One of the routine missions assigned to each of the helicopter medevac detachments stationed strategically around West Germany in the early 1980’s was rotating in and out of a place called Hohenfels, a NATO training range in the middle of Bavaria, south of Grafenwoehr. Unlike Grafenwoehr which was a live-fire range, Hohenfels was a maneuvering range, training ground troups, tank, and armored personnel carrier units on how to navigate and maneuver in the German terrain. While the dangers of live firing machine guns, morters, and artillery didn’t exist at Hohenfels, there were still enough injuries from GI’s getting run over by vehicles, or tanks rolling over, or collisions between vehicles to warrant a medevac helicopter’s continual presence, but not enough to have an entire six-helicopter medevac unit stationed there. Instead, each of the eight or so medevac units in Germany would rotate a single helicopter and crew into Hohenfels every two weeks. Each crew of four (pilot and copilot [officers], and paramedic and crew chief [enlisted men]) would be on alert status (i.e., expected to get airborne within five minutes or so) the entire two weeks of their deployment. The helicopter and crew were located at the small clinic on base next to the small Army airfield.
About a year after arriving in Germany, I was assigned as copilot to one of these Hohenfels deployments. My PIC (pilot-in-command) would be Captain Jim Adams, the crew chief (mechanic and hoist operator) was Matt Chronister, and the paramedic was Jeff Gower. To believe this story, it is important to understand the nature of Captain Jim Adams.
Jim was a prior Marine grunt in Vietnam who, after he war, hod gotten his degree, transitioned to the Army, made his way into the Medical Service Corps, then flight school. He had by far the most flagrant attitude of any officer I encountered during my 20-year military career. And by that I mean that he was a practical joker, a non-conformist, who would do outrageous things—and always get away with it! At first I couldn’t understand how, but I was to learn that the military treats combat veterans with a special reverance, and because he had “done the deal” in the thick of things in Vietnam, he was constantly given a “pass” when doing things that other officers would have been disciplined for. (You know, like dressing up a blow-up sex doll in a flight suit and dancing with it at the Officer’s Club, something else he did during this deployment!)
I, of course, loved it all! I’m a non-conformist by nature myself, so loved flying and deploying with him. He was very fun, and also a good pilot. We got along well, and I have many good memories of Jim.
So here we were together the first day of our two-week stint at Hohenfels, having just parked the helicopter on the pad outside the clinic, unpacked our things in our rooms, and walking to the cafeteria for some lunch. Captain (and officer) Jim Adams, ever the prankster, decided it would be great fun for him and crew chief Matt Chronister to switch hats and flight suit name tags (both of which had the rank insignia on them). Matt, of course, was enlisted—a Specialist 4–who in spite of his relatively low rank was in his 30’s because he came into the Army late in life. So, he could pass as an officer (who were generally older then junior enlisted personnel). Why did Jim want to do this? Why did he do anything? For fun. Matt was understandably a bit apprehensive since impersonating an officer is a serious crime in the military, but I guess he figured if Adams was willing to be a Spec-4, why not be a captain for awhile?
So, they switched flight suit name tags, hats and the four of us moseyed over to the “dining facility” while Jim pointedly and repeatedly addressed Matt as “Capt. Adams” and “Sir” to get him used to the role. Matt was a bit abashed by the whole thing, but continued to go along. I was just wondering how this was all going to end, but felt no culpability, so planned to enjoy whatever happened. We went through the chow line and found a booth.
It was then that we noticed two Air Force enlisted guys sitting at the table next to ours. They were the weather “guessers” who worked at the airport.1 We started some small talk with them, when out of the blue Adams blurts out, “Hey, we’re taking a training flight this afternoon. Do you guys want to come along?” They were both very excited about the idea, then Jim, remembering his assumed role said, “Well, we’ll have to ask the pilot-in-command if it’s okay. I’m just the crew chief.” He turns to Matt and says, “Sir, is it okay if we take them up with us this afternoon?” Matt looks very uncomfortable and uncertain, but eventually mumbles, “Yes.” So, we arrange a time to pick them up at the nearby Hohenfels Army airfield, and the Air Force guys depart. Jim Adams then turned to us and said, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do….”
So, for the next 15 minutes or so we come up with a plan to really screw with these guys. Jim is going to continue to be in the role of the crew chief, but with a twist: He’s applied to flight school, and Matt Chronister (the acting “pilot-in-command”) has agreed to give him some stick-time to give him a “leg-up” on flight school, with me up front as myself—the copilot–keeping things safe. Matt (again posing as Capt. Adams) and paramedic Jeff Gower will be in the back, pre-briefed on when to assume the crash position.2
At the appointed time, we land at the airport and shut down to brief our soon-to-be-terrorized passengers. Of course, Adams and Chronister are still wearing each other’s hats and name tags. The Air Force guys receive a passenger briefing (including the importance of the crash position) from “crew chief” Jim Adams. Then, since he’s going to be up front trying to fly for the first time (He! He!), they listen to me give him a very serious briefing about when to relinquish the controls to me, the importance of keeping his hands off all the buttons, etc. Then, for effect, we remind everybody not to let it be known that we’re letting the crew chief fly because it’s not really allowed. With that, Jeff and Matt (the real Matt) secure the passengers in the cabin seats and climb in after them.
“Crew chief” Jim Adams and I crank up the helicopter, then I bring it to a hover over the compass rose at the end of the runway and invite “Matt” to take over control of the cyclic stick while I maintain control of the collective and pedals. (a la flight school technique of learning to hover using just one control at a time). Jim (as Matt) does a great job mimicking someone trying to hover for the first time. He holds it steady for a bit, then starts to get shaky with the helicopter making increasing large and erratic movements forward and backwards and left and right. Like any instructor, before it starts getting too out of control, I take the controls again, settle things down, and then I let him “try” the collective only (the lever at the side of the pilots’ seats which controls the vertical movement of the helicopter.) Again, steady at first, until Jim purposely begins jerking the helicopter up and down erratically until I’m “forced” to take the controls again to steady us out. Then I give him the last set of controls to try—the pedals which control yaw, and the same thing. Then I give him two sets of controls at the same time, and finally three at once.
For a few seconds, Adams holds it pretty steady, then slowly but increasingly begins to “lose control” of the helicopter. We’re gyrating, spinning, sliding, pumping up and down crazily in about a 200’ radius. Jim is doing an excellent job of imitating an aircraft out of control. Yet, I still “refuse” to take the controls this time, despite “Matt’s” pleas to relinquish them to me, insisting that he not give up but “stay with it!” Jim was actually flying so erratically that I almost did grab the controls a few times. I had to make sure my intercom button wasn’t pressed because I was laughing so hard I could hardly talk. Finally, when I truly can’t take anymore, I settle myself down, clear my throat, and finally announce over the intercom that I was taking over the controls. (I could almost hear a sigh of relief throughout the helicopter.) I stabilize the helicopter, set it down gently on the runway, and tell “Matt” that he is doing great, that hovering is very difficult, etc.
I then suggest that we try some straight-and-level flight and ask if he would like to try the takeoff. “Matt” says yes, I pass the controls to him and talk him through a normal takeoff. About halfway down the side of the runway is the control tower. He begins a takeoff that starts shakily and deteriorates from there. He’s zigging and zagging down the runway while I’m trying to offer corrective advice (but refusing to take the controls). One of his zigs heads him straight for the control tower at about window-height. I tell him to watch out for the control tower……watch out for the control tower…….WATCH OUT FOR THE CONTROL TOWER!!!!!! as we pass within a rotor disk from the cab windows. Now I truly can’t remember if the control tower was manned during this episode or not. But I do remember being glad that I was just a young, green, innocent warrant officer who probably wouldn’t get hammered too badly about this whole thing since my PIC was a captain. And anyway, I was trying so hard not to laugh that I could barely talk. I could only imagine the expressions on both the crew and passengers’ faces in the back while all this had been going on.
Anyway, we make it (barely) past the control tower and continue to lumber into the sky. We fly around for awhile, me teaching “Matt” various things about flying a helicopter, with Jim always halfway out of control. Then it is time for the earlier, secretly-briefed coup de grace. We get up to a bit of altitude and Jim starts asking me what some of the switches are in the cockpit. We go over a few of them, and then I say something like, “Whatever you do, don’t ever touch the fuel control switch.” He says, “Which one is that?” and I say, “The bright red one” and he says, “This one?” as I yell, “NO, DON’T!” Immediately Jim pushes the collective full down (making the helicopter drop like a rock) while I scream “You idiot, you just shut down the engine!” We’re careening toward the earth rapidly while “Matt” is screaming to pass me the controls, but I refuse yelling, “No, hold on to them, I’ve got to try to restart the engine!” I make like I’m throwing a bunch of switches while “Matt” is screaming that he doesn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, on cue, the real Matt and Jeff have assumed crash positions in the back.
Right at about 100 feet above the ground, I make like I finally got the engine restarted, take the controls, and swoop it out just above the tree tops. I climb back up to altitude, but everything is very quiet in the helicopter. I finally said, “Now do you see why you never touch that switch!” A chagrined “Matt” apologizes. I say that I think it’s time to go back, and everyone agrees. However, in spite of pleas from the back seaters, I force “Matt” to take back the controls, emphasizing how important it is to “get back on the horse.” As Jim makes a semi-controlled approach to the airport, one of the Air Force guys pukes. We flop back to a crazy landing on the tarmac and shutdown to drop off the passengers.
As the rotor blades coast to a stop, the Air Force guys shakily climb out of the back of the helicopter, one of them holding a full barf-bag. It was then that we finally spill the beans about the entire thing, while Adams and Chronister trade their hats and name tags back.
It turned out that during the ride only one of our Air Force passengers had a headset on (i.e., could hear the conversations), and he was the one who puked. He said that he didn’t get airsick; he just “started thinking about his own mortality” and that is what caused him to be sick. Even more amazing, the Air Force guy who was not connected to the intercom told us he thought the flight was normal! He had no clue! (He must have flown with Army Aviators before!) 😉
- For some reason, the Army has no weather forecasters of its own, and so uses Air Force weather forecasters at all its bases.
The Air Force Forecasters who worked at our home airport back in Grafenwoehr. These guys were great and worked closely with us.
↩︎ - The crash position in the back of the Huey was basically to sit in your chair with your feet flat on the floor, your chest on your thighs with your arms rapped under your legs. This was to keep limbs from flailing during impact. We called it “bending over and kissing your ass goodbye”. ↩︎