This is another story about your intrepid Air Force men in blue during the Vietnam war. Maybe my sense of humor makes me remember a job well done as more like a comedy of errors but thats my way of remembering things. I think you will recognize the humor in this serious story.
We Airmen had a love/hate relationship with the old C-130A model Hercules airplane. They were already over 20 years old when that war started and pounding them in and out of dirt and pierced steel planking landing strips was beating them up pretty bad. They were just like flying trucks picking up and delivering cargo to the new Army and Marine bases being put in upcountry. We were breaking new cargo hauling records daily/weekly/monthly and 16 to 18 hour workdays were normal. But that was nothing compared to the effort required of the ground troops. We would get their supplies to them no matter what was required.
We got word that one of our old Herky birds had been wounded by a mortar round at a forward base and needed rescuing before another round hit it. This really ticked us off. Hurting a mans airplane is just as bad as kicking his dog. They might have her hurt but by golly they couldnt be allowed to kill her. She had a blowed out front left tire and assorted shrapnel damage. I grabbed Tech Sgt Kemp and some younger troops and loaded them on another bird along with a replacement tire and the necessry tools.
As we approached the forward base, the pilot told me that the base was under heavy attack and he would only be able to "pause" long enough for us to off-load. The less time he spent on the ground the less chance of us loosing another airplane. I went back down into the cargo deck and briefed the other men. Eyes got kind of big and round because none of us had ever been near any combat operations before. By then we could look down on the base and even though inexperienced, we could see that a hell of a battle was going on, and our wounded herky bird was sitting about in the middle of it.
When whells touched the steel planking runway, we jumped up and unstrapped all our equipment. The loadmaster lowered the rear ramp and we got into position to off-load. The pilot turned into the aerial port area and stopped. We picked up the big spare tire and pushed it off the rear ramp. Those tires stand about 5 to 6 foot tall and are heavy. Due to a high adrenaline factor we might have shoved the tire a little harder than necessary.
The tire hit hard, bounced a couple of times and took off fast. The blast from the propellers probably added to the speed. Some army troops in a truck had been pulling up behind the airplane and its driver was frantically trying to avoid the huge bouncing tire. Sgt Kemp had bounded off the ramp to chase his tire and the army truck almost hit him while avoiding the tire. I could see at a glance that the other airmen were off loading our equipment O.K. so I took off after Kemp. Im not sure why, I guess I just wonted to be in on the Action.
The tire, with Kemp in hot pursuit....with me trailing, struck a glancing blow on some ground power equipment and recoshetted off to the left. That allowed me to cut canty cornered across and gain some ground on Kemp and the tire. Someone in the army truck yelled at me as I went speeding past but I ignored him. The tire was now headed toward a bunch of loaded cargo pallets. The aircrew from the wounded bird had been seeking shelter amongst the cargo pallets and all four of them were leaping out just in time to come face to face with the rolling tire....with Kemp in close pursuit...and me trailing. The aircrew scrambled out of the tires path just in time for it to slam into a pallet and change directions one more time....with Kemp in hot pursuit.....and me trailing. Now the tire was angling toward the wounded bird but had now slowed enough for Kemp to catch up with it. I was skinner and faster than Kemp and was close on his heels when he decided to put a football type block on the tire. He jumped into one side of the tire. The tire wobbled off in another direction and Kemp fell down. I leaped over Kemp and managed to catch the tire and push on it a couple of times untill it wobbled and finally fell over on its side.
Gasping for air, I set down on the tire. Kemp limped over to join me, rubbing his skint spots. He was huffing and puffing like a freight train. We looked at each other and started laughing like a couple of fools as the army truck pulled up beside us. A Lt Col jumped out of the truck, counted my stripes, and yelled, "Are you in charge of this bunch of clowns?" That wiped the smile off my face but before I could set him straight, he kept yelling, "This damn airplane is getting my people killed trying to hold a perimeter so the VC cant get close enough to hit it again." Before I could answer, the army colonel turned to face the wounded birds aircrew as they came running up and said to the pilot, "Get your Axx back in among those cargo pallets. If this bunch of clowns get it fixed, I dont wont you killed or wounded, I wont you in shape to fly that SOB out of here."
The pilot was a Major Murphy. He was a lanky guy with sandy red hair and a freckled complexion that never tanned, just sun burned. His face turned about two shades redder than normal. He jumped right into the Colonels face. "Im commander of this airplane Colonel," he said, "If you will go tend to your business, we will attend to ours." After a few tense moments, the Colonel got in his truck and left. Then the Major told me, "Aw hell sarge, the Colonel is right. He is in a hell of a bind right now and a little up tight. Us two pilots will play it safe hunkered down amongst the pallets. Holler at us when you need us."
The wounded birds flight engineer, a black tech sargeant named Harris, walked over to the airplane and as he was explaining, we had problems. Sharpnel had not only blown the left front tire but some had sprayed the underside of the left wing and both left engine nacelles. There was a hole in the outer wing tank that had leaked a lot of fuel, so much fuel in fact that the airplane was listing heavily to the right. A C130 can actually fall over on one side if too much fuel is in one wing and not enough in the other.
The rubber material used in the fuel cells has three layers of material, two layers of rubber with a goopy layer of stuff in the middle. An average size hole, like a bullet hole, will be sealed by the goopy stuff which expands when gas gets to it. We evidently had a slash type of hole from a larger piece of shrapnel that had not sealed well.
A mortar round hit close enough that we had gravel or shrapnel skitter across the steel planking near us. That added a little urgency to the problem. We needed to fire up the auxilliary power unit to get electrical power to the fuel pumps and start pumping fuel from the right wing to the left wing to balance out the airplane. The APU was a small jet engine driving a generator and it was located above the left wheel well. Its jet exhause blew right out over the gas soaked ground under the left wing. Harris said he had not wonted to do it for fear everything would blow. Kemp said he would do it and I said no, its my job, and Kemp said he would flip me for the honor so we flipped a coin and Kemp lost. He called me a lucky BasXXXX and said clear everyone out of the area while he diddiled the APU start switch on his way to glory.
No sweat.....never a doubt. But that fuel leak was still pretty bad as we were transferring fuel. I found a broom in the airplane and broke off a piece of broom handle. When the left wing lowered some more, I waved over the army colonels truck. It had a stake bed on the back with a couple of machine guns mounted there. I was able to climb up high enough on the gun framework with the two gunners balancing me to stick the broom handle into the wing. I poked it thru the tear in the sheetmetal then probed and felt around untill I thought I could feel the hole in the rubber tank and jammed it home. A little of the broom handle was left sticking out under the wing. I couldnt help getting a little verbal jab payback into the colonel as I climbed down off his truck. "Pretty good maintenance job for a bunch of clowns, dont you think, Colonel." He gave me a tired smile and a pat on the shoulder and asked how much longer to take off. I guesstimated 30 minutes.
Fuel transferred, tire changed, broom stick installed, a close visual and mechanical inspection, tools and spare tire loaded and we waved Major Murphy and his co-pilot out of their hidey-hole. It was fly boy time.
I was standing on the flightdeck hanging onto a grab bar behind the pilots seat on take off and heaved a sigh of relief too soon as the flight engineer bounced up out of his seat yelling cuss words and claiming ground fire had hit the armor plate in the bottom of his seat. Murphy calmly said "yeah, something nicked my left cheek, Im bleeding." "I got it", the co-pilot said, meaning he had control of the airplane as we were climbing up and out of the base. I leaned forward and could see a tiny little trickle of blood on Murphy's cheek. I asked Harris was he hurt and he said no, just mad and a little numb assed. The loadmaster said he had allways been a numb ass. Since the rounds came from down below, I checked my feet and legs and other more important features of my lower extremeties for damage, then the loadmaster and I bolted down off the flight deck to see if anyone had been hit back there in the cargo area. Thankfully, no one was hit but they definitely thought they heard ground fire ripping thru the airplane somewhere. So we all got to exercising our eyeballs and sniffing our noses checking for any noticable damage or leaks of any kind and looking out the windows for visual damage to engines or wing. So far so good.
I went back up to the flight deck. The pilots decided they could make it all the way to Cam Ranh Bay with our fuel load and everything was good to go. Harris was still cussing and complaining. Murphy was laughing and telling him he needed to develop a stronger sense of adventure. Harris kept visualizing where that bullet would have hit without the armor plate under his seat. He was just not a happy camper. The loadmaster said he had an extra diaper if Harris needed it. The little chip that hit Murphys cheek came from the fiberglass instrument panel but we didnt know that untill later during a closer inspection. All in all everything was up tight and all right. Burning and churning and heading home.
Fire trucks and ambulances greeted us on landing as they always do a wounded bird. Murphy had radioed ahead to our flight operations something to the effect that he was flying in on a broomstick to collect his purple heart so quite a few of his pilot buddies were on hand to greet him. I heard him offer to trade his purple heart for a beer. I gathered my little group of maintenance men off to one side to thank them for a good days work. A young two striper grinned and said the old Herky might be a little bent and skint but she would fly again. I paid tribute to the long suffering grunts and ground pounders who fought off the VC mortar crews long enough for us to save her. She was one of ours.....and they couldnt have her.
We Airmen had a love/hate relationship with the old C-130A model Hercules airplane. They were already over 20 years old when that war started and pounding them in and out of dirt and pierced steel planking landing strips was beating them up pretty bad. They were just like flying trucks picking up and delivering cargo to the new Army and Marine bases being put in upcountry. We were breaking new cargo hauling records daily/weekly/monthly and 16 to 18 hour workdays were normal. But that was nothing compared to the effort required of the ground troops. We would get their supplies to them no matter what was required.
We got word that one of our old Herky birds had been wounded by a mortar round at a forward base and needed rescuing before another round hit it. This really ticked us off. Hurting a mans airplane is just as bad as kicking his dog. They might have her hurt but by golly they couldnt be allowed to kill her. She had a blowed out front left tire and assorted shrapnel damage. I grabbed Tech Sgt Kemp and some younger troops and loaded them on another bird along with a replacement tire and the necessry tools.
As we approached the forward base, the pilot told me that the base was under heavy attack and he would only be able to "pause" long enough for us to off-load. The less time he spent on the ground the less chance of us loosing another airplane. I went back down into the cargo deck and briefed the other men. Eyes got kind of big and round because none of us had ever been near any combat operations before. By then we could look down on the base and even though inexperienced, we could see that a hell of a battle was going on, and our wounded herky bird was sitting about in the middle of it.
When whells touched the steel planking runway, we jumped up and unstrapped all our equipment. The loadmaster lowered the rear ramp and we got into position to off-load. The pilot turned into the aerial port area and stopped. We picked up the big spare tire and pushed it off the rear ramp. Those tires stand about 5 to 6 foot tall and are heavy. Due to a high adrenaline factor we might have shoved the tire a little harder than necessary.
The tire hit hard, bounced a couple of times and took off fast. The blast from the propellers probably added to the speed. Some army troops in a truck had been pulling up behind the airplane and its driver was frantically trying to avoid the huge bouncing tire. Sgt Kemp had bounded off the ramp to chase his tire and the army truck almost hit him while avoiding the tire. I could see at a glance that the other airmen were off loading our equipment O.K. so I took off after Kemp. Im not sure why, I guess I just wonted to be in on the Action.
The tire, with Kemp in hot pursuit....with me trailing, struck a glancing blow on some ground power equipment and recoshetted off to the left. That allowed me to cut canty cornered across and gain some ground on Kemp and the tire. Someone in the army truck yelled at me as I went speeding past but I ignored him. The tire was now headed toward a bunch of loaded cargo pallets. The aircrew from the wounded bird had been seeking shelter amongst the cargo pallets and all four of them were leaping out just in time to come face to face with the rolling tire....with Kemp in close pursuit...and me trailing. The aircrew scrambled out of the tires path just in time for it to slam into a pallet and change directions one more time....with Kemp in hot pursuit.....and me trailing. Now the tire was angling toward the wounded bird but had now slowed enough for Kemp to catch up with it. I was skinner and faster than Kemp and was close on his heels when he decided to put a football type block on the tire. He jumped into one side of the tire. The tire wobbled off in another direction and Kemp fell down. I leaped over Kemp and managed to catch the tire and push on it a couple of times untill it wobbled and finally fell over on its side.
Gasping for air, I set down on the tire. Kemp limped over to join me, rubbing his skint spots. He was huffing and puffing like a freight train. We looked at each other and started laughing like a couple of fools as the army truck pulled up beside us. A Lt Col jumped out of the truck, counted my stripes, and yelled, "Are you in charge of this bunch of clowns?" That wiped the smile off my face but before I could set him straight, he kept yelling, "This damn airplane is getting my people killed trying to hold a perimeter so the VC cant get close enough to hit it again." Before I could answer, the army colonel turned to face the wounded birds aircrew as they came running up and said to the pilot, "Get your Axx back in among those cargo pallets. If this bunch of clowns get it fixed, I dont wont you killed or wounded, I wont you in shape to fly that SOB out of here."
The pilot was a Major Murphy. He was a lanky guy with sandy red hair and a freckled complexion that never tanned, just sun burned. His face turned about two shades redder than normal. He jumped right into the Colonels face. "Im commander of this airplane Colonel," he said, "If you will go tend to your business, we will attend to ours." After a few tense moments, the Colonel got in his truck and left. Then the Major told me, "Aw hell sarge, the Colonel is right. He is in a hell of a bind right now and a little up tight. Us two pilots will play it safe hunkered down amongst the pallets. Holler at us when you need us."
The wounded birds flight engineer, a black tech sargeant named Harris, walked over to the airplane and as he was explaining, we had problems. Sharpnel had not only blown the left front tire but some had sprayed the underside of the left wing and both left engine nacelles. There was a hole in the outer wing tank that had leaked a lot of fuel, so much fuel in fact that the airplane was listing heavily to the right. A C130 can actually fall over on one side if too much fuel is in one wing and not enough in the other.
The rubber material used in the fuel cells has three layers of material, two layers of rubber with a goopy layer of stuff in the middle. An average size hole, like a bullet hole, will be sealed by the goopy stuff which expands when gas gets to it. We evidently had a slash type of hole from a larger piece of shrapnel that had not sealed well.
A mortar round hit close enough that we had gravel or shrapnel skitter across the steel planking near us. That added a little urgency to the problem. We needed to fire up the auxilliary power unit to get electrical power to the fuel pumps and start pumping fuel from the right wing to the left wing to balance out the airplane. The APU was a small jet engine driving a generator and it was located above the left wheel well. Its jet exhause blew right out over the gas soaked ground under the left wing. Harris said he had not wonted to do it for fear everything would blow. Kemp said he would do it and I said no, its my job, and Kemp said he would flip me for the honor so we flipped a coin and Kemp lost. He called me a lucky BasXXXX and said clear everyone out of the area while he diddiled the APU start switch on his way to glory.
No sweat.....never a doubt. But that fuel leak was still pretty bad as we were transferring fuel. I found a broom in the airplane and broke off a piece of broom handle. When the left wing lowered some more, I waved over the army colonels truck. It had a stake bed on the back with a couple of machine guns mounted there. I was able to climb up high enough on the gun framework with the two gunners balancing me to stick the broom handle into the wing. I poked it thru the tear in the sheetmetal then probed and felt around untill I thought I could feel the hole in the rubber tank and jammed it home. A little of the broom handle was left sticking out under the wing. I couldnt help getting a little verbal jab payback into the colonel as I climbed down off his truck. "Pretty good maintenance job for a bunch of clowns, dont you think, Colonel." He gave me a tired smile and a pat on the shoulder and asked how much longer to take off. I guesstimated 30 minutes.
Fuel transferred, tire changed, broom stick installed, a close visual and mechanical inspection, tools and spare tire loaded and we waved Major Murphy and his co-pilot out of their hidey-hole. It was fly boy time.
I was standing on the flightdeck hanging onto a grab bar behind the pilots seat on take off and heaved a sigh of relief too soon as the flight engineer bounced up out of his seat yelling cuss words and claiming ground fire had hit the armor plate in the bottom of his seat. Murphy calmly said "yeah, something nicked my left cheek, Im bleeding." "I got it", the co-pilot said, meaning he had control of the airplane as we were climbing up and out of the base. I leaned forward and could see a tiny little trickle of blood on Murphy's cheek. I asked Harris was he hurt and he said no, just mad and a little numb assed. The loadmaster said he had allways been a numb ass. Since the rounds came from down below, I checked my feet and legs and other more important features of my lower extremeties for damage, then the loadmaster and I bolted down off the flight deck to see if anyone had been hit back there in the cargo area. Thankfully, no one was hit but they definitely thought they heard ground fire ripping thru the airplane somewhere. So we all got to exercising our eyeballs and sniffing our noses checking for any noticable damage or leaks of any kind and looking out the windows for visual damage to engines or wing. So far so good.
I went back up to the flight deck. The pilots decided they could make it all the way to Cam Ranh Bay with our fuel load and everything was good to go. Harris was still cussing and complaining. Murphy was laughing and telling him he needed to develop a stronger sense of adventure. Harris kept visualizing where that bullet would have hit without the armor plate under his seat. He was just not a happy camper. The loadmaster said he had an extra diaper if Harris needed it. The little chip that hit Murphys cheek came from the fiberglass instrument panel but we didnt know that untill later during a closer inspection. All in all everything was up tight and all right. Burning and churning and heading home.
Fire trucks and ambulances greeted us on landing as they always do a wounded bird. Murphy had radioed ahead to our flight operations something to the effect that he was flying in on a broomstick to collect his purple heart so quite a few of his pilot buddies were on hand to greet him. I heard him offer to trade his purple heart for a beer. I gathered my little group of maintenance men off to one side to thank them for a good days work. A young two striper grinned and said the old Herky might be a little bent and skint but she would fly again. I paid tribute to the long suffering grunts and ground pounders who fought off the VC mortar crews long enough for us to save her. She was one of ours.....and they couldnt have her.
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