I was a recipe for disaster. Due only to the grace of God, and maybe in part to the other excellent pilots of B Co. 1/140th
AVN did we all survive without a scratch. I had just completed a year of flight school and six weeks of Blackhawk training
at Ft. Rucker, Alabama, and now I was getting deployed. I had about 120 hours of flying helicopters and I was confident in
my ability to take off and land under normal circumstances, but now I was going to be landing into dust, confined areas, and
with other aircraft around me. I had only flown in formation flights twice before ever, mostly with the IP on the controls,
and now I would spend the next year flying in such formations. The difficulty arises in interpreting the movement of the other
aircraft to know if they are going to be turning, speeding up, or slowing down. A misinterpretation could mean colliding with
the other aircraft and possibly killing myself or others.
We arrived at Ft. Sill and did a training exercise where we flew in formation and picked up loads of basic training and
AIT soldiers. My formation flying was described as riding a bucking bronco, all the while, my IP, Bob Matthews was as cool
as Ice. I knew my flying wasn’t the best yet and I felt ashamed, but it was just part of being the new guy and learning
how to control the beast. On the ground the evaluators poked fun at me and my lack of flying abilities. I recall the Major
making comment after comment in front of my peers- relentless and cruel. I could feel the burning anger in my face. When I
couldn’t take it anymore I told him it was the dumb Army who was sending me to war only 5 hours out of flight school.
I reminded myself that after this deployment was all over I would have more flight experience than most non-deployed pilots
get in 3-4 years of flying.
In Kuwait (where we were supposedly going to get most of our training) we all received a desert operation orientation flight.
We were supposed to practice dust landings, but when it was my turn they had cracked too many windows already so I just flew
around. It was different flying around at 50ft, 120 knots compared to the 50ft, 60 knots that you fly when they are teaching
you flying techniques at Ft. Rucker in flight school. In any case, I flew into Iraq with what I felt like was substandard
preparation. There was nothing my particular unit could do about the decisions; they were all made by higher command.
In Iraq, the IP’s and other pilots taught me little techniques when they could, and during the course of my time
here I gained in confidence and ability. I did scare myself several times while I was in Iraq and had it not been for excellent
crew coordination I may have found myself in a totaled aircraft or worse.
In one instance, I was in the right pilot seat flying south from Danger at 50ft over the tops of some trees. I was scanning
but I did not see the leafless tree at our 11 o’clock position. It was taller than the live, green trees around it by
about 30 ft. Across the ICS I heard the urgent voice of Rolando, "Break right! Break Right!" Instantly my eyes focused on
the incoming tree and I turned right in a 45 degree bank.
There were other instances too. Power lines sneak up on you, especially in Baghdad. I was not always a hindrance to my
PC though. As I gained experience, I began to be a useful PI, pointing out obstacles and announcing hazards, correcting PC’s
on procedures they inadvertently missed, navigating and making radio calls.
In Kirkuk the tower loves me. One night, flying NVG’s with Mr. Good, I called the tower and let them know I wished
to enter their airspace. They replied and asked me to check wheels down. Being a Blackhawk, our wheels are not retractable,
so I jokingly said, "Our wheels are always down." The tower then proceeded to give us the most jacked up landing instructions.
I was so confused, and I think the rest of my crew was as well. I asked Mr. Good, "Can I call them back and ask for DVRamp
direct?" We called back to request direct and they amended the landing instructions to suit us. Over the UHF I heard Moya
say, "Handle your Business, Good." Thus, the Era of the Anti-Collision Ping was ushered in.
The Anti-Collision Ping started when one of our aircraft had a fault that the NVG anti-collision light would flash sporadically
regardless of switch position. When Moya asked why it was flashing over the radio, Mr. Good replied, "That’s me beating
my WOJG when he’s messing up." It eventually became a fairly routine signal for when one of the WOJG’s talked
over the Air-to-Air radio, deviated from altitude or heading, made a poor radio call, or punk’d one of the Senior Warrant
Officers over the radio.
In all I flew more than I ever thought or dreamed of flying. I weigh all of 155 lbs and I am 6’1" tall; at the end
of a flight, my butt was so sore that until I got my specially ordered seat cushion I actually considered seeing the flight
surgeon because it hurt so much. The inside of my ears would get rubbed raw from my CEP (Communication Ear Plugs) and bother
me through the long flights. The average day flights were about 6-7 hours long and the average NVG flight about 4-5 hours
long. On days the temperature exceeded 50 degrees Celsius, pegging out the thermometer in the cockpit, and exceeding any testing
done by Siskorsky (the manufacturer of our helicopter) or the Army.
I learned so much here in Iraq and gained so much experience that some others are envious. I acquired 460 flight hours
and was not involved in any accidents. I am just glad that I was with Bravo Company, and they kept me safe.
