What follows is a story found on military . com That came across my mind one day while i was in kuwait city. I was there with some other guys to fix a broke airplane. It had engine problems and were running the airplane (engines) for various tests for trouble shooting. Were were on the control tower frequency monitoring in cases they needed to cantact us and vise versa. Pretty much nothing different from running in kuwait or the us.....except the heavy accent of the controller. We were at 900 tit (turbine inlet temp)....with all four....which means we were pulling some power, making some noise......and i was sitting left seat....and two others were on headset in the right seat and engineers spot and one on the ground........and all of a sudden i heard a radio transmission to the control tower from an inbound. "Dustoff" requested emegency priority over the airfield for medevac. The pilot sounded very matter of fact about it. He was comming from a war zone why shouldnt he?
It was strange to hear as it was happening. None of the other guys in the flight deck even knew what that radio call meant......and as that blackhawk helicopter approached i watched and said a prayer to my self for those guys, and i thought of this story i read on military.com:
Kent Sapp, 236 Med. Co.
Thursday – December 15, 1999, Camp Bondsteel, Kosovo
Photo: Kent Sapp with his father, Ron Sapp.
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I’ve spent the past two days pulling “1st up” MEDEVAC coverage for KFOR (Kosovo Forces). I am in aircraft 88-26023, a UH-60A Blackhawk configured for MEDEVAC operations. The crew of “Dustoff 01” is as follows:
CW3 Kent T. Sapp - pilot-in-command
CW3 Christian Larson - co-pilot
SGT Keith Burns -crew chief
SGT John Thomas - flight medic
The “1st up” crew sleeps in an Air Force “temper-tent” (temperature controlled tent) next to our flight operations “temper-tent”. Our normal quarters are located ¼ of a mile away in the newly built SEAHUTS (Southeast Asia Huts). The 1st up crew stays near the operations tent during the normal day unless they are eating at the dining facility tent. This is necessary to have the fastest possible response time to an Urgent Medevac call. The only mission we received on the 14th was a patient transfer to Skopje Airport. We had to transport a Polish soldier that had been injured in a grenade accident a few days prior. He was the lucky one. The other Polish soldier involved in the accident died in one of our aircraft on the way to the Combat Surgical Hospital (CSH).
The normal procedure when crews pull “1st up” or “2nd up” is to preflight and run-up the helicopter prior to 0900. Additionally, we pre-flight and perform an operational check on the rescue hoist to ensure its operability. The longest run-up of the day is the first one due to the checks involved. After the aircraft is ran up for the first time, subsequent starts are much shorter as we use the “Thru-flight” checklist. This pre-flight and run-up procedure is identical to the way we operate back in garrison in Germany. In Kosovo, we are required to fly with body armor and to have our sliding-armored panels extended. These panels protect the side of the body closest to the cockpit door. We also wear our 9mm pistols under the armor with a magazine inserted but without a round chambered. The aircraft are suppose to have a ballistic armored sheet on the cabin floor to protect the cabin, however, ours have yet to be installed. The body armor is very cumbersome to fly with. It is even more cumbersome when using night-vision-goggles as the collar interferes with head movement. Just one more of the many stressors Army aviators must “deal with”.
When a MEDEVAC mission is called in to our operations personnel, they immediately inform the flight crew on our Motorola “TalkAbout” walkie-talkie radios. “MEDEVAC, MEDEVAC, MEDEVAC, all 1st up flight crews report to Operations”. The crew chief and co-pilot run to the helicopter and remove the pitot tube covers and disengage the main rotor gust lock. The co-pilot struggles into his body armor and straps into the seat. His task is to prepare the aircraft using the checklist all the way up to, but not including, engine(s) start. The pilot-in-command and flight medic report to operations to receive patient information, landing zone (LZ) location, call-signs, frequencies, LZ marking, etc. via what is called a 9-line report. The pilot-in-command then plots the grid coordinates on the operations wall map to determine the best flight route (usually direct), and checks the “known” mine map to ensure the LZ isn’t located in a “known” mine field. Simultaneously, operations personnel call the weather office to receive an immediate weather brief to ensure legal weather minimum requirements are met. The flight medic uses the patient information to decide what medical equipment and aircraft configuration are necessary to most efficiently perform the mission.
2000 hours
I’m playing chess with CW2 Chris Frey in the 1st up tent. Christian is watching Armed Forces Network on the unit’s newly purchased TV/VCR combo. We’ve already had one NVG mission this evening. We flew an infant with pulmonary edema from the Kosovo village of Strpce to Pristina University Hospital. While sitting on the landing pad at the hospital, Christian and I were given the Serbian “finger” by some older teenagers loitering near the helipad. We felt naked as both the crew chief and flight medic were inside the hospital at the time – where is SGT Burn’s???????? Our pistols are buried beneath our body armor and survival vests. We couldn’t get to them if we wanted to. The aircraft engines are at idle to reduce noise and save fuel so taking off is not an option. It’s great to feel ‘welcome’. We return back to Bondsteel without incident and feeling happy that the baby should be ‘ok’.
2108 hours
“MEDEVAC, MEDEVAC, MEDEVAC, all 1st up flight crews report to operations”. SGT Thomas and I run next door to the operations tent while Christian and SGT Burns run to the aircraft. The patient: URGENT surgical U.S. soldier MINE victim. HOLY SHIT! I plot the grids on both the operations wall map and the mine map. CW2 Chris Frey calls the on-duty weather briefer to help me out and save me some time. I copy down the grid coordinates, callsign (Empire), and frequency and run to the aircraft. The grid coordinates I am given are not for the accident site because the site is still unknown. My instructions are to land at the grid coordinates given and pick up a Special Forces Captain who will get us to the accident grid coordinates. SGT Thomas finishes copying the rest of the 9-line report and is not far behind me. I get to the aircraft (out of breath), take off my flight jacket and throw it behind the crew chief and flight medic’s seats. I put my body armor on over my 9mm pistol and my survival vest over the body armor. I step up onto the landing gear support faring step and ungracefully enter the cockpit. Strapping the seat belts and shoulder harnesses on is difficult because of the bulk of the body armor. While I am strapping in, Christian is starting both engines simultaneously to save time while I “monitor” the flight controls. Once we start the engines, I program the grid coordinates into our Global Positioning System (GPS) and program Empire’s frequency into the FM radio.
2119 hours
We are “off” in 11 minutes. Not bad considering it’s night and we are using night vision goggles. Christian in flying the aircraft and I am “running” the cockpit. We are talking on or monitoring 4 radios. (1) UHF radio (1) VHF radio (2) FM radios. Christian makes the Air-to-Air advisory calls on the VHF radio while I navigate and talk to Bondsteel tower on UHF and our operations and Empire on the two FM radios. We fly a nearly direct route to the grid coordinates from the 9-line. We are about 1 kilometer from the site when we see all of the vehicles in the landing zone lighting it up like a Christmas tree. As we turn onto final approach Christian turns on the landing light – WIRES on the approach path! He is forced to use a steep approach angle due to the wires and numerous trees. This is a poor excuse for a landing zone! In addition to the wires and numerous large and small trees, there are Russian troops and vehicles everywhere. CHAOS! After a few seconds of ensuring the clearance of the tail rotor, Christian lands the helicopter near the “H” marking the LZ. Time: 2129. It took us 10 minutes from takeoff to landing. As soon as we land, the aircraft is rushed by Russian and Special Forces soldiers – a definite NO, NO! Too many people for the crew chief and flight medic to keep away. We’re not happy! Operating around a helicopter at full rotor RPM is not a safe place to be. Normally the crew chief directs approaching personnel to ensure their safety. Tonight there are simply too many people and only one crew chief. The Special Forces Captain jumps onboard and tries to talk to us on the troop commander’s headset, or “dogbone” as we call it. It’s not working. Shit! “SGT Thomas – give the Captain your flight helmet so we can talk with him – we’re WASTING time! “Roger” he says and gives the Captain his helmet. One of the first things the Captain says to us when he finally talks is “DO NOT LAND”. OK I say – I asked the Captain if we need to prepare for a possible hoist extraction and he told me ‘yes’. SGT Burns and SGT Thomas commence to rapidly reconfiguring the cabin and litter carousel for hoist operations. This seems to take an eternity. The Captain gives us a set of grid coordinates that they think is the accident site. I enter the coordinates into the GPS as SGT Burns and SGT Thomas finish reconfiguring the aircraft. Reconfiguring complete, I have to wait for SGT Thomas to retrieve his helmet from the Captain so I can have his “eyes” as we depart the LZ enroute to the first set of grid coordinates.
Photo: Polish medics work with American medic, Sgt. Paul Yocum, flight medic, 159th Medical Company (Air Ambulance), to simulate calls for the MEDEVAC teams.
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We depart the Russian base camp at Kosovska Kamenica enroute to our given grid coordinates. The coordinates are only 2 kilometers away so we are there in less than 2 minutes. We see nothing but a village with absolutely no lights on whatsoever. No accident site here. SGT Thomas has to give up his helmet again so the Captain can communicate with us. I tell him that we see nothing and that we need some new coordinates. I call Empire Base on the FM radio and after what seems like another eternity, I receive some new grid coordinates. They finally have the actual accident site grids. I program these into the GPS – 2.5 kilometers northwest of our present position. We fly direct.
As we crest the next ridgeline we see headlights from the vehicles on scene. The vehicle lights are shining through the trees. Of course the accident vehicle is in the trees alongside the dirt road running through the tree covered valley. Christian sees the accident vehicle as it is on his side of the helicopter. All I see is a wheeled armored personnel carrier of some type with its lights illuminated. Time stops. The dirt road runs east and west from the accident site. Except for the accident site itself, the dirt road has sporadic trees lining the sides of the road. The dilemma: Where are we going to land? We don’t know the extent of the patient’s injuries so a hoist is not the best solution. Additionally, a hoist mission takes time to perform. Precious time. A landing must be made on the road. But where? While I am deciding the best place to land, SGT Burn’s is recommending hoist operations to me, we are orbiting low over the ground so all eyes are focused on terrain/obstacle avoidance. The Captain is trying to talk to me with SGT Thomas’ helmet and Empire Base is trying to talk to me on the FM radio. Adrenaline’s pumping through all of our veins. Senses are heightened, time appears skewed. After another eternity, Empire Base tells me that the road leading west has already been driven on and thus should be mine free. “Roger”. Christian sets up for landing. Problem: Numerous trees are lining the road and SGT Thomas still isn’t wearing his helmet because the SF Captain still has it. Another orbit is required to buy time for SGT Thomas to get us helmet on and NVG’s down and in use so I have an extra set of eyes to help clear my side of the aircraft. We land on the downsloping road with a brisk tailwind and stop with the rotor tips about 3-4 feet from a nice 15 foot tree. Due to the tailwind and downslope, Christian has full aft cyclic control to keep the aircraft from sliding into the tree because in our haste, we forgot to set the wheel brakes. I hear the vibrations and assume that we’ve hit the inboard portion of the rotor system on the Infrared countermeasures device that sits directly behind the main rotor system. Damn!
2150 hours
We are down on the road and positioned 200 meters west of the accident site with the nose of the helicopter pointing directly towards the vehicle lights of the accident scene. SGT Thomas, SGT Burns, and the SF Captain exit the aircraft as I scream to them “STAY ON THE ROAD – MINES!!!!!!” In no time flat, a white Toyota Landcruiser comes HAULING ASS up the road towards us! I can hear Christian scream STOP! although he is not transmitting on the intercrew communication system (ICS). I just know that the vehicle is going to rid the rotor system as the driver skids to a stop. The vehicle stops with the hood UNDERNEATH the rotor spinning at 100% RPM. JESUS CHRIST! A split second later, bodies literally fly out of all four doors of that vehicle and disappear behind it as the open the back hatch to retrieve the wounded Special Forces Sergeant. Another split second later, the men are carrying the lifeless soldier by his legs and torso past the right side of the helicopter towards the cabin door. I didn’t get a good look at the Sergeant, all I saw was his shirtless body and arms dangling lifelessly along side of him as he past. We had the landing light on to illuminate the front of the aircraft and the vehicle. The soldiers placed the wounded Sergeant onto the top forward facing litter pan – there wasn’t even time to put him on a litter. He went directly onto the litter pan. The first thing to register to my senses was the smell when he was placed on board. The smell sent a pit to my stomach and shot some more adrenaline into my blood system. Christian later told me that he noticed the same thing and felt the same way. We both knew it wasn’t good for the home team. As soon as the Sergeant was placed onto the litter pan, SGT Burns, SGT Thomas, the SF Captain, and an SF medic from the scene jumped on board. SGT Burns, SGT Thomas, and the SF medic immediately restarted CPR while we prepared to take off.
2153 hours
Three minutes have passed since we landed on the road. Seemed more like 30 minutes. Everyone is secure in the cabin, although both of our crewmembers are performing CPR and unable to assist with obstacle clearance on departure. As we prepare to takeoff, one of the ground Special Forces soldiers attempts to give us hand and arm signals to takeoff. I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was if he wanted to kill us for not taking off 5 seconds ago. PAIN and AGONY written all over his face. I did an extremely fast before takeoff check and Christian blasted off straight up dusting off our ground personnel. As we departed, the left cabin door slid open because it wasn’t latched. Another eternity passed as we slowed to 100 knots airspeed to allow SGT Burns to crawl over everyone to get to the door before something fell out. An eternity later, the door was secured and Christian pulled the collective control until our torque gauge registered 100%. On that day, 100% torque was the maximum power available which yielded approximately 155 knots or 180 miles per hour. We flew direct to the Bondsteel CSH as fast as the aircraft would go. I had Christian fly higher than normal because our crewmembers were “eyes inside” attending the patient. We normally fly at 200-300 feet above ground level with night vision goggles. Due to the good weather, we were able to fly at 500-800 feet above ground level. While enroute, another UH-60 aircraft was able to relay our patient information and status to our operations so that we would have personnel waiting for us when we landed at the CSH helipad. I called Bondsteel tower 25 kilometers to the northwest and requested priority landing at the CSH helipad and was given that approval. We landed on the helipad at 2205. 12 minutes from takeoff at the accident site to landing. The second we touched down, the four personnel in the cabin lifted the patient up and out of the aircraft to the awaiting medical personnel. We watched through our NVGs as they disappeared into the tentflaps of the surgical hospital. The adrenaline letdown begins. We had to wait on the helipad for SGT Burns and SGT Thomas to return from inside. Our job is over. We flew to “hot” refuel where we topped off our fuel tanks and then returned to aircraft parking. “2nd Up” assumes “1st up” while SGT Thomas cleans the mess in the cabin and recovers his medical equipment that was left at the CSH. Christian and I head into the operations tent to start our three page after action report.
We finally get to bed at around 0200. At 0255 we get the call for our third MEDEVAC of the day. All three have been at night and flown using NVGs. Eight minutes later we’re in the air heading to the same LZ as the first MEDEVAC of the night. This time we pick up an ethnic Albanian woman with labor complications. We fly her to the CSH where they triage her and determine that she would be better off at Pristina University Hospital. After dropping off the patient, we return to Bondsteel, refuel, and shutdown. Time 0445. In bed at 0530.
Unfortunately, my crew has the distinction of having EVAC’D the first U.S. Soldier mine casualty in KFOR. God Bless that 26 year old Special Forces Communications Sergeant from Pennsylvania. Thank God that he did not have a wife or children. My condolences to his family. We did our absolute best.
