"Walking Away From The Ledge” The Cut List: Vol. 18. These are the stories that didn’t make the cut to the final edit in my book. Some of these stories will jump around, but I’ll do my best not to leave you, the reader, guessing when and where they happened.
We jump nearly a year later from the last volume to my Pilot in Command (PC) checkride in Afghanistan.
My PC ride went well. For those who don’t know, a PC ride is designed to stress you out, overwhelm you, and put you in situations where you have multiple tasks to manage simultaneously while flying.
For example, I had to set up for an instrument approach into Bagram while dealing with a pilot who was “notionally” losing his situational awareness and almost bringing the aircraft into a loop-de-loop scenario, and a crew chief had lost internal comms. I handled that and was able to get us on course at the last minute, still bringing us in to land under low-illum conditions. That entire night, I flew to FOBs that I had never been to before, which should have been nearly impossible with the amount of time we’ve already been in theater.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was doing rather well, so at the end of the night, I got a “final test” of sorts. We were at FOB Aryan, which is in the southwestern portion of our flying area. We dropped off whoever or whatever we were dropping off, determined that we had enough fuel to make it back to Shank, and we were off.
Right after takeoff, we have a simulated BOOST OFF emergency scenario, I forget which one, and after recalling the required steps by memory, he turns off the boost. So now, I’m flying this bird at high altitude, with limited fuel, and no hydraulic assist. Is that all? Of course not, it’s a PC ride!
He begins to ask me about other emergency procedures. Not just the procedures, but why we do those procedures, which systems are failing, what further systems could fail if the procedure isn’t stopped, and all this while I’m beginning to sweat from muscling this aircraft.
The flight from Aryan to Shank is approximately 45 minutes, but at this point, it felt like an eternity! I’m holding my own, answering his questions, when we finally get over the last peak, and I see the dim lights of Shank in the distance. I’m ready for this thing to be over.
“Hawk 245 (I forgot our callsign that deployment, so Hawk will do) hold south of the field a few turns until we can launch these aircraft for their mission.” I had already made two in-flight flight lead changes, boost off, after already flying this way for 40 minutes, and now I must perform some holding patterns. “Don’t lose formation, hold that 2-to-3 disk separation!” My only words of encouragement.
I have a good coat of sweat, and my arms and legs are fatigued. I see a few miles off a group of aircraft launching from Shank, and simultaneously, “Hawk 245 clear to proceed to the FARP.” We head in for fuel, shutdown, and midnight chow, but first, I have to land this thing in a somewhat exhausted state. Do I sound like a bitch? Maybe. But go do some moderate rowing for 45 minutes or so, and then land a 17,000-pound aircraft with no hydraulic assist and see how much fun it is.
As I’m lining up for my landing, I slowly bring the aircraft forward at a 10-foot hover. “Forward for 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Hold hover.” “Clear down left.” “Clear down right.” The greatest words I’ve ever heard in my life. Landing a Blackhawk with boost off means you must put in all the control movements that you usually don’t have to do. When you move the collective, you must put in some pedal and cyclic inputs. Mess it up, and the aircraft goes wonky, which usually results in over-controlling to make corrections.
I didn’t want any of that, so I slowly but steadily moved the collective down while pushing the left pedal and cyclic slightly forward. Surprisingly, it is working well, and the aircraft touches down. However, while I was doing all that, I pushed the collective full down and hit the brakes, just as I had at Carson about a year prior. It wasn’t the most impressive touchdown, but it worked, and there was no damage to the aircraft or injury to the occupants. “What was that?” the SP asked. “My arms are tired, and I wanted to put it down.”
We refueled, moved to the parking area, shut down, and then it was time to find out how I did. Long story short, I was doing so well, he said, that he decided to throw the boost off scenario into it to try to shake me up more. Even after that, I held my own. The rest of the crew gave me positive responses, and within a week, I was made a Pilot in Command. It’s a lot like turning 16 and getting the keys for the first time, but instead of getting the keys to the shitbox car your parents bought for you to beat up, they give you the keys to the sweet ride, probably the one you learned on.
I tested my limits and the limits of what we could get away with by flying below the hard decks in some of the valleys we knew weren’t inhabited by enemy, taking different routes over mountain peaks that may have been a bit higher than necessary, but mainly trying to land the aircraft at the fasted possible rates without having too much of a “woah boy” at the end.
Want to know more about some of these situations? You’ll have to get the book “Walking Away From The Ledge" for more details (links below)! If this story hit home—or reminded you of your own service—drop a comment below or share it with someone who might need it.
https://books.by/w-brand-publishing/walking-away-from-the-ledge
