A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “I am thankful for all of those who said NO to me. It’s because of them I’m doing it myself.”?
2. Who said (and in what movie), “You go. We go.”?
3. In what song (and who sang it) did we hear the following:
   In this dirty old part of the city
   Where the sun refused to shine
   People tell me there ain’t no use in tryin’

---

1974; NAS Agana, Guam. It was an “off duty” night. Nothing planned, nothing special. Just eat chow, back to the barracks, watch a little TV, listen to a little music, read a book, and hit the rack. That was, until the call came in…

After Navy Boot Camp (Orlando RTC, July-Aug ’73) and “A” School in (Lakehurst, NJ, Sep-Oct ’73), I reached my first duty station: NAS Agana, Guam. Truly, an island paradise, “you always remember your first.”

Crash & Rescue

My ABH (Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler) rate was an aircraft crash & rescue firefighter and an aircraft director. I was assigned to Crash & Rescue, where we worked Port & Starboard Sections, 24 hours on and 24 off—I was in the Port section. We’d keep that duty schedule for my entire 15 months on Guam. No complaints, I had plenty of time off to scuba dive, party, enjoy many USO “Boonie Stomps,” learn to fly & get my Private Pilot’s license, and… (did I mention) party!

We had six fire trucks in the Crash Barn, plus a 5,000 gallon tanker. I eventually learned to drive them all; one of the highlights of my short 4-year Naval career.

Unit #5, an American LaFrance that carried a crew of five, was my favorite crash truck to drive. It was the oldest one at the station. I liked it best because it had a 5-speed manual transmission.

Like other crash trucks, Unit #5 had 2 roof-mounted firefighting turrets, each powered by its own diesel engine, operated by a crash crew member, and 2 hand-held 100′ 1 1/2″ reel-mounted hoses, also operated by a crash crewman.

As the truck approached an aircraft on fire, the two turrets would quickly spray out gallons of fire-fighting foam to knock the major fire down, then the two rescue crewmen would use the hand-held hoses to push their way forward to the plane to rescue anyone on board.

I would also drive a Crash truck at my next duty station aboard USS Kitty Hawk, an aircraft carrier. That was a much different driving experience, to say the least. While NAS Agana, Guam had miles of drivable tarmac, taxiways, and runways, the flight deck only had 4½ acres of flat surface. Not only less room to drive and maneuver, there were also 40-50 aircraft moving or parked at various locations. Now that was an interesting driving challenge.

“I used to drive… a fire truck… on the flight deck… of an aircraft carrier.” That’s a conversation starter.

Our job in Crash was simple: wait around until an airplane crashed (or an aircraft emergency), then put the fire out and rescue the crew. I say that tongue-in-cheek—there was more to it than that. But we constantly trained for such events… just in case.

Living Quarters

Our barracks (living quarters) were about a half-mile away from the Crash Barn. Built during WWII, they’d been renovated once or twice since. Not a far walk… or run.

When I was in Guam, four of us were assigned to a single room. It wasn’t bad, there was plenty of room for 2 sets of bunk beds, a stand-up uniform locker for each of us, and room enough for a couch, a couple of chairs, and a wooden stand we built to house a television and a stereo unit. Back then, there was only one TV station, but they’d periodically show American movies or old TV shows.

Life wasn’t too bad in this island paradise.

My roommates for most of my time on Guam were Glenn Law, who’d also be with me on Kitty Hawk, Bill Riggs, and Chris Nottingham. Glenn & Bill also worked the Port Section; Chris was an ABE (Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Equipment). He and his crew maintained the arresting gear equipment on the runways. Chris worked the Starboard Section.

Oh yeah… we also had a window-mounted air conditioner. We weren’t far from the equator. It certainly helped keep the air cool, especially since there were no windows in our room.

Even though we had enough Crash crew in both sections to man all six trucks, the tanker/foamer, and the phone office (where emergency calls came in via the Airport Control Tower), the off-duty section would always be on standby… just in case.

That didn’t happen often, but when a call came in, we hauled butt to the Crash Barn.

The HU-16 “Albatross”

At NAS Agana, Guam, we had a small squadron of two HU-16 seaplanes. Built by Grumman, the initial planes went into service in the late 40s. The Albatross was a large twin-engine amphibious seaplane used primarily for search and rescue (SAR). During the Vietnam War, the Navy also used them as an operational support aircraft for missions from NAS Agana, Guam.

The Albatross was capable of landing in water as well as land. The bottom of the fuselage was shaped like a boat hull, with small pontoons hanging from each overhead wing to balance her during landing and floating.

Like any other Navy squadron, the crew trained at night as well as during the day.

Barracks Crash Alarm

We had one wall-mounted telephone in our barracks, located in the hallway, just outside my room. Yes, it was rotary dial and yes, I am that old.

Most of the time we used the phone for personal calls back to the states—we had to call the operator to place an overseas call. Back then, there were no cell phones or email… or computers, for that matter.

Now that I think about it, there weren’t too many solicitor calls, either… “We’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty.”

“Crash Barracks. Petty Officer Adkins” was the proper way to answer the phone. But most of the time we’d answer with a smart-ass remark like, “Joe’s Pool Hall. Eight ball speaking,” or “Dick’s Roadside Diner: you kill ’em, we grill ’em.”

Of course, no one on the other end would know who answered the phone and most likely, they also answered the phone the same way.

In addition to the phone, the barracks also had a Crash Alarm (a Klaxon buzzer). We tested it daily, but usually during the day at a prescribed time.

The Emergency Call

One night Glenn and I were watching TV in our barracks room when the phone outside in the hallway rang. I got out of my chair to answer it, and as soon as I picked up the phone, the crash alarm went off.

If there was an emergency such as an actual airplane crash or a pending crash, the Crash Phone Office Watch would call all off-duty crew in to help. That’s what this was—a potential, pending disaster.

The Phone Watch reported that an HU-16 was coming in with no landing gear. So we gathered up all the sober, off-duty crash crew we could find and took off running to the Crash Barn. We didn’t see any flames in the distant nor did we smell smoke along the way, so that was a good (initial) sign.

When we arrived a few breathless minutes later, the aircraft was still flying around, burning fuel and trying everything they could to get the landing gear down and locked.

Ready, Willing, & Able

Let me pause here for a quick moment and tell you what was going through my mind. I can vividly remember those thoughts and emotions of the evening.

First, we had been off duty when we got the word. We’d already put in a 24-hour shift and manned the Crash trucks out on the Alert Spot (a designated area midway between the two parallel runways) for two, 4-hour shifts. We were tired. But none of that mattered—we were needed… now!

Second, while we were familiar with the HU-16 Albatross, as we were with all aircraft based at NAS Agana, Guam, we had spent a few hours checking it out again earlier that week. So we kinda knew what was going on, though we had no clue what to expect in this emergency.

Third, and perhaps the most important, my heart was pounding like a blacksmith hammering out a horseshoe in my chest. We all hoped for the best but were prepared for the worst. I’d been in Guam for many months and had trained in many different situations with my fellow crash firefighters. They were just as anxious as I.

We quickly donned our firefighting equipment and doubled up the crews of several crash trucks, mostly as backup to help as needed.

We were prepared… for anything. In terms of operational readiness, we were at “DEFCON Level 2.”

Foam the Runway

An hour passed as we anxiously waited. Times seemed to stand still. Finally, the control tower reported that the plane still could not lock its gear and we needed to foam the runway. Foaming the runway was done only as a last-ditch effort to (hopefully) prevent a disaster.

Our tanker truck headed out and began to spray fire suppression foam on the runway, putting about a three- to four-inch deep layer across the runway for about the first half mile of the landing area. Because the runway is so wide and the tanker truck could only spray out so much width of the foam, it took several passes to complete the task. This would supposedly keep sparks from flying when the plane landed on its belly, hopefully to prevent it from catching fire.

One other thing to note: the foam used for the runway was an old style “protein” foam, different from the AFFF (Aqueous Film Forming Foam) we used to fight aircraft fires. This particular liquid would mix with air and hold the foam particles together – pretty cool. The only problem was that when it was sprayed out, it smelled like day-old baby diapers.

We anxiously watched as the plane flew around one more time, trying to burn down as much fuel as it could. For some reason it couldn’t just dump fuel—I still don’t know why. We’d also been told there were four- to five-foot seas, so the pilot could not land in the rough water. Besides, it was night and there were no runway landing lights in the water. We expected the worst, and the pucker factor was pretty high for most of us.

On the plane’s short final approach, everyone was alert and ready and I bet most prayed for a safe and uneventful landing; I know I did. The Section Fire Chief reported over the radio that the landing gear was down, but for some reason the starboard side (the side all the crash trucks were located) wouldn’t lock.

A (Nervous) Safe Landing

Chuck Yeager, a former USAF officer and the first pilot in history confirmed to have exceeded the speed of sound in level flight (and still with us at age 93), once said, “If you can walk away from a landing, it’s a good landing. If you use the airplane the next day, it’s an outstanding landing.”

I can only imagine what the pilot and crew were thinking. If they were spiritual, they probably said a prayer or two. If they were married with kids, their thoughts were probably with their families. But like most military pilots, their training and focus were in the moment of executing as perfect a landing as possible.

The Albatross landed very gently, like a butterfly with sore feet, and thank God the gear did not collapse. When it came to a complete stop, all the crash trucks were rolling up to it, just as we’d trained time and time again. We were ready for anything and fortunately, did not have to prove it.

We’d never seen a crew come out of a plane faster than those three guys did. I’m sure they were due for a skivvy check. The starboard gear was bent in an obviously distorted manner and the plane listed to that side. We later heard that one of the crew had braced a two-by-four piece of wood against the airplane bulkhead, shoring up the gear to help keep it extended as the pilot gently landed the plane.

The pilot and crew were very thankful for us being there. They came around with ear-to-ear smiles and shook everyone’s hand. We all were relieved of a safe landing.

Winding Down

We’d been at the Crash Barn for several hours and the adrenaline was pumping overtime. It was too late for a celebratory drink. That, and the fact that we had to be up and at the Crash Barn again in a few more hours, sent us all back to the barracks for some down-time and sleep.

During my time on Guam, the Crash Alarm didn’t sound off too many times, except for daily testing. In fact, this incident may have been the only time when I wasn’t on duty. For all my 15 months in Guam, we never had an aircraft crash on the runways. I am forever thankful for that.

We had plenty of emergencies, including blown aircraft tires upon landing, commercial jets (we shared the runway with the Guam International Airport) with one or two engines out, jets landing in typhoon-like conditions, and a few other close calls.

A Veteran’s Confidence

Each time we went out on an emergency–announced or unannounced–our training provided us with the confidence we’d need for any situation.

I’d like to think that confidence stayed with me through the years. After the Navy, I took a job as a firefighter with the City of Gainesville. I think my experience in the Navy helped land the job. We certainly had our share of fires and automobile accidents. And that experience, too, helped continue to build my confidence throughout my careers.

As I’ve said many times, “Life is a journey… one step followed by another.”

Stay safe, my friends.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.

Previous posts mentioned in this blog:

• #4 – From Civilian to US Navy
• #35 – US Navy “A” School (ABH)
• #53 – You Always Remember Your First…
• #10 – “You Light ‘em, We Fight ‘em”
• #48 – Not Just Another House Fire

Answers

1. Albert Einstein.
2. Lt. Steven McCaffrey (Kurt Russell). Backdraft (1991).
3. We Gotta Get Out of this Place (1965), The Animals; written by Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil.