Would this help?
Small story:
Anecdotal Times
Finessing the girl
Take off for Albania, summer 1996
Our detachment of four UH-60A's self-deployed to Tirana Albania for a sixty day joint exercise that I actually have no fucking clue why we should go there. Except, maybe as a diplomatic overture of friendship and cooperation, seeing as we are part of the first U.S. Army units to set foot in that country since the fall of the Soviet Union and break up of the Warsaw Pact.
We took off from our base Ansbach, Germany in some seriously over laden beat up and abused Alfa model Hawks. Every bird is near maximum structural gross weight (or exceeding it slightly) primarily due to the fact we mounted the Extended Range Fuel System (ERFS) wings and 2 X 230 gallons external tanks, plus stuffing in all the living and maintenance support shit one has to have to operate self sufficient for 60 days or so. I took the aircraft with the weakest set of engines, just because I got the most flight experience of the team and I didn't want any of these pussy ass pilots to bitch and moan or use "marginal power" as an excuse if they happened to ball one up; again, because none of these weenies have really operated our aircraft where power management is critical before, so allow me to whine about it here. I took all the pilots out the week prior on nearly an hour flight each to simulate and practice power limited; take-offs, and approaches then tossed a few emergency procedures for good measure.
I know my bird is gunna be heavy and the old girl is weak – so I've done two engine washes on the gal, as we fondly refer to them as 'douches', to clean the turbines; hoping that'll maybe allow me just another sliver or two more percent of power engine reserve – hell one half of one percent would be cool.
I'm lead ship, planning to depart on our little runway here (and ya, I mean it's little), but seeing how there's a 5 to 7 knot cross wind, and, well, I want every damn knot of wind on my nose (headwind) as possible today I decide to launch our little band of aircraft from the adjacent grass field heading diagonally away from the tiny runway. Unfortunately not a wind full in the face headwind, but better than a complete crosswind. I'll have to settle for quartering left headwind to avoid over flight of the high school – I mean if even an engine hiccups anywhere along takeoff – rotor RPM is going to drop faster than Paris Hiltons panties and we'll be joining some teacher's classroom. It's better to take flight over the football field and then the only other obstacles; the 12-foot high fence a quarter of a mile away and the light poles of the high school football field, but we can fly between them.
Finesse Mister, finesse this girl, like the time you did on that one wheel landing at 10,000 feet atop that boulder to drop off those firefighters in Yellowstone.
Smooth boy, smooth.
Everyone's lined up. I reposition my hands and fingers on the controls, light touch, very light. Left thumb, index and middle finger in the outside edge of the collective stick. The right thumb and middle finger lightly riding on the cyclic stick. Feet light on the pedals to feel her torque. It seems like I have to pull the collective up to my arm pit just to get this heavy girl light on the wheels, and she's groaning as first the right wheel slowly leaves the ground and then the left wheel (this is known as Translating Tendency Effect) then the tail wheel very smoothly rises from the ground as I tenderly apply left pedal to counteract the main rotor torque. She hovers in a much more level attitude, not so much nose high like normal because of the external fuel weight forward on her frame.
She feels good, heavy as hell, but good.
I continue to very slowly increase power to get to our standard 10-foot hover height for a power/weight check. I can hear the engines wailing, giving all they can give, but my baby won't go, eight feet is as high as she'll hover and I'm at maximum power or 96% torque.
Ya, we're going to have to milk this one together sweetie.
OK, that's enough power check for me I allow the aircraft to settle down 3 feet, to a 5 foot hover. Confirmed. We are fat like four motherfuckers, maybe five. I'm guessing I'm about 500-800 lbs over maximum structural gross weight with 3% power to spare at a damn 5-foot hover – Christ!
I already hear a couple of pilots whining over the radio as they call in completing their power checks. Seems everyone else has 6-8% power to spare. Fuckers.
Glancing at my co-pilot: "You wanna do the take-off?"
"OH Hell NO!! You see everyone looking at us? The commander, the rest of the company, our wives and kids all standing by the hanger?" "Shit, AFN is here with a camera!"
"I know. I was thinking if we can't get enough altitude and snag that fence, its gunna be slightly embarrassing - and, well… I wanna be able to blame it on someone else."
Hmmm, OK, guess not.
As I instructed last week, in severely power limited situations – this is not a time to bad ass jerk handle this bird like some rabid lust fuck, this lady will slap you down hard, and at your own peril if you disrespect her. She requires an intimate sensual interlude, with soft and caressing touches, hints and tender gliding control, intently listening and feeling the responses of what she needs and desires. It is plainly, tender gentle sex.
I tell my co-pilot; "Watch my power, rotor RPM, and TGT (engine temperatures). We only got 3% power available to fuck with so I may ride rotor RPM down to 96-97% at maximum power – no worries – cool?"
"Ahh ya 96-97% rotor RPM…if gets lower start worrying." My co-pilots responds.
"Exactly." "Chief, keep an eye outside on the main landing gear would you? The aircraft will descend a few feet on this takeoff, just keep me read in when we got maybe 2 feet between the ground and the wheel – cool?"
"Yes sir."
OK, now let's split." Pressing the mic switch to the second detent; "Break. Flight, 23 is on the go."
Then by virtually thinking, and no perceivable control input – she starts hovering forward very slowly, then to walking speed, and then slightly faster then a walking pace.
Good girl. You feel great.
I motion up tenderly just a cunt hair on the collective – There! Max power of 96% Torque with both engines at TGT limiting and rotor RPM dipping to 99%.
Com'on, ride it honey.
As Effective Transational Lift (ETL) nears the aircraft will shudder slightly and may drop in altitude a few feet. This occurs because basically the aircraft out flies all that old nasty recycling air that circles through the rotor system at a hover (and eats up significant power) and begins entering fresh undisturbed air (requiring less power than moments prior to ETL). Ya, I know this is fascinating shit, but it's a significant aerodynamic phenomenon, particularly today, particularly on this take-off, because – Like, I need to get to ETL so I have more fucking power available, so I can get this fat lady over the rapidly approaching 12 foot barb wire wrapped fence, before we play like a fly caught in the spider web with it.
Our speed is slowly but constantly increasing – 10 knots. I can feel it, your struggling girl. Her nose wants to climb (Blowback Effect) – No, no honey, not yet, as I hold her nose level with care.
"Rotor RPM 98%."
"Copy."
We are about half way to the fence. Just passing a street light a ways off to my left that I'm using as my point of no return marker. Well damn – maybe that was not a good one - should I pick another one real quick?
"Rotor RPM 97%"
"Copy"
A smidge of left cyclic to maintain my ground track – I cannot let the wind or translating tendency keep us off our intended ground track. I have an urge, a real urge to pull more power (collective) so we can climb – but knowing fully it won't work, the engines computers have sensed 850 degrees Celsius TGT which equates this morning to be 96 % Torque and it sends a signal to the fuel control to sequence fuel on and off to maintain and not exceed that temperature to protect the engines. My engines are giving everything they can. Pulling up collective, while having an immediate, and quite temporary, psychologically satisfying and comforting feeling, will…be like very bad, as the big fan above my head will slow considerably unable to provide hardly any sustaining lift and we will crash. Not good, and it would be bad for my self-image.
"96% Rotor RPM!"
We are over three quarters of the way there. 20 Knots, Com'on babe. I feel ya, you're close…A slight shudder…the aircraft begins settling…more lateral shuddering (Transverse Flow Effect)…
"Sir, wheels are about a foot of the grass."
"Ya ya, let's hope there are no ant hills." Com'on babe I know you can do it.
25 knots.
You're there babe! Immediately followed by a pronounced lateral shudder and shaking of the aircraft because of our weight and the slow measured takeoff, as my girl begins to lift in a positive climb in our wonderful new fresh air aerodynamic environment as we cross 8-10 feet above the fence in between the light poles.
Ok, Mr. Mister lower the power and let the rotor RPM comes back to 100%, now let's tag a 65-knot attitude for climb out.
Hot damn! Babe you are soooo sweet to run my fingers over. Are we good together or what?
Well, that was fun. Whew.