Chapter 6
North Bend
Air Station
1000 hours
Commander
Reese thumbed through the documents secured inside a plain manila folder. His
immaculate uniform bristled with an array of service ribbons neatly stacked
like decoration props one might find on a movie war character. Ian Logan stood
almost at attention on the other side of the large desk that separated them. Around
the office various models of Coast Guard aircraft were on display along with
action photographs of the unit’s rescue operations. Only one window, on the
right side of the room, allowed a view toward the tarmac outside the main
aircraft hangar. On deck, two at ready HH-52 rescue helicopters stood like
sentinels ready to respond to the first signs of trouble.
The Sikorsky
HH-52 Seaguard helicopter was a single turbine driven, three rotor amphibious
helicopter which was one of the primary U.S. Coast Guard search and rescue
helicopters. It usually carried a crew of three or four and had a range of a
little over 400 nautical miles flying at 100 miles per hour. Its unique design
allowed it to make rescues by landing on water when the situation demanded it,
but most rescues were performed using a winch and cable apparatus to hoist
individuals either in a sling or within a floatable basket. They were
beautifully designed with a distinctive red and white color scheme. First
introduced in 1961, the 52’s were starting to show their technological age and
other, more capable models were already on the drawing board as replacements.
“Mr. Logan, you have an impressive
flight ops background and I want to welcome you aboard. The 13th
District office has spoken very highly of your qualifications. You must have
some good friends up there.”
“Maybe a
few.”
“I think more
than a few. It’s not often they allow a civilian to operate as one of the
crewmembers at a Coast Guard Air Station. In fact, this is probably the first
time it’s ever happened.”
“Well sir, I
appreciate the opportunity. I do believe I can provide some useful insights,
share my experience especially with rescue swimmer techniques. It’s a vital
service the Coast Guard needs, but doesn’t have in place yet.”
“I’ve been
pushing for that kind of program for a long time, but, governmental feet
dragging always slows up progress. At the pace we’re going it might be ten
years before the first training program is put into place. One of these days
they are going to lose someone because they didn’t have a designated swimmer.
Then maybe they will get off their duff and do something about it.”
“Maybe I can
speed that process along.”
“Maybe so Mr.
Logan, Ian, may I call you Ian? Even so, you will need time to get up to speed
on how we do things around here. Start you off slow, just observe then
eventually work you into some flying time after we get you checked out in the
52’s.”
“I understand and I am ready to jump in as soon as you give the word.”
“We’ve had a
few former military pilots come through here. Most were good pilots. I trust
you will be as well. I can use another good man.” Reese, extended his hand and both
exchanged a firm shake.
“Alright Ian,
when can you start?”
“When do you
want me to start?”
“We have a
training op heading out this afternoon. Will be heading up to Umpqua River to
do some flight operations training with their crew. Are you game to join us?”
“Where’s my
flight suit?”
1400 Hours
Captain
Michaels slow walked around the HH52 1369 giving his aircraft a thorough walk
around inspection. His copilot Lieutenant Jones was already inside the cockpit
making ready for the engine startup procedure as Airman Goss inspected the
interior cabin securing loose gear and double checking the winch cable for
frayed wire. Ian was at his side dressed in a burnt orange flight suit. This
routine was somewhat familiar for him as it brought back memories from his days
as a rescue pilot for the Royal Air Force. He wanted to sit in the pilot’s
seat, but his role on this flight was simply to observe.
Goss seemed
at ease with Ian showing him the basics of the interior and explained what they
were going to do on this run north. “You ever get airsick?” He asked Ian.
“What, me, no
never. Well there was this one time out over the North Sea, it was a mighty
rough day and we were being bounced around all over the place. I got a might
churned up inside, but held my stomach down. Not so for the rest of the crew
though. We had a big clean up afterwards.”
“North Sea huh. Never been there.
Spent time in Alaska up at Kodiak. Got a might nasty up that way at times. It
can get pretty nasty around these parts too, you just missed a good one, man it
was really blowing too. I’ve never been sick or nothing. Most of the time it’s
not so bad around here. Some of the new guys can’t handle it at first and
really let things fly, you know big chunks and everything. We always make them
clean up their own mess, seems to work because they get tired of doing that so
they start holding their stomachs down better after a few times.”
Ian laughed
as Captain Michaels climbed aboard. “Ian, glad to have to have with us today.
Going to be a routine flight, nothing out of the ordinary so just sit back and
observe. Ask any questions you want. You ready for this?”
“Let’s go.”
Michaels and
Jones completed their preflight and then started the engine. The single turbine
began its characteristic high pitch whine as it revved faster. The three blades
turned slowly at first, still drooping slightly until the RPM’s gained
sufficient speed where they grew level and started purring, mixing their
movement with the whine of the engine. The 1369 vibrated trying to find its way
into the air but the blades were angled in a neutral position preventing the
aircraft from rising.
Ian connected his helmet mic to the
intercom system and strapped himself into the jump seat behind the main
bulkhead. Goss did the same on the opposite side. The blades started spinning
faster and faster and the purring became more of a chopping sound. With a slight
lift of the collective pitch control the angle of the blades rotated so they
would gain a more aggressive bite, and the 1369 rose into the air, rotated
about 90degrees, and tipped forward slightly to begin their climb as they moved
forward. Over the intercom crackled Commander Michaels voice. “Station North
Bend, CG 1369, in route to Umpqua River, 1412 hours.”
The 1369
angled out over the dunes and crossed over the Coos Bay bar to head north. In
the channel one of the large Japanese ships loaded with lumber was under steam
on her way back to Japan. A moment or two later it was well behind them. Below,
the scenic Oregon coastline with its stretches of sand dunes and forest edges stretched
as far north as visibility allowed. There was some haze, but the day was mostly
clear and sunny. Captain Michaels settled the 1369 into their cruising speed
and altitude.
It took about twenty minutes for them
to cover the short distance to Umpqua River. About five minutes out Commander Michaels
contacted the station. “Station Umpqua River, this is CG1369 how you read.”
Patterson was
now on the Comm Watch and always had difficulty understanding radio
transmission from air crews as the vibrations inside the cabin and the noise
levels were easily picked up by the microphones. “CG1369, Station Umpqua
River.”
“Ah roger that station, estimated ETA is five minutes.
We will set down on the vacant parking area across from the entrance channel.
Request a security detail and transportation to the station. Over.”
By this time
Chief Adams entered the comm room and took the microphone from Patterson.
“CG1369, this is Chief Adams. Roger that, we’ll be waiting for you. Standby.”
He along with
two other personnel drove the stations Suburban around the corner to the far
end of the harbor near the harbor office. Pete and Sharon were standing outside
watching the 1369 glide across the pale blue sky to hover west of the far
parking lot. Pete waved for them to stop.
“Hey, mind if
we come along.”
“Sure thing,
hop in.”
“What cha got
going on Mac?”
“Training ops
with the Air Station. Open water simulated rescues. They got some new guy with
them along for the ride. Not sure what his role is.”
The 1369
approached at an angle facing into the wind. Michaels observed the stations
truck had parked too close and called to them. “Station Umpqua River mobile
unit, 1369.”
Chief Adams
picked up the transceiver and replied, “1369 go ahead.”
“Yeah Chief,
you might want to back away about fifty yards. We’re going to kick up some
loose gravel and stuff with the down wash from these props. Might save your
windshield some cracks.”
Chief Adams
placed the Suburban into reverse and backed away. The two crewmembers already
standing at the ready with fire extinguishers, just in case, shielded their
eyes from the sand and gravel being thrown around as the 1369 hovered a few
feet above the ground. A few seconds later, Captain Michaels lightly set the
bulky craft onto the tarmac and began the shutdown procedure.
The Chief,
Pete, and Sharon, exited the vehicle and walked the short distance toward the
1369. It took a few moments for the crew to complete their shutdown before
Commander Michaels walked over to Chief Adams, shook his hand and introduced his
copilot. Ian and Airman Goss were the last to step out, and when Sharon caught
sight of Ian, she excitedly waved with a smile that filled her face. He waved
back and trotted over.
“Oh my, how
good it is to see you love.” He extended his arms asking for a hug.
Pete cast a
discerning eye toward them, “You know this guy?”
“I sure do.
This is Ian from our time together in New Guinea. Best pilot I ever knew.”
Ian smiled
and sheepishly threw a glance toward Michaels who snickered. “Well, we got a
lot of work to do, so shall we get started.”
After
returning to the station, all hands were called to quarters and Michaels
briefed them on a number of safety procedures. “When we get out there, those
props are going to stir up a lot spray that will be swirling around. They also
generate a static charge and combined with the moisture in the air it packs quite
a wallop generating from 20,000 to over 200,000 volts. Your body makes a good
conductor and that charge will rip through you in a millisecond, so never grab
that cable with your bare hands. It won’t kill you, but it will spoil your day.
Allow it to touch the boat to discharge first, or use the static discharge hook
like the one you have on board your 44’s.”
He lifted one
of the hooks which was a wooden pole about three-feet long and the diameter of
a broom handle, with a metal hook extending about a foot or so from one end. Attached
to the metal hook was a braided cable about ten feet long with a rubber fray
connector attached to the end.
“Place the
end of the cable on the deck and hold it with your foot to keep it grounded.
When the cable drops, reach up with the pole and grab it with the hook. Any
static will discharge through this attached wire and then you can quickly grab
hold with your hand before the charge rebuilds. If you use your hand first, you
will receive a painful jolt from it. I’ve seen men knocked overboard from that
jolt, so don’t do it.”
Some
murmuring crossed the room and few crewmembers shook their heads. Some shook
their hands as if they had already been shocked.
Chief Adams
stepped forward. “Alright guys, any questions? If not, let’s light off the 331.
I’ll be the coxswain.”
Within a few
minutes the 331 was rumbling out of the boathouse and idling up the entrance
channel with six members on board for training. All six were dressed in bright
orange survival suits as they were going to take a swim. The rest of the crew,
about a dozen men, except a skeleton station crew watched from the advantage
point along the outer edge of the parking area that offered a commanding view
of the river channel. The 1369 crew were returned to their craft where they
started their preflight routine once again. Pete and Sharon joined the crowd gathering
along the edge of the parking area where they could watch the operation.
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“CG44331,
this is the 1369, how you read?”
“1369, 331,
go ahead.” Chief Adams replied.
“Ah roger, we
need a swimmer in the water. Ready when you are.”
Chief Adams stared
at Patterson, “You’re elected…so take a swim.”
Patterson
reluctantly stepped into the lower well and placed one foot on the lowest
gunwale. With a lunge he jumped feet first into the brown water, surfaced and
back paddle away about ten yards. The cold water initially took his breath
until his body heat warmed the thin layer between his skin and the suit. There was a degree of chop across the surface and his face was splashed causing him
to swallow some of the mixture of salt and fresh water. He spit and gagged.
Chief Adams backed the 331 away about fifty yards.
“CG1369…331…this
is a drill…man overboard, man overboard.”
“Ah Roger,
standby.”
Michaels flew
the 1369 forward passing over the 331 and hovered over where Patterson was
floating. Inside the main cabin area, Ian and Goss kept up a constant flow of
instructions to the pilot. “Cable lowering…hold…Left, left…forward,
forward…hold…cable descending…ten feet…five feet…cable in the water, sling in
the water…forward…hold. Swimmer has the sling…hold…swimmer is in the sling…swimmer
is in the sling…looks good. Hold your position…cable is lifting…back away and
right…lifting at ten feet…five feet…swimmer is in the door…swimmer is in the
cabin…swimmer is secured…good job…ready to drop swimmer to the 331.”
Michaels
rotated the 1369 to reorient their position in relationship to the 331. “331,
1369.”
Chief Adams
responded, “1369, 331.”
“Ah roger
Chief, we’re going to return your swimmer by dropping him onto the top of the
rear compartment. Maintain a slight forward momentum into the wind if you
could.”
“1369, roger
that. Moving forward into the wind. Ready to receive swimmer.”
Michaels maneuvered
the 1369 in a wide sweep passing again over the dunes then lowered to about 20
feet off the water. Patterson was ready for the drop. Goss continued to pass
instructions to the pilot. “Cable sling attached on swimmer…looks good…swimmer
is in the door…standby…move forward, forward…swimmer is out the door, 20
feet…lowering swimmer…10 feet…forward…hold…hold swimmer at five feet…swimmer on
top of compartment…applying slack to the cable…hold…cable released…331 has the
swimmer….331 has the swimmer…returning cable…back away and right.”
For the next
hour, every crewman on board the 331 followed the same pattern. The last two
used the floating basket instead of the sling, same procedure, just using a
different apparatus to simulate a more seriously injured swimmer or small
child. After the last crewman was returned to the 331, Michaels radioed again,
“331, 1369. Good show guys…well done…we will exit the area and head for home looking
forward to working with you guys again.”
“1369…roger
that…you guys are the best. Be safe. Over.”
The 1369
circled over the edge of the channel and across the parking lot in an
exaggerated loop, more as a public-relations move, to give the accumulated
crowd of about fifty people a closer look at the 1369. As they passed over the
crowd, Ian spotted Sharon waving at them and he waved back. Goss commented,
“Nice looking lady…known her long?”
“A few
years…and yeah, she’s something special.”
“Think you
could fix me up with her?”
Ian rolled
his eyes and chuckled without a reply as they settled into their return routine.
