Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)
- Who said, “You can avoid reality, but you can’t avoid the consequences of avoiding reality.”?
- In what movie did we hear, “He who questions training only trains himself at asking questions.”?
- In what song did we hear the following:
I know you’ve deceived me, now here’s a surprise
I know that you have ’cause there’s magic in my eyes
Blog #131 – Japan Air Lines Emergency: Engine Out
Naval Air Station, Agana, Guam – 1974
Oohhhh, baby. That’s it. “Ooh-Ga!”
A little lower. “Ah-Ooh-Ga!”
Don’t stop… “AHHH-OOOH-GAAA!”
“Chet. Chet. Wake up, Chet.”
“What the hell, Borne? I’m in the middle of a dream.”
“We gotta roll!”
My eyelids bounced a few times before I realized my dream had completely vanished and replaced by an impossibly loud Klaxon alarm on the opposite side of our Crash crew room. I was asleep on the top rack, literally, “livin’ the dream.”
I’d stayed out a little too late the night before, partying in downtown Agana, Guam at some club… strike that… several clubs, and returned to my barracks room sometime after zero-dark-thirty. After morning chow at 0630 and mustering at the Crash Barn at 0800, it had been a short night and now, a long day. I was tired and had climbed into my rack before nine o’clock.
NAS Agana, Guam (1974)
I was the driver for Unit #5, my favorite Crash fire truck. I’d been driving for several months now and knew almost every square inch of the NAS Agana, Guam airport. The Navy shared runways, meaning both military aircraft and civilian aircraft used the two parallel, 12,000 feet runways—Runway 6L/24R and Runway 6R/24L. We handled all emergencies for military and civilian aircraft.
Jumping out of my top rack, I slipped on my pants and shoes and quickly tied up my boon dockers. Since I was the driver, I didn’t need to wear the asbestos firefighting gear my crew did. But by the time I got to the truck, they’d already suited up and were aboard… waiting for their driver—me!
Glenn Law was the crew chief and sat up front in the passenger seat. Directly behind us, in the jump seat, was my good friend, Gary Borne. Glenn & Gary were the two lead hose men. The two turret men, Gary Cuzner and John O’Mara, were already at their turrets, behind the cab. All had been awake and watching TV and were ready for action; I’d been the only one to hit the rack early that night; unusual for me.
NAS Agana, Guam (1974)
Borne had already been at NAS Agana, Guam for several months before I arrived. He was a broad-shouldered, chain-smoking, tall drink of water from Hagerstown, Maryland. Gary was one of several drivers who taught me to drive and operate all the Crash trucks—we had five of them, plus a 5,000 gallon tanker. All were rolling on this emergency.
Like always, every trucked rolled out of the Barn when the crew was aboard and ready, holding just short of crossing the airport runway.
“Crash cleared for runway six-right.” Tower Control gave all trucks permission to drive to our ready positions, waiting for what we hoped would not happen—a civilian airline crash.
Glenn spoke up over the sound of the truck engine. “There’s a Japan Air Lines 747 coming in with a full load of passengers.” I glanced over at Glenn—we both knew what that meant.
Glenn was one of my best friends in the Navy. He was from Council Grove, Kansas. A huge black man with a huge smile; I think he was a football linebacker in high school. Glenn, Gary Borne, & I would also serve together aboard USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63) in V-1 Division; Glenn would be a Yellow Shirt director and Gary & I would go to Crash. We’d make the Westpac ’75 cruise.
Japan Air Lines had the largest 747 aircraft on the planet… Guam was a holiday resort for Japanese… a fully loaded aircraft would mean upwards of 450 passengers.
“The Phone Office let us know that they’ve got an engine out; they’re flying on three now. We don’t know which one, though.” Glenn was full of happy news.
I quickly thought back to my training… I knew a 707 with four engines could stay airborne with just a single operating engine. A 747 is much bigger, but so are the engines. My mind just couldn’t recall how many engines a 747 needed to stay airborne. It didn’t matter, we’d find out soon enough.
I knew the airport layout like the back of my hand—it was a requirement for all Crash truck drivers. Two parallel runways: the JAL 747 would land on the far runway, six-left; that meant six-right, the parallel runway we were on, was available for all Crash trucks to use to reach their pre-determined destination. Taxiways were perpendicular and connected both runways, starting with taxiway “A” at the far left—that would be the taxiway the incoming 747 would first pass. That’s my station. I drove and turned onto it, parking about halfway between the two runways.
Unit #5 (background); Unit #6 (foreground)
NAS Agana, Guam (1974).
The rest of the Crash trucks would follow suit on Taxiways “B,” “C,” “D,” and “E.” Chief Hughes, the civilian firefighting chief assigned to our Port section, drove the Chief’s truck and parked somewhere near the middle of the airfield, next to the “Alert Spot.”
I couldn’t remember who was on the Alert Spot right now. My truck, Unit #5, had the 12-4 shift, both afternoon and early morning, the “dog shift.” Several Crash crews rotated through two, 4-hour shifts out on the Alert Spot. That’s how it was during our 24-hour shift. One day on and one day off… 15 months straight while I was stationed at NAS Agana, Guam from November ’73 through February ’75.
After a few minutes, Tower Control announced the 747 was on final approach. We could see him out about 4-5 miles. He didn’t look so big that far out, but we’d seen these types of aircraft land hundreds of times before. We’d also been on several emergency calls, both civilian and Navy aircraft. Fortunately, none had crashed on our watch, though we’d had many close calls.
Thank goodness it’s not raining tonight. That would make it much worse.
One thing you think about as a Crash firefighter is what happens if… an aircraft actually crashes. Our job is simple: wait until something goes wrong, then drive up, put the fire out, rescue the people.
It’s one thing if it’s a military aircraft with only one or a few crewmembers.
It’s totally different if it’s civilian… with hundreds of passengers.
One of my ABH “A” School instructors informed us that when you’re the driver, you have to maneuver close enough to the aircraft for your turret crew to spray firefighting foam over the aircraft to help reduce the fire; then your hose men take the 100-foot hose lines and spray foam to make a path to the aircraft door to begin rescue.
Sounds simple until you think about the ‘what if?’ Firefighters do this all the time… what if there’s a full passenger plane… and that plane crashes? There may be passengers that have been flung outside the aircraft. As a driver, you have to be careful, extremely careful, as you approach the aircraft. The last thing you want to do is run over…
“Here he comes, Chet. You ready?” Glenn was pumped, as was I.
With the confidence of a 19-year-old Navy firefighter, I chuckled. “I was born ready, Glenn!”
As soon as the aircraft passed us, I threw the truck in gear and started the chase down the runway. I heard a “Yahoo, here we go” from Cuzner and O’Mara. They were hooping and hollerin’. I swear… kids these days!
The 747 was traveling down the runway at about 150 knots. Unit #5’s top speed was 45 miles per hour, but we felt like we were flying as I double-clutched and shifted gears. It wasn’t like driving my ’54 Willys Jeep back home in Gainesville, Florida, but I loved driving the clutch.
As we’ve all been trained, I slowly steered over toward the port side of the runway, following behind the 747, who kept pulling away with his speed. But I knew we’d eventually catch up. There was 12,000 feet of runway for him to slow & stop.
Unit #4 joined us, as did Unit #1, Unit #6, and Unit #3, all Oshkosh firefighting trucks. All in all, there were about 23 of us in Crash that were chasing down this humongous Japan Air Lines 747. We were prepared for anything.
He’d landed slightly off to the starboard side, so I knew those trucks parked on their designated taxiways farther down the runway had quickly put their trucks in reverse and backed up a bit. Later, we’d find out that the aircraft had knocked out a couple dozen landing lights when he first touched down. While the runways were 150 feet wide, and pilots were usually good about landing somewhere in the middle, this one may have had a bit on his mind.
We still didn’t know which engine was out, but it didn’t matter. This behemoth had landed, landed safely, and was now slowly taxiing his way toward the civilian airport terminal.
“Turn off all emergency lights, but keep following the aircraft at a distance.” Chief Hughes knew the drill. Because this was a civilian aircraft, we didn’t want to alarm the passengers or those in the terminal anxiously awaiting the arrival. My guess is that no one—not in the terminal nor on the aircraft—knew there had been an engine out. Well… except for maybe the pilot and airline crew.
We slowed down and took a deep breath. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thanking God for a safe landing. It could’ve been a mess, but it wasn’t.
We trained all the time for all kinds of emergencies. Even when we trained on hot drills—actual fires with a mock aircraft up on the burn hill—we trained to pull “Oscar,” the fire dummy, out of a burning wreck. But that was only one person—dummy—and only about 200 gallons of fuel.
What if?
We only stayed near the terminal for a few more minutes, just long enough for the JAL crew chief to double check with the pilot that all was okay. Chief Hughes radioed to the rest of us, “Good job. Return to station.”
“Crash cleared to cross runways six-left and six-right. Thanks and have a good night.” Tower Control made sure no other aircraft were in the vicinity and we were cleared to return to the Crash Barn.
It was still early—2200 (10 pm). My crew, Unit #5, would have to be up and out on the Alert Spot in a couple more hours for our second shift. No sense trying to go back to sleep. After that type of emergency, I might as well grab a cup of coffee and join my crew in a game of ping pong or darts.
Just another day in the life of a Crash & Rescue firefighter in 1974 at NAS Agana, Guam.
Tomorrow, I’ll begin my first of many private pilot flying lessons at the local Flying Club. I would learn how to fly a small, 2-seater, Cessna 150. I was stoked. If anything happened while I was flying, I knew the best Crash crew in the world would be available if I needed them.
Until we meet again,
Andy
Answers
- Ayn Rand.
- Mystery Men (1999); Sphinx (Wes Studi).
- I Can See for Miles (1967), The Who; written by Peter Townshend.
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