Back when I was flying the C-141 Starlifter, flying a mission for the air force was much less complex. When I left home station, we typically kept the same jet the entire trip. Crew rest between flights was dependable, we always had hot meals, and we could leave some of our professional gear on the aircraft instead of taking everything with us once we landed. There were times when we’d change jets in the middle of a mission, but it was quite rare.
In the C-17 Globemaster III, however, the opposite is true. It is a rare event when a crew keeps the same aircraft for an entire mission, especially those transiting the Sandbox. When we land at the end of our day, we have to haul everything we have with us and we are often on call for hours waiting for a jet to arrive so we can pick up the mission.
The concept of the airlift stage is simple in theory; the jets keep moving after a crew change at an en route location. That way, cargo and troops reach their destination with little delay. It requires significant coordination at the local and global level, as well as “seed” crews to ensure that a fresh crew is available at any given time. To do so, we are often placed in a bravo status, in which we are placed on a standby alert. Since we are never sure when the phone will ring, I find that I am never well-rested, since we must be ready essentially at any given time.
Furthermore, when C-17s depart stateside bases, they are flown by crews stationed at the same base. However, since any crew can fly any jet from any base once in the system, sometimes a crew from a West Coast base ends up arriving stateside with a jet based on the East Coast (or vice versa). The stage manager, the local representative responsible for the stage at a given base, attempts to pair up jets returning stateside with crews from the same bases, but sometimes it doesn’t work out. Like the victim of a shell game, the losing crew ends up at a base on the opposite coast with no ride home.
As luck would have it, we took off from Spain for an East Coast base with an East Coast jet. Originally, we would have returned to Germany following our stop in the Sandbox and probably would have been paired up with a jet from our home base. However, due to weekend operating hours at several European bases, we were flying back across the Atlantic with the wrong jet.
We arrived stateside in sunny South Carolina and immediately set out trying to find a ride back to the Pacific Northwest. The ramp in Charleston was full of C-17s, but unfortunately we couldn’t fly any of them. We decided to wait a few days in case one of our aircraft came through, but it was soon apparent that we’d be dragging our bags and gear home with a civilian airline.
So after two days of fun and sun in Charleston, we booked a flight to Seattle with a stopover at Atlanta. Usually, flying commercial from Charleston meant a cramped flight in a puddle jumper, but we lucked out with a Super 80, an older model full-sized aircraft. The hardest part of flying commercial with all of our military gear is merely checking in and processing through the TSA screening. Between the five of us on the crew, we probably had 20 bags, and we were booked on a one-way flight – a typical red flag for additional screening. But once we checked in our bags and endured the TSA’s additional scrutiny, it was smooth sailing.
It was worth the hassle; we were going home.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
A New Pin in the Map
After departing Iraqi airspace, we turned west over Turkey and settled in for the long flight to Spain. I had been to Spain many times before, yet the base we were flying to was a new destination for me, surprisingly enough since it is a regular stop for AMC aircraft. In all the years of flying I’ve accumulated, I’ve only had one other chance to stop there; as a brand new co-pilot in the C-141 Starlifter many years ago, we were flying from Turkey to Spain and diverted into Sicily after an engine failure. Now the loop looked like it was finally coming closed. I would be putting a new pin in the map.
The base on the coast of Spain had a reputation for sun and fun. Miles of beaches and streets lined with tapas bars and cafes made for a great crew rest location; I could already practically taste the sangria. It wouldn’t be a long crew rest, but we’d be there early in the morning, enough time for a run and perhaps some quality beach time.
The mountains of southern Turkey passed beneath us, their crowns dusted with heavy snow. Winter precipitation is not unusual in Turkey, but it was early May, usually a great time to hit the beaches of the nearby Turkish Riviera. Yet snowfall was visible all across southern and southwestern Turkey, and not just in the higher elevations. As we left Turkey behind and flew the length of the Greek island of Rhodes, I noticed what looked to be snow covered peaks in the distance ahead; even the peaks of Crete were painted white in the wake of a late season storm.
Hours later, we arrived in Spanish airspace and started our descent for our much needed crew rest. But it looked like the weather would not cooperate. Low clouds and heavy rain blanketed Spain’s Atlantic coastline. And since it was a weekend, the most precise instrument approach at the airfield, a controller-guided PAR, was not available. We’d have to fly a full procedure non-precision circling approach down to minimums just to land. We thought about diverting to another Spanish airbase, but the weather was just good enough for one approach.
We finally broke out of the weather as we began the approach but a strong and steady crosswind made for a challenging landing. As we taxied clear of the runway, we saw that the base had been practically flooded. Puddles of water and broken tree limbs marked the passage of a powerful storm that had just passed through. It was still gusty and quite cool, so spending the day at the beach was looking doubtful.
But at least I finally had a new pin on the map.
The base on the coast of Spain had a reputation for sun and fun. Miles of beaches and streets lined with tapas bars and cafes made for a great crew rest location; I could already practically taste the sangria. It wouldn’t be a long crew rest, but we’d be there early in the morning, enough time for a run and perhaps some quality beach time.
The mountains of southern Turkey passed beneath us, their crowns dusted with heavy snow. Winter precipitation is not unusual in Turkey, but it was early May, usually a great time to hit the beaches of the nearby Turkish Riviera. Yet snowfall was visible all across southern and southwestern Turkey, and not just in the higher elevations. As we left Turkey behind and flew the length of the Greek island of Rhodes, I noticed what looked to be snow covered peaks in the distance ahead; even the peaks of Crete were painted white in the wake of a late season storm.
Hours later, we arrived in Spanish airspace and started our descent for our much needed crew rest. But it looked like the weather would not cooperate. Low clouds and heavy rain blanketed Spain’s Atlantic coastline. And since it was a weekend, the most precise instrument approach at the airfield, a controller-guided PAR, was not available. We’d have to fly a full procedure non-precision circling approach down to minimums just to land. We thought about diverting to another Spanish airbase, but the weather was just good enough for one approach.
We finally broke out of the weather as we began the approach but a strong and steady crosswind made for a challenging landing. As we taxied clear of the runway, we saw that the base had been practically flooded. Puddles of water and broken tree limbs marked the passage of a powerful storm that had just passed through. It was still gusty and quite cool, so spending the day at the beach was looking doubtful.
But at least I finally had a new pin on the map.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Gas & Go
Our mission following our short crew rest at a Persian Gulf airbase was a planned seven hour flight to an American airbase in Spain, instead of Germany as originally scheduled. It was a Sunday, and quiet hours at German bases prohibit takeoffs and landings until the afternoon so as not to disturb Sunday church services in the devout regions of southwest Germany. Our mission had to move as soon as possible for diplomatic reasons - they wanted our persona non grata out of the country immediately - so we refiled our flightplan to Spain.
However, since we carried a full load of cargo on an older jet with a limited fuel capacity, we would be unable to make it without refueling somewhere in between. Our flight dispatcher checked all the usual suspects – American bases in Italy and Greece – but long lead times for diplomatic clearances or airfield closure times (it was a weekend) prevented us from stopping. The American airbase in Turkey has severe restrictions about which jets can land there, so that was out of the question as well. And getting a tanker for an aerial refueling would take a miracle, given their poor maintenance reliability and high usage rates for other missions. We had to think outside of the box for a solution.
Unfortunately, none of the locations we preferred, such as Romania, would work. But the dispatcher found one that would.
Baghdad.
The thought of taking a $200 million dollar aircraft full of cargo into a combat zone for no other reason than a fuel stop did not sit well, especially since personnel at the American airbase in Greece were enjoying a weekend off (I was shocked that anybody in the military gets weekends off in a war). But there was no other choice. So like good airmen we took off for a gas and go at Baghdad International Airport.
But it would fortunately still be night when we arrived, and our aircraft was protected by the latest countermeasures for man-portable surface-to-air missiles. We descended into the murky night toward the Iraqi capital city and made an uneventful approach and landing. We didn’t need much fuel, maybe 40,000 pounds, so we quickly topped off the tank and were on our way before sunrise. We leveled off over northern Iraq and enjoyed a brilliant sunrise over the mountains of nearby Iran.
We were now leaving the war behind and heading home.
However, since we carried a full load of cargo on an older jet with a limited fuel capacity, we would be unable to make it without refueling somewhere in between. Our flight dispatcher checked all the usual suspects – American bases in Italy and Greece – but long lead times for diplomatic clearances or airfield closure times (it was a weekend) prevented us from stopping. The American airbase in Turkey has severe restrictions about which jets can land there, so that was out of the question as well. And getting a tanker for an aerial refueling would take a miracle, given their poor maintenance reliability and high usage rates for other missions. We had to think outside of the box for a solution.
Unfortunately, none of the locations we preferred, such as Romania, would work. But the dispatcher found one that would.
Baghdad.
The thought of taking a $200 million dollar aircraft full of cargo into a combat zone for no other reason than a fuel stop did not sit well, especially since personnel at the American airbase in Greece were enjoying a weekend off (I was shocked that anybody in the military gets weekends off in a war). But there was no other choice. So like good airmen we took off for a gas and go at Baghdad International Airport.
But it would fortunately still be night when we arrived, and our aircraft was protected by the latest countermeasures for man-portable surface-to-air missiles. We descended into the murky night toward the Iraqi capital city and made an uneventful approach and landing. We didn’t need much fuel, maybe 40,000 pounds, so we quickly topped off the tank and were on our way before sunrise. We leveled off over northern Iraq and enjoyed a brilliant sunrise over the mountains of nearby Iran.
We were now leaving the war behind and heading home.