MISSION DAY
The sun remained below the tall majestic mountains that protect the airfield leaving the crew standing in the dark at the tail end of their CH47D helicopter. It was 0330 hours local time. The pilot-in-command stood straight with a notepad in his hand addressing the other four crewmembers who were haphazardly arranged in a loose circle around him, three standing, one kneeling on a single knee with his arm across his thigh, his hand holding a helmet. He seemed to be looking at his boot as he listened to the PIC. Clicking on a small flashlight attached to his gloved finger, the notepad momentarily lit up allowing the pilot to read his notes briefly before clicking off again the light and looking up at his crew.
“We’re chaulk three of five, the Apaches, chaulks four and five, will remain aloft providing cover while we’re on the ground,” the pilot-in-command spoke softly as he looked each man in the eye.
The scene was repeated behind two other CH47Ds parked down the line in the long row of aircraft on the apron affectionately known as “steel beach.” A light would flick on, momentarily outlining a group of soldiers wearing one-piece flight suits, then off again and words were spoken to the small circle of crewdogs intently listening to the crew brief. Some smoked a last cigarette before take-off, another fiddeld with his gear, and still others listened in silence. The occassional chuckle could be heard in response to no doubt a sarcastic comment made by one of the crewdogs. Flyers typically have a biting wit and a dry sense of humor.
“Are there any questions?” asked the PIC?
There were none and the huddle broke with each crewmember moving to his assigned position in a seemingly choreographed manner. The co-pilot conducted his “walk around” making a final check to ensure all cowlings were secured while the PIC strapped into the left seat of the cockpit. The flight engineer spoke briefly with his crew chief giving him some further instructions not covered by the PIC’s brief. The FE has logged well over 1500 flight hours while the crew chief just broke 100. They both put on their nomex gloves and strapped on their survival vests, the fasteners clicking in the quiet of the dark morning.
The peaks of the rugged mountains turned orange as the sun crept over the distant horizon, rays cutting through the jagged edges of rock eventually landed on the few clouds sporatically floating above turning them too orange in hue. Watching the sky wake, the door gunner thought, “It’s going to be a hot one.”
“Intercom system check,” the pilot-in-command’s tinny voice was heard in each crewmember’s headset.
“I’m up,” replied the co-pilot.
“Cabin door,” came the flight engineer announcing his position while acknowledging he had comms.
“Gunner,” from the left door gunner.
“Ramp’s up,” was the response from the crew chief standing outside of the aircraft, his headset connected to a long cable that allows him to move about while maintaining comms.
The PIC then said, “Let’s get going. Chief, APU clear to start?”
“APU clear to start,” replied the crew chief as he took a few steps back from the aircraft holding a red, 5 lb fire extinguisher at the ready should anything go wrong with the start-up procedure.
The quiet calm of the Afghan morning suddenly erupted with the loud pitch of the whining auxilary power unit as it came to life. The noise only increased as chaulks one and two started their turbine APUs just seconds later. And so the mission day began. Sgt Hook out.
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