True Story SAR Insurance and the No-Pickup List LCDR Tom Phillips, USN (Ret.)
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t was a dark and moonless night, No, really. Somewhere at sea off the coast of southern California. The Constellation Battle Group was putting the finishing touches on workups prior to deployment for what would prove to be it’s last Vietnam War cruise.
“CRASH ON THE FLIGHT DECK! CRASH ON THE FLIGHT DECK! . . PLANE IN THE WATER, PORT SIDE! MEN IN THE WATER PORT SIDE! . . . . . . NOW LAUNCH THE ALERT SAR HELO!” The HS-6 Ready Room boiled over into pandemonium. Only seconds before, there had been boredom. The duty alert crew and assorted other off-duty pilots and aircrew lounging in the chairs, and mechs sprawling on the deck, holding down the prime locations, waiting for the last recovery of the night to end so the late evening movie could begin. With the ready room being located on the O-3 level just under the flight deck, all the way forward on the angle by the water stops for the waist catapults, there could be no hope of showing a movie until flight ops ended, and the noise ceased. The chilling crash alarm, punctuated by the dreaded call of the Air Boss on the 5-MC, galvanized everyone into motion at once, triggering the adrenaline rush in the alert crew and the launch crew that only the real thing can produce. There ain’t NOTHING like
Rotor Review #146 Fall‘19
the real thing! The results, which Mack Sennet’s Keystone Cops would have appreciated, were predictable: flight deck crew racing for the door, pulling on their flight deck cranials. . . . the duty crew propelled to their feet, slinging on their LPA-SV-2's and looking around for their helmet bags. . . mechs milling about, pushing the projector out of the aisle, pushing for the exit, trying to get out of the way, and failing. . . everyone staring in awe at the Ready Room PLAT monitor. Over the din of the crash alarm came the roar of jet engines which would not go away. The PLAT camera up on the bridge was recording an unbelievable sight. Twin pillars of white flame, pointing up in the air at a 45-degree angle, from the engines of an F-4 which WAS HANGING OVER THE PORT SIDE OF THE SHIP. The PLAT image was quickly confirmed by the flight deck launch crew pouring back through the hatch leading in from the catwalk under the overhang of the angle deck. They ran full into the face of the alert crew trying to crowd through the light trap and out the hatch in the opposite direction.
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“The ladder’s blocked! A Phantom is hanging over the side with the engines in burner! The crew has ejected!” Another Mack Sennet scene for an instant, quickly sorting itself out, as the cooler heads pushed through the melee and sprinted down the passageway leading to the interior of the ship and to the hated Circular Zebra fitting (a vertical manhole in the bulkhead about waist high) connecting our little world out under the angle with the heart of the ship. Men bent double in a classic hurdler’s form to most rapidly slip through the fitting, barking shins and scraping backs on the knife edges of the hatch in their haste. Once through the Zebra fitting bottleneck, they raced athwartships to the starboard side, up the ladder to the island, and out to the flight deck, to the alert helo, folded up, nose to the island in the helo-hummer pack. Those of us not involved in the launch took turns at the door, peering cautiously along the gallery under the deck edge at the roaring fighter plane, hands over ears, and mouths agape trying to counter the terrible din. The plane was poised nose-down, hanging
