other side of the Humvee.
I check my surroundings with the blades rotating in a blur overhead and am thankful that there aren’t other objects close by. It’s one of the reasons I chose this one in the first place. I reach down to the collective and grab the throttle. Rolling it, the rpm gauge increases with an increase in the noise, vibration, and speed of the rotor overhead. I feel the vibration of the helicopter through the seat and pedals. Well, actually, I feel it everywhere but it is more predominant there. I know I have to keep a constant rpm and think of the collective as a throttle and the cyclic stick in front of me as any normal stick. A combination of both acts similar to an aircraft but the idea is so foreign to me.
I gradually pull very lightly on the collective and feel the Kiowa go light on the skids with each skid tapping on the paved tarmac below me in intervals. The helicopter starts sliding to the left and I correct with the stick to the right. An over correction and I start off to the right. I eventually bring the slide to a stop with the skids still light on the ground. I now know why they call them skids. I pull a little more on the collective and the helicopter rises from the pavement. I remember one pilot saying to just imagine or think yourself hovering – that you just have to think about moving and the helicopter will respond to the subtle inputs your mind sends to your hands - or sliding in one direction. Well, I must have been thinking I wanted to be waaaay over to the right because that’s where I go.
I try to bring the slide under control and once again over correct and am now looking at the ramp slide underneath me as I slide to the left in the same manner. I lower the collective as I try to correct that stellar move and the helicopter slams onto the tarmac like a bag of garbage being thrown in a trash bin.
My second attempt to not change the sky to ground is a repeat of the first but without the absolute shock of the helicopter being deposited on the ramp. The next several attempts also give Red Team an ab workout but I’m
