You mean like a staff job or a "real" job?
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Why it's good to be in Naval Aviation
- Thread starter Gatordev
- Start date
You mean like a staff job or a "real" job?
Hot Duty
In 1970, my VP squadron deployed to MCAS Iwakuni, Japan, in support of Operation Market Time with the 7th Fleet. Iwakuni is cold in the spring, with morning temperatures typically near freezing. At that time, the duty office was a small, wood-framed building sitting on a slight rise next to the flight line. In the spring of 1970, we stood the watch there in tropical white long (today's summer whites) that were plain cotton and not too warm. Jackets were not authorized, so the small pot-bellied stove in the corner of the duty office was an essential piece of equipment.
I was standing the SDO watch one cold March day. A quick check of the stove showed that the flame was out. Lifting the flat cast-iron top by its handle, I peered in and saw that the flow valve had been left open and a small pool of fuel had filled the bottom of the stove. The stove burned JP, fed through a line from a 55 gallon drum mounted on a cradle just outside the building.
As luck would have it, my ASDO that day was an ADJ3 which, in my mind, made him the on-scene expert on propellants. After he advise me that the pool of JP at the bottom of the stove would not explode if lit, I tentatively ignited a piece of paper, tossed it through the hatch, and watched a bit apprehensively as a small blue-orange flame slowly spread across the puddle of JP. A moment later it was clear that no explosion was likely and we both went back to work.
Some time later (I’m not sure just how much time), I realized that I was no longer cold. In fact, I was positively toasty. A glance over my shoulder at the stove made my heart lurch up into my throat. The top of the stove was now glowing a bright cherry red and it was giving-off bundles of heat. The air shimmered and danced between the top of the glowing stove and the ceiling. Making my way quickly (but professionally) over to the stove, I grabbed the office broom and, using it as a lever, lifted the stove lid up by its handle.
As soon as the lid had been lifted, a huge, angry flame roared up out of the opening, reaching almost to the plywood ceiling. The heat was fierce. I felt my eyebrows crackle. The flame was almost instantly accompanied by a tremendous cloud of boiling black ash that fountained energetically out of the stove top, rippled across the ceiling, and then rained down on everything and everyone, billowing out the windows for that special “total doofus” effect.
Being a highly-trained, cool Navy flier, I immediately sprang into my NATOPS training dealing with “Fire, Duty Office Stove, Measures Dealing with Extraordinary Stupidity in Use Of.” Releasing the broom handle with a dignified yelp, I nimbly stumbled backwards, tripping over my feet as I turned, and, in my most professional command croak, yelled “Fire! Evacuate the duty office!” The ASDO and I then hastily exited onto the flight line. From outside, the duty office looked like one of those glass “snow storm” globes you shake to get all the fake snow flying around, except that all the snow was black.
By this time, people were yelling and running from all over, carrying or dragging fire bottles, and I suddenly realized that I was about to have a very bad FITREP day (“LTJG Schmedrick is a personable young officer whose performance this reporting period would have been even better had he not managed to single-handedly burn the duty office to the ground.”)
Quickly, the valve on the JP barrel outside the duty office was secured, the stove was extinguished, and slowly, Career Suicide Day came to a merciful end. When I was sure all was safe, I dismissed the fire bottle brigade and made a trip to the head. A glance in the mirror showed a young man with all the hair on the front of his head burned off, the end of his nose cooked a crispy second-degree red, and wearing the new Summer Soot Uniform. It was humiliating. I finished my watch and then got the CO’s permission to clean the duty office myself. Completing the day’s log entry presented a bit of a challenge. My whites were way, way past cleaning.
Aftermath. I learned a whole new respect for JP. I learned that heating should be left to professionals. And from that day on, my flight crew refused to let me cook.
In 1970, my VP squadron deployed to MCAS Iwakuni, Japan, in support of Operation Market Time with the 7th Fleet. Iwakuni is cold in the spring, with morning temperatures typically near freezing. At that time, the duty office was a small, wood-framed building sitting on a slight rise next to the flight line. In the spring of 1970, we stood the watch there in tropical white long (today's summer whites) that were plain cotton and not too warm. Jackets were not authorized, so the small pot-bellied stove in the corner of the duty office was an essential piece of equipment.
I was standing the SDO watch one cold March day. A quick check of the stove showed that the flame was out. Lifting the flat cast-iron top by its handle, I peered in and saw that the flow valve had been left open and a small pool of fuel had filled the bottom of the stove. The stove burned JP, fed through a line from a 55 gallon drum mounted on a cradle just outside the building.
As luck would have it, my ASDO that day was an ADJ3 which, in my mind, made him the on-scene expert on propellants. After he advise me that the pool of JP at the bottom of the stove would not explode if lit, I tentatively ignited a piece of paper, tossed it through the hatch, and watched a bit apprehensively as a small blue-orange flame slowly spread across the puddle of JP. A moment later it was clear that no explosion was likely and we both went back to work.
Some time later (I’m not sure just how much time), I realized that I was no longer cold. In fact, I was positively toasty. A glance over my shoulder at the stove made my heart lurch up into my throat. The top of the stove was now glowing a bright cherry red and it was giving-off bundles of heat. The air shimmered and danced between the top of the glowing stove and the ceiling. Making my way quickly (but professionally) over to the stove, I grabbed the office broom and, using it as a lever, lifted the stove lid up by its handle.
As soon as the lid had been lifted, a huge, angry flame roared up out of the opening, reaching almost to the plywood ceiling. The heat was fierce. I felt my eyebrows crackle. The flame was almost instantly accompanied by a tremendous cloud of boiling black ash that fountained energetically out of the stove top, rippled across the ceiling, and then rained down on everything and everyone, billowing out the windows for that special “total doofus” effect.
Being a highly-trained, cool Navy flier, I immediately sprang into my NATOPS training dealing with “Fire, Duty Office Stove, Measures Dealing with Extraordinary Stupidity in Use Of.” Releasing the broom handle with a dignified yelp, I nimbly stumbled backwards, tripping over my feet as I turned, and, in my most professional command croak, yelled “Fire! Evacuate the duty office!” The ASDO and I then hastily exited onto the flight line. From outside, the duty office looked like one of those glass “snow storm” globes you shake to get all the fake snow flying around, except that all the snow was black.
By this time, people were yelling and running from all over, carrying or dragging fire bottles, and I suddenly realized that I was about to have a very bad FITREP day (“LTJG Schmedrick is a personable young officer whose performance this reporting period would have been even better had he not managed to single-handedly burn the duty office to the ground.”)
Quickly, the valve on the JP barrel outside the duty office was secured, the stove was extinguished, and slowly, Career Suicide Day came to a merciful end. When I was sure all was safe, I dismissed the fire bottle brigade and made a trip to the head. A glance in the mirror showed a young man with all the hair on the front of his head burned off, the end of his nose cooked a crispy second-degree red, and wearing the new Summer Soot Uniform. It was humiliating. I finished my watch and then got the CO’s permission to clean the duty office myself. Completing the day’s log entry presented a bit of a challenge. My whites were way, way past cleaning.
Aftermath. I learned a whole new respect for JP. I learned that heating should be left to professionals. And from that day on, my flight crew refused to let me cook.
So, anyway, since my story about drinking beers and having some inter-service fun didn't appeal to some "established member" on this forum, here's my second best:
LTJG goes out to launch on an "Alert 5" somewhere near Pakistani waters. Screws up the launch because he's late, gets his a$s chewed by the Boss, comes back and writes a gripe against the throttles, saying that they were "sticky", that's why he couldn't launch. Our maintenace chief looks at him and with the utmost seriousness says "Get the fvck out of my office." LTJG looks at the MO behind the chief in disbelief. MO says "What, are you fvcking deaf too?"
Loved the entire thing, shows the no-BS character of this job.
LTJG goes out to launch on an "Alert 5" somewhere near Pakistani waters. Screws up the launch because he's late, gets his a$s chewed by the Boss, comes back and writes a gripe against the throttles, saying that they were "sticky", that's why he couldn't launch. Our maintenace chief looks at him and with the utmost seriousness says "Get the fvck out of my office." LTJG looks at the MO behind the chief in disbelief. MO says "What, are you fvcking deaf too?"
Loved the entire thing, shows the no-BS character of this job.
S-3s have the legs to transpac east bound without tanker support. So we usually sent about half the aircraft home from the PI or HI on the way home from a cruise. I was transpacing home from the PI getting back over a week before the ship as we approached SoCal. AM station The Mighty 690 is a super high power station over the border that had an oldies rock format in english. It was always the longest range "nav aid" available using the ADF. When we started to pick up the Mighty 690 and the needle swung onto the nose we were still several minutes from talking to anyone, but we knew we were almost home. On our first call to Beaver we were welcomed home, and then all the LA Center guys and San Diego Approach controllers welcomed us home on our first call up. It was really nice that they noticed and took the time to recognize us. The best was when some airline guy, over hearing the greetings from ATC, said "Welcome home Vikings, thanks for serving".
Screamtruth
นักมวย
No lie, that is the SH$T!
All these reads kick it,
I stand in awe of all you,
calling it in from the ground is one thing, but to do it from the air....
well, you know.
Respect to all.
Semper Fi
Having a day like today's....
Doing an out and in w/ another winged aviator to Tallahasse, getting some pizza and looking at the scenery in a college town, and then coming back to the FBO and running in to Senator John McCain. And to make it even better, Senator McCain taking time out of his schedule to talk to 4 aviators and even pose in a picture. Really made our day.
Doing an out and in w/ another winged aviator to Tallahasse, getting some pizza and looking at the scenery in a college town, and then coming back to the FBO and running in to Senator John McCain. And to make it even better, Senator McCain taking time out of his schedule to talk to 4 aviators and even pose in a picture. Really made our day.
wink said:
It also doesn't happen in USAF. Their "patch wearers" (USAF FWS graduate) at CAOC make the calls and squadrons execute. Had USAF "planners" aboard USS America in sprong of 1986 before raid on Libya. They were stunned to be introduced to their counterparts (which included: 1) a LTJG Intruder BN 2) guys that were actually going to fly the mission 3) hand drawn mission route on charts hand cut nd rubber cemented on file folders (they are very pretty computer generated ones*)
*of course, there plan was a stream of F-111s following each other. Navy had more aggrssive plan and wagon wheel attack. They lost their tail-end charlie (after giving SAM site 9 tries to get one) and Navy had no losses.
In Desert Storm, they took their pills to go to sleep, awoke to go to brief and were given the plans from the "patch wearers" that they never met (one time they obediently flew straight and level through SAM envelopes trusting the patch wearing planners...one friend of mine ended up soaking up a Viet Nam era SA-3 and spending rest of Desert Storm getting roughed up in Iraqi prison).
Be glad you're in a Navy where JOs are appreciated and allowed to innovate and lead (in most cases).
Knowing that I'll be flyin' tomorrow afternoon (weather permitting) and some of my friends will be sitting in a cubicle staring at a computer or sitting in a Charleston classroom listening to a boring @ss lecture on nuclear physics...
If that doens't keep me motivated, I don't know what will.
If that doens't keep me motivated, I don't know what will.
Nuclear physics is not boring, as long as you can speak the language.TheBubba said:
@FMRAM....if you want to b!tch and moan about how much it sucks being a maintainer, do it in the 'Why it Sucks to be a Maintainer' forum. But don't compare it to the lifestyle of an aviator until you've actually LIVED the lifestyle and not just observed it.
Harrier Dude
Living the dream
My best day fo flying was at CAX, believe it or not. I was scheduled to be the ODO, which sucked because it was a Friday and CAVU. My first break came when one of my buddies went med down, allowing him to utilize the healing chair while I took his CAS lead. The downside was that I was flying with the skipper, so no JOPA fun allowed (I was a captain at the time).
Break number two was when the skipper forgot to reset his nosegear t-handle and had to RTB because his gear woudn't come up. That let me press as a single. I had 4 MK-83's, and as I checked in with the FAC, I heard him talking about the same target set I had worked two days before. For those of you familiar, it was the set of tanks just to the west of the top of "the Delta T". I had no problem finding them and ran 2 ninelines, dropping two apiece. Good ARBS lock and both shaks. TOT was easy +/- 3 seconds.
As if that wasn't good enough, the Coyote asked me if I had gas for a flyby. There is always gas for a flyby. I held north of the delta T while the gunline was safed and then was cleared in at min altitude (I "forgot" to tape my HUD, so I cannot tell exact altitude) for a max blast pass (580 kts, sorry Hornet drivers, I couldn't go any faster).
I flew over a line of M1A1s, followed by a line of AAVs, followed by a convoy of about 30-40 trucks and hummers. I could see the Marines jumping up and down as I went over. One of the FACs held his mike keyed open out so I could hear the noise as I went by.
I popped at the end of the T, rolled right towards the EAF and then realized that I was already at the initial (500kts, 1000' AGL, and inverted). I switched tower, rolled back upright, and got cleared for the carrier break.
Needless to say it was fun, but I almost gooned it up by losing SA on how close I was to the field. Thank God there was no other traffic at the time or I might be telling a much sadder tale of how I wound up killing somebody after punching out of a perfectly good jet following a mid-air.
Break number two was when the skipper forgot to reset his nosegear t-handle and had to RTB because his gear woudn't come up. That let me press as a single. I had 4 MK-83's, and as I checked in with the FAC, I heard him talking about the same target set I had worked two days before. For those of you familiar, it was the set of tanks just to the west of the top of "the Delta T". I had no problem finding them and ran 2 ninelines, dropping two apiece. Good ARBS lock and both shaks. TOT was easy +/- 3 seconds.
As if that wasn't good enough, the Coyote asked me if I had gas for a flyby. There is always gas for a flyby. I held north of the delta T while the gunline was safed and then was cleared in at min altitude (I "forgot" to tape my HUD, so I cannot tell exact altitude) for a max blast pass (580 kts, sorry Hornet drivers, I couldn't go any faster).
I flew over a line of M1A1s, followed by a line of AAVs, followed by a convoy of about 30-40 trucks and hummers. I could see the Marines jumping up and down as I went over. One of the FACs held his mike keyed open out so I could hear the noise as I went by.
I popped at the end of the T, rolled right towards the EAF and then realized that I was already at the initial (500kts, 1000' AGL, and inverted). I switched tower, rolled back upright, and got cleared for the carrier break.
Needless to say it was fun, but I almost gooned it up by losing SA on how close I was to the field. Thank God there was no other traffic at the time or I might be telling a much sadder tale of how I wound up killing somebody after punching out of a perfectly good jet following a mid-air.
It's a quickie rhyme - not polished, but you will get the message. It's about the extraordinary individuals that, by their own hands, effort and expertise, and dedication, put us daily into the air, safely:
The Maintainer
He fretted at my departure,
And worried for my return.
He even counted missiles
As I crossed the stern.
My machine was really his,
just rented for a while.
Yet he worried for us both,
As was his style.
He didn't get the medals,
and received little fame.
Yet he felt honest pride
his imprint on my plane.
We flew many missions,
together, he and me.
With me in the air,
And he on-deck, at sea.
I've flown many craft,
Civilian and Navy,
But without my maintainer,
I know none would ever be.
Thank you guys. You all know who you are.
The Maintainer
He fretted at my departure,
And worried for my return.
He even counted missiles
As I crossed the stern.
My machine was really his,
just rented for a while.
Yet he worried for us both,
As was his style.
He didn't get the medals,
and received little fame.
Yet he felt honest pride
his imprint on my plane.
We flew many missions,
together, he and me.
With me in the air,
And he on-deck, at sea.
I've flown many craft,
Civilian and Navy,
But without my maintainer,
I know none would ever be.
Thank you guys. You all know who you are.
