Every evening the squadron issues the flight schedule for the next day. It's signed by the CO, and is a directive order that we will follow for the next day's operations.

I've got today's up on my wall as I write this. We were joking about having it framed as a document of historical humor.

We started work today crazy early. Well, it's now getting late. We're required by a direct order from very high up to work no more than a 14 hour day, but I'm at 16 and counting right now. I feel good though, because we are living the Marine dream- rapid fluctuating conditions and rapid movements with a continually shifting plan.

Many of the pilots are pissed though, especially the maintenance officer. Because the crew rest requirements are there for a reason. Those rules are "written in blood", and violating them is to knowingly gamble with the lives of those around and under you. I unfortunately got a bit sucked into the officer's argument about it. I was too tired to realize the necessity of evading when my captain asked me a rather loaded question about when rules get followed or broken during maintenance. And he knows me well enough that he asked his question in such a way as to elicit a response that favored one side of their argument. While my new rank makes me a power in the enlisted side, I need one more rank for it to be considered appropriate to argue with officers. (Not that it's stopped me before, I must confess.)

I'm being elliptical above, sorry. Today we were dropping off sections of the squadron that will not be useful sailing to Burma. We launched four aircraft and about 50 maintainers with about six hours prep time. Then the plan changed, and we launched seven more aircraft and another 50 Marines with 90 minutes of prep time. That one got hairy. And we're still flying late into the night trying to get all the gear they need ashore. The ship's landing craft and launches are also doing all that they can to help. You know a movement is serious when the captain's gig is running infantry with seabags back and forth to shore. I just talked to someone who was in the lower V (where you access the ship's landing craft), and he said it was a little taste of hell. Blazing hot, terribly humid,

*** DAMMIT gotta go, realized I forgot something.

*** OK, back. Too late to correct my oversight. They'll have to live without it.

Where was I? Right, lower V, Dante's Inferno. Terribly hot, sticky with humidity. Lit with red lights so the coxswains maintain their night vision. Forklifts and AAAVs roaring around. Everyone's exhausted and angry. I'd go down to take photos, but (a) it's dark, (b) there are enough people there already, and (c) I might get eaten by a grue. (Or crushed by a AAAV). [AAAV=Amphibious Armored Assault Vehicle. It's a swimming tank/landing craft. Cousin Scott drove them.]

People did a lot of yelling at me today, too. Because Gunny was out sick, I was the senior man in the shop, making decisions on what gear went where. And there wasn't enough gear to go around. Any military unit is not infinitely divisible. We are set up to divide into three pieces. But as of now, we're in four different places. So there are a number of critical items of gear, that I have three of. So I had to decide which group got nothin'. It's not just our shop though; there are probably a hundred different critical tools, test kits, ground support equipment, etc in the unit, and we've got three of most of them. The various dets are going to be doing a lot of improvising and scrounging for the next few weeks. And getting back to what I started this email with, improvising is _dangerous_. Military aviation is inherently dangerous. Helicopters are even more dangerous. I casually work on many systems that can kill me before I can blink. The procedures exist to control the danger. When the procedures are not followed, things can become lethal extraordinarily rapidly. For instance, we were launching so many birds today that we had to use both sides of the flight deck, while by preference we only launch aircraft from the port side. Normally a whole half the deck is safe, but today we had a 15' path down the middle as the only area not threatened by blades. Running back and forth in the heat, down a narrow path... on both sides blades spinning that would not even slow down to dismember someone... people exhausted and tired... this is how people get blown overboard by rotor wash. (Note that the
danger is usually not the one you are looking for! Everyone pays extra attention to the rotor arcs, and less attention to the deck edge.)

I suspect that this post is rambling and only semi-coherent. I apologize for that. But I'm not going to go back through and edit it, as if I don't maintain forward motion I'm going to drop. I think there have been battles won for that very reason- when one side realizes that if they mount a final charge and take the hill, then they can finally rest. Forward momentum is key.

Posted by: Boviate at 09:51 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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