Tu-22 crash

[nuuumannn]

Yes, Graeme, I remember having a book on Soviet military aircraft that called it a Tu-26, to differentiate from the Tu-22, which was a known quantity. Even at the time the Russians, in particular Brezhnev had referred to it as a Tu-22M, but the Americans decided it was too different from the Tu-22, to share the same designation! The Tu-22M3 of course has the massive chisel intakes as opposed to the rectangular ones with the boundary layer plate. It's a very kewl looking aircraft in the flesh. Mind you, so is the B-1B.

 

[The Basket]

Ah yes
I should have said Tu-22M.
Or Backfire
I will hang my head in shame for the next few seconds as penitence.

 

[DerAdlerIstGelandet]

Anecdotal Times
December winter night in Germany, 1998
I'm on duty, away for a week at an Army training area like 50 miles east south east of Nurnberg, called Hoenffel's. It's like 10 PM, and a call over the alert phone comes in - Soldier injured, requires immediate MEDEVAC, head injury. I hand phone to our medic, to grab medical info, and tell my crew chief to head to bird and start getting it ready...no snow today...so it should be quick launch because of our morning run-up and checks. I grab the other phone, after hitting my medic up for head injury hospitals...he points on the list of locations on the wall map while talking on the phone....OK, actually only one....to the south east about 50 miles. Weather says a winter storm is coming in from the northwest... hmmmmmm, timing. I go look outside, not clear but there's a nice solid overcast 400-600 feet high - that's OK - but the wind is definitely from the NW and the air pressure is dropping...a storm is coming - Time, how much time? I call Air Force weather again and fill out a weather brief, asking many questions about the storm front coming in. OK, time frame is alright, we gotta move though, no dicking around...
I relay this to my medic...Time is critical...he's of concurrence because of the injury, the man is in bad shape with a head injury. OK, quick review and recap; location check, weather - check, brief - check, medical gear - check, special fight equip check, NVG's– check, aircraft - check (was checked this morning), maps/publications - check, radio frequencies - check, alternate hospital – medic says "Ummmm OK sir give me a moment, ..........yes, near same area about 15 miles away" - OK check. Alright - let's split.
My crew chief has everything ready...the bird is unwrapped and prepped to go -- even my seat belts are parted for me to easily strap into. Good man. While I complete my traditional 'walk-around' and piss at the tail. My co-pilot straps in; he's a young pilot, first tour - I wont be able to rely on him - this I know already and have taken into my risk assessment.
I'll start the bird, you (my co-pilot): "Get strapped in and focus your goggles, review the map and our route - input the grids into the GPS". He replies - "What's our route?" Oh boy - not tonight is all that comes to mind - such cherries, why can't they pay attention.
Snow begins lightly falling, -- we launch....off to the simple field medical clinic to retrieve the injured soldier. We land. Our medic leaves and goes into the clinic.....time....time....time....more snow....15 minutes....20....oh, damn. I call weather; it's a weak and scratchy reception but I get an update. If I leave within the next 30 minutes I can get back OK. My mind begins crunching, worse case scenarios, but it's cool, and I'm headed away from storm. I can get the injured to that hospital, then if need be I can just stay there - no biggie.
"Hey, Chuck double check the coordinates in the GPS navigation computer with the map and give me a fuel burn number, plus reserve - then check it again."
Why?" - He says.
"Just do it" I say, as I look the map over in my lap....checking the terrain and hazards. What's taking so long? I call on radio: "Hey clinic....this is your ride, lookie, we don't have a lot of party time - I hate to bust your bubble, but we got bad weather coming in - you dig?"
Clinic: "Uhhh Copy....we are still prepping – also, be advised - cannot go to primary hospital"
Now that gets my attention - "Say What?!"...."How about alternate?"
They respond "Negative on both...all full." Oh swell. Now what? Gee...I see this all going to shit real quickly like.
Clinic: "Patient coming out now...a hospital just north of Nurnberg take him Augsbuerg"
Confirmed...gone to shit. Fuck.
Me: "I copy...pass freq and coordinates"
Clinic: "We don't have - But it is on HWY such and such...at such and such intersection."
Me: I cut them off....."Forget it! Nurnberg knows the hospital, yes?"
Clinic: "I assume so"
Me: "Oh dandy - lets go with that" - sheesh - "soldier is critical? - see coming out now"
Clinic: "yes - critical"
Me: Grrrrrrr Dammit...this is going from bad to worse. "Clinic I have no time to waste, advise Augsberg by phone I'm inbound like – now!"
Clinic: Copy
To Chuck: "Your head in the game dude? If not, better get there real quick - we got a re-route, we going north east, this place (pointing on map), plot it, crunch into the GPS, examine the route. I'm going to call weather again and get an update for the
Nurnberg area, you look at hazards, low lands, anything that can dick with us, cause we are off and heading in a totally different direction, into mother nature - be quick, then brief me.
Loading patient – Time - Damn. I can see the weather coming in.
Medic: "We're loaded, all secure" "Let's go"
"Chuck, I got the controls, heading 330, climbing to 500 feet…. hmmm maybe not". I'm thinking, it's good, we have a hard cloud ceiling, I can see between the hills and the sky -- lets move our ass - now. We skim between the hills 100 feet above, playing the difference between that and the clouds. Moving ever quicker toward our destination in the most direct line at 160 MPH.
25 miles South East outside Nurnberg, I'm boxed in, continually slowing my speed, to a loitering circle just above the high tension wires - I cannot go any further...the weather is just too bad - even for me. Now stuck, circling 100 feet in the air, my copilot not comfortable at all or having a clue...my medic nearly yelling at me about the condition of the patient....he's going from bad to worse. The only other person I can depend upon is my experienced crew chief/mechanic.
Me: "Medic...I dig...the dudes about to crash....I'm with ya....but I'm not killing all of us for him...you dig? So settle and give me an alterative hospital or anything for this area - you copy?"
"I dig...Mr. Brown"
Me: "Cool, I saw a village to our rear about 5 miles back, see if they got a clinic."
Me: "Chuck, confirm those Nav freqs for Nurnberg approach, you set up your instruments, double check it, look over the approach procedure, as I asked you before.....Chuck"
Chuck: "Ahhh....ya....I think I'm good"
Me: "Chuck...you'd better be good because your gunna fly it.....now...slow level turns, to the left, watch the wires, and by God DO NOT go into the clouds yet"...
"All set?" "You have the controls"
There's a light wobble as Chuck takes the controls, I monitor him for a few moments – to ensure that he is not getting spatially disorientated. "There ya go, no climbing Chuck, we are at the very base of the clouds, I'd like to get lower but I have to contact Nurnberg Approach Control, and this may even be too low." I lean back and over to my right – tilt my head back looking slightly under my night vision goggles tubes to confirm Chucks instrument settings for the ILS runway 26 approach. I'd set
up slightly different, but that'll do…for now. I sit back upright in my seat, still looking under the goggles I look around outside –sheesh. I can't see squat, what a shit night – technically I'm already in the clouds at 130 feet off the ground, thank goodness for the goggles and their ability to see through slight obscurations. Of course, that same advantage can get you into trouble too. I glance and check the OAT gauge (Outside Air Temp) it's 6 degrees Celsius, right close to icing conditions, another 500 to 1000 higher and I'll be picking up Ice. I take a moment to confirm anti-ice switches I turned on prior to launch, Yup – Pitot Heat: ON, Blade De Ice: ON, Engine Anti Ice: ON, Engine Inlet Anti Ice: ON. Windshield Anti-Ice: ON. Good. I review the approach procedure strapped to my right thigh, walking my self through how I imagine, or anticipate it will all be executed. OK – this altitude, this turn to this heading, do before landing check here, press such and such switch here, get cleared for the approach here, left turn here, intercept localizer here, intercept the glide slope here….la la la. Touchdown and coffee. Maybe. I give the entire cockpit a once over visually – OK we are about set. "A few more minutes Medic, a few more minutes"
"Roger sir, but he's real weak, blood pressure dropping."
"I copy."
I switch my radio communications controller to position 2, to transmit on UHF…."Nurnberg approach Army Evac 23455?" Not a whole lot of niceties tonight, its pure business…..I wait a moment, checking again how Chuck is hanging…
"Army 455 this is Nurnberg Approach."
"Nurnberg, Army 455 is approximately 25 nautical miles to your south east…inbound for Augbeurg for critical patient drop off –with a request."
"Army 455 transponder squawk 0366 and ident."
As I scribble the transponder code down on my kneeboard that is strapped to my left thigh I respond "Squawk 0366 and Ident, WILCO – be advised Nurnberg I am low, in a valley". I lean over to get a better view of the radio counsel, look under the goggles again, press the appropriate buttons on the transponder to indicate 0366 in the little viewing windows, then move my index finger up and push the 'Ident' switch forward to radiate the transponder signal. A few moments, we are still loitering, altitude good, Chuck is scanning the outside, keeping us clear of the high tension lines…
"Evac 455, this is Nurnberg, we are not receiving your transponder – go ahead with your request."
"Copy Nurnberg, 455 would like immediate vectors for ILS 26 approach Nurnberg, then continued flight low level VFR to Augsberg Hospital with radar guidance – also, can you pass your current weather?"
"Evac 455 turn to 360 degrees climb and maintain 3500 feet, ATIS is operating." Chuck immediately begins rolling the aircraft right and starts a climb – I quickly push the controls to maintain current loiter flight "Not yet Chuckie, I don't want this, Hold pal."
Medic: "Sir! Our man is crashing!"
Me: "Hush up! And do your medic shit – chief help the medic, forget looking outside." "Darren, you gotta do what you can, and get off my commo." I can hear him yelling in the back, ordering the crew chief on what needs to be done.
Me: "Chuck there are two gigantic radio towers like 3 miles north of us – we do not wanna go that way, so hold and be prepared for a 270 climbout." "Place your heading bug on 270, press heading control button–Got it?"
Chuck: "Copy"
"Nurnberg, Evac 455, Request climbout to the west 270 then right turn 360 to intercept final approach course –there's two big towers just to my north, and give me a moment to get set."
"Evac 455, you can expect that, and advise on climbout."
Me: "WILCO."
Me: "OK Chuck, no drastic maneuvers, follow this turn all the way around and roll out on 270, begin your climb once establish on your heading."
Chuck: "Copy"
I sit back, monitoring Chuck's turn, review my instrumentation set up, and double check frequencies, Chuck starts rolling level close to 270 – good enough for government work and begins a positive climb. All instruments indicate this is happening, I cannot tell from the outside anymore, we are in the muck and this is confirmed by the bumps felt inside the turbulence of the clouds. Good climb 800 feet per minute, power is fine, heading holding near 270 –"Looking good Chuck."
"Nurnberg 455 is on climbout heading 270."
"Roger 455."
30 seconds - The altimeter steadily climbs, I have climbed 400 feet, this puts me near 600 feet AGL (Above Ground Level) and near 1800 feet MSL (Mean Sea Level), another 1700 feet to climb - and at present climb rate that's a sliver over 2 minutes. Outside temp is 2 degrees – I crane my head and neck left and look out my door
window, to the tactical FM antenna mounted out on the fuselage and abeam my back. Yep, Icing – we got Ice – not too bad though.
"Evac 455 Radar contact."
"Good show Nurnberg, I'll begin right turn to 360 very shortly." "You copy Chuck? – At 2500 feet begin your right turn –360."
Chuck: "Copy"
I've held this last request off, but now will pop it by Nurnberg "Nurnberg, Evac 455, we have a serious head injury patient aboard, may I get minimum vectoring altitude?"
"Roger Evac 455 climb and maintain 2700 feet"
"WILCO Nurnberg" "Copy Chuck? So continue climb, heading 270 until we reach 2700 feet then turn north."
Chuck: "Copy"
Me: "How we doing in back?"
Medic: "Not good, weak pulse, chief and I are CPRing."
Me: "There we are Chuck 2700 feet, right turn 360 now, once established, pick up your speed –lets do 120 knots."
Me: "Darren, we are about 10-12 minutes out."
"Nurnberg, 455, how weather–please? I'm not receiving ATIS", I could, but don't wish to off tune approach control – on either radio, I want them on both VHF and UHF as a backup.
"455, we got 100-150 ceilings obscured, visibility less than a quarter mile, light to moderate snow."
"Good copy Nurnberg" Well…that's not the best news –that's right at the minimums for the approach. "Nurnberg, I'm guessing I'm not, repeat, not going to make it VFR to the hospital, could you call and advise them that our patient is 10 minutes out and have an ambulance waiting on your ramp?"
"Will do Evac 455"
"DankeNurnberg"
I rest back against the seat, once again review the cockpit, instruments, and look over at my co-pilot –he's intently flying, you can feel the concentration. I can hear my medic and crew chief yelling instructions over the aircraft noise. We are level 2700 feet, heading 360. I get a moment or two to relax my brain – and run another mental rehearsal of what going to happen on the approach, and contingencies that I need to think of. Weather is not good, I got fuel for a little over another hours flight time, this is the approach that gets me the lowest, I've shot this approach before – I can fly it right to the ground if need be. We cool – kinda. I complete a before landing check, then check the Ice rate meter – Hmmm, shows moderate ice. I check my antenna again –Ice is thicker, but not building, and it's rime ice – good.
"OK Chuck– we are about 4-5 miles south of the ILS/Localizer course line – possible intercepting at 90 degrees, be prepared for a positive left hand turn, try not and overshoot the course, lead it in – Dig? Also, expect a descent to 2200 feet on final approach course –I'll see if I can get that early"
"Evac 455 you are 3 miles south of clear for ILS Runway 26 approach, altimeter 29.85."
"Roger Nurnberg, 455 Clear ILS 26, altimeter 29.85 descending to 2200 feet now and intercepting Localizer course."
"Roger 455"
Me: "Copy Chuck? Get you're decent in, now, start a left turn, the course line is approaching rapidly."
Chuck: "Roger"
Chuck: "What the Hell?!!" As the aircraft noticeably shudders laterally.
Me: "It's cool Chuck, we're just shedding ice, no worries dude. I damn near shit my drawers the first time it happened to me."
I monitor the instruments; I can see the course bar wavering, picking up the Localizer signal, all my instruments are indicating I am where I think I am – tis good. I glance at Chuck's instruments –"Chuck, deselect heading control and select ILS, it'll make everything look like it's supposed too."
Chuck: "Damn"
Me: "No problems dude –you're hanging. You're doing well."
Me: "Darren, chief– we are 3 minutes out, do what ya gotta do to secure your gear, if able."
A little overshoot and wavering on altitude –not bad. "Chuck…nail that attitude holmes – Glide slope intercept is coming up right quick like and start slowing to 80 knots bro –easy like." Airspeed is dropping – good, a slight climb though – I tap the collective control down a sliver –"Watch the climb hero." "Any second Chuck– we will intercept the glide slope course –needle is coming down"
Chuck: "Got it."
Me: "Cool"
Chuck: "Beginning descent."
Me: "it's a 3 degree glide slope Chuck, and at 80 knots….that's like at target descent rate of 400 feet per minute – but fly the needles for now."
"Nurnberg, Evac 455 is Glide slope intercept – look for us to pop outta the clouds in about 2 minutes"
"Copy Evac 455, advise runway in site or missed approach. Also, ambulance is pulling in now.
"WILCO Nurnberg–and copy on ambulance."
"Looking good Chuck– airspeed near 80, slightly above glidepath, and just a sliver to the south of course – remember the winds are from the north – play the wind – play the winds."
Decision Height (DH) is at 1260 feet MSL for this particular approach. We are just passing through 1700 feet MSL, about another minute to DH altitude.
Me: "Chuck, looking good man, just remember, near the bottom of the approach the needles get very sensitive, don't over control, don't go chasing the needles, just continue doing what you have been –and we be cool." "Another 400 feet is all."
Me: "Darren, we're a minute out, ambulance is there"
"Nurnberg Evac 455 is one mile final ILS 26, no vis runway yet." I review the missed approach procedures.
"Copy 455"
The green digital altitude readout of the radar altimeter lights up, activated by its own little radar signal bouncing back from the earth – indicating 500 feet for an instant, and then numbers descend.
"Looking good Chuck - another 30 seconds dude" – 250 feet to DH" (Decision Hieght; that's the altitude where you decide to continue the approach or execute a missed approach).
I begin swapping views, looking at the instruments and backing Chuck up on the approach to scanning outside –to see if I can make out the runway lights…or anything – no doubt – preferably the runway.
"150 feet to DH." It's still dark in the clouds. I Look back inside, all cool, the aircraft systems fine too. 100 feet Damn . "We're at Decision Height"– no visibility on runway.
Chuck: "I'm missed approach"
Me: "Hold course Chuck and continue decent." The clouds getting lighter, city lights causing a glow. Radar altimeter reads 90 feet to terra firma. There!! A glow of blue runway lighting then poof we are out of the clouds at 85 feet and off to the left of runway center line by about 30 feet.
"455 Nurnberg tower, we have you in sight."
"And we have runway in sight also Nurnberg"
Me: Chuck: "I have the controls, take a break." I continue the shallow descent and slip the bird right to touch the runway right on center line and ground taxi to the flashing blue lights of an ambulance a quarter of a mile off to the left. After landing check – complete I pull to a stop about 50 feet from the ambulance. Set the parking brake.
"Nurnberg, Evac 455, Thanks for your help tonight – you may very well save this young man.
"455, Nurnberg tower– you are welcome"
Medic: I'm going to follow this guy to the hospital.
Me: "No sweat, we won't be leaving real soon"
Gosh – talk about earning your pay, and I don't even want to think about all the Army, host nation, and international flight regulations I just busted this evening trying to save this dudes butt. I tell you one of these days this shit is gunna catch up with me.

Hohenfels. Plenty of memories of cold winter days and nights in that place.

Where were you stationed out of? I was based near Nurnberg in Ansbach for 6 years.

 

[Husky]

Hohenfels. Plenty of memories of cold winter days and nights in that place.

Where were you stationed out of? I was based near Nurnberg in Ansbach for 6 years.

Wow. Ansbach too. 45th Med detachment -- flying H-60's. 1996-1998.

 

[DerAdlerIstGelandet]

Wow. Ansbach too. 45th Med detachment -- flying H-60's. 1996-1998.

45th Med...

Small world. You were in the Hangar down by the shopette.

I was in B Co. 2-1 Avn. H-60's. 2000-2006.

I Miss the place. My wife is German (and both of our families live there), so we fly back every year.

Speaking of Hohenfels this was taken there during a multiship mission in the box.

 

[Husky]

45th Med...

Small world. You were in the Hangar down by the shopette.

I was in B Co. 2-1 Avn. H-60's. 2000-2006.

I Miss the place. My wife is German (and both of our families live there), so we fly back every year.

Speaking of Hohenfels this was taken there during a multiship mission in the box.

View attachment 528087

Very cool. Indeed small world. Hated MEDEVAC. Grew up in the Assault world and Special Ops in Korea, then the 101st ABN before getting stationed in Germany. Ended up not spending a whole lotta time in Germany...was down in Bosnia most.

Did teach me a few things though - German winter weather is some of the worst.

Love the Blackhawk though...great aircraft. Miss it.

 

[DerAdlerIstGelandet]

Very cool. Indeed small world. Hated MEDEVAC. Grew up in the Assault world and Special Ops in Korea, then the 101st ABN before getting stationed in Germany. Ended up not spending a whole lotta time in Germany...was down in Bosnia most.

Did teach me a few things though - German winter weather is some of the worst.

Love the Blackhawk though...great aircraft. Miss it.

I miss it too. I get sentimental when an H-60 stops by our field.

I didn't do Bosnia, only stopped there when we flew down to Kosovo.

 

[Leutnant]

Condolences to the family of those aboard. Absolutely sucks. Russians should know to not be flying in weather conditions as such, it's not like they don't have that often and stuff. Or at least train them for that type of flying (snowy conditions, etc).

 

[Husky]

I miss it too. I get sentimental when an H-60 stops by our field.

Oh, yeah...the H-60 and have had some time together; some intimate and tender, some abusive....it's a relationship:

Anecdotal Times
Com'on Baby, Com'on!!
Mogadishu Somalia, August 1993
It's nearing 1100 hours and already hotter and damper then a whore on Saturday night. We've been flying since around 0630 doing logistical runs and just keeping an eye on this fucked up city. A fella named Tony is my co-pilot, and my assigned combat crew since we've stepped off the C-5 Galaxy Air Force Transport, in June. Tony is fresh outta the pilot factory, with a whopping like 300 hours total time experience, I quickly got him mission qualified and checked out in the new Lima model Blackhawk's in the nick of time just before we deployed from Ft. Campbell. We are supposed to change co-pilots every 30 days as combat crews – but for some crazy reason Tony here desires to stay on board with me. Honestly, I have no idea why.
Tony and I are enroute to the Embassy, I can't recall exactly why, I think we are dropping off a few passengers from the airport. We have to abide by this new, as of last week, inbound and outbound flight routes to the embassy pad now. We used to just make radio calls in the blind and come in based on winds and the threat, but seeing how some general thought that was to dangerous we gotta play the route game, which is fucked up for a couple reasons: 1) Primarily, because now we only get to fly by the Norwegian chicks sun bathing topless on their apartment roof only once – on departure, not on the approach. 2) Because this "new" inbound route follows right over the road in front and along the embassy compound, two miles for the skinny's to peck away at you with AK's, or anything else they want to throw at you. Two freaking miles!!
We are at maybe 75 feet and doing 120 knots, Tony banks right to pick up this road that runs along in front of the embassy, I immediately begin scanning the trashed out non-windowed buildings and apartments along the left side for any skinny that may decide to get froggy and pop off some 7.62 AK rounds in our direction. I'm really not digging it, particularly since I usually ride left seat and any rounds would naturally hit me before Tony – I of course, would prefer it to be the opposite. Two freaking miles of straight line flight – Christ!! The pad is coming into site; it's a large helicopter pad and is located about 100 feet inside the embassy wall. We've landed there with three or four other birds before; it's clear at the moment.
Before landing check – complete. Weapons safetied and locked pointed down on short short final. Tony shoots his approach to the center and touches down – then prepares for shutdown. Hmmmm.
"Hey Tony?"
"Uhhh - ya?" "I know you are important – hell, I bet when your girlfriend is not fucking the mailman she even thinks you're important…." "Your point…?" "Dunno…maybe I'm feeling kind hearted at the moment, but you know another bird could have an emergency, or has taken some damage and needs immediate landing, or… most probably some cheese ass fucking general wants to come in and HE'd be highly disturbed that HE doesn't get the most room –ya know? They're insecure that way - and I just don't feel like dealing with that shit today." "Ahhhh…so you want me to move to a corner?" "Nah, we can shut it down here if you like, if anything happens I'll just say you're the aircraft commander –how about that?" Without another word, we reposition and commence our shutdown in the far forward left corner of the pad.
Tony wants to hit the head and actually sit on some honest to God porcelain, and seeing how it is near lunch time, maybe it's time to see if we can once again steal some fresh sandwich fixings from the "off limits" Norwegian dinning facility that supports the Embassy compound and the UN shitbags here.
Besides the rampant UN corruption, that's another thing that bites my ass, the Nords volunteered to provide hot fresh cooked meals to the U.S. troops supporting this UN OP, but NOOOOOO!!! Our dickhead general says that U.S. troops are not mercenaries leeching off the backs of others, "we can support our own." So we've all been stuck shoveling that aluminum tasting T-ration crap into our bowls three times a day for the last 60 fucking days – I'm either constipated or got the runs…is that some dicked up shit or what? Ya well, we got something for you Army, you can't take care of us right -- we're putting the final coordination for our own fresh food supply source…. FUCK YOU! Soon, its gunna be fresh meats and bread from the Nords, Pastas from the Italians, Sea food from the Pakis and Saudi's, beer from the German's, eggs from the Brits. YUM YUM. BLOW ME ARMY. OK, I'm done ranting for the moment.
So Tony and I safety our 9mm's Beretta's and stick them back in our thigh holsters, grab our boonie hats and we head off in the direction of the Nord dining facility, our flight engineer and gunner remain with the bird –no worries we'll score them something too. We enter the facility and meander casually over in the direction of the lunchmeat and sandwich bar trying to look as non-descript as possible. Of course in wrinkled desert flight suits, with sweat lines running down the back of your spine to the crack of your ass, nappy hair and 5 O' clock shadow its abit difficult to blend in with all these high and mighty cheese balls. We are just about there, I'm salivating, and got a serious case of target fixation on the incredible display of fixings – when what cuts us off? A U.S. Army full bird colonel.
Fuck.
"Excuse me; you do know this facility is off limits to U.S. Forces, do you not? My temperature is rising quickly, and I have to seriously restrain myself. "Well, Colonel…then that would explain your presence here wouldn't it?" "I'm not sure I like your tone Mister –what's your name?" I point to my nameplate Velcro'd to the left breast of my flight suit –"Ness, CW3 Harry P. Ness, Cobra pilot assigned to the 10th Mountain Division and attached to the 101st, some Blackhawk pilots dropped us off so we could visit one of our wounded pilots at the hospital, and…" At this point in my amazing display of thinking on ones feet and serious doubletalk, a woman approaches and kindly places her hand on the Colonels shoulder, and softly says something to the effect that we look tired and hungry and that maybe he can overlook this and allow us poor down trodden a break. I nod my head in a slight bowing gesture "Very gracious of you ma'am, thank you." Then she grabs her little playmate by the arm and pulls him back to the table. I knew this made up name-plate would cover my ass one day, and that whole BS story –he'll never be able to track us down. Up yours Colonel. To the lunch bar!!! We both just start rifling through the bar scoring and grabbing all kinds of lunch meat, cheeses, lattice, onions then wrap them up quickly in wax paper and shoving them into the numerous pockets that litter a flight suit as fast as we possibly can – I got a whole small loaf of bread jammed into my lower calf pocket. Ohh, Ohhh…there's some strawberry yogurt!
People are looking at us like we are savages – ya well kiss my ass.
I think we're packed, Tony and I glance at one another – nodding in affirmation. OK, let's split - we start heading toward the exit, Tony begins passing me his load of illgotten booty then peels formation for the shitter. My pockets are full so I zip my flight suit open and start shoving the remainder of the goodies inside my suit along my waistline. Then I'm out the door and headed back to my crew –they're gunna love my sorry ass. Of course eating some real food for the first time in nearly two months will probably fuck up my intestines more than it is now. I deem it's worth it. My crew is licking their gums as I begin dumping the goods and spread it all out along the helicopter cargo floor, all of us, minus Tony, is preciously manufacturing their dream sandwich. I build my ham, salami, turkey, lettuce, and onion palatable delight, grab my bottled water then move out to the nose of the helicopter to fully enjoy my dining in my own little world leaning back against the nose of my aircraft under the shade from one of the rotor blades. Munch. Mmm.
Tony comes from around a cargo-shipping container, which the embassy utilizes as a secondary fortified wall and fragment barrier. He's walking with a purpose and like he's got a corncob stuffed up his rear end. He impatiently waves me off with a "They wouldn't let me in thebathroom." and turns directly to a porta-potty placed just in front of the cargo container.
"Ya, well looks like you got a serious case of anticipation" I say with a full mouth. "…And you'd better hurry up Tony!! The flies from that shitter are walking all over what's left of your lunch."
Munch. MMmm…." Oh thank you Lord." Ambrosia this is… Let me savor this moment….
Munch. Relative peace and quiet. Some shade, some cool water, something to lean my back against and a good sandwich… it's the tiny things – ya know God? Think you may find it in your heart to make appear a scantly dressed female that'll feed me some fresh grapes Father? OK, I may be pushing it there –it's some of the simplest things we just take for granted.
Munch….
Shhhhhh…………….Whaaammm! Whaaammm! Whaaammm!
Dammit! Motherfuckingshit!! Mortar attack. Grrrrrrrrrr, you fucking cock suckers!!! Can't a guy just have a sandwich in a little fucking silence??
"Sir!?, mortars!"
"Ya ya Chief, hold on– K? They're hitting the other side of the compound." Lord? I was only kidding about the girl and the grapes thingie….Really.
"WHaammm! WHAaammm!
"SIR, IT'S COMING THIS WAY!"
"FUCK, SHIT, DAMN, HELL!!!…OK let's split. Munch. I start gathering my stuff slowly.
WOOOWHAAAAM!!!!! The ground rocks, dust and sand rain down on us. OK, that got my attention. I run around and jump into the cockpit, tossing my helmet, gloves and kneeboard to the center console - my flight suit still tied around my waist.
WWWHAAAM!!!! WHHHHAAMM!!! More rocks and dusts – the bastards found us and got range.
Fuck the checklist – all I need is three things to get this girl cranked: "Air, Fuel and a Spark." But to provide that shit I must get my Auxiliary Power Unit (APU) running to provide the electrical source for the igniters, power to the fuel pumps and the initial air for the engine starters.
Battery – ON
APU fuel boost – ON
APU Control switch – ON
Com'on com'on girl, should take 8-12 second for the Auxiliary Power Unit to come online. It seems like a lot longer.
9 seconds and APU is on. APU GEN Switch - ON
WHHAAMM!! Dammit! More rounds falling around us. I can hear the rocks and debris tinkling down on my bird. Shit! I know it's to way too hot outside. it must be 125 degrees F; the air is too thin, but I automatically check the outside temperature gauge anyway from habit. Confirmed, too hot for a dual engine start, I'm a good ways outside the dual engine start envelope. I've done a few dual engine starts before slightly outside the envelope, but not this much. - It could hot start and fry an engine, or both, if turbine speed does not spin up to speed fast enough. Then we're really screwed. But doing two single engine starts will take entirely too much time – and homey don't wanna be here no more.
WWHHAAM!!! Dammit!! The bird is rocked side to side.
Fuck it! I press both engine starter buttons simultaneously, and then start my clock to time it, the manual says if idle is not attained in 45 seconds and/or turbine gas temp (TGT) is exceeded (851 degrees C) to manually abort the start. Normally idle is attained in around 25-30 seconds. I hear the air start valves open, and both engines groan as thin hot air is pushed through the little start motor that begins turning the 1st stage turbines of the engine.
"Chief get in the fucking bird!!!" I yell over my left shoulder, then shift rapidly back to monitor my instruments.
The rotor blades begin their counter-clockwise movement very slowly. I'm watching the engine instruments intently. Shit!! Turbine speed is rising too slowly and not rising much higher. Dammit! Oh well here goes. I move the two engine power levers to the 'idle' detent – immediately there's another groan, louder than the first as the twelve main fuel nozzles of each engine open allowing jet fuel to enter the combustion camber area and then the "click""click""click" of the igniters sparking to light the jet fuel. We got light-off on both engines and the engine temperature (TGT) rises rapidly. Still engine turbine speed is to slow –she's not spinning fast enough to cool.
"Oh…Com'on baby! Com'on."
WHAAMM!!! WHAAAMM!!!
Something catches my eye over the instrument panel. The Porta-potty door is flung open and I catch a glimpse of Tony in mid-air leaping from the shitter with his flight suit and undies around his ankles as those last two rounds land within fifty feet. Get your ass over here Tony!!
Back to the instruments -- TGT is skyrocketing its near 1500 degrees Fahrenheit and rising…. the 1st stage turbine speed is not fast enough to move enough air through…I'm gunna torch the engines, she's gunna melt down. Fuck me. Here I am in the midst of a mortar attack, about to turn two engines at a million dollars a copy into molten shit…
…and…. where's the hell is my sandwich and yogert??
WHAAMM!! Tony waddles up to his door, pulling his suit up as best as possible.
I'm patting the instrument panel and talking out loud in my best sweet talk I can muster: "Com'on sweetie, I know I'm being mean, and you'renot liking this…. but you need to do this for me babe." "Com'on honey, it's real important babe" It seems like almost at that moment, another groan – much throatier than the previous occurs as the 2nd stage engine turbines (the power turbines) kick in real hefty like, and the main rotor begins picking up speed in earnest…the engine out caution lights extinguish, 1st stage turbine speed is rapidly moving to proper idle speed, and my TGT begins dropping. I think I start breathing again here.
"Ohhh, Whooo Hoooo…Fuck'n-AAAA!!!" "You teasing little bitch you…I knew you wouldn't let me down."
Tony does the best he can to hop in his seat, I glance back into the cabin to see all my crew is seated – good.
WWHHAAAAMM!!!! WHHAAMMMMM!!!!
Once the 1st stage turbines attain minimal idle speed, I don't even wait; I reach up and pull the engine power levers from the 'idle' detent and not so politely shove them up to the 'fly' detent. The engines wail, screaming loudly as they try and match the demanded speed of my rapid shove, I can feel the aircraft want to rotate around its axis as it leans hard against the incredible torque effect. TGT's, both sets of turbines speeds, and the Torque indications increase rapidly.
WWHHAAAMM!!! The aircraft is rocked again as more sand and gravel is littered down on us.
"Hang baby…com'on hang, I'm trying to save your ass too."
THERE!!! 100% rotor RPM, or nearly so – FUCK IT! So much for a checklist start and runup - I snatch the collective up. The Hawk literally leaps straight off the ground at 3000 foot per min climb. Then at 50 feet, I push the cyclic forward, forcing me to look through the overhead Plexiglas to see the horizon as our nose is near pointed directly at the ground…then we are propelled out of dodge lickety split.
I think this place might kill me yet…
Once we are clear to the south. I realize why the aircraft is so loud – my helmet is on the cabin floor behind me. Then I find I'm not buckled in, I'm half dressed, my gloves and other gear is strewn about everywhere, and no avionics are on…and… …what on earth is that God awful smell?
Ohhh…Christ, Tony…say it isn't so whewww…sheesh.
I cannot help myself; I start laughing so hard my eyes are watering.

 

[nuuumannn]

Hohenfels.

Weird. In my early 20s I was work travelling (backpacking) in Germany and was not too far from Hohenfels. At night we could hear gun fire from the range at Grafenwohr. I remember during the day there would be an assortment of fast jets screaming around the place; LW Tornadoes, A-10s.

Stayed in Ansbach for a couple of nights, not far from Katterbach. Went to this tiny pub where the Germans gave me and some fellow travellers a real great night, all because I was wearing an All Blacks rugby jersey! I got introduced to the snuff machine!

 

[Buster01]

Note the tail and the main gear hit at about the same time. Then think about the 'heavy' statement in the Russian's accident report. Heavy aircraft need a higher angle of attack, lowering the tail. Put all the weight on the tail and mains with a high sink rate and you get a bounce that leads to what you see in the video. The entire forward section broke off at the leading edge of the wing indicating excessive forces for the design. This whole accident was avoidable by going around, which the crew decided was not the right answer.

 

[nuuumannn]

I spoke some more to my Lithuanian friend who is ex Soviet Air Force, he said that the senior flight controller on the ground ordered the aircraft to land, disregarding the protestations of the air traffic controller, apparently. Initially he had told me there was a second Tu-22M, but there wasn't. That will probably not come out in the final report. He will probably lose his commission and be forced to retire. Publicly, the Russians are still blaming the pilot.

 

[XBe02Drvr]

Publicly, the Russians are still blaming the pilot.

Calls to mind the classic line by Lt Jake Grafton in Flight of the Intruder: "Of course it's the fault of the guy with his hand on the stick! He's the dummy who signed for the aircraft."

 

[Husky]

. Publicly, the Russians are still blaming the pilot.

That's the default answer always, most any place anyway.

 

[XBe02Drvr]

That's the default answer always, most any place anyway.

Pilots are always infallible, we all know that....until the poop hits the prop!