The maximum credible accident [MCA] and the consequences

Flying Safety, July, 2003

(Editor's Note: This story, from the German counterpart to Flying Safety, concerns the reactions of a commander to what we in the USAF would call a Class A flight mishap, an aircraft crash with fatalities. All names of persons and places were changed by the editor of Flugsicherheit, who provided the translation.)

What goes on in the mind of a flying group commander when a flight accident happens in his command? Here are some highlighted, very personal feelings and thoughts on the subject.

It was a wonderful day in 2001. Cool, some cotton ball-like clouds against a steel-blue sky, a good day for flying.

We (that is "my" technical group commander and I) are just spending a break during a joint services meeting with many other battalion/division/group commanders. I am just switching on my mobile phone to check my mailbox, when a buddy aviator, his arms flailing, forces his way to me through a noisy crowd of people, grasps my arm and speaks softly in my ear: "Mr. M., you have lost a plane; probably all dead."

At this moment, the mailbox of my mobile phone answers. I have get out of the crowd. Get a breath of fresh air, call the wing ops. I press the keys on my phone like mad without realizing what I am really doing. Calm down! Think, breathe, press, speak: "It's me. What's going on?"

There it was, the MCA; what a commander wishes least of all: a flight accident with people killed. I don't know the other three people, but I know my pilot, Captain A--just the one we had so many plans for!

"Do you want us to pick you up?"

"No, we're driving off immediately! Tonight at 1900 all pilots will meet in the officers' club. That's all for now.

Thanks to the mobile, we fairly quickly get a comprehensive picture of the situation directly from the crash site--while we drive along in our car, helpless. The afternoon sun keeps burning in my eyes--or is there maybe something else burning?

To the wing ops: "Did you inform the family?"

"Not yet, but there is a connection via a senior officer from C. which has already been activated; the chaplain has been informed."

Who are the relatives of Captain A. anyhow? And at this moment, a 10-second clip of an old black-and-white film shown during leadership and civic education training reels off in my mind's eye, where a company commander asks his first sergeant: "What do we know about the lives of our soldiers, anyhow?"

"And the others?"

"Civilian employees of the Federal Armed Forces; their office will make the necessary arrangements."

What does one say to the squadron commander, already present at the crash site, after saying "How is it?" and getting his shocking description of what he sees?

"You won't touch a stick anymore. today. Who is there with you?" "Captain K."

"Let me just speak to him." Captain K. also flies civil aircraft, and is in the SAR business; he is accustomed to the sight. of dead bodies. "How are you and--be honest--are you still able to fly or do you want us to have both of you picked up by car?" His voice and choice of words show me that he is still able to fly. "9K, get home as soon as your chief has arrived."

As we reach the barracks, we hear the ringing of a bell. It seems that the officers of the Director. of Federal Armed Forces Flight Safety Di Vision have already arrived. First of all, I have to hold my head under cold water--I have to pull myself together and get into the flight ops building. The shock is palpable; none of the otherwise usual noises, no laughter can be heard--all is quiet. My regimental commander is sitting together with our highest ranking generals responsible for flying operations in the large briefing room with a Thermos jug with coffee and some used cups. Silence. Their presence is helpful, a clear sign of solidarity before my pilots and all the men and women under my command.

Situation at the wing ops: absolutely professional elaboration of all reports and coordination of all actions. In this respect, it is reassuring.

From the wing ops: "The parents have been informed--a chaplain well known to the family is taking care of them." This is also difficult, because the parents live about a two-hour drive away from our air base.

Talk with the squadron commander: "Who will inform the family, you or me or both of us?"

"The wife lives near M.; Captain M. is already on his way to her. I will inform the parents in W.; it's on my way back home. The chaplain is still there and I have to get out of here now."

This is courageous, and it also relieves me of a decision, because if I drove to W., I could not attend the meeting with my pilots at 1900--and this is very important to me.

From the wing ops: "Do you want us to hold a helicopter ready to bring you to the crash site?"

"No, I won't go today; I cannot do anything there, anyway. I will stay here." I could not bear the sight of it today anyway.

The flight surgeon is already holding numerous talks. I think to myself, "Will there be anybody to talk to the flight surgeon as welt?"

What will we do now, and how are we to go on? Nobody gives me an answer to this question now!