Journey Page 8
Chapter Two
I’LL NEVER BE YOUR PUPPY DOG
DECEMBER 1977–JUNE 1989
From the moment I arrived back at Little Rock AFB in late 1977, I felt that all eyes were on me at the 61st Tactical Airlift Squadron: I was a young lead pilot—well qualified—and that top slot at SOS did not go unnoticed. Less than three years had passed since I’d left the base after my initial qualification training, during which I’d soaked in as much as I could from the finest C-130 flight instructors in the world. But now I’d be in the instructor’s seat, honored to pass along whatever skills and insights I’d picked up overseas.
I consciously reflected back to those skills and examination techniques that worked best for me, and why I responded better to some examiners than others. One name that came to mind was Lieutenant Colonel John D. Butterfield, the DOV during the first half of my time at Clark. The DOV (Chief of Standardization and Evaluation) sits atop the pilot training hierarchy, a highly respected position of responsibility and leadership generally assigned to the wing’s most proficient aviator. He or she ensures that standards are upheld and flight examiners are well trained and fully qualified. They oversee check flights and certifications, assess mission effectiveness and safety rates, and they’re often among the first to recognize a young aviator’s potential. I’d grown close to Colonel Butterfield; we worked well together and he was a big supporter. I was sorry to see him leave, but in many ways he was one of those I’d try to emulate.
So I joined 61st with a little bit of momentum. One of my first orders of business would be getting to know my new squadron commander; he’d be my boss, and more than just a little influential as to how successful the next few years might be. You can imagine my surprise when it turned out to be Colonel Butterfield—yet another example of how serendipity played such an important role in my success.
It turned out to be a superb squadron. I was surrounded by talented airmen; many of whom went on to be very successful, including several flag officers. Rich Mentemeyer became deputy commander of U.S. Southern Command; Chris Kelly earned three stars and became vice commander of Air Mobility Command; and Mike Moffitt went on to serve as director of logistics of Air Mobility Command. Somehow, the puzzle pieces continued to fall into place for me.
* * *
Many years before 9/11 made the word “terrorism” such a common part of our vocabulary, I was chosen to participate in an early certification exercise for the nascent counterterrorism capability that the Army was building. It was a classified project spearheaded by Colonel Bob Mountel of the 5th Special Forces Group, known as “Blue Light.” We sent our three best crews to a location on the West Coast. Our job was to insert and subsequently recover Army Special Forces troops on tight drop and landing zones, always at night and with absolute minimum lighting.
While at Clark I had become certified in the special operations low-level mission area and carried that credential to Little Rock. It proved valuable since many of these flights were flown on a low-altitude flight course used to avoid enemy detection in clandestine settings or higher-threat environments. We’d sometimes use geographical features of the terrain as cover, by flying in, rather than over, valleys, ridges, and such. It allowed us to literally “fly under the radar.”
Totally unbeknownst to me at the time, while Blue Light engaged in rigorous exercises to hone their new tradecraft, a second—and totally independent—counterterrorist unit was undergoing training of its own at a different location at Fort Bragg. Colonel Charlie Beckwith’s organization would eventually be referred to as Delta Force. Both Blue Light and Delta would take time to come up to speed. Their missions were intense, as was the rapidly mounting rivalry between them.
Our military airlift piece of the puzzle was the same for both: to develop a reliable capability to deliver their teams to clandestine drop or landing zones anywhere in the world, in the black of night, utilizing little or no communication, with very little advance notice—and to safely get them home again. Major General “Bagger” Baginski, the outgoing wing commander at Clark for whom I coordinated the change-of-command ceremony, was deeply involved in this in his new capacity as deputy for operations, Military Airlift Command (MAC). New skills were being learned, new techniques and tactics developed. This was the embryonic stage of today’s elite teams of operators under JSOC, the Joint Special Operations Command. What an honor it was to have played even a tiny part in its inception. It would not be the last.
* * *
One of my goals was to qualify in all of the special missions associated with the airlift business at the time, and I was fortunate enough to have achieved this—all with the exception of the ski-equipped variant that is used for snow and ice operations at the poles. Some of these include air-to-air refueling (AAR); AC-130 Spectre gunship; electronic warfare and electronic attack; airborne early warning and control; combat search and rescue; low-altitude parachute extraction system (LAPES); Fulton surface-to-air recovery system (STARS); and all manner of tactical airlift, including flares-ejecting night illumination devices.
The LAPES mission was a challenging one that we employed when supplies had to be delivered to areas in which neither landing nor high-altitude airdrops were options. The supplies were loaded into the cargo bay on special pallets that were connected to a cluster of large extraction parachutes. As we approached the desired drop point, we reduced airspeed and descended to an extremely low altitude—somewhere between five and ten feet off the ground. At that point, the rear cargo door was already lowered and the drogue chute released. Once that caught the wind, it would yank out the main extraction chutes, which in turn dragged the cargo out the door. Gravity took over and it would drop to the ground fairly gently. We’d ascend back to our cruising altitude and head back home. If you think this sounds easy, try maintaining stability just a few feet off the ground as the aircraft’s center of gravity races from one end of the aircraft to the other.
Center of gravity is one of the primary factors we have to take into account in order to maintain that aircraft’s stability. It’s a state of balanced equilibrium that’s achieved when the cargo is properly loaded. Can you imagine how that’s disrupted when your cargo is a seventeen-ton Sheridan tank racing down the rails toward the open rear cargo door? As the weight moves back, it pulls the nose skyward, so we had to compensate with strong forward pressure on the yoke—perfectly coordinated with the tank’s release. Then the instant the tank flew out that door, what had been an exceedingly tail-heavy airplane suddenly wanted to drop its nose and dive to the ground—our cue to immediately pull back the yoke from its nearly full-forward position, lest we slam into the ground. Picture two kids perfectly balanced on a see-saw at the playground. What would happen if one jumped off? If those kids had a combined weight of around thirty thousand pounds, you’d have a clear picture of one of the challenges a pilot is up against with the LAPES mission.
* * *
Out of hundreds of aviators, Major Al “Herc Driver” Peck was one-of-a-kind. Arguably the best C-130 pilot at “the Rock,” he was the senior flight examiner and also my boss. During off hours we had grown quite close, to the point of his unofficially adopting me as a son. We were leading a large C-130 formation one evening on a nine-ship night instrument air drop mission, and I was being evaluated for my “Lead Formation” certification. Even though I was already a flight examiner myself (in fact, second only to Al at the time), it was obviously necessary that I pass this evaluation. But I choked.
For the LAPES mission, we descended to between five and ten feet off the ground, then the extraction chutes would drag our cargo out the rear door. If executed properly, the cargo would drop to the ground fairly gently. My crew never let me forget how I botched this up on my very first attempt! (USAF photo of LAPES drop during the Battle of Khe Sanh, Vietnam, 1968.)
Schwartz personal collection
As formation lead, it was my job to keep all nine airplanes in formation and ensure that our cargos were sequentially dr
opped at the right place and the right moment, in spite of the miserable weather conditions we were encountering. To do this, I was supposed to give the other planes a “one-minute notice,” a “five-second notice,” and a “drop now” electronic drop signal. Just as I was about to give the one-minute prompt, my radio barked with an important contact from air traffic control, warning me about other air traffic in the area. I responded, but in doing so missed my one-minute prompt. There was plenty of time for me to give the five-second and drop now notices, and of course I did that.
Those pilots who were supportive of their leader dropped their cargo as they were supposed to; others did not. But procedurally, I had goofed. Bear in mind that I was an instructor myself at this point, so I damn well should have performed better in spite of whatever conditions prompted the distraction. I had repeatedly reminded my students that we train hard so that we instinctively handle unforeseen challenges with precision. I had not done so.
So Al had this profound dilemma as to whether he should “bust” Schwartz or not. If he busted me, I would lose both my flight examiner and instructor credentials. It was painful for him to see me make that mistake, particularly considering the paternal relationship that we had developed. But it was all about upholding the standards; either one met the standard or they didn’t. For the system to work, you can’t favor one person over another.
In the end Al did something that I probably would not have done. He rationalized that the ATC radio distraction was a mitigating circumstance that contributed to my error, and he passed me with a verbal “caveat” that would not go into my record. If it had, most likely I would never have gotten into Special Ops, and probably would not have been able to progress to the level I’ve been honored to reach. There are a few great lessons here that have stuck with me for life:
While standards must be upheld, enforcement decisions have consequences and must be carefully and thoughtfully applied. Very little is black and white, and applying informed judgment is what’s called for.
* * *
We rotated to Europe, where I flew missions every day. That much flying honed my skills to the highest proficiency level of my life. We were based at RAF Mildenhall, in Suffolk, England, from July 13 to September 13, 1978. We flew to France, Italy, Saudi Arabia, and a number of other Middle Eastern countries; we even flew some missions into Berlin. This was still the Cold War, so at that time we couldn’t even talk about some of the tight places into which we flew.
For example, the Army had a facility perched high atop a seven-hundred-foot hill on the northernmost peninsula of the Turkish Black Sea, just over three hundred miles east of Istanbul, overlooking the ancient port of Sinop. Called Diogenes Station (or unofficially “the Hill”), its intelligence professionals monitored events and transmissions emanating from the Soviet Union, right across the Black Sea.
We utilized the Sinop Army Airfield (SAAF), about seven miles west of the Hill. Until this time, the bulk of the airfield’s traffic consisted of U-6 Beavers and U-1 Otter aircraft that the Army affectionately referred to as “Esek Airlines.” The newly constructed five-thousand-foot runway was a considerable improvement from the tiny east-west strip that it replaced. That first flight into Sinop is the only time I have ever seen a pristine piece of concrete like that with no tire markings at all.
We were really heavy that day, loaded to the max, and the crosswinds were treacherous. Add to that the blinding glare of the runway and you had a landing that was another real test of airmanship. We were far more fortunate than an Army twin-engine U-21F that had crashed just a few months earlier on a return flight from Istanbul, killing all five on board.
* * *
The Herc is a reliable workhorse, but it’s a machine and as such, not infallible. We had a number of engine failures, not uncommon at the time. Most were single-engine failures that occurred in flight. But engine loss was not the only system failure that could prove catastrophic. You can read about these things and you can train for them in the simulator, but until you experience a dozen warning buzzers screaming in your ear while the plane begins to buffet on a real-world mission—and you know it’s not a drill—you don’t know for sure how you’re going to handle the situation.
We departed Little Rock AFB and ascended to altitude without incident on a standard airdrop mission—if any mission is really “standard”—then set the autopilot on a direct vector to our drop zone in the Fort Campbell (Kentucky) Range Complex. It was a clear day and a smooth flight; in fact, our flight engineer had just made a comment to that effect. Suddenly about a dozen bright-red warning lights popped on, accompanied by the piercing beep-beep-beep of the audio warning systems. The plane began to rock back and forth—not like we had hit a pocket of turbulence, more like an uncomfortable, rhythmic shaking. All four syncrophasers had lost power (the syncrophaser ensures that the four propellers rotate at the same speed and in sync with each other), along with a dozen other systems—a significant electrical malfunction of some kind had occurred. The autopilot shut down, along with the compass and heading indicators. Both hydraulic suction boost pumps went dead, and the normally responsive control yoke took a great deal more energy to operate without the trim tabs. Correcting that one was easy; I flipped the switch to initiate the emergency backup and trim was restored. We all agreed that we had lost the essential AC electrical bus—but the question was why, and how did we get it back?
We’d been trained on a few procedures to restore the power, but none of them worked. About the only thing left was to throw out the book and think outside the box. Eventually we isolated the problem in a very unconventional way and repowered the bus. The process of safe isolation required extensive knowledge of the aircraft electrical system and how to sequence the disconnection and reconnection of the bus without permanently frying the circuits and adjacent electronics. Once restored, that allowed for a safe and ultimately uneventful return.
It was a hectic pace and I loved everything about it. I enjoyed the structure surrounding every mission: first starting with the crew rest, then mission briefs, flight plans, walk-arounds, preflight checks, and of course the unparalleled thrill of control guiding 150,000 pounds of aeronautical excellence through the clouds at 19,000 feet, knowing all the while that our mission—and our passengers who were the key elements of that mission—demanded that we perform reliably and with precision. Almost every day I learned something new, and met new members of my military family—comrades with the same sense of dedication and diligence in pursuit of our common objective. Life could not have been much better.
* * *
In the flying business we try our best to anticipate all eventualities and train for even the most obscure anomaly. Mishaps are painstakingly analyzed and often result in revised tactics and procedures. In developing a battle plan, commanders formalize myriad what-ifs via “branches and sequels”—contingency plans and subsequent operations based on anticipating an enemy’s action or response. Despite these best efforts, it never fails that nature will come along and throw us a curve. In my case, how could I have anticipated that I was about to be struck by a bolt of lightning?
It appeared completely out of the blue in December of 1978. Her name was Suzie Ptak. At five feet six inches with azure eyes that were impossible to resist, she was a megavolt dynamo unlike anyone I had ever met, let alone dated. We were polar opposites, and had there been computer dating back then, I doubt if any website would have predicted success pairing this conservative Jewish man from Jersey with a popular Catholic schoolteacher from Arkansas. Bear in mind that I had not a single female role model growing up—no mom at home and few females at school—so I had a very idealistic vision of what a relationship should be, and no understanding of what constituted real-life male/female interaction other than what I saw on TV.
One Friday night after a long day of flying, I had taken Suzie out to dinner and I passed out on the sofa shortly after we returned to my apartment.
There are many sounds that we grew up with
that today’s generation will never experience: the rapid clacks of typewriter keys striking the paper, followed by the ding that signaled the end of each line, then the zipppp of the carriage being swung back into position; the click-click-click of a rotary phone dial returning to its starting position; and the booming crash of a brand-new Sony Trinitron TV picture tube imploding.
It was the latter that awakened me from my deep slumber on the sofa, preceded by a SLAM! BANG! Apparently men dozing off in the middle of dates was not something Suzie was accustomed to—and just to make sure that I fully grasped her dissatisfaction, she had stormed out and walked home, slamming my door so hard that it dislodged a large wall-hanging that smashed right into my new Sony. This confused me—it was not something I’d seen June Cleaver do when she was upset with Ward. Even Harriet Nelson seemed a bit more diplomatic when Ozzie didn’t toe the line. But Suzie was patient with me and we were very good for each other; I knew she would draw the best out of me, and she has. She is independent, strong, very smart, and about the kindest person I have ever known.
Here’s how it played out from Suzie’s perspective, in her own words:
Suzie: Before I ever met Norty, I stalked him. This was long before online Facebook stalking—it was good old American “sneak out at night, hide behind a tree” stalking. My girlfriend wanted to set me up with him so I had to check him out first, right? Well, he passed the test. From the start he was different than anyone I had ever met—opposite all the young guys I’d been dating. A serious, quiet, financially stable intellectual like Nort was uncharacteristic for me, but kindness trumps seriousness any day, and he was (and still is!) the kindest man I’d ever met. He sent a dozen roses after our first date. I still haven’t figured that one out; it was the first and last time he sent roses in the forty years that I’ve known him.
Now, getting back to that stalking: My good friend Angie had met Norty at a New Year’s Eve party and they hit it off, at least to the extent that they exchanged numbers in hopes of getting together. Months went by before that actually happened, but when it did she could barely contain her enthusiasm … not because she had found the man of her dreams—more like she was certain that he was perfect for me!