A Veteran's Journey

Trivia Questions (Answers @ end)

1. Who said, “We do not remember days, we remember moments.”?
2. In what movie (and who said it), did we hear, “The only problem is that in this job is there’s just no place to hide.”?
3. In what song (and who sang it) did we hear:
   Sittin’ in the mornin’ sun
   I’ll be sittin’ when the evenin’ comes
   Watching the ships roll in
   Then I watch ’em roll away again

---

Who hasn’t been mesmerized by watching a campfire at night, perhaps even poking the coals around with a long stick? Or maybe, after a beer or two, sticking your foot in for a quick moment?

“You light ‘em, we fight ‘em!” Who says things like this?

That’s the motto US Navy aircraft crash firefighters often used back in the 70s. I believe it still is, at least in some circles. And it doesn’t matter if you’re a land-based firefighter or an aircraft carrier-based firefighter. Our job was simple: wait around until an aircraft crashes, then put out the fire and rescue personnel.

“Hurry Up & Wait.”

I say that tongue-in-cheek. But that’s pretty much sums up my life in the Navy as an Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler (ABH) Crash firefighter.

I spent 15 months in paradise on the island of Guam at NAS Agana, Guam (’73-75) and two-and-a-half years aboard an aircraft carrier, USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63).

Both duty stations were outstanding (I can say that now, 46 years later), though there were those times… you know…

The “Decision”

I think recruitment & enlistment are basically still the same in today’s military, but back in my day, when I first enlisted in Tallahassee, Florida in July 1973 (I volunteered for the Navy, even though we were still fighting the Vietnam War), I chose my rate (i.e., my job) by glancing through a thick book in the Navy recruiter’s office.

My attention span wasn’t that great back then (I flunked out of Florida State University after only a year), so I chose a rating that began with the letter, “A.” Either that or I wanted a rating that began with a letter matching my first name and/or my last name.

I actually put a little more thought into it than that, but while growing up, I loved airplanes and probably assembled about every model I could purchase from J.M. Fields; most of them hung from my bedroom ceiling. But I digress.

“A” School—Where it all Began

After graduating Boot Camp (Orlando RTC, Company #163, July-September 1973), I flew to Lakehurst, New Jersey to attend ABH “A” school. I spent eight weeks learning what an Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler did in the Navy. We had basically two jobs: one, to “handle” aircraft by either towing them or directing them (aircraft director or “Yellow Shirt” on the flight deck), and two, aircraft firefighting (aircraft crash & salvage or “Red Shirt” on the flight deck).

I spent most of my short 4-year Navy career as a Crash firefighter, both on Guam and aboard Kitty Hawk.

I learned the basics of aircraft firefighting in “A” School. We had about 15 ABHs in our class from all walks of life. James Young was there—he & I were in the same boot camp company and would serve again together in both Guam and aboard Kitty Hawk.

We had two instructors, and I liked them both. I was 18 years old and a sponge for learning a new skill. I can’t remember their names, but after boot camp, “A” School was a breeze and these two ABH1s treated us with respect.

One drank a little more than the other and if memory serves, I believe right before graduation, he had a little too much to drink at the base EM (Enlisted Men’s) club one night. He drove one of the Crash trucks—lights & siren blaring—into downtown Lakehurst. The CO busted him down to a second-class petty officer after that little episode.

During my 4 years in the Navy, he wouldn’t be the only petty officer I knew to be demoted for drinking or drugs. But I digress…

Aircraft v. Residential Firefighting

One major difference between aircraft firefighting and residential/commercial building firefighting is that aircraft use fuel—sometimes thousands of gallons—flammable and quick to ignite. So we used a firefighting “foam” that mixed with water to help smother the fire. Back then, we used AFFF (Aqueous Film Forming Foam) or “light water,” as we’d call it.

We’d show the FNGs just how powerful light water was by filling a small bucket half with water, and then a little gasoline which floated on top of the water. We’d then light the gasoline and pour about a tablespoon of the light water on top of the flames. In about two seconds, the light water would spread out over the top of the flames, depriving it of oxygen, and smother the fire. That was some powerful stuff.

Hot Drills

“Hot Drills” are exactly what you’d think: small, controlled simulated aircraft crashes and fire to train fighting the fires and rescuing personnel. “Oscar” was a 150 pound dummy who’d seen better days, but the instructors would often hide him in the wrecked aircraft we practiced our skills to find him, then “gingerly” drag him out and “gently” place him on the ground.

Hot Drills in Guam were a “little” different from when I was stationed aboard Kitty Hawk. You can’t (nor should you) really start a fire aboard a ship, so we’d offload the Oshkosh MB-5 Crash trucks from Kitty Hawk and drive over to the local airfield and practice in a burn pit. It wasn’t as elaborate as “A” School or Guam, but it helped us coordinate firefighting tactics.

At North Island San Diego (where Kitty Hawk docked), the firefighting “pit” I believe was a contained 50-foot square with a short retaining wall. The “aircraft” was composed of a couple of 50-gallon drums mounted on a stand. I envisioned something like a bronco buster ride in the 80s bars. But then… that’s just me.

In Guam, we held Hot Drills at the north end of the airfield, atop a hill overlooking the runways, so any aircraft approaching would see fire & flames and wonder, “What the hell is going on?” Actually, I believe we coordinated Hot Drills with the Aircraft Control Tower so we wouldn’t interfere with any flights, coming or going.

The “wrecked aircraft” was composed of several pieces of old aircraft situated to look like a complete aircraft (fuselage, wings, tail), only they were in pieces… and burnt… and old & rusty. But it made for necessary training. And… we trained a lot!

Apparently—I didn’t know this until I got to Guam—when an aircraft has to drain its fuel tank, it cannot reuse that same fuel… it’s “contaminated.” I’m sure someone will correct me if I’m wrong. Squadron personnel would drain the aircraft’s fuel tank into one of their old tankers, then drive up to the Hot Drill site and pump the contaminated fuel into a large 5,000 gallon tanker, permanently parked on the hill.

That’s the fuel we’d use for training.

The firefighting chief(s) and/or the Crash Division Training Petty Officer (ABH2 Tom Cullen) would spray about 100-200 gallons of the fuel onto the “aircraft,” light it (wearing protective gear), then haul butt to get away.

The Fun Begins: Walking Through Fire

What can I say? I loved fighting fires. It was challenging and rewarding. I don’t ever recall being afraid, even though I’d had flare-ups and gas cans blow up around me, both during my time in the Navy and while a City of Gainesville firefighter.

I wore protective gear and in the Navy, we wore asbestos suits which made us look either like real aircraft firefighters or aliens—sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

That was cool, well not “technically” cool. Yeah, it was hot and sweaty, but the suits protected us and allowed us to literally walk through the fire. That was an awesome feeling—almost like I was invincible. And at 19 years old, we were all invincible.

I’m sure I’m not the only veteran that had those feelings of invincibleness.

Teamwork is the Key

The Navy Crash firefighter is one of several on a team. There’s the driver (I also drove the trucks); there’s the “crew chief” or lead hose man; depending on the type of crash truck, there was one or two “turret” men; and there was one other hose man / rescue man.

The “turret” men stood on a metal seat with their heads poking out of the roof; an MB-1 crash truck had two turrets, each with their own pump engine (see photo above). An MB-5 crash truck had a single turret, also mounted on the roof, but the pump was controlled by the truck’s engine (see photo below). So, it was “interesting” to shove the transmission gear into neutral and rev up the engine while still rolling toward the fire.

We Work Together

Let me give you an example of how this team would work in the event of an actual fire.

There’s also a difference between working on a land-based Crash Barn and an aircraft carrier.

First, we’d get the initial alarm—a Claxon alarm to be precise. Most of the time in Guam, we didn’t know if it was just an emergency or an actual crash until we got to the truck.

On the carrier flight deck, we always manned the crash truck during flight operations with the crew members suited up. On a land-based station, there are usually several trucks and several crews and if you’re not out on the “hot spot” (a designated parking area on the airfield), you’d usually be in the Crash barn, but not suited up.

If an aircraft crashed on the runway, all trucks would roll with everyone fully suited up. As the driver approaches the fire, he signals the turret men to begin spraying down the fire, trying to knock down as much of the fire quickly as possible. No doubt, “time is of the essence.” This may only take a few seconds (AFFF was powerful stuff) to make a pathway to the aircraft door for the rescue men.

Next, the two hose men/rescue men jump out, grab the hand lines off a hose reel, engage their AFFF and begin making their way toward the aircraft. Their job is to rescue personnel from the crash site.

In Guam, we had six Crash trucks (the Navy shared the same parallel runways with the civilian airport), so we were prepared in the event a large Boeing 747 with 450 people aboard “needed help.” Fortunately, that never happened during my time in Guam.

It sounds simple, but obviously it’s more complicated. You simply can’t train for every possible situation, but with continuous training you are prepared for any situation.

Even though we trained almost every shift for varying types of emergencies, you never know how you’re going to react or how your team members will react. There’s a level of trust that comes through when you live and train with these dedicated firefighters. It’s a comradery that I also experienced as a City of Gainesville firefighter.

That’s something I’ll never forget.

Winding Down

While those days of firefighting are long ago and far behind me, the lessons I learned (teamwork, training, challenges, routines) continue with me during my retirement. My wife is a retired R.N. and while it doesn’t happen very often (thank the good Lord), when there’s an emergency or a need, we both respond as best we can. Sometimes we’re successful and able to save a life, other times…

I’m just happy that we’re still willing and able to help; we’re healthy, we’re happy, and this morning (as I write this on a Saturday afternoon), we completed an 18½ mile bike ride. Hot & humid, but very rewarding.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Previous Posts Mentioned in this Blog:

• #10—You Light ‘em, We Fight ‘em
• #24—Hurry Up & Wait!
• #53—You Always Remember Your First
• #47—Memorable Moments, Part 1-the Flight Deck
• #35—US Navy “A” School (ABH)
• #4—From Civilian to US Navy
• #48—Not Just Another House Fire

Answers

1. Cesare Pavese (Italian poet).
2. Backdraft (1991), Lt. Steven McCaffrey (Kurt Russell).
3. Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay (1968), Otis Redding; written by Steve Cropper & Otis Redding.