I was deeply engrossed in work this afternoon when Son Number One surreptitiously penetrated my vital area unobserved. I started when he spoke, and he smiled, asking if he’d frightened me.
I don’t frighten, I replied, with serene equanimity. Although occasionally I might startle.
But that’s not entirely true.
I’d label it perhaps more apprehension than fear, but my very first fifteen minutes in command of an FA-18 squadron was a very uncomfortable time. The outgoing CO had arranged for an air demo after the ceremony, flown by a legacy squadron pilot whom I didn’t know. Guy that was now instructing at the replacement squadron across the street. In one of my airplanes. The plan had been set in ink when he was in charge, but it would be executed under my command and if the whole thing went south it would have been me wearing it around my neck for the next 15 months.
I’ve never been a huge fan of air demos, unless they’re flown by the Blue Angles or that other lot. I’ve always nurtured the sneaking suspicion that the desire to show off in front of a crowd of strangers in a $35 million machine ought to be disqualifying in itself. Zorching around at a couple hundred feet at 7.5 g’s in max grunt might make for good theater, but that’s not what fighters were made for. It’s dangerous enough when the pros do it. And I’ve witnessed far too many semi-pros auger in.
I could have canceled the whole thing once I was large and in charge of course. But that’d have been perilously close to wanking. I let it go. It all worked out.
A few months later, in the middle of my command tour a four-ship of junior officers flew an opposed night strike mission into a target in Fallon, Nevada. They were good kids, serious in the jet and (mostly) attentive to their duty on the ground. Even if a couple of them were borderline liberty risks in a foreign port with anything like a tailwind blowing.
The bandits had set up an azimuth presentation, and my young men had responded to it appropriately, one two-ship targeting the northern arm and the other targeting the southern. The simulated killing work was done in time for a rejoin prior to the initial point. Somehow the rendezvous geometry got gooned and the second two-ship ended up almost running up the tailpipes of the first. They showed me the HUD tape the next morning, the air-to-air TACAN counting down from 10 miles to five to two, to decimal figures, to nothing. The red rimmed eye of the exhaust pipes glowing from maybe 20 feet away in dash-three’s HUD, dead ahead. Maybe 10 feet.
No reason why they didn’t hit. No reason at all. It’s happened before. Will happen again. A dangerous business, even in training. Would have been two jets down at least, both pilots probably killed. Or maybe one would have gotten out. Families to care for, ceremonies to endure, letters to write to grieving parents. A mishap investigation climbing up your six. The professional pity of your peers.
They just didn’t. We got lucky that night, or maybe God wasn’t ready for their souls, knowing he’d have a need for them later. But while it would have been my fault for letting it happen, it redounded nothing to my credit that it hadn’t. Just lucky.
Better to be lucky than good they say, but good endures when luck runs out.
Having been so badly shaken that they invited their own CO to come and watch the video of a pair of single seat pilots nearly mort themselves, the kids were watching me carefully. It had been an almost touching act of trust – they might have kept it to themselves – and they were gaging my reaction.
I’d seen near misses like this wherein the CO convened a formal board to deconstruct what might as well have been a Class A mishap as not. Just like he would have had to if the airplanes actually had collided. Complete with witnesses and privacy act statements. Toyed with the idea myself for a moment before deciding against it. It seemed too much like theater. I shook my head quietly, sadly.
Make sure everyone sees this, I said. In the squadron, in the wing. Let’s not lose the lesson.
And then at the end, my last flight with the squadron. The junior officers had set up an FA-18E tanker for me. Four of them would cycle out to the operating area for one last hack at the old man. In between I’d refuel off the tanker. Good clean fun.
They weren’t the kind of guys who’d give the gray head a cheap win just for the kindness of it. If I beat them, I’d have earned it. I like to think I taught them that, but maybe it’s just something we all know.
Hard fought BFM, at it hammers and tongs, no quarter given, none taken. The first guy flew his jet up to the limit and then – pressed hard, and unwilling to give in – flew right past it. A low altitude departure from controlled flight, a borderline moment. Forgivable to tell him to eject. Forgivable to give him a moment more. I watched in dismay, torn between making the call that would certainly save his life and giving him a little time to save both of our careers. A moment more, the jet flopping around like a fish out of water, I keyed the mike, dreading what I was about to say.
He recovered.
It was a great tour, my time in command. Too short, really, although a man could grow too fond.
When you’re replaced in command, it’s called being “relieved.” I’d never fully understood the word until that last BFM ride was safely over, we flew back to the field and shut ‘em down.
The record will show that I did not schedule an air demo for my replacement
Sir,
As one of my instructors at the Boat School (O-6, 1510, lead test on the E/F) would say “I do dangerous for a living; I don’t do wreckless.” Demos close to terra firma in front of a crowd seem to be an invite for some show-boating. I would hope that every CO would be uncomfortable in such a situation…
Good commander and teacher for understanding and sharing a lesson rather than calling on the carpet. I’ll bet the four junior officers ended up as fine fast movers.
And the fates did smile. Perhaps the handle should have been “Lucky Lex”. And the luck was shared at the end of command.
Lex,
Thanks for sharing your day on taking command. It brings back memories.
Well, flying IS an un-natural act. Man was not meant to fly, and all.
So keep all of yer wits about you when doing so, Mmmkay?
To veer a bit, I note that we have an O-6 Naval Aviator running against a Half-Luo person for President, and their Internicknames are not Lex, and Baldilocks, respectively.
That is just wrong.
You’all have that VERY GOOD Navy safety mag where fliers and maintainers write little articles on stuff that they themselves did that was a safety hazard. It is a REALLY good mag and makes a lot of sense. It is very educational.
Jet fighters are very unforgiving, and occasionally kill people for no reason at all. Go out and push them to edge of the envelope at low altitude often enough and even the best pilots and best aircraft don’t always come back.
Since you mentioned “those other guys”, here’s a video of a pilot coming as close as you can to tying the low altitude record and getting to talk about it.
http://www.xcrash.com/74/amazing-airshow-crash-video
Just didn’t start the loop quite high enough.
Lex, you wrote: “Make sure everyone sees this, I said. In the squadron, in the wing. Let’s not lose the lesson.”
Did it work?
On the line of CoC ceremonies, a very good friend of mine took command of a west coast E2 sqdn not all that long ago and, during the outgoing’s speech, the sterno for the buffet line set off the hanger’s fire supression system. My buddy (still the XO at that point) jumped (literally) into the middle of dealing with the situation and along with a well-performing enlisted crew (who actually looked like they’d drilled for this situation) got the 2 A/C out of the AFFF mess quickly and efficiently.
He ended up taking command in a soaking wet set of choker whites, all of which he handled with aplomb, and he had a great command tour as well.
On another note…Lex, you really ought to consider writing a lessons learned-type book for the avaiation JO’s coming up – you’ve got a wealth of knowledge and great stories to illustrate your points – and you’re a hell of an entertaining writer. I’d have killed for your insights back when I was headed to P’cola.
I’d buy a copy of “Grandpaw Pettibone Tells Ya How It’s Gonna Go, by Lex” any day.
And I don’t even like airdale stories.
wolfwalker, we didn’t lose anyone in my time in command, nor during the next fellah’s time – which included long-haul day and night ordnance freight and deployment over Afghanistan. But everyone that was there for that has moved since then, and the awareness curve on these things runs in cycles.
We haven’t found many new ways to crash airplanes over the years. We rely on the old stand-bys.
What was the final score on that last flight of yours? CO 4, JO’s 0?
“… and the awareness curve on these things runs in cycles. ”
We’ ve come to call it the “corporate stupidity cycle.” Takes about 3 years for my current civvie org to forget lessons learned and start reinventing/relearning the hard way.
Lex, blackeagle, I agree. It seems like we learn something and then twelve to fourteen months later we’ve forgotten all of the leg work done.
That or you have multiple groups of people working on the same project at the same time.
I hate to say this, but e-mail has actually done one good thing, which is we’re able to talk to other people quickly about questions.
I saw (but haven’t read yet, still waiting on access) a Navy “Lessons Learned” site that seems to be collecting information about port visits, ops (in a non-classified and generalized sense,) and whatnot into a single space. Seems like a good idea to me. My though on this would be to expand it for specific TYCOMs and then make it part of the required reading. (Assuming that people pay attention.)
“I was deeply engrossed in work this afternoon when Son Number One surreptitiously penetrated my vital area unobserved. I started when he spoke, and he smiled, asking if he’d frightened me.”
Are we losing situational awareness or were you target fixated?
Where being “good” and lucky merge, that’s called Karma.
Ecellent story.
b2