C-130 Pilot's Description of Approach into Baghdad
Eddie
3rd MAW C-130 Pilot's Description of Approach into Baghdad
This is a funny story particularly if you lust over mixed metaphors.
This is from a colorful writer from the 3rd Marine Air Wing based at
MCAS Miramar:
"There I was at six thousand feet over central Iraq, two hundred
eighty knots and we're dropping faster than Paris Hilton's panties.
It's a typical September evening in the Persian Gulf; hotter than a
rectal thermometer and I'm sweating like a priest at a Cub Scout
meeting. But that's neither here nor there. The night is moonless
over Baghdad tonight, and blacker than a Steven King novel.
But it's 2006, folks, and I'm sporting the latest in night-combat
technology - namely, hand-me-down night vision goggles (NVGs) thrown
out by the fighter boys. Additionally, my 1962 Lockheed C-130E
Hercules is equipped with an obsolete, yet, semi-effective missile
warning system (MWS). The MWS conveniently makes a nice soothing tone
in your headset just before the missile explodes into your airplane.
Who says you can't polish a turd?
At any rate, the NVGs are illuminating Baghdad International Airport
like the Las Vegas Strip during a Mike Tyson fight. These NVGs are
the cat's ass. But I've digressed. The preferred method of approach
tonight is the random shallow. This tactical maneuver allows the
pilot to ingress the landing zone in an unpredictable manner, thus
exploiting the supposedly secured perimeter of the airfield in an
attempt to avoid enemy surface-to-air-missiles and small arms fire.
Personally, I wouldn't bet my pink ass on that theory but the approach
is fun as hell and that's the real reason we fly it. We get a visual
on the runway at three miles out, drop down to one thousand feet above
the ground, still maintaining two hundred eighty knots.
Now the fun starts. It's pilot appreciation time as I descend the
mighty Herc to six hundred feet and smoothly, yet very deliberately,
yank into a sixty degree left bank, turning the aircraft ninety
degrees offset from runway heading. As soon as we roll out of the
turn, I reverse turn to the right a full two hundred seventy degrees
in order to roll out aligned with the runway. Some aeronautical
genius coined this maneuver the "Ninety/Two-Seventy." Chopping the
power during the turn, I pull back on the yoke just to the point my
nether regions start to sag, bleeding off energy in order to configure
the pig for landing.
'Flaps Fifty!, landing Gear Down!, Before Landing Checklist!' I look
over at the copilot and he's shaking like a cat shitting on a sheet of
ice. Looking further back at the navigator, and even through the
Nags, I can clearly see the wet spot spreading around his crotch.
Finally, I glance at my steely eyed flight engineer. His eyebrows
rise in unison as a grin forms on his face. I can tell he's thinking
the same thing I am .... 'Where do we find such fine young men?'
'Flaps One Hundred!' I bark at the shaking cat. Now it's all
aim-point and airspeed. Aviation 101, with the exception there are no
lights, I'm on NVGs, it's Baghdad, and now tracers are starting to
crisscross the black sky. Naturally, and not at all surprisingly, I
grease the Goodyear's on brick-one of runway 33 left, bring the
throttles to ground idle and then force the props to full reverse
pitch. Tonight, the sound of freedom is my four Hamilton Standard
propellers chewing through the thick, putrid, Baghdad air. The huge,
one hundred thirty-thousand pound, lumbering whisper pig comes to a
lurching stop in less than two thousand feet. Let's see a Viper do
that!
We exit the runway to a welcoming committee of government issued Army
grunts. It's time to download their beans and bullets and letters
from their sweethearts, look for war booty, and of course, urinate on
Saddam's home. Walking down the crew entry steps with my
lowest-bidder, Beretta 92F, 9 millimeter strapped smartly to my side,
look around and thank God, not Allah, I'm an American and I'm on the
winning team. Then I thank God I'm not in the Army.
Knowing once again I've cheated death, I ask myself, 'What in the hell
am I doing in this mess?' Is it Duty, Honor, and Country? You bet
your ass. Or could it possibly be for the glory, the swag, and not to
mention, chicks dig the Air Medal. There's probably some truth there
too. But now is not the time to derive the complexities of the
superior, cerebral properties of the human portion of the
aviator-man-machine model. It is however, time to get out of this
hole. Hey copilot how's 'bout the 'Before Starting Engines
Checklist.'
God, I love this job!!!!"
Sent to me by a Naval Air buddy of 54 years
Eddie
sambodidley
"Eddie" <hawa...@sbcglobal.net> wrote in message
news:57g9a6p7aqfbbu9o3...@4ax.com...
That was hilarious! BTW, MCAS Miramar is where I received my final
discharge when I left the Corps. A lonnnnnnnnnng time ago.<g>
Sam
DonK
>
>"Eddie" <hawa...@sbcglobal.net> wrote in message
>news:57g9a6p7aqfbbu9o3...@4ax.com...
>> This guy must have taken a creative writing class in college.
>> 3rd MAW C-130 Pilot's Description of Approach into Baghdad
>> This is a funny story particularly if you lust over mixed metaphors.
>> This is from a colorful writer from the 3rd Marine Air Wing based at
>> MCAS Miramar:
>>
>> God, I love this job!!!!"
>>
>> Sent to me by a Naval Air buddy of 54 years
>> Eddie
>
>That was hilarious! BTW, MCAS Miramar is where I received my final
>discharge when I left the Corps. A lonnnnnnnnnng time ago.<g>
>Sam
>
Great story.
I used to work just down the street from Miramar in the 70's. It was NAS Miramar back then before it
became MCAS.
Sometimes I used to go over there at lunch to eat my Quarter Pounder and watch the F4's do T&G's.
I'm sure everyone knows that was where the Navy's Top Gun school was.
Don
Bothell, WA
sambodidley
"DonK" wrote in message \>>That was hilarious! BTW, MCAS Miramar is where I
>>discharge when I left the Corps. A lonnnnnnnnnng time ago.<g>
>>Sam
>>
>
> Great story.
>
> I used to work just down the street from Miramar in the 70's. It was NAS
> Miramar back then before it
> became MCAS.
>
> Sometimes I used to go over there at lunch to eat my Quarter Pounder and
> watch the F4's do T&G's.
> I'm sure everyone knows that was where the Navy's Top Gun school was.
>
> Don
> Bothell, WA
Hey, I don't know what it had become by the 70's. I walked out of the
front gate with my discharge in my hand in Dec. 1945.<g>
>
Eddie
Did I read this right? You got discharged in 1945?? Hell, that means
you're older than me and I thought I was older than mud, lol. I got
discharged from the Navy in July, 1959 at Hunter's Point, SF, CA.
I can assume you are a WWII vet. I thank you for your service!
My father served in the ETO, Normandy, (D-Day+12) through France, the
Ardennes, (Battle of the Bulge) and on to Germany. He survived the
war and passed in 2005.
Eddie
>
>>
>
DonK
Ahh . . . that was exactly 24 years before my discharge (San Diego) and 1 year and 4 months before
my birth. (Harrisburgh, PA) :o)
BTW: My dad had a nice J3 when I was about 13. His friend broke it and they wound up putting a
tricycle nose wheel kit on it. I don't know if that was a popular modification but it was the only
one I ever saw.
Cheers
Don
Bothell, WA
Vic Baron
"sambodidley" <scoo...@looneyville.com> wrote in message
news:4eca1$4ca516c5$62143241$11...@ALLTEL.NET...
Gee! You're older than dirt!!!
:)
sambodidley
"Vic Baron" <vgb...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:ibnpo.210148$Bh....@en-nntp-12.dc1.easynews.com...
Just about.<g>
>
Dude
Good stuff Eddie. :-) Funny guy and good writer
Cheers,
Chris
Vic Baron
"sambodidley" <scoo...@looneyville.com> wrote in message
news:7afd7$4ca61b08$48ac2051$73...@ALLTEL.NET...
Well, I'm 73 so I'm fast approaching the same stage!
:)
sambodidley
No, you've got about 13 more years before you reach my stage. I was 21 when
I got discharged from the Marines. I spent my birthday that year on
Okinawa. <g>
ManhattanMan
>> :)
>
> No, you've got about 13 more years before you reach my stage. I was 21 when
> I got discharged from the Marines. I spent my birthday that year on
> Okinawa.<g>
>
>
Me too!!! I was a "kiddie cruiser", enlist before your 18th birthday
and get out on your 21st (I went in a few weeks after my 17th) and was
dropped off in Okinawa while on a WestPac cruise, spent a week at
Kadeena (sp) Air Force base waiting for a MATS flight to San Fransisco
for final separation... Only that was in 1963.. :)
Geeawwd, the NCO club there was fantastic, and the food was gourmet!!!
sambodidley
"ManhattanMan" <um...@binlaid.on> wrote in message
news:dPwpo.139386$zE6....@en-nntp-03.dc1.easynews.com...
I was in VMF 224 Mag 31 Second Marine Air Wing. It was a F4U Corsair
squadron. I was a Plane Captain. (mechanic in charge of Plane). I was on
Okinawa when Harry dropped the big one.
Nick O'Tyme at
I thought I was old. You blokes are nearly dead! :-)
sambodidley
"Nick O'Tyme" <mellorc(at)msn.com> wrote in message
news:TvudnVLPce5RXjvR...@westnet.com.au...
Wanna Bet. I just bought a new i7 64 bit computer. Got to get FSX installed
on it now.<g>
TOCA
"Eddie" <hawa...@sbcglobal.net> skrev i meddelelsen
news:57g9a6p7aqfbbu9o3...@4ax.com...
>
> "There I was at six thousand feet over central Iraq, two hundred
> eighty knots and we're dropping faster than Paris Hilton's panties.
> God, I love this job!!!!"
>
> Sent to me by a Naval Air buddy of 54 years
> Eddie
Seen a few of those "landings" on the teli, our local jockeys call them semi
controlled crashes :o)
The trick is to spend as little time as possible within firing range of any
type of hand held weapons, using the c-130's immense reverse thrust as main
brakes even before the wheels touch the ground, they say it takes a little
getting used to :o)
Tommy C, Denmark