flipped and Dave was thrown back in the jump seat. They were pulling some heavy Gs now. The nose pitched up, and the noise was deafening as the rockets lifted the huge aircraft off the ice at a thirty degree angle. In seconds, the Raven was five hundred feet off the ice. The JATOs cut out and the nose tipped over. Wow, what an adrenalin rush and a real buzz in your shorts.
The Raven went from zero to two hundred in about twelve seconds. That was about equivalent to a rail dragster. As the nose settled on the horizon, Dave looked out. The sky was clear and the snow below just about blinded him. The Raven banked to the left and circled back towards the site. They were coming in at 289 knots and 500 feet. The Site Radome was growing larger by the second as they roared over the top.
Just then over the radio, “Raven Two…Sob Story.” The copilot acknowledged the call. “Raven Two, Raven One is ten miles west inbound VFR direct. Suggest you proceed on current course until he clears IP (inner perimeter).”
“Roger, Wilco, Sob Story, Raven One.” They cleared the area to the north to give him plenty of room. There was plenty of space up here; might as well make use of it.
The C-130 climbed to two thousand feet above the ice and started a turn to the west after they heard Raven Two was safely on the deck. Just then a flash of light caught the flight crew off guard. There was a reflection of the sun off the ice. Where was that coming from? Just to the north a few miles was a pool of aqua green water several miles in diameter. This was impossible even in June in Greenland and at an altitude over a mile and a half above sea level.
Dave asked over the com set, “What the hell is that?” Major Boop responded, “I don’t know, we’re going to go check it out.” He told Boop about the strange event that had taken place the week earlier. It was clear that this was no plane crash. Whatever left this perfect circle in the middle of the icecap used a hell of lot of energy to melt that much ice. There were signs it was a whole lot bigger to begin with but the edges were refreezing towards the center. Somebody is making the equivalent of crop circles in the ice.
The Raven headed for the center of the lake. As it crossed the southern edge the plane suddenly dipped down and to the right. The stall warning horn went off. The airspeed indicator dropped to 170 knots even though there was no apparent deceleration. The turn coordinator showed a full slip to the left even though they were turning opposite. The artificial horizon was rolling in its cage useless. Even though a magnetic compass was useless this far north it was spinning madly.
Boop’s quick reflexes and muscle memory kicked in. He did a text book stall recovery. He lowered the nose, applied power, and kicked the opposite rudder to the turn. The hardest thing for a pilot to do in a stall is to counter intuitively push the nose down. Many stalls result when the pilot sucks the yoke back into his chest trying to milk altitude for airspeed. This is usually a fatal mistake.
The plane recovered with a few hundred feet to spare. There was not time for an “Oh, shit.” It all happened too fast. As they cleared the opposite side of the lake the instruments settled down and returned to normal.
Boop got on the radio back to Sob Story. He wanted to warn Raven Two to stay clear of this area. He’d explain it once they got back to base.
Boop got on the intercom, “Okay, crew, we just had what they call a departure from normal flight conditions in clear weather and calm air. We’re running the stall recovery check list now. You guys all take notes on what you felt, heard, and observed. There will be a debriefing at Sonde.”
The plane climbed up to a comfortable altitude and headed back to Sonde. Boop wanted a few thousand feet under his butt just in case something else happened.
The flight recorder was on as well as the voice recorder. The crew was in no mood to ask a bunch of stupid questions no one knew the answers to. Since it was likely the recorders were going to be removed and scrutinized everything was by the book, professional, and no chit chat. This did make for a quiet flight. However, Boop did pass a note back to Dave.
The note simply said. “Need to talk back at Sonde. Not the first time! Caribou Club at 1700 hours.”
Dave felt like a third grader passing notes. He nodded to Boop that he understood. There were certain things that the crews did not want said with the voice recorder running. Saying you saw a UFO, and, oh, by the way, it about made me crash was not one of them.
Raven One droned on. Sonde was now an hour to the west. All instruments were in the green. Flying over the icecap was like flying inside a milk bottle sometimes. There was no sense of altitude or speed, due to the lack of landmarks.
The closer the plane got to the west coast some of the mountain peaks started to pop up over the horizon. The plane started its descent. It cleared the glacier and followed the fjord down to the runway. The pre-landing checklist was performed and audible per the book. No one said anything other than what was necessary or mission essential.
After the plane touched down and taxied over to the operations ramp. Dave and the crew went into Operations. They were met by the Ops chief, Maintenance chief, and the Base Commander Colonel Snyder.
“You understand, gentlemen, this is an official investigation. Anytime you have a deviation from controlled flight in a C-130 or any other aircraft, the Air Force wants to know about it. Everything you say now is for the official record. We are going to interview you individually first, and then as a group.”
Major Boop followed the three officers to the crew lounge. An NCO was there with a tape recorder and steno pad. Boop knew he was in for a grilling. You don’t just drop a C-130 fifteen hundred feet out of the sky. It just isn’t done unless the plane is improperly trimmed, loaded incorrectly, hits rough air, flies too slowly, etcetera. In other words, he was being set up for the “oh shit factor,” or technically known as pilot error.
After it was over, Major Boop gathered his three man crew and walked with them over to the Caribou Club. The Caribou Club was a combination NCO and Officers’ Club. Dave was already waiting. He had ordered a beer and turned around to see the four crew members walk through the door and make their way to the lounge in the back room. He followed them back. The lounge was known as The Suicide Lounge. Urban legend has it that this was where several people went to drink about their sorrows and depression before jumping into the deep fast moving, freezing waters of the fjord, never to be seen again.
Boop pulled out a felt tip pen. He went up to a corner in the room surrounded by his crew and scribbled something on the wall. Afterwards, they cleared the corner, and all went over to a table. Dave’s curiosity got the better of him. He strode over to see what words of wisdom Boop had scribbled on the wall. It simply read, “Into the thin air and beyond. 06/05/85 RPB Maj USAF.” Under his signature was a strange spiral symbol.
Boop motioned for Dave to come on over to the table. He said, “I’d buy you one, but I see you’re already sucking one down. This place does suck at times. They’re over at Base Ops right now going over our debriefing to see how bad we screwed the pooch. They can’t make any determination up here and the chicken shits will defer any decision to New York. We haven’t been grounded. Raven One is still operational, no damage. Only thing missing is the voice data recorder. Not much on it, but it is out of the plane now along with the flight data recorder. Nothing in the regs that says we can’t fly that bird to support a mission critical flight. As a matter of fact, I’ve got an idea up my sleeve. We’re going back out there. You with us, Dave?”
Dave didn’t have to think twice. “You, betcha. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What’s your plan?”
Boop laid out the plan, “This type of thing has happened in the past. Planes up here sometimes encounter what we call thin air. It
