“Thanks For Keeping Me Safe”
Retired Air Force pilot David Dale recently wrote a book called “Ready for Takeoff”. We at Avgeekery are proud to share an excerpt from his new book that features a collection of stories from his time flying in the Air Force. You can purchase his book here.
On a snowy December morning our C-37, callsign SPAR 29, was more than 30 minutes late as I began the approach to Runway 19L, the left of two parallel southbound runways at Andrews AFB. In the cabin not far from our cockpit sat CENTCOM’s commander, General Tommy Franks, and a Marine Corps major, an F-18 fighter pilot, who served as the general’s aide. The right-side runway at Andrews was closed, perhaps for snow removal, so we could not fly a Category II Instrument Landing System precision approach down to 100 feet above the ground. Because of the less precise instrumentation on the left-side runway, we were instead restricted to using the approach to Runway 19L, which could only be flown to 200 feet above the ground. That 100-foot difference was important on this white winter morning.
According to our C-37 policies, I flew the approach using the Heads-Up Display (HUD) while my copilot peered through the clouds, hoping to spot the runway lights by the time we reached the 200-foot Decision Altitude. My copilot, Don Axlund, an excellent officer and pilot, had just completed his check out in the C-37 the day before. This was his first operational VIP mission, which he got to fly with me, his squadron commander. No pressure, Don.
Into the soup and back around
I briefed the ILS approach and lined up for the approach. I emphasized to Don, “If you don’t see the runway, it’s okay. Just call the ‘Go Around’ and we’ll try it again.”
As we approached 300 feet AGL, Don announced, “Approaching Minimums.” At 200 feet, with nothing but white in front of us, Don commanded, “Go Around.” I applied full power and our C-37 rose quickly through the dense white clouds.
Trusted with an important passenger
Two hours earlier, Captain Don Axlund and I had departed Tampa International Airport with General Tommy Franks onboard, bound for Andrews AFB. It was time for him to present another Operation Enduring Freedom update to the President and the Secretary of Defense.
During this timeframe, our MacDill AFB runway had been closed for repair. We were forced to operate out of Tampa International Airport, which was a 30-minute drive north of our air base. This mission got off to a poor start with a delayed takeoff after the general and his party arrived at our C-37 well past the planned takeoff time. The flight north to Washington, D.C. took two hours but we knew we were flying into a major snowstorm. There is a tendency in Distinguished Visitor Airlift to do anything to please the customer. This led to some crews pressing the corners of the safety envelope to accomplish their mission on-time.
The challenge of DV airlift
On April 3, 1996, US Secretary of Commerce Ron Brown, and 34 other passengers had died in an Air Force CT-43 crash into a mountainside near Dubrovnik, Croatia. The crew had departed five minutes early but due to the wartime routing into Croatia, they were assigned a route that took fifteen minutes longer than planned. In their attempt to provide an on-time arrival, the crew flew faster than normal on their approach to the airfield. Additionally, they were flying a primitive Non-Directional Beacon instrument approach into a cloud deck that was only 400 feet above the ground. The combination of a non-precision approach flown in bad weather while trying to make up time resulted in a tragic accident. The crew strayed off course in low visibility and impacted the side of a hill, killing all onboard.
At the time of the accident, I was flying NATO troops into Split, Croatia in the Netherlands Air Force KDC-10. Now, as a commander of a DV Airlift squadron, I was constantly aware of the pressures our crews faced to press the limits of safety in an effort to please our customers. As I had learned during my two years at Andrews AFB, it’s okay to say no.
Takeaways from DV flight
Two important safety lessons I brought with me to this new Florida squadron were 1) If the VIP gets mad because you didn’t think it was safe to land, just let it flow like water off a duck’s back. They’ll get over it, but you will all still be alive. 2) Don’t bend over backwards to set a precedent that your fellow squadron pilots can’t meet. In other words, don’t be the reason that the general or his staff could say, “Well, the last guy did it.”
Unable to see the Andrews runway, I applied Go-Around thrust and the powerful C-37 pitched up and climbed quickly to 2,000 feet. Just seconds before the go around, we could see snow covered trees directly below us, so the vertical visibility was almost 200 feet, but the forward visibility in front of us was still low. That restricted forward visibility kept us from seeing the runway or even the bright white approach lights once we reached the Decision Altitude.
Let’s try it one more time…safely.
Knowing we were so close to breaking out, Don requested vectors for a second approach attempt. Ten minutes later, we were on final approach and descending again into the blowing snow. Nothing improved on this second attempt, so rather than “ducking under” the clouds in the hope of seeing the runway, Don again correctly called for the go around, which I performed.
Part of the thrill of instrument flying is intense concentration while flying an approach. Pilots are not concerned with the people riding along in back. We are focused solely on our instruments, the runway, and Mother Nature. Whenever I jockey the throttles to maintain airspeed during gusty winds, I am constantly reminded of my teenage days with Mr. Lovell barking, “Stay on speed!” Or during buffeting crosswinds, he commanded “Fight for centerline!” then commented if I was one or two feet off centerline after I touched down
Pilots take on Mother Nature’s challenges but strive to keep everything within safe limits. If it’s not safe to land, we can always go into a holding pattern and wait, or divert to a better location. Safety, then Comfort, then Reliability. Keeping those priorities in that order is a life-saver.
“Runway in sight”
The winds were very light that particular day, only blowing five miles per hour out of the south. Most airplanes can handle landing with a 10-knot tailwind, so I asked Don to request an opposite direction approach from the south to the north. There were no other planes in the area to create a conflict, so permission was granted, and we lined up for the northbound right-side runway. Fortunately, the weather south of Andrews was clearing. As I approached 300 feet, the bright white approach lights and the runway came into view through the low clouds. At 200 feet, Don announced, “Runway in sight.” Staring through the HUD, I transitioned my focus from the green instruments on the glass to a visual aimpoint 1,000 feet down the runway.
On this gloomy winter day, Don and I safely delivered General Franks to Washington D.C. … but 45 minutes behind schedule. President Bush and Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld were kept waiting for their warfighting general.
How would General Franks react? Some uppity VIPs are known to not give a hoot about excuses and only want to remain on schedule at all costs. Several of those ranting celebrities or businessmen have paid for that attitude with their lives.
We parked the jet on the red-painted cement “carpet” near Base Operations and our flight engineer opened the door, allowing the brisk winter breeze to blow through the cabin. General Franks and his aide, the Marine F-18 pilot, prepared to exit. Having a fellow aviator onboard turned out to be a Godsend. Although he and his fellow passengers could see the white snow-covered pine trees directly below us on approach, the Marine pilot explained to the other passengers that forward “slant-range” vision is often restricted and considerably less than looking straight down.
People that knew I flew General Tommy Franks often asked me, “What is he like?”
My reply: “Loud! He can be really happy or really pissed off, but he’s always loud!”
As General Franks departed our Gulfstream on that white winter day in Washington D.C., he stepped into our cockpit, popped me on my right shoulder with his large fist and in his deep baritone Texan voice boomed, “Thanks for keeping me safe!” I could not have asked for a better aviation lesson than that for my new copilot.
