Don't slice for life - Operation Desert Shield - marine expeditionary unit mishap

Approach, July, 2003 by Joel R. Powers

The following story unfolded on a benign spring day in the Mediterranean during Operation Desert Shield. Our squadron's MEU covered contingencies in the Med as the force buildup continued toward a conflict in the desert. With the clouds of war brewing on the horizon in the Persian Gulf, the weather off the coast of Naples was CAVU. The LHD I was stationed aboard steamed north for an upcoming exercise in France.

I was a third float captain with about 1,300 hours of flight time in the venerable CH-46E aircraft. As a young mission commander and a functional-check pilot, I was at the top of my game. Confident in my flying abilities, I knew the aircraft and its systems as well as anyone in the squadron, and I enjoyed shipboard flight operations. I had been blessed during two prior 6th Fleet deployments in the same squadron with tremendous command and JO leadership. They consistently emphasized conservatism and adherence to crew-coordination basics, particularly around the boat. Those basics would save several lives on what proved to be a not-so-benign day.

I was scheduled with a new HAC, an aggressive young pilot with solid stick and rudder skills, who needed hours as HAC to advance toward section leader. The game plan for our mission was simple: I was to sign for an aircraft, conduct a quick AFCS check off the stern of the ship, land aboard mother to sign the aircraft safe for flight, and concurrently sign it over to my copilot for a quick PMC round-robin to Capodichino. Our mission was to take a number of "brig rats" to the beach for disposition. To make our assigned launch time for the PMC run, we planned an early launch for the test portion. It was a routine profile as boat ops go. The aircraft was signed off on time, and our preflight was thorough and uneventful--the start of a great day for testing and PMC.

Our hover checks off the stern progressed smoothly, and we checked off the required blocks on the test card. After 15 minutes of hover work, we were content the aircraft was sound and landed to sign the safe-for-flight paperwork and the new Part A. Knowing my copilot would benefit from right seat HAC time, I got the CO's approval to conduct the test flight from the left seat to save time and effort before the PMC run. As we waited on spot seven for our passengers to arrive from the bowels of the island, we topped off with fuel and prepared the aircraft.

About five minutes before our scheduled departure time, the pax emerged from the island, eight of them in handcuffs, escorted by combat cargo and a lone ship's master-at-arms representative. As our crewchief maneuvered to greet them at the rear of our helo, I thought it might be a good time to let our young HAC exercise a little judgment.

"Should we fly over water with passengers in handcuffs?" I asked. I knew the answer, but wanted to give him a chance to exercise some right seat leadership. He never had experienced this type of scenario, and he briefly was stumped.

Our perceptive crewchief quickly picked up on the game and chimed in with, "I'm not sure; I've never had passengers in cuffs before."

I echoed those sentiments, and we began a 10-minute dialogue, not only within our crew but also with the tower flower, regarding the pros and cons of conducting overwater flight with passengers in handcuffs. We had plenty of fuel, and the discussion was constructive for everyone, so I opted to let it play out; Naples could wait for a few minutes and so could the boss. Eventually, our stalwart HAC made the right decision; the handcuffs were removed for the flight, and we called for winds and breakdown with 12 souls and 1 20 for fuel.

The HAC was on the controls in the right seat as the yellowshirts held up the chocks and chains for the count. After a solid count, I gave the HAC a "two on" call and made one last visual sweep of the flightdeck environment before lifting. Spots two, four, five, and six were clobbered, and the forward and aft bone were filled with helos forward and AV-8s abeam us in the aft bone. The normal complement of flight-deck troubleshooters and deck crew was in sight and out of harm's way, so my gaze shifted inward.

As we lifted on LSE signal, squadron SOP called for the PAC to bring the aircraft to a stable hover. The PNAC checked all the cockpit gauges, called out the hover torque, and cleared the PAC to slide. Our SOP stated, regardless of LSE signals to move off spot, the PAC would not slide until the PNAC had given the verbal check and "cleared to slide" call.

Time and space merged as our HAC commenced a non-cleared cyclic slide at the LSE's urging. Chatter from the boss and the tower flower came over the radios at the same time, and I heard a significant, yet brief, muffled noise from the rear of the aircraft. The noise sounded like the familiar slamming of a crew door after the chocks are pulled, before shore-based taxiing. I called out to stop sliding. I glanced through the cockpit entrance to see our crew chief walking rearward from the crew-door area, in what appeared to be a very nonchalant manner.