I was in a helicopter crash once. A claim not many people can make, let alone live to write about in retrospect. We were returning from a border surveillance mission along the East German border in 1989, just months before the Wall fell. Our mission: to monitor and create presence along the Western border of Germany to ensure the Soviets didn't forget about us.
In a return to the airport, we experienced a compressor stall, essentially the aircraft consuming itself as it flew 100 mph and 100 feet over the ground. I was on the headset, with the pilots while a fellow intelligence observer was next to me. As soon as the reverberating bangs echoed through the aircraft, the pilots immediately decreased speed and went through a series of drills to attempt to continuing flying.
My friend next to me had grabbed my thigh and although he didn't have the headset on, he clearly discerned an issue.
"What the f*** is going on?" he screamed loud enough for me to hear.
"Shhh" I intoned back to him. "I'm trying to find out."
Needless to say, in that span of seconds, we plummeted in a controlled crash that left the helicopter bouncing along the grass and fortunately leaving us in an upright position. The talents of the crew and the luck of the day certainly were instrumental.
But needless to say, it reiterated the unforgiving nature of flight, particularly rotary-winged, and especially helicopters.
The very recent tragedy in Afghanistan is a highly visible indicator of the danger of our mission. I guess my only concern is that pilots die in numbers merely training for the very missions they are conducting overseas, and that I am saddened that it takes a war effort to highlight the peril of their profession.
My first weeks in my very first Army unit were fresh from an awards ceremony that honored a future friend of mine when two helicopters collided and he landed his nearby and with little consideration for his own safety pulled pilots out of aircraft. My first few weeks were trodding where a very fresh wound lay inside the unit.
Numerous small issues ensued...a tree strike here, a bird strike there. But the one unsettling incident came about during a very stormy night during a live-fire exercise when a helicopter "settled with power" after being fully loaded with fuel and armament.
The term is very sophisticated, and I had to look at the definition a few times to make it somewhat understandable but essentially what happens is this:
Vortex ring state describes an aerodynamic condition where a helicopter may be in a vertical descent with up to maximum power applied, and little or no cyclic authority. The term “settling with power” comes from the fact that helicopter keeps settling even though full engine power is applied
Translation: You're flooring it and you're still falling out of the sky.
Flashback: When my young wife and I arrived in Germany we had no friends, no familiarity and she would argue no money. Matt Heins was a pilot who was fresh from flight school and he and his young wife were in the same boat. He was from southern hick state, with an accent as thick as the German beer, and he was one of those personalities who shined in every dismal, god-forsaken German army exercise. He drove me up to get my car when it shipped and he invited us over for Christmas and 4-wheeling when it snowed. He was in every sense an outstanding officer and an excellent friend.
Matt "settled with power" that night in Germany and broke his back. They believed that he would never fly again, and that he would spend the rest of his days in pain and on the ground.
Matt ended up proving everybody wrong, and against tremendous odds he regained flight status. He flew again, and led soldiers as an officer in the army flying AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters.
Matt was killed in a helicopter crash that was merely the unforgiving nature of his chosen profession. He widowed a young lady less than 30 years old, and he left a huge hole to those that knew him.
My point is that in this post-news Afghanistan wreckage that reveals the horror of war, I cannot help but wonder at the lives that were lost even before these boys went overseas.
They are in a horrible profession, a job that requires high skills and high risks. Their deaths, while honorable, are in line with the nature of their calling. They are not unique. They are by no means the first, and by no means the last.
I grieve for Matt, and for the soldiers lost in the accidents that are part of the hardening that sharpens our spears. But I believe they died in an endeavor of love, doing what they were trained to do, and merely experiencing the ultimate sacrifice for something that is ultimately chosen by few.
Do not get into a helicopter. They are unforgiving.
