The Last Flight

by Liefer, Gregory P. ; Liefer, G P;

  I still remember what he told me at the table. He said, ‘I know you know how to fly. Anyone can fly. You’ve made it this far, so relax. Before long you’ll learn to trust your instincts. Think ahead and fly like you’re an extension of the helicopter. When you can do that you’ll be a good pilot.’ His words put me at ease.”

  Ferguson nodded in understanding. “And how did the flight go?”

  “The flight was one of the smoothest check rides I ever had. Nothing seemed to fluster him, and he explained everything in such a calm manner, everything just fell into place. He wasn’t satisfied with just evaluating my performance, he wanted to make me a better pilot. I made a couple of mistakes, but he either smiled or laughed them off and showed me a different technique. By the end of the flight I not only felt comfortable flying with him, I felt comfortable with myself. I think that was the important thing. I never imagined a check-ride would actually be enjoyable.”

  Hovan thought about his own performance during past evaluations. Every pilot seemed to have at least one bad experience. They were easy to laugh off after the fact, once the embarrassment faded. Since pilots were known for their big egos, the process could often be a lengthy one. “Was that the only flight you had with Connor?”

  “The first of many.” The two younger pilots fixated on Shultz, waiting for more information while he adjusted his helmet.

  “He was my assigned instructor later during Tactics Phase. It was there he really taught me about flying. His experience in Vietnam was a real benefit. Being able to draw from his knowledge was a huge advantage over flying with less experienced instructors.”

  The gleam in his eyes expressed the warm memories of flying with Connor. Shultz enjoyed telling the story as much as they enjoyed hearing the details.

  “Half way through my first assignment at Fort Carson, Connor showed up as the new standardization instructor. We flew together several times, mostly on training flights but on a couple of support missions, too. He kept busy flying with all the battalion pilots, especially the more inexperienced ones like myself. His flying skills were phenomenal. He made everything look easy. I learned more about flying from him than I ever imagined.”

  Shultz watched Ferguson scratch his nose in thought. The lieutenant sat unmoving with a wide-eyed look on his face. Shultz wasn’t sure if they believed him, but the stories were all true. He checked his watch again before continuing.

  “Later on in my career, we were assigned to the same aviation brigade in Germany. He wasn’t doing much flying then, at least not until our deployment to Saudi for the first Gulf War. His emphasis on realistic training helped most of us survive without a mishap. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, either, and always stuck up for the men.

  I remember one incident after the ground phase began. He got in trouble for arguing with our commander about an improperly planned assault mission into Iraq. He ended up being relieved for insubordination. Turns out he was right though. We lost two helicopters on the mission, including six men. They gave our commander an award for the fiasco. Connor ended up reassigned to a training unit at Fort Polk.

  After his reassignment, I didn’t see him for several years. The next time was here in Alaska.”

  “He’s had a colorful career,” Hovan interjected. “Getting himself into trouble with his commander seems to be a pattern.” The remark sounded harsher than intended. He only made an observation, but by the reaction of the two warrant officers, he could tell the comment was not well received.

  Like most warrant officers, Ferguson and Shultz didn’t appreciate negative comments about one of their own even if they were true. Shultz appeared irritated the most, but he was smart enough to let the remark slide. Ferguson followed his lead.

  Hovan knew by their expressions that he had said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean to imply anything derogatory. I’m sure he thought he was right.”

  “And you don’t think he was?” Shultz could let one comment go by but not two. He kept his tone respectful.

  Ferguson looked down at the console, all of a sudden wishing he were outside where he could avoid being drawn into the conversation. He knew the usually mild mannered Shultz could clamp onto an issue as hard as a pit bull, if he wanted to get a point across.

  “Well, that depends.” Hovan hadn’t expected to be questioned. “I mean, look, there are ways to express your opinion without having to fall on your sword.”

  Shultz thought for a moment. He slid sideways and cocked his neck so he could face Hovan as directly as possible. He wanted the lieutenant to think about what he said without being adversarial. “I would agree, most of the time, sir. But I also think there are situations when a different course of action is necessary. Sometimes you have to be willing to sacrifice more than an opinion to elicit the right response.”

  Hovan leaned forward for emphasis. “We do have a chain of command for a reason. A good commander makes a decision based on many factors. Advice from subordinates is only one of them. Just because a subordinate doesn’t like a decision, doesn’t give the right to become disrespectful or disobey an order. All Connor did was get another black mark on his record. For what?”

  Shultz swallowed hard. “Saying he was wrong after the fact is easy. Maybe he did get out of line for nothing. I’m not justifying his action, but at the time maybe he thought his persistence would make a difference. And you’re right about the black mark. His career wasn’t exactly on the fast track anyway.”

  “So how can you equate his action with the need for anyone to make a similar mistake?” Hovan sensed a weakness in Shultz’s argument.

  “Because I believe a good soldier will sacrifice his career and even his life to save others from being killed by a misguided decision.”

  Hovan shook his head. “I disagree. Any soldier, especially an officer, has to go along with a commander’s decision. Otherwise, what’s the point of having a rank structure? We can’t tell the future. We don’t know what is the right or wrong decision until after the fact.”

  Shultz pressed the issue. “Sure, in principle. All I’m saying is there might be a situation where falling on one’s sword, as you say, would be beneficial.”

  A frown crossed Hovan’s face. He thought Shultz might be pulling his chain for the sake of argument or was unwilling to concede without some agreement to his line of reasoning. Even though the logic might be valid, he wasn’t about to tell him so. “Maybe you’re right. But I can’t think of one. Can you?”

  Ferguson glanced back and forth between them, beginning to enjoy the debate. He agreed with Shultz but couldn’t think of a specific situation to substantiate his side of the argument.

  “Absolutely, sir.” An innocent expression hid Shultz’s real emotion. “How about what we’re doing right now, with the mission to rescue the crash survivors?”

  “It’s not the same thing. We have no specific instructions concerning the survivors. Having the authority to make decisions on our own is part of our training.”

  Hovan knew the consequences but didn’t say anything. He was walking a fine line by agreeing to the rescue, and he could be severely reprimanded if the attempt went wrong.

  Shultz considered his own consequences even though he wasn’t aware of what Hovan thought. His actions caused them to be stranded in a broken helicopter. Someone inevitably would second-guess the decision. Still, Hovan was right in one respect. Their present situation was a far cry from the issue they were talking about.

  “Okay, you’re right.”

  Hovan smiled in perceived victory.

  Shultz shifted the conversation. “When I mentioned the instructor reading the article in front of my class, I didn’t tell the whole story.”

  There was pause as Shultz waited for a reaction. Ferguson was the first to bite. His eyes were wide with curiosity. “What else happened you didn’t tell us?”

  There wasn’t much time left until Connor arrived at the crash site. Shultz hurried his explanation.

  “I found this o
ut later, but something else took place during the rescue in Vietnam. At the time, Connor was flying the unit’s brigade commander so he could observe the troop insertion. The colonel was content on directing the mission from a safe distance, especially after the attack turned into a disaster. Troops on the ground were taking serious casualties. They were close to being overrun.

  “Connor refused to stand-by and watch our troops getting slaughtered. The commander ordered Connor to stay away from direct involvement, apparently concerned with only keeping his own ass out of danger. Needless to say, Connor went in anyway. The commander was furious and repeatedly threatened Connor with a court-martial.

  “I don’t know if this part is true, but a rumor circulated after the battle the commander was told by Connor to shut up or get out of the helicopter and fight with his men.”

  “Wow!” Ferguson added. “I’m sure that was received well.”

  Hovan was skeptical but remained silent. Shultz’s expression remained serious.

  “They returned with the first load of wounded and the helicopter heavily damaged. The commander stormed off without saying another word. Connor flew more flights, risking his life on each one. By the time the division commander learned of Connor disobeying a direct order, he was already being lauded as a hero. At that point the situation was beyond the general’s control.

  Connor was initially submitted for the Medal of Honor. His actions were verified by other aircrews and every member of the infantry unit he rescued. In the end, because of the objections from the irate brigade commander, the award was down-rated to a Distinguished Flying Cross. I guess he was lucky he didn’t get court-martialed, but I doubt if he really cared. What was important to him was saving those soldiers.”

  Lieutenant Hovan didn’t speak. A humbled expression was his only reply as he nodded his head in agreement. Shultz was right. But like all situations, the results of an individual’s actions often dictated the consequences. If Connor had failed, the outcome would have been far different.

  “No, shit.” Ferguson spoke softly as he contemplated what Shultz said. He couldn’t help but be impressed. He was in awe and could only wonder if he would have done the same thing. The events then and those transpiring now would be a story to tell his kids.

  Shultz settled back in his seat. He was checking his watch when a voice broke over the radio. The words were slightly distorted by static but still easily understood. He listened intently, focusing his attention on Connor’s transmission.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  A sharp jolt of turbulence pushed the helicopter sideways, followed by a strong vertical burst of air, rattling Connor’s teeth. He fought the gusts with quick corrections, trying to keep the helicopter from being tossed out of control. “Hang on guys, this is going to get bumpy.”

  Thompson clutched the sides of his seat, trying to appear unconcerned as if the flight was perfectly normal. Bril sat in the back with hands on his hips and legs spread for balance. He treated the turbulence as a challenge and tried anticipating each movement, making his body react to the motion.

  Connor made a pass over the ridge with only fifty feet to spare. He judged the wind’s movement off the higher slopes and could feel the altered airflow near the ridge. The burbling currents were causing strong downdrafts on the leeward side, making a straight-in approach at their low altitude almost impossible. He decided to come in at an angle, over a wider extension of the ridge where the winds were less vertical. Once over the landing site he would swing the helicopter into position. There wasn’t much room for error. If the helicopter didn’t have enough power at the bottom of the approach to stop the descent, they would have to dive away from the ridge.

  Connor pointed out the intended location to Thompson before explaining the plan. There were no questions. Any apprehension they felt remained unspoken.

  Thompson relayed to Steiner they were beginning their downwind turn. As the helicopter altered course over the glacier, the direction of the wind changed in relation to the aircraft. The wind was no longer off the nose, where it provided the most lift, but off the tail, where the effect was the most dangerous. The airspeed dropped noticeably, the fuselage fishtailed, and the altitude decreased. His muscles were slow to react.

  Connor clenched his jaw in determination. He needed to get his head in the game. Another episode of inattention and they would be an accident statistic. He had to stay sharp or relinquish the controls. Slow reactions in these conditions would get them all killed.

  The strong tail wind pushed them past the ridge in only a few seconds. Once abeam the intended landing area, Connor turned back into the wind for the approach. He was quicker on the controls this time and easily kept the tail streamlined behind the fuselage. The wind tried pushing them into the clouds, but he reduced power in the turn, keeping the helicopter at the same altitude.

  Constant control inputs were critical. The helicopter bucked like a wild horse with a burr under the saddle, rolling and pitching with every change of turbulent air. Connor stayed focused, his mind shutting out the physical pain, concentrating only on flying the helicopter. His arms and legs moved in unison, countering the effects of the wind in a struggle of power and control. His muscles ached but he refused to quit.

  “Watch the torque for me, Al. These damn downdrafts are making me pull every inch of power we have. They should decrease once we’re over the ridge.”

  “Roger. You’re at forty pounds.” A strong burst slammed into the helicopter. Thompson felt his stomach skip. He saw the torque jump to forty-eight then go back down. “Fluctuating between forty and forty-five now.”

  Connor seemed impervious. “All right guys. Stay sharp. If we lose power, I’ll break right over the glacier. The wind should help us nearer the ground. We’ll be out of the downdrafts closer to the surface. When we’re below fifty feet, I need you both looking outside, giving directions. Keep us away from the rocks.”

  Bril had remained seated for much of the ride. He watched silently as the helicopter approached the granite carved ridge, shifting his gaze from the almost vertical cliff out the left to the narrow pinnacle of rock out the front. With fifty feet remaining, he unfastened his seat belt and moved toward the door. “Door’s coming open, sir.”

  Checking first to secure his safety harness, he slid the door open, grabbing the doorframe for support as he leaned into the slipstream. Angling his torso slightly so the wind deflected off his back, he leaned out further until he could see the entire length of the tail boom. The edge of the ridge was passing behind them.

  “Looking good, sir. Keep coming.”

  Just as Connor anticipated, the wind was less violent over the flatter terrain of the ridge, blowing in a more horizontal direction away from the slopes. Sharp gusts still hammered the helicopter but from a more consistent direction.

  “Thirty-seven on power … thirty-five.” Thompson kept his eyes moving from the instrument panel to the terrain, shifting a split second at a time between the narrowing distance and indications of torque and airspeed. “Airspeed is forty. Thirty-five now.”

  Connor pulled more power to reduce the descent, maintaining a constant approach angle. “Power’s at thirty-six. Thirty-seven … thirty-nine. Holding at forty. Airspeed is at thirty knots.”

  Bril’s instructions during the approach were equally important. By watching the side and rear of the helicopter, he could judge the terrain and hazards that would otherwise be invisible to the pilots in the cockpit. With twenty feet of tail boom behind the engine and its tail rotor supplying directional control for the helicopter, remaining clear of any obstruction was imperative.

  The same was true for the main rotor blades. They provided lift and needed an equal amount of clearance out the sides and front. If any component hit a rock or other obstacle, the consequences would be disastrous.

  “Thirty feet above the ground, sir. Now at twenty feet. High boulders on the left. Keep moving straight ahead. Don’t turn the tail yet.” Bril’s voice was stea
dy. He seemed unaffected by the danger they were placing themselves in. “Ten feet. Hold your altitude. Swing the tail right five feet. Another three feet … that’s good. You’re clear to come down, sir.”

  As Connor slowed to a low hover near the spur of the ridge, he could see the intended landing area was barely big enough. The rocks were only a few feet below the rotor blades and the ground sloped at a sharp angle, but he was confident in continuing.

  The airspeed fluctuated between twenty-five and forty knots, indicating the velocity of the gusting wind. The power demand decreased closer to the ground, aided by increased lift from the strong current of air.

  Slowly, with directions from Bril and Thompson, Connor maneuvered the helicopter so the tail remained positioned between the obstacles. As he turned, the wind hit at a forward angle off the right side, demanding increased pedal inputs and more power. He compensated perfectly, but the constant movement began taking a toll on his thighs and back. Already strained by over-exertion, they were nearing a point of exhaustion.

  “How we doing on power, Al?”

  “Staying steady at thirty-eight. My side is clear to descend. You’ve got four feet of room if you need to slide my way.”

  Connor’s gaze remained focused on the rocks and uneven ground. He shifted his eyes constantly, using his outside references to maintain a fixed position. “Coming straight down.”

  “The skids are five feet above the ground, sir. The tail is looking good.” Bril kept his head moving, shifting from one point to the next, ready with quick instructions should the helicopter drift one way or the other.

  A strong gust suddenly raced across the pinnacle and rocked the helicopter. The nose yawed right as the tail began swinging left into the boulders. Connor fought to maintain position. The airframe shimmied noticeably from the force of the wind but corrected itself in time.

  Control inputs were constant and less subtle now. His muscles were working at peak intensity, increasing and decreasing pressure on the controls—just enough to hold the helicopter steady. Not enough pressure and the wind would swing the tail into the rocks. Too much, and he could overcompensate, fighting his own corrections as much as the wind until he lost control. The outcome would be the same.