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T-Tail-Tall-Tail:
Infight Emergency
Eddie A. Lomeli, Msgt. USAF, Retired
It was early in the summer of 1971, just a few short
months after returning
to active duty, from the Air Force Reserves, I was
assigned to the
14th Military Airlift Squadron at Norton
AFB Ca. Our schedule took
us to Vietnam and other parts of Southeast Asia and
the Pacific. Shortly after
departure from Clark AB, I had my last major close
call; it was a doozy! I
remember it as if it were only yesterday. It was a
very typical, hot and steamy
afternoon, it must've been close to a hundred in the
shade and the humidity was
about the same; it was stifling! It was such a
relief to get airborne and have
the air-conditioning on full blast. We departed
Clark Air Base, for Kadena Air
Base, Okinawa, as our next destination; our aircraft
was a C-141A model. It was
a routine departure and the climb out part of the
flight was smooth as well.
There was no indication that we would soon find
ourselves immersed in a fight
for survival and that our training would be put to
the test. During the After
take-off checklist, when the pilot called for Gear
Up, the co-pilot reached for
the gear handle and raised it; the gear retracted,
and the light went out. We
were directed by the control tower to climb to 3,000
feet and proceeded to do
just that. Everything seemed normal with no
problems; we were on our way. We
started our climb and turned north towards Okinawa
our next destination.
I was standing behind the pilot, taking a beverage
order from the crew when all
hell broke loose! All of a sudden it felt like we
had come to a sudden stop. It
felt as if we had hit a huge airbag, something like
going down the freeway at
full speed, and locking up the brakes on a car. Sort
of like trying to avoid a
collision, only there was no sound of screeching
tires, nor the smell of
burning rubber. However, there were many other
noises, and they were not happy
sounds!
At this time I saw large and small black chunks of
material, which turned out
to be fiberglass, flying past the windshield, and
going past the side windows
as well. I knew we were in deep trouble. I could
hear the sounds of this
material peppering the fuselage. It sounded like
getting hit by ground fire,
the aircraft was losing air speed, and the pilot was
struggling to maintain
altitude. The whole crew got extremely busy
immediately; it was poetry in
motion, and a few seconds later we lost number three
engine. While the pilots
were trying to control the aircraft, the flight
engineer started calling the
"Emergency Procedures Check-List," according to
procedures. The pilots
responded, executed the commands as called for and
got control of the situation
in a matter of seconds, although it seemed like an
eternity. We were in the air
for less than twenty minutes and it couldn't have
been more than ten minutes
after takeoff, when all of this started.
Those chunks that I had seen were pieces of the
radome; -this is the nose cone
of the aircraft. The radome houses the radar
antenna, speed and other sensors.
It had totally disintegrated. We would discover this
during our damage
assessment inspection after landing. We lost most
indications, altitude, air
speed and some instrument references. Good thing it
was during the day, had it
been at night visibility would've been a real
problem! We also lost number
three engine; it sucked in some fiberglass chunks
and caused the turbine to
disintegrate, sending several blades into the
fuselage at various points. It
could've been a disaster of major proportions. Our
windshield took some big
hits and shattered right on the pilot's side. (The
windshield is made of
plastic layers over one inch thick, and is designed
to take a great deal of
abuse.) The crew performed flawlessly, and we took
the aircraft back to Clark
Air Base. Fortunately, no one was injured.
After landing, we pulled off the active runway and
onto a taxiway, we
immediately shutdown the remaining engines, set the
brakes and evacuated the
aircraft; just like you see in the movies. We were
met by an assortment of
emergency equipment: fire-trucks, security police,
ambulances and many other
emergency vehicles. Even the wing and base
commanders were there; we were the
six o'clock news.
A medical crew, as a mater of formality, checked us
at the aircraft and since
no one was hurt; they allowed us to continue with
our duties. I remember seeing
the right wing; it looked as if it had been beaten
with a giant ball-peen
hammer by a crazed crew chief. Almost all the
forward-facing surfaces had this
type of damage; including the aileron and the tail.
After maintenance checked the aircraft thoroughly,
we were given the
opportunity to assess the damage for ourselves
before we were taken in for
debriefing. Upon closer inspection, we saw that it
was far worse than we had
thought. The aircraft was quite a sight; there were
some pretty big gashes on
the fuselage and the wheel well areas on the right
side. The wheel well pod
looked like it had barely escaped from a demolition
derby marathon; it was all
beat up like you wouldn't believe! There were cuts
in the wheel well pod area,
which houses the landing gear. Some of those gashes
were over two feet long,
and some were as wide as six inches, caused by the
shattered turbine blades
slicing through the fuselage and into the cargo
compartment. Some pieces of
turbine blades were found embedded in the cargo, if
someone had been sitting in
that area; they could've been severely injured or
worse. We were extremely
lucky; we could've been killed.
Most of the damage was just inches forward of the
Troop Oxygen system. This
alone could have spelled disaster and a fire
would've been a distinct
possibility. If this had happened, we would have had
seconds, not minutes, to
correct the problem. It still gets my attention
every time I think about it.
The accident/incident investigation team took each
one of us separately into
Base Operations for questioning. This is standard
procedure for this type of
situation. Part of this is to determine culpability
and to take appropriate
steps so the situation will not repeat itself.
Another function of this
procedure is to identify possible faulty equipment
or procedures, so that this
information can be passed on to everyone in the
system as quickly as possible.
I had to write my version of the incident, from
beginning to end to the best of
my recollection. Everyone else had to do the same.
When I was interviewed, I was asked what I perceived
as incriminating
questions. I got the impression that they were
trying to blame the pilot, Capt.
Kidd and I didn't think it was right. I stuck with
my version of the incident;
I was not going to lie just to pacify these people.
I told them that from my
point of view, the pilot did everything right. He
didn't panic at all and if it
were not for him and his efforts, we would've been
plastered all over the
countryside. I also told them that I was willing to
go to hell and back with my
crew, as long as the pilot, Captain Kidd was at the
controls. My interview
lasted for a couple of hours and about six hours
later, we were all released to
crew-rest. The following day we continued our
mission, heading for Okinawa and
then home, Norton AFB.
This was a day to remember. Fortunately the rest of
my flying career was a
pretty uneventful and enjoyable experience. I went
on to accumulate well over
7,000 hours in the C-141 aircraft. Some missions
were pretty good, and some not
so good. Very few were less than desirable, but
overall, my whole career was a
very enjoyable learning experience.
Several months later, while flying over the Pacific
Ocean, between Hawaii and
McChord AFB in Washington state, we got hit by
lightning. After landing we went
to inspect the damage, the radome looked like a
giant colander; it had millions
of tiny holes in it. It looked like someone had
poked the skin with a pencil.
The radome could've shattered like the one before,
and being a non-swimmer, I
hate to consider the outcome.
After much investigating, we discovered that this
aircraft, (Tail Number 50265)
had been the same one I have just been telling you
about. That goes to show you
... flying is an inherently dangerous profession,
but some times you just get
lucky. I did ... and I loved it. Lucky me!