got this from an old (75) huey/cod driver,
........
The following is a "No Shit Story". Some of the names have been omitted to protect the guilty but
the events are TRUE.
The year was 1970 and I was a young LT flight instructor just finishing a tour with VT-23 (Advanced Jet Training )in Kingsville,
Texas. The Viet Nam War was still raging and I had just received orders to the USS Constellation to be the catapult &
arresting gear officer. Of course wizards in the Puzzle Palace assued me that this was a "career enhancing billet" and that
everyone had to do their turn in the barrel as ship's company sooner or later. I voted for later but my vote didn't count.
My Skipper in VT-23 wanted to cheer me up so he came to me with a great idea. One of his close friends at the Naval
Academy was the CO of the STOOF RAG at Navy Corpus Christi which was just 30 miles down the road. He told me that if I
got checked out in the STOOF that I would be able to fly logistical (read boondoggle) flights in the ship's COD. Sounded great
to me, so off I went to the RAG. After a week of hot, sweaty work (it's really hot on the deck in South Texas during the
summer) I passed my check ride with flying colors.
Fast forward to the Connie on Yankee Station, 1971. The ship was conducting combat operations against North Vietnam in
the Gulf of Tonkin when the ships Operations Officer, CDR (blank) asked me to fly co-pilot in the COD on a vital mission for
the ship's store. CDR (blank) happened to be an expert gemologist and the ship's store gave us $40,000 in cash so we could
fly to Thailand to buy gems, rings and things for the sailors on board the ship to purchase. Sounded good to me! We taxied to
the catapult and – zoom! We were airborne headed for our first stop — Rocket City (Da Nang to the un-initiated). So far, so
good! After taking on a full load of fuel we taxied for takeoff. Our next stop — Udorn, Thailand. We had just started our climb
out when that little yellow light called the chip detector came on. CDR (blank) did the right thing and called the tower and said
we would be returning to land to check out an engine. After landing, the crew chief pulled the magnetic plug that is used to
attract any metallic particles that might be floating around in the engine oil. Even a dumb jet jock knows that metal mixed with
oil — not good for engine. The correct procedure I was told was to remove the small flakes from the plug and then re-install it.
We would then do a longer run-up of that engine before take off and if the light stayed off, we were good to go. Remember
now, we had to climb out to 12,000 feet and cross mountainous enemy terrain where they would be bombing below us. Not
exactly a great place to be if we lost an engine. So off we go again heading for Thailand. I had just leveled off when that
cantankerous chip light came on again. I asked the CDR what now? He said "since we were already at altitude, we might as
well press on". Since his log book was filled with multi-engine prop time and I was just a green horn to the prop world — it
sounded like a good decision to me. An hour later, I'm looking out of the cockpit at the jagged mountains and dense forrest
below our flight path, I'm not quite as happy about our plan to continue the mission. The rest of the trip to Udorn was
uneventful and after landing we were greeted by the store owner we were going the spend the Forty Grand with. Now I know
what it feels like to be a Saudi Prince. All you have to do to get treated like one is to go to a store in Thailand in 1971 with
$40,000 in cash and say we plan to spend it all right here! After a fun day of spending like there was no tomorrow, I slept like
a baby.
Next morning I arrived at the aircraft and was shocked to see it sitting on it's tail. Since the COD has tricycle landing gear, I
was a little disturbing. It seemed that the crew chief had packed the plane to the ceiling with stuff we were taking back to the
ship to sell. We had hammocks, brass ware — you name it. I think we single handedly upset the balance of trade between
the US and Thailand. The only way we could get into the cockpit is thru the emergency escape hatch. I asked CDR (blank) if
he didn't think we might be a wee bit outside of the CG limits? "Naw – not a problem, if we get into the cockpit and start one
engine and the plane comes back down on the nose gear — we're good to go". Certain that he had read that somewhere in
the NATOPS manual, my stupid reply was "OK". In the mean time, the crew chief walked over to us and handed me a handful
of metal flakes and I mean
handful!
He said he pulled the oil sump screen filter and this is what he found. I look at CDR
(blank) and say "I guess we won't be heading back to the ship until they send us a new engine". "Surely we can't fly back
over hostile enemy territory with mountainous terrain that is heavily forested, with no possible landing sites in an over
grossed aircraft with one engine about to fail" His reply was "Bob, if we don't get back to the ship, we will never get one of
these boondoggles again". Now him being a CDR and me being a LT, I made one of the stupidest decisions of my life and
said, "sounds logical to me". So we climbed into the escape hatches and started one engine and sure-nuff, we came back
down on the nose gear. Staying on the taxi way was a bit tricky though, as the nose gear was kind of bobbing up and down,
but we made the runway and put the pedal to the metal for takeoff. It was no surprise when shortly after liftoff, that blasted
yellow light came on again. I asked CDR blank what do we do now, and he calmly replied, "un-screw the light". Duhh! Don't
know why I didn't think of that. Now I have the emergency manual out in earnest and am scanning the maximum altitude
charts for a C1A with only one engine and an over gross load. I wasn't too surprised to find out that the maximum altitude we
would be able maintain if we lost an engine was 400' below sea level. Since were were crossing 4000' peaks with a dense
rain forest on them, I didn't have a warm fuzzy feeling about our situation. On missions in my trusty A-4 Skyhawk, I always
had a survival vest which included a Colt 38 and other nice to have gear in a survival situation. We had nothing — zippo —
nada on board. I was trying to think of anything positive and the only thing I could think of was that in the unlikely event we
were lucky enough to survive a crash landing in the mountainous terrain, we could possibly trade our way out of the jungle
with the natives with all the goods we had on board. We even made an intermediate stop at NKP (Naked Fanny) to take on
even more goods before landing in Da Nang.
You probably think things were getting pretty exciting but it gets even worse. Since I was certain we were about to lose an
engine. I convinced CDR (blank) we should climb as high as possible to get us the most air time possible in case the worst
happened. We were straining to keep from falling out of the sky at 14,000' and since we had no oxygen, I was feeling a little
woozy and drifted off my desired heading. That wasn't a smart thing to do as it put us north of the DMZ into indian country.
You guessed it! Little black puffs of smoke of anti-aircraft fire started appearing ahead and below us. They probably had
never seen anything that big moving that slow at that altitude, and couldn't figure out the lead! We were probably the only
STOOF in history to take anti-craft fire. Of course there was nothing we could do but plow straight ahead because if we even
banked a little we would fall out of the sky. Before they could figure it out, we were out of range. Now normally when you
receive fire you are supposed to mark the position and tell the intell guys when you land, but because we were not supposed
to be where we were — it never happened.
We finally landed safely at Da Nang. I didn't even want the crew chief to check the sump screen anymore because I know
what he would find and I didn't really want to know as we still had one more critical leg to fly — back to the ship for a dusk
trap.
Since I'm writing this story, I guessed you were able to surmise that we made it OK. All's well that ends well, or so they say.
The next morning I went down to see the crew chief. He said they pulled the engine and he didn't know how it was able to
keep running. He estimated it probably would have totally destroyed itself within another 30 minutes. The engine was a mess
and had to be replaced. Who said flying a STOOF wasn't an adventure! Just think about the fun Grandpa Petibone could
have had with this story.
So — one might ask the moral of this story? Well, I promised the good Lord that since he spared me in spite of my stupidity, I
would never, ever, never again let a superior office brow beat me to go along with a flying decision that would probably win a
"Darwin Award" for it's shear brilliance. I kept my word to this day.
Bob Hall
........
The following is a "No Shit Story". Some of the names have been omitted to protect the guilty but
the events are TRUE.
The year was 1970 and I was a young LT flight instructor just finishing a tour with VT-23 (Advanced Jet Training )in Kingsville,
Texas. The Viet Nam War was still raging and I had just received orders to the USS Constellation to be the catapult &
arresting gear officer. Of course wizards in the Puzzle Palace assued me that this was a "career enhancing billet" and that
everyone had to do their turn in the barrel as ship's company sooner or later. I voted for later but my vote didn't count.
My Skipper in VT-23 wanted to cheer me up so he came to me with a great idea. One of his close friends at the Naval
Academy was the CO of the STOOF RAG at Navy Corpus Christi which was just 30 miles down the road. He told me that if I
got checked out in the STOOF that I would be able to fly logistical (read boondoggle) flights in the ship's COD. Sounded great
to me, so off I went to the RAG. After a week of hot, sweaty work (it's really hot on the deck in South Texas during the
summer) I passed my check ride with flying colors.
Fast forward to the Connie on Yankee Station, 1971. The ship was conducting combat operations against North Vietnam in
the Gulf of Tonkin when the ships Operations Officer, CDR (blank) asked me to fly co-pilot in the COD on a vital mission for
the ship's store. CDR (blank) happened to be an expert gemologist and the ship's store gave us $40,000 in cash so we could
fly to Thailand to buy gems, rings and things for the sailors on board the ship to purchase. Sounded good to me! We taxied to
the catapult and – zoom! We were airborne headed for our first stop — Rocket City (Da Nang to the un-initiated). So far, so
good! After taking on a full load of fuel we taxied for takeoff. Our next stop — Udorn, Thailand. We had just started our climb
out when that little yellow light called the chip detector came on. CDR (blank) did the right thing and called the tower and said
we would be returning to land to check out an engine. After landing, the crew chief pulled the magnetic plug that is used to
attract any metallic particles that might be floating around in the engine oil. Even a dumb jet jock knows that metal mixed with
oil — not good for engine. The correct procedure I was told was to remove the small flakes from the plug and then re-install it.
We would then do a longer run-up of that engine before take off and if the light stayed off, we were good to go. Remember
now, we had to climb out to 12,000 feet and cross mountainous enemy terrain where they would be bombing below us. Not
exactly a great place to be if we lost an engine. So off we go again heading for Thailand. I had just leveled off when that
cantankerous chip light came on again. I asked the CDR what now? He said "since we were already at altitude, we might as
well press on". Since his log book was filled with multi-engine prop time and I was just a green horn to the prop world — it
sounded like a good decision to me. An hour later, I'm looking out of the cockpit at the jagged mountains and dense forrest
below our flight path, I'm not quite as happy about our plan to continue the mission. The rest of the trip to Udorn was
uneventful and after landing we were greeted by the store owner we were going the spend the Forty Grand with. Now I know
what it feels like to be a Saudi Prince. All you have to do to get treated like one is to go to a store in Thailand in 1971 with
$40,000 in cash and say we plan to spend it all right here! After a fun day of spending like there was no tomorrow, I slept like
a baby.
Next morning I arrived at the aircraft and was shocked to see it sitting on it's tail. Since the COD has tricycle landing gear, I
was a little disturbing. It seemed that the crew chief had packed the plane to the ceiling with stuff we were taking back to the
ship to sell. We had hammocks, brass ware — you name it. I think we single handedly upset the balance of trade between
the US and Thailand. The only way we could get into the cockpit is thru the emergency escape hatch. I asked CDR (blank) if
he didn't think we might be a wee bit outside of the CG limits? "Naw – not a problem, if we get into the cockpit and start one
engine and the plane comes back down on the nose gear — we're good to go". Certain that he had read that somewhere in
the NATOPS manual, my stupid reply was "OK". In the mean time, the crew chief walked over to us and handed me a handful
of metal flakes and I mean
handful!
He said he pulled the oil sump screen filter and this is what he found. I look at CDR
(blank) and say "I guess we won't be heading back to the ship until they send us a new engine". "Surely we can't fly back
over hostile enemy territory with mountainous terrain that is heavily forested, with no possible landing sites in an over
grossed aircraft with one engine about to fail" His reply was "Bob, if we don't get back to the ship, we will never get one of
these boondoggles again". Now him being a CDR and me being a LT, I made one of the stupidest decisions of my life and
said, "sounds logical to me". So we climbed into the escape hatches and started one engine and sure-nuff, we came back
down on the nose gear. Staying on the taxi way was a bit tricky though, as the nose gear was kind of bobbing up and down,
but we made the runway and put the pedal to the metal for takeoff. It was no surprise when shortly after liftoff, that blasted
yellow light came on again. I asked CDR blank what do we do now, and he calmly replied, "un-screw the light". Duhh! Don't
know why I didn't think of that. Now I have the emergency manual out in earnest and am scanning the maximum altitude
charts for a C1A with only one engine and an over gross load. I wasn't too surprised to find out that the maximum altitude we
would be able maintain if we lost an engine was 400' below sea level. Since were were crossing 4000' peaks with a dense
rain forest on them, I didn't have a warm fuzzy feeling about our situation. On missions in my trusty A-4 Skyhawk, I always
had a survival vest which included a Colt 38 and other nice to have gear in a survival situation. We had nothing — zippo —
nada on board. I was trying to think of anything positive and the only thing I could think of was that in the unlikely event we
were lucky enough to survive a crash landing in the mountainous terrain, we could possibly trade our way out of the jungle
with the natives with all the goods we had on board. We even made an intermediate stop at NKP (Naked Fanny) to take on
even more goods before landing in Da Nang.
You probably think things were getting pretty exciting but it gets even worse. Since I was certain we were about to lose an
engine. I convinced CDR (blank) we should climb as high as possible to get us the most air time possible in case the worst
happened. We were straining to keep from falling out of the sky at 14,000' and since we had no oxygen, I was feeling a little
woozy and drifted off my desired heading. That wasn't a smart thing to do as it put us north of the DMZ into indian country.
You guessed it! Little black puffs of smoke of anti-aircraft fire started appearing ahead and below us. They probably had
never seen anything that big moving that slow at that altitude, and couldn't figure out the lead! We were probably the only
STOOF in history to take anti-craft fire. Of course there was nothing we could do but plow straight ahead because if we even
banked a little we would fall out of the sky. Before they could figure it out, we were out of range. Now normally when you
receive fire you are supposed to mark the position and tell the intell guys when you land, but because we were not supposed
to be where we were — it never happened.
We finally landed safely at Da Nang. I didn't even want the crew chief to check the sump screen anymore because I know
what he would find and I didn't really want to know as we still had one more critical leg to fly — back to the ship for a dusk
trap.
Since I'm writing this story, I guessed you were able to surmise that we made it OK. All's well that ends well, or so they say.
The next morning I went down to see the crew chief. He said they pulled the engine and he didn't know how it was able to
keep running. He estimated it probably would have totally destroyed itself within another 30 minutes. The engine was a mess
and had to be replaced. Who said flying a STOOF wasn't an adventure! Just think about the fun Grandpa Petibone could
have had with this story.
So — one might ask the moral of this story? Well, I promised the good Lord that since he spared me in spite of my stupidity, I
would never, ever, never again let a superior office brow beat me to go along with a flying decision that would probably win a
"Darwin Award" for it's shear brilliance. I kept my word to this day.
Bob Hall
I just liked to think that I was doing my part for the war effort. Dirty work but someone had to do it!