CLOSE CALLS
“Did
you ever have any close calls?” is almost always the first question I get
whenever I tell people I flew helicopters for 32 years. My immediate response
is, “Yes, of course.” I read recently a report by an old-time WW2 fighter pilot.
When asked that same question, his response was, “Every time I take one of
these sumbitches off the ground it’s a close call!” I can honestly say I came
up with the same phrase before I read it in that WW2 pilot’s book.
And … I can beat his story.
One day I had a close call before I even started my
engine.
I got my aircraft assignment from operations at Udorn. I
walked out to my H-34 on the ramp, did my pre-flight inspection, and climbed
into the H-34 to prepare for a normal six-day trip up country. I began the
pre-start check-off checklist:
First
item: Battery switch ON I pushed it down.
Second
item: Electrical driven fuel
pump ON I toggled it up.
I checked the fuel pressure gauge: fuel pressure within
normal limits.
What wasn't within normal limits was the spray of raw
fuel jetting from behind the instrument panel. The gage was known as a “direct
reading” gage which means that a small fuel line from the fuel pump was
connected directly to the back of the gauge. That line had broken off at the
back of the gage. Raw fuel of the highest octane began to spray all over me and
the cockpit. It quickly filled the cockpit with a mist of highly volatile
fuel-air mixture. Raw fuel in the proper fuel-air mixture is more explosive
than dynamite! The smell of raw fuel filled my nostrils.
Fuel was running down the back of the instrument panel,
past several switches and dripping onto the radio console below. None of the
radios was yet turned on, but the relays and busses to them might now be hot
with electricity. The smallest spark would ignite that fuel vapor. I knew I would
not survive the explosion. I also knew that even if it did not explode, as soon
as the raw fuel reached any ignition source there would be fire.
I had to make an instantaneous decision. Quicker than
you can snap your fingers, I had to choose between abandoning the helicopter or
trying to correct the situation by switching the battery switch to the OFF
position. I knew that if I jumped out of the helicopter, the fuel would
continue to flow. If (when!) the helicopter caught on fire, the magnesium alloy
would soon ignite and in 15 seconds the entire helicopter would be violently consumed.
Jumping out would have also put my Flight Mechanic (FM) at risk. He stood beside the helicopter
with a fire extinguisher at the ready, as he always did, in case of an engine
fire on start. What we were facing here was much more dangerous that an engine
fire on start.
Did I want to leave my FM with an explosive situation
while I ran away? Did I want to risk being some of the ashes? Should I bail or
stay? I might escape with nothing more than fuel-soaked clothing, but the
helicopter might very well burn up, and we both might be badly hurt or killed
trying to extinguish the fire or by the exploding helicopter.
No, I
could not bail out and put my FM at risk. I never had an FM I
did not like and respect. I did not wish to put him at risk.
I
quickly snapped the battery switch up to the OFF position. There was no spark.
It seems I made the right decision.
