Lucky Checkride Underwear

I found some old stories I wrote about flight school, and thought I'd post them and see if I can get them cleaned up.

LUCKY CHECK RIDE UNDERWEAR

In the span of ninety days I had “busted” (flunked) two check rides and had ten PL's or “precautionary landings”.  Normally busting two rides was grounds for elimination from the flight program, however I had several more or less legitimate excuses and a note from the flight surgeon (plus a new pair of glasses).  Besides that, nothing I did in flight school was considered normal.  A “Precautionary Landing” means that something BAD will happen soon, whereas an Emergency Landing means something bad has already happened.  Either way, the helicopter will be coming into contact with the Earth, of it's own free will, shortly.  

When an Army Aviator walks away from an emergency landing he is awarded a Broken Wing Award.  Flight students aren't allowed to have emergencies, so we were in-eligible for the award.  I was however, mentioned in the citations for three as the pilot on the controls at the time.  The Army, in it's wisdom, began to view me not as a pilot who could handle himself in an emergency situation, but as a pilot who was always getting into trouble.  Despite this, some of the instructor pilots thought I might be “charmed”, so I spent two weeks flying with different Instructor Pilots so as to spread the luck around.

The other students in the class avoided me like the plague.  If you had to make a PL somewhere out in the bushes, and were able to walk away from it, it could be a number of hours before the rescue ship came and got you.  This would cut into free time and nobody wanted to take that risk.  At first, I thought the reputation was cool:  Be feared if you’re not going to be respected.  But, then I began to feel jinxed, which is the worst thing a student-pilot can be.  I had seen enough John Wayne and Randolph Scott fighter-pilot movies to know that.  I wasn't real concerned with my classmates' opinions as much as busting another ride.  I knew I would never talk my way out of that.  

I started wearing a rabbit's foot and the Battalion Chaplain brought me an Our Lady of Loretto (the Patron Saint of those who fly) medal to wear when I flew.  By this time, I would have been surprised if neither her nor the Chaplain hadn't heard of me.  Besides, at this point, anything would help.  My flying was OK, I was just scared.  

J.J. , my girlfriend at the time, was also scared.  I was beginning to become manic.  What time we did spent together was spent passionately reviewing checklists, procedures and other aviation arcana.  Not exactly the stuff of a young girl's' dreams.  Something had to be done.  What I needed, as she saw it, was something to make me feel loved all under.  

JJ is the one on the Right

And that something was a pair of mint green panties.  According to the note, his was the closest color she had to OD. Green, and they would bring me luck.  Mail Call would never be the same.  For the first week I  carried them in the breast pocket of my flight suit as a good luck charm.  

Just as Dumbo had his magic black feather, or a Medieval Knight would go into combat with the favors of his lady affixed to his armor, I too went out with mine in my pocket.  Armed with this powerful talisman, I felt more confident and my daily scores improved.  Plus, the helicopters, as if by magic, became more reliable.  My luck was starting to change; for the better.

That is, until the day I was doing laundry, and had emptied the contents of my pockets into my desk drawer while I was putting clothes in the wash.  That was the day Chief Warrant Officer (CW2) Hogan decided to surprise us with a contraband inspection.  

When I returned to my room, I was greeted by my Mr. Hogan holding at arm's length, a pair of mint green panties.  When asked to explain these, I replied that they were “PANTIES,WOMEN'S,GREEN,ONEEACHSIR” trying to sound military.  I thought I could dissuade him if I gave it to him in Army nomenclature.  When he asked if there was anything he should know about me possessing women's’ underwear, and not to be deterred by a simple yet truthful, SIRNOSIR!  I explained that they were my “Lucky Check Ride Underwear” as if everybody had a pair.  Then, as if everybody did have a pair, he said “Oh, that's OK”, and put them back in the drawer.  I lived in fear that I would have to explain this to the company at some formation, but nothing was said about it and I muddled my way through Advanced Combat Skills.

For the Advanced Combat Skills Check Ride, they assume you can fly.  What they look for is, can you navigate, talk on the radio, handle in-flight emergencies and fly all at the same time.  Sort of like juggling while singing something by Gilbert and Sullivan while riding a unicycle down a flight of stairs.  This may sound difficult, but I was prepared:  I had my Lucky Check Ride Underwear.  Taking no chances this time, I was wearing them.  

The preflight oral exam was brief; while my “Stick Buddy” was asked every emergency procedure in the book, the Examiner asked me if he was right or wrong.  Other than that, the only question he asked me was about one of my own emergency landings.  My stick-buddy flew first while I sat in the back and navigated.  It was my job to guide him on a route that changed every five minutes.  This meant you had to constantly rework your entry and escape routes, make the proper radio calls stay out of restricted airspace and not hit any telephone wires; all while zooming ten feet above the trees at 90 mph.  Nothing to it really.  

After two hours, we'd switch places and do it again.  I liked flying second because it meant all I had to do was drive and not hit anything.  It was my GiB’s (guy in back) turn to advise me when to make certain radio calls, when to slow for an approach, and when to watch for wires.  This was important when flying down river beds, just above, or just below the tree tops.  

Maybe I had become too confident in my abilities.  Maybe I was relying on his.  Either way, I wasn't aware of the telephone wires bisecting a peanut field about half-way up the windshield until they looked as big as fire hoses.  The examiner had been writing on his knee board, Guy in Back was trying to find us on the map, and I was trying to find some music on the Automatic Direction Finder receiver.  As if responding to a celestial voice, we all looked up together and said “WIRES!-UP!”.  Hoping that would make the aircraft levitate out of harm's way.  When in doubt, it is always better to get away from the ground or anything solid until you can think about the problem at hand.  

So, I went down.  I bottomed the collective, causing the helicopter to drop thirty feet in two seconds.  Since we were no more than thirty feet above the peanut field to begin with, our descent was about to be arrested by contact with the ground.  However, just prior to impact, realizing I had picked the wrong direction, I pulled the collective as high as it would go.  I was caught off guard by the surge in torque that accompanies any rapid increase or decrease in power to the rotor system, as the helicopter slewed to the right over the trees at the end of the field.  After a few minutes, we realized we were not dead.  At this point, the examiner called it a day.  After landing, we found pine needles wedged into an access panel just under the rear door.  

The pine needles discarded, the incident was forgotten, as it would require too much paperwork.  When we returned to the company area, Mr. Hogan went down the list of stick buddies, and we had to announce our score or say “Re-check” if we busted.  After mine announced “Re-check.  Navigation”, Mr. Hogan asked “Waters, did you break another of the taxpayers' helicopters, or did you wear your Lucky Check Ride Underwear today?”  

The next day, Guy-in-Back passed his re-check.  I don't know if he actually wore my lucky check ride underwear, or just kept them in his pocket.