153 – Stealth C-17.
156 - Edge of one crappy sand land to a different kind of crappy sand land.
158 - Gettin sporty out here in split axis.
162 – This is war ole son!
163 - 2 mission computers, one fuel quantity computer, one MJP, one pilot seat, one wiring repair, one pin replacement, two software loads, one database load, and a partridge in a pear tree.
164 - Ole Balls 4 had been broken for four days straight stranded at Al Maktoum International. No one’s fault sent there to fix it, but every take off attempt cropped up a new non flyable failure. While funny for a day or two, it seemed to have about the same amount of mechanics in Dubai trying to get this one airplane off the ground as our deployed location stretched thinner working the remaining functioning tails. Day five was heading in the same direction when the maintenance group commander knocked on my shipping container turned very nice bedroom’s door.
“Sgt Fargo, how are you tonight?”
“Evenin’ Ma’am. Sorry, I just fell asleep. What’s going on?”
“I just talked to the ADO, and he’s good with it if you are good with it…”
Never a good start to a sentence I thought.
“…But can you go get balls 4 and bring it back no matter what it takes.”
“I thought they had it fixed?”
“It just broke again.”
“When’s the next jet passing through there for me to ride along on?”
“Two pilots and a load are going to fly you there now. Gas them up when you get there, send that jet back, and then Balls 4 is your new home until it’s ready to return.”
“Do you mind if I take some, “Extra parts?””
“What do you need?”
Two pallet positions of every stinkin’ computer, component, and specialized tool that can make or break a C-17 in the middle of nowhere was hand loaded shortly thereafter. Aerial port wanted nothing to do with manifesting non TACC tasked cargo, so we went around them and did it ourselves.
“Ok Cap’n, wake me when we get there.”
“You’ll make sure we take off before you go get wrapped in Balls 4 right?”
The aircraft commander of my ride was worried about being stuck himself leaving after losing his FCC, but it was a great jet to start with, and I had a perfect record of getting every jet I crewed off the ground without having to call in extra help. His worries ended up unfounded with a no-frills departure after I filled up his Jet A1, unloaded my hoard of spare parts, and packed baggage carts to get them moved to Balls 4’s lair of despair.
Cheese and crackers people, it’s just an airplane of nuts and bolts built with parts by the lowest bidder. All week everyone had referenced this parked jet with a mythical aura that it can’t be fixed.
“Will we need Boeing?”
“How long will it be broken?”
“Will Balls 4 replace 90-534 for the title, “Christine”?”
No. Let’s get to work. For all the buildup, it was pretty straight forward to troubleshoot, isolate, and quickly repair everything in a shift or so with all the stuff I brought. I sent all the extra mechanics home on a nearby C-17 that was heading back, and called TACC to alert the crew that was in a hotel downtown.
“She’s ready to go. Send me my crew.”
I remember that call at about 2200ish local, and because I’ve fallen for TACC’s tricks before, I noted the initials RC. It should take them an hour to get checked out, through customs, and out to the airplane. I had the preflight updated, and fuel in the tanks, so we should make midnight chow at home no problem. What a time to take a short nap in the copilot’s seat, and… …And the sun beating through the windshield startled me awake. Who? What? Where? Huh? The fuck? Watch shows 0500 in the morning, and tank 3 is missing about 3,000 lbs of gas. The crew was supposed to be at the jet hours ago, and I have to pee! I call up TACC, and ask about the crew for Balls 4.
“We’re waiting to alert the crew when XOCL says the jet is repaired.”
Face palm.
“It’s good to go. Is RC still on shift? No? Oh well. Send me my crew.”
This could have all been avoided if I had any of the stranded crew’s phone numbers, but since I didn’t start with them, the info wasn’t in my phone. Amazingly through some modified magic of the system of sitting alert in Charlie, to an instant Bravo, to a crew bus they happily showed up ready to ride. Preflight pass, preloaded flight plan checked for a fifth time, walkaround complete, and right at engine start…
“BEEEEP. Master Caution. FUEL QTY FAIL.”
Tank 2 shows those lovely dash’s from a Multiplex Junction Probe rearing it’s weakness at the exact wrong time. Go to B channel? Nope. Reset computer? Nope. Reset computer again? Nope. Transfer all the gas from two other tanks to wet and cool the probe? Nope. Well friends, this sucks, but I can actually fix it with my hoard of spare parts. One small problem though as this is the only avionics component that requires an In-Process Inspection to be signed off before continuing the job of replacement. Were we getting shot at? No. Were we in a safe place? Yes. Was there another C-17 coming through later that day that could bring along an avionics minion to legally get the signature of a corrected by if I sign the IPI’s and red X? Yes. We’ll go with that plan, but I still had to call TACC, and make the ever-common statement of, “Balls 4 is broken again.”
“What is the part number, TO, figure, and index of what you need for the repair?”
“I actually have one on hand.”
“What career field mechanic do you need for the repair?”
“I’m actually an AFIN 7 level by trade.”
“Why are you calling, and not fixing the airplane?”
Now this is where the Aircraft Commander can make or break a relationship with a below the liner flying crew chief. Thankfully she was a good one, also listening to the call on headset, and broke into the conversation.
“The FCC has not had adequate rest in weeks. We’ll go back to the hotel, wait for an assist to show up later today, they together can make the repair on top of the wing, then we’ll depart tonight. He says it can be safely fixed in under an hour, so that’s what we’ll do.”
TACC stumbled over their words a bit, agreed to the plan, and I was indebted to one of my new favorite A codes to ever fly with. By this point of the deployment, we as a detachment were moving more equipment out of Afghanistan than I’ve ever seen moved at once. It was an amazing airlift achievement with 9 C-17s, 18 sets of pilots and loadmasters, but only 4 flying crew chiefs. A glitch in the matrix, and in my opinion an oversite in the rules, does not hold the FCC to crew rest rules afforded to pilots and loadmasters. As a consequence, myself and three other FCC partners were on average only having 5 hours off between a landing and then alerting with the next crew. In the course of three months I had racked up over 600 hours airborne. By no means was I complaining, but the chance for a day in a Dubai 5 star hotel with an in room hot tub sounded great. The room looked down on the Palm Island, had a great bed, enjoyable dinner.
166 - Downtown Dubai. Vegas of the middle east.
168 - Beats the hell out of a tent.
169 - Gotta love a palm tree shaped island view.
170 – Two days of hard work fixing a plane that was broke down in the desert for over a week and all I get is this tee shirt.
184 - Let’s get the fawk out. "Chalks repositioned."
194 – The man the myth the legend.
195 – Epic DO. I’d fly with her anywhere!
196 – Pilot hero shot.
197 – Loadmaster hero shot.
198 – Shower, shave, pass the fuck out time.
201 – I always know that nose gear will lock down, but that 2 second delay after the mains gets me looking on every gear extension.
202 - All 5 foots are down and locked…
211 – I think the weather is giving us the finger.
212 – Cloud surfin’
