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“Sure.”
“Rick, we discussed how to come out of the revetment. We don’t jump above the revetment and then back out. You come to a hover, three feet, and slide out of the revetment. Let me show you.” I took the aircraft, brought it back to a three-foot hover inside the revetment, and slid it back.
“There isn’t much room in here at a three-foot hover,” he said, looking around and measuring the distance to the walls with his calibrated eyeballs.
“There’s plenty of room. Take it slow and just think about moving the controls. You’ll be all right. You have the aircraft.”
Rick reached for the controls, almost moving reluctantly. I did not let go, however. “Rick, when I say you have the aircraft, your response is ‘I have the aircraft.’ Positive control transfer.”
“I have the aircraft,” he responded.
“Okay, let’s try this again.”
“Clear left.”
“Clear right.”
“Clear back.”
This time I heard fear in the crew’s voices. Rick came in slow with power, and the aircraft was light on the skids. As he continued to increase power, the nose was coming up as it should to five degrees and the aircraft broke ground. Rick was dancing on the pedals, which had the tail starting to swing back and forth. He was shaking and the cyclic was moving, which was causing the aircraft to drift from one side of the revetment to the other. We hadn’t touched, but we were getting close. I wanted to grab the controls, but he had to learn, and flight school didn’t teach this. Finally we were clear of the revetment.
“Okay, not so hard, was it, Rick? Now while we’re here, let’s put the aircraft back in the revetment. Just do what you did coming out, but do it in reverse and you’ll be fine. Slow, steady movements and just think about the movements. Okay, let’s go.”
It was called technique, and everyone had the opportunity to develop new techniques in combat, but newbies shouldn’t try new techniques until they’d learned the tried and true techniques developed by those that had gone before them. Rick was innovative in his technique. Lowering the collective so that the aircraft was lightly on the ground, he slid the aircraft into the revetment. I was too stunned to say anything. Finally after we stopped and were solid on the ground, I spoke up.
“Rick, if the maintenance officer sees you entering a revetment that way, he’s going to be all over you. That technique is rough on the skids. You have to hover the aircraft into the revetment, not slide it along the ground. We’ll work on that when we come back, but we need to get going. I got the aircraft.”
After clearances, I took the aircraft and flew north. I just wanted to relax for a couple of minutes, and flying the aircraft myself was relaxing at this point. Rick was looking around, and I was pointing out landmarks that he needed to know. Reaching the Chon Thanh, I landed the aircraft and told Linam and Private Diedrich, my gunner that replaced Private Johnson, to get out. Specialist Linam seemed to demonstrate some relief as he left the aircraft.
“Okay, Rick, we’re going to be shooting some autorotations. The first one will be textbook flight school. You haven’t flown in a couple of weeks, so I’ll do the first and you the next. Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Any questions?”
“No,” he said matter-of-factly. Now, if I hadn’t flown in a couple of weeks and hadn’t done an autorotation in probably two months, I would have had more enthusiasm or apprehension in my response. We took off and climbed to one thousand feet and turned on final. Over the end of the runway, I cut the throttle, lowered the collective and set the airspeed for sixty knots. At seventy-five feet, I flared the aircraft, cutting our forward speed and rate of descent. At five feet, I popped the collective and lowered the nose and proceeded to pull in the remaining collective, setting the aircraft down gently. Rick was looking straight ahead.
“Just like in flight school. Any questions?” I asked.
“No.”
“Okay, you have the aircraft. Let’s go.”
“I have the aircraft.” And Rick pulled in power and brought us up to a five-foot hover before pushing the nose over and climbing out. Coming around on final at one thousand feet, he closed the throttle and lowered the collective while slowing the aircraft to sixty knots. So far so good. Now in helicopters, any landing you walk away from is a good landing. At seventy-five feet, he hadn’t changed the flight attitude of the aircraft. My hand slid down to the throttle and collective. At fifty feet, he flared the aircraft, standing the aircraft on its tail, and popped the collective. I knew what was going to happen and was ready for it. On the end of the tail of the UH-1H, there was a metal rod protruding back and down under the tail rotor, and it was there to protect the tail rotor from hitting the ground. Flaring as low as we did, the stinger, as it was called, hit the ground, thus forcing the nose of the aircraft to pitch forward.
“I got it,” I growled as I snatched the controls, rolled on the throttle and pulled in the collective, increasing the power and bringing us to a hover. To continue the autorotation would have resulted in a hard landing at best, possibly spreading the skids or a rollover at worst. Rick just looked at me.
“A bit rusty, are we, Rick? When’s the last time you shot autorotations?” Stupid question to have asked, I thought.
“Back in flight school.” No emotion, almost detachment.
“Okay. Let’s do a hovering autorotation. I’ll go first. Bring the aircraft to a three-foot hover,” I said as I demonstrated. “Once stable, cut the throttle and pop the collective. Hold and pull in as we settle. Any questions?”
“No.”
“You have the aircraft.”
“I have it.” Rick brought the throttle to full power. Nothing was smooth or gentle with him. He jerked in an armful of collective, causing the aircraft to leap into the air to a six-foot hover. It took full control for me not to grab the controls.
