If you'ev ever wondered what is so special about our military (I have, I've been in for 16 years and don't think I am anything special) or policemen, firemen, etc., maybe it is because we/they really lose sight of what it is they are doing not only in combat, but in peacetime as well. Here is a long read - but please read it all. Get into the mind of a person who's life became just a little more interesting.
THANK YOU TO ALL WHO PUT THIER LIFE ON THE LINE FOR ME AND COUNTLESS OTHER PEOPLE THAT THEY WILL NEVER MEET!
Semper Fidelis,
Shawn
Now, read on:
Interesting tale from the boat. For those non-sailors in the group, things like this happen more than you might think on a carrier, although not for the same reason. For those of us who have been on the boat, do we really miss it.........
Greetings Slacker Landlubbers:
Hey, I felt the need to share with you all the exciting night I had on the 23rd. It has nothing to do with me wanting to talk about me. It has everything to do with sharing what will no doubt become a better story as the years go by.
So, there I was... Manned up a hot seat for the 2030 launch about 500 miles north of Hawaii (insert visions of many Mai-Tais here). Spotted just forward of the navigation pole and eventually taxied off toward the island where I do a 180 and get spotted to be the first one off cat I (insert foreboding music here). There's another Hornet from our sister squadron parked ass over the track about a quarter of the way down the cat. Eventually he gets a move on and they lower my launch bar and start the launch cycle.
All systems are go on the run-up and after waiting the requisite 5-seconds or so to make sure my flight controls are good to go (there's a lot to be said for good old cables and pulleys), I turn on my lights. As is my habit, I shift my eyes to the catwalk and watch the deck edge dude, and as he starts his routine of looking left then right, I put my head back. As
The cat fires, I stage the blowers (lite the afterburners) and am along for the ride.
Just prior to the end of the stroke there's a huge flash and a simultaneous boom! And my world is in turmoil. My little pink body is doing 145 knots or so and is 100 feet above the Black Pacific. And there it stays - except for the airspeed, which decreases to 140 knots. The throttles aren't going any farther forward despite my Schwarzzenegerian efforts to make them do so.
From out of the ether I hear a voice say one word: "Jettison." (drop your ordnance and external fuel tanks). Roger that! A nanosecond later, my two drops (fuel tanks) and single MER (bomb rack) - about 4500 pounds in all - are Black Pacific bound. The airplane leapt up a bit, but not enough.
I'm now about a mile in front of the boat at 160 feet and fluctuating from 135 to 140 knots. The next command out of the ether is another one-worder: "Eject!"
I'm still flying so I respond, "Not yet, I've still got it.
Finally, at 4 miles, I take a peek at my engine instruments and notice my left engine doesn't match the right (funny how quick glimpses at instruments get burned into your brain). The left rpm is at 48% (full power is 100%) even though I'm still doing the Ahn-Hold thing. I bring it back to mil (shut off the afterburner). About now I get another "Eject!" Call.
"Nope, still flying."
Deputy CAG (Deputy Carrier Air Group Commander) was watching and the further I got from the boat, the lower I looked. About 5 miles, I asked tower to please get the helo (rescue helicopter) headed my way as I truly thought I was going to be shelling out (ejecting). At this point I thought it would probably be a good idea to start dumping some gas (from the internal fuel tanks). As my hand reached down for the dump switch I actually remembered that we have a NATOPS prohibition regarding dumping while in burner. After a second or two I decided, "hell with that" and turned them (dumps) on. I was later told I had a 60 foot roman candle going.
At 7 miles I eventually started a (very slight) climb. A little breathing room. CATCC (Carrier Air Traffic Control Center -- provides radar control and radar final approach control) chimes in with a downwind heading and I'm like: "Ooh. Good idea," and throw down my hook. Eventually I get headed downwind at 900 feet and ask for a rep. While waiting I shut
down the left engine. In short order I hear "Fuzz's" voice.
I tell him the following: "OK Fuzz, my (landing) gear's up, my left motor's off and I'm only able to stay level with min(imum) blower (afterburner). Every time I pull it to mil (shut off the afterburner) I start about a hundred feet per minute down."
I continue trucking downwind trying to stay level and keep dumping (fuel). I think I must have been in blower for about fifteen minutes. At ten miles or so I'm down to 5000 pounds of gas and start a turn back toward the ship. Don't intend to land, but don't want to get too far away, either. Of course, as soon I as I start in an angle of bank, I start dropping like a stone so I end up doing a 5 mile circle around the ship. Meanwhile, Fuzz is reading me the single engine rate-of-climb numbers from the PCL based on temperature, etc. It doesn't take us long to figure out that things aren't adding up. So why the hell do I need blower to stay level!?
By this time I'm talking to Fuzz (CATCC), Deputy (turning on the flight deck -- in an aircraft on the flight deck with the engine running) and CAG who's on the bridge with the Captain. We decide that the thing to do is climb to three thousand feet and dirty up (place landing gear and flaps down). I get headed downwind, go full burner on my remaining motor and eventually make it to 2000 feet before leveling out below a scattered layer of puffies. There's a half a moon above which was really, really cool. Start a turn back toward the ship, and when I get pointed in the right direction, I throw the (landing) gear down and pull the throttle out of AB (afterburner).
Remember that flash/boom! That started this little tale? Repeat it here.
Holy sheat! I jam it back into AB and after three or four huge compressor stalls and accompanying deceleration, the right motor comes back.
This next part is great. You know those stories about guys who dead-stick(land with no engine power) crippled airplanes away from orphanages and puppy stores and stuff and get all this great media attention? Well, at this point I'm looking at the picket ship (accompanying destroyer at my left 11 at about two miles and I say on departure (radio) freq(uency) to no one in particular, "You need to have the picket ship hang a left right now. I think I'm gonna be outta here in a second." I said it very calmly but with meaning. The LSO's said that the picket immediately started pitching out of the fight. Ha! I scored major points with the heavies afterwards for this. Anyway, it's funny how your mind works in these situations.
OK, so I'm dirty [gear & flaps down]and I get it back level and pass a couple miles up the starboard side of the ship. I'm still in minimum blower and my fuel state is now about 2500 pounds. Hmmm. I hadn't really thought about running out of
gas. I muster up the nads to pull it out of blower again and sure enough...flash, BOOM! YGTBSM (You Got To Be Shaitting Me)!
I leave it in mil and it seems to settle out. Eventually discover that even the tiniest throttle movements cause the flash/boom thing to happen so I'm trying to be as smooth as I can. I'm downwind a couple miles when CAG comes up and says "Oyster, we're going to rig the barricade." (a very tall cross-deck "fence" of vertical nylon straps between horizontal top and bottom cables rigged from vertical flight deck stanchions - to catch/land an airplane that cannot land normally or that has an emergency and only has one landing attempt left). Remember, CAG's up on the bridge watching me fly around doing blower donuts in the sky and he's thinking I'm gonna run outta JP-5 too. By now I've told everyone who's listening that there's a better than average chance that I'm going to be ejecting - the helo bubbas, god bless 'em, have been following me around this entire time.
I continue downwind and again, sounding more calm than I probably was, call paddles (Landing Signal Officer). "Paddles, you up?"
"Go ahead" replies "Max," one of our CAG (Air Wing) LSO's (Landing Signal Officers).
"Max, I probably know most of it but you wanna shoot me the barricade brief?" (Insert long pause here). After the fact, Max told me they went from expecting me to eject to me asking for the barricade brief (procedures for landing into the barricade) in about a minute and he was hyper-ventilating. He was awesome on the radio though, just the kind of voice you'd want to hear in this situation. He gives me the brief and at nine miles I say, "If I turn now, will it be up when I get there? I don't want to have to go around again."
"It's going up now Oyster, go ahead and turn."
"Turning in, say final bearing."
"zero-six-three" replies the voice in CATCC. (Another number I remember - go figure).
OK, we're on a four degree glide slope and I'm at 800 feet or so. I intercept glide slope at about a mile and three quarters and pull power.
Flash/boom! Add power out of fear. Going high. Pull power. Flash/boom! Add power out of fear. Going higher. (Flashback to LSO school....All right class, today's lecture will be on the single engine barricade approach. Remember, the one place you really, REALLY don't want to be is high. Are there any questions?) The PLAT(closed circuit TV of the landing area and approach pattern) video is most excellent as each series of flash/booms shows up nicely along with the appropriate reflections on the water. "Flats," our other CAG paddles is backing up (helping the primary LSO) and as I start to set up a higher than desired sink rate he hits the "Eat At Joe's" lights. Very timely too. [note: wave-off lights - a guts-ball decision]
I stroke AB (to waive off) and cross the flight deck with my right hand on the stick and my left thinking about the little yellow and black handle between my legs (the "alternate" ejection handle). No worries. I cleared that sucker by at least ten feet. By the way my (fuel) state at the ball call was 1.1 1,100 pounds of fuel). As I slowly climb out I say, again to no one in particular, "I can do this."
Max and Flats heard this and told me later it made them feel much better about my state of mind. I'm in blower still and CAG says, "Turn downwind." Again, good idea. After I get turned around he says, "Oyster, this is gonna be your last look (landing attempt), so turn in again as soon as you're comfortable." I lose about 200 feet in the turn and like a total
dumbsh_t I look out as I get on centerline and that night thing (perception) about feeling high gets me and I descend further to 400 feet. I got kind of pissed at myself then as I realized I would now be intercepting (flying into) the four degree glide slope in the middle.
No shiat fellas, flash/boom every several seconds all the way down. Last look at my gas was 600-and-some pounds at a mile and a half. "Where am I on the glide slope Max?" I ask and hear a calm, "Roger Ball."
I know I'm low because the ILS (glide slope indicator) is waaay up there and I call "Clara" (I can't see the Fresnel lens indicator -- the "ball" that tells you whether your aircraft is higher, ok, or lower than you should > be)..
Can't remember what the response was but by now the ball's shooting up from the depths. I start flying it and before I get a chance to spot the deck. I hear "Cut, cut, cut!" I'm really glad I was a paddles (LSO) for so long because my mind said to me, "Do what he says Oyster," and I pulled it (engine) back to idle. The reason I mention this is that I felt like
I LONG F$#@! WAYS OUT THERE - if you know what I mean (my hook hit 11 Oyster paces from the ramp, as I discovered during FOD walk down today).
The rest is pretty tame. I hit the deck, skipped the one, the two, and snagged the three (cross-deck arresting cable) (with the aircraft tail hook) and rolled into the barricade about a foot right of centerline. Once stopped my vocal chords involuntarily yelled "Victory!" On button 2 (radio channel no. 2) (the 14 guys who were listening in marshal said it was pretty cool. After the fact I wish I had done the Austin Powers' "Yeah Baby!" Thing.) The lights came up and off to my right there must have been a ga-zillion cranials. Paddles said that with my shutdown you could hear a huge cheer across the flight deck. I open the canopy and start putting my sh_t in my helmet bag and the first guy I see is our Flight Deck Chief, huge guy named Chief Richards and he gives me the coolest look and then two thumbs up. I will remember it forever. Especially since I'm the Maintenance Officer.
I climb down and people are gathering around patting me on the back when one of the boat's crusty yellow-shirt chiefs interrupts and says, "Gentlemen, great job but fourteen of your good buddies are still up there and we need to get them aboard." Again, priceless.
So there you have it fellas. Here I sit with my little pink body in a ready room chair on the same tub I did my first cruise in 10 years and 7 months ago. And I thought it was exciting back then!
P. S. You're probably wondering what made my motors sh_t themselves and I almost forgot to tell you. Remember the scene with the foreboding music? When they taxied that last Hornet - the one that was over the cat track - they forgot to remove a section or two of the cat seal (very heavy strip of rubber that is placed into the catapult tracks when not in
operation). The [flight mishap] board's not finished yet, but it's a done deal. As the shuttle came back it removed the cat seal which went (into the engine air intakes and) down both motors during the (catapult) stroke. During the wave off, one of the LSO's saw "about thirty feet" of black rubber hanging off the left side of the airplane. The whole left side, including inside the intake is basically black where the rubber was beating on it in the breeze. The right motor, the one that kept running, has 340 major hits to all stages. The compressor section is trashed and best of all, it had two pieces of the cat seal - one about 2 feet and the other about 4 feet long - sticking out of the first stage and into the intake. God Bless General Electric!
P.P.S. By the way, the data showed that I was fat - had 380 pounds of gas when I shut down. Again, remember this number as in ten years I will surely be claiming, FUMES MAN, FUMES I TELL YOU!
OYSTER -- OUT!
***** This is a good story that describes what most of us don't see/hear about from those out there on the pointy tip of the spear. Sleep well at night because the good guys are out there keeping things safe for us here at home.*****
THANK YOU TO ALL WHO PUT THIER LIFE ON THE LINE FOR ME AND COUNTLESS OTHER PEOPLE THAT THEY WILL NEVER MEET!
Semper Fidelis,
Shawn
Now, read on:
Interesting tale from the boat. For those non-sailors in the group, things like this happen more than you might think on a carrier, although not for the same reason. For those of us who have been on the boat, do we really miss it.........
Greetings Slacker Landlubbers:
Hey, I felt the need to share with you all the exciting night I had on the 23rd. It has nothing to do with me wanting to talk about me. It has everything to do with sharing what will no doubt become a better story as the years go by.
So, there I was... Manned up a hot seat for the 2030 launch about 500 miles north of Hawaii (insert visions of many Mai-Tais here). Spotted just forward of the navigation pole and eventually taxied off toward the island where I do a 180 and get spotted to be the first one off cat I (insert foreboding music here). There's another Hornet from our sister squadron parked ass over the track about a quarter of the way down the cat. Eventually he gets a move on and they lower my launch bar and start the launch cycle.
All systems are go on the run-up and after waiting the requisite 5-seconds or so to make sure my flight controls are good to go (there's a lot to be said for good old cables and pulleys), I turn on my lights. As is my habit, I shift my eyes to the catwalk and watch the deck edge dude, and as he starts his routine of looking left then right, I put my head back. As
The cat fires, I stage the blowers (lite the afterburners) and am along for the ride.
Just prior to the end of the stroke there's a huge flash and a simultaneous boom! And my world is in turmoil. My little pink body is doing 145 knots or so and is 100 feet above the Black Pacific. And there it stays - except for the airspeed, which decreases to 140 knots. The throttles aren't going any farther forward despite my Schwarzzenegerian efforts to make them do so.
From out of the ether I hear a voice say one word: "Jettison." (drop your ordnance and external fuel tanks). Roger that! A nanosecond later, my two drops (fuel tanks) and single MER (bomb rack) - about 4500 pounds in all - are Black Pacific bound. The airplane leapt up a bit, but not enough.
I'm now about a mile in front of the boat at 160 feet and fluctuating from 135 to 140 knots. The next command out of the ether is another one-worder: "Eject!"
I'm still flying so I respond, "Not yet, I've still got it.
Finally, at 4 miles, I take a peek at my engine instruments and notice my left engine doesn't match the right (funny how quick glimpses at instruments get burned into your brain). The left rpm is at 48% (full power is 100%) even though I'm still doing the Ahn-Hold thing. I bring it back to mil (shut off the afterburner). About now I get another "Eject!" Call.
"Nope, still flying."
Deputy CAG (Deputy Carrier Air Group Commander) was watching and the further I got from the boat, the lower I looked. About 5 miles, I asked tower to please get the helo (rescue helicopter) headed my way as I truly thought I was going to be shelling out (ejecting). At this point I thought it would probably be a good idea to start dumping some gas (from the internal fuel tanks). As my hand reached down for the dump switch I actually remembered that we have a NATOPS prohibition regarding dumping while in burner. After a second or two I decided, "hell with that" and turned them (dumps) on. I was later told I had a 60 foot roman candle going.
At 7 miles I eventually started a (very slight) climb. A little breathing room. CATCC (Carrier Air Traffic Control Center -- provides radar control and radar final approach control) chimes in with a downwind heading and I'm like: "Ooh. Good idea," and throw down my hook. Eventually I get headed downwind at 900 feet and ask for a rep. While waiting I shut
down the left engine. In short order I hear "Fuzz's" voice.
I tell him the following: "OK Fuzz, my (landing) gear's up, my left motor's off and I'm only able to stay level with min(imum) blower (afterburner). Every time I pull it to mil (shut off the afterburner) I start about a hundred feet per minute down."
I continue trucking downwind trying to stay level and keep dumping (fuel). I think I must have been in blower for about fifteen minutes. At ten miles or so I'm down to 5000 pounds of gas and start a turn back toward the ship. Don't intend to land, but don't want to get too far away, either. Of course, as soon I as I start in an angle of bank, I start dropping like a stone so I end up doing a 5 mile circle around the ship. Meanwhile, Fuzz is reading me the single engine rate-of-climb numbers from the PCL based on temperature, etc. It doesn't take us long to figure out that things aren't adding up. So why the hell do I need blower to stay level!?
By this time I'm talking to Fuzz (CATCC), Deputy (turning on the flight deck -- in an aircraft on the flight deck with the engine running) and CAG who's on the bridge with the Captain. We decide that the thing to do is climb to three thousand feet and dirty up (place landing gear and flaps down). I get headed downwind, go full burner on my remaining motor and eventually make it to 2000 feet before leveling out below a scattered layer of puffies. There's a half a moon above which was really, really cool. Start a turn back toward the ship, and when I get pointed in the right direction, I throw the (landing) gear down and pull the throttle out of AB (afterburner).
Remember that flash/boom! That started this little tale? Repeat it here.
Holy sheat! I jam it back into AB and after three or four huge compressor stalls and accompanying deceleration, the right motor comes back.
This next part is great. You know those stories about guys who dead-stick(land with no engine power) crippled airplanes away from orphanages and puppy stores and stuff and get all this great media attention? Well, at this point I'm looking at the picket ship (accompanying destroyer at my left 11 at about two miles and I say on departure (radio) freq(uency) to no one in particular, "You need to have the picket ship hang a left right now. I think I'm gonna be outta here in a second." I said it very calmly but with meaning. The LSO's said that the picket immediately started pitching out of the fight. Ha! I scored major points with the heavies afterwards for this. Anyway, it's funny how your mind works in these situations.
OK, so I'm dirty [gear & flaps down]and I get it back level and pass a couple miles up the starboard side of the ship. I'm still in minimum blower and my fuel state is now about 2500 pounds. Hmmm. I hadn't really thought about running out of
gas. I muster up the nads to pull it out of blower again and sure enough...flash, BOOM! YGTBSM (You Got To Be Shaitting Me)!
I leave it in mil and it seems to settle out. Eventually discover that even the tiniest throttle movements cause the flash/boom thing to happen so I'm trying to be as smooth as I can. I'm downwind a couple miles when CAG comes up and says "Oyster, we're going to rig the barricade." (a very tall cross-deck "fence" of vertical nylon straps between horizontal top and bottom cables rigged from vertical flight deck stanchions - to catch/land an airplane that cannot land normally or that has an emergency and only has one landing attempt left). Remember, CAG's up on the bridge watching me fly around doing blower donuts in the sky and he's thinking I'm gonna run outta JP-5 too. By now I've told everyone who's listening that there's a better than average chance that I'm going to be ejecting - the helo bubbas, god bless 'em, have been following me around this entire time.
I continue downwind and again, sounding more calm than I probably was, call paddles (Landing Signal Officer). "Paddles, you up?"
"Go ahead" replies "Max," one of our CAG (Air Wing) LSO's (Landing Signal Officers).
"Max, I probably know most of it but you wanna shoot me the barricade brief?" (Insert long pause here). After the fact, Max told me they went from expecting me to eject to me asking for the barricade brief (procedures for landing into the barricade) in about a minute and he was hyper-ventilating. He was awesome on the radio though, just the kind of voice you'd want to hear in this situation. He gives me the brief and at nine miles I say, "If I turn now, will it be up when I get there? I don't want to have to go around again."
"It's going up now Oyster, go ahead and turn."
"Turning in, say final bearing."
"zero-six-three" replies the voice in CATCC. (Another number I remember - go figure).
OK, we're on a four degree glide slope and I'm at 800 feet or so. I intercept glide slope at about a mile and three quarters and pull power.
Flash/boom! Add power out of fear. Going high. Pull power. Flash/boom! Add power out of fear. Going higher. (Flashback to LSO school....All right class, today's lecture will be on the single engine barricade approach. Remember, the one place you really, REALLY don't want to be is high. Are there any questions?) The PLAT(closed circuit TV of the landing area and approach pattern) video is most excellent as each series of flash/booms shows up nicely along with the appropriate reflections on the water. "Flats," our other CAG paddles is backing up (helping the primary LSO) and as I start to set up a higher than desired sink rate he hits the "Eat At Joe's" lights. Very timely too. [note: wave-off lights - a guts-ball decision]
I stroke AB (to waive off) and cross the flight deck with my right hand on the stick and my left thinking about the little yellow and black handle between my legs (the "alternate" ejection handle). No worries. I cleared that sucker by at least ten feet. By the way my (fuel) state at the ball call was 1.1 1,100 pounds of fuel). As I slowly climb out I say, again to no one in particular, "I can do this."
Max and Flats heard this and told me later it made them feel much better about my state of mind. I'm in blower still and CAG says, "Turn downwind." Again, good idea. After I get turned around he says, "Oyster, this is gonna be your last look (landing attempt), so turn in again as soon as you're comfortable." I lose about 200 feet in the turn and like a total
dumbsh_t I look out as I get on centerline and that night thing (perception) about feeling high gets me and I descend further to 400 feet. I got kind of pissed at myself then as I realized I would now be intercepting (flying into) the four degree glide slope in the middle.
No shiat fellas, flash/boom every several seconds all the way down. Last look at my gas was 600-and-some pounds at a mile and a half. "Where am I on the glide slope Max?" I ask and hear a calm, "Roger Ball."
I know I'm low because the ILS (glide slope indicator) is waaay up there and I call "Clara" (I can't see the Fresnel lens indicator -- the "ball" that tells you whether your aircraft is higher, ok, or lower than you should > be)..
Can't remember what the response was but by now the ball's shooting up from the depths. I start flying it and before I get a chance to spot the deck. I hear "Cut, cut, cut!" I'm really glad I was a paddles (LSO) for so long because my mind said to me, "Do what he says Oyster," and I pulled it (engine) back to idle. The reason I mention this is that I felt like
I LONG F$#@! WAYS OUT THERE - if you know what I mean (my hook hit 11 Oyster paces from the ramp, as I discovered during FOD walk down today).
The rest is pretty tame. I hit the deck, skipped the one, the two, and snagged the three (cross-deck arresting cable) (with the aircraft tail hook) and rolled into the barricade about a foot right of centerline. Once stopped my vocal chords involuntarily yelled "Victory!" On button 2 (radio channel no. 2) (the 14 guys who were listening in marshal said it was pretty cool. After the fact I wish I had done the Austin Powers' "Yeah Baby!" Thing.) The lights came up and off to my right there must have been a ga-zillion cranials. Paddles said that with my shutdown you could hear a huge cheer across the flight deck. I open the canopy and start putting my sh_t in my helmet bag and the first guy I see is our Flight Deck Chief, huge guy named Chief Richards and he gives me the coolest look and then two thumbs up. I will remember it forever. Especially since I'm the Maintenance Officer.
I climb down and people are gathering around patting me on the back when one of the boat's crusty yellow-shirt chiefs interrupts and says, "Gentlemen, great job but fourteen of your good buddies are still up there and we need to get them aboard." Again, priceless.
So there you have it fellas. Here I sit with my little pink body in a ready room chair on the same tub I did my first cruise in 10 years and 7 months ago. And I thought it was exciting back then!
P. S. You're probably wondering what made my motors sh_t themselves and I almost forgot to tell you. Remember the scene with the foreboding music? When they taxied that last Hornet - the one that was over the cat track - they forgot to remove a section or two of the cat seal (very heavy strip of rubber that is placed into the catapult tracks when not in
operation). The [flight mishap] board's not finished yet, but it's a done deal. As the shuttle came back it removed the cat seal which went (into the engine air intakes and) down both motors during the (catapult) stroke. During the wave off, one of the LSO's saw "about thirty feet" of black rubber hanging off the left side of the airplane. The whole left side, including inside the intake is basically black where the rubber was beating on it in the breeze. The right motor, the one that kept running, has 340 major hits to all stages. The compressor section is trashed and best of all, it had two pieces of the cat seal - one about 2 feet and the other about 4 feet long - sticking out of the first stage and into the intake. God Bless General Electric!
P.P.S. By the way, the data showed that I was fat - had 380 pounds of gas when I shut down. Again, remember this number as in ten years I will surely be claiming, FUMES MAN, FUMES I TELL YOU!
OYSTER -- OUT!
***** This is a good story that describes what most of us don't see/hear about from those out there on the pointy tip of the spear. Sleep well at night because the good guys are out there keeping things safe for us here at home.*****
