at least one of which assembled from the pieces of two destroyed airframes.

How difficult was it to "assign" a BuNo to such a hybrid?

We actually had to dig through paint to find the rivets that had been
entirely concealed during such repairs.

If the paint is what's holding it together, why bother? g

Owl sends.
--
Mike Kanze

"I never hated a man enough to give his diamonds back."

- Zsa Zsa Gabor


"Gordon" wrote in message
...
Walt, that mirrors my experiences with those dang PAR nightmares. I know
I've
posted this before, but here is my old story about the H-2 from hell -
Copyright Zero Five --


For training in the SeaSprite helicopter, I was assigned to a Replacement
Training squadron called the Archangels at Naval Air Station North Island.
This unit had a compliment of 8-10 tired old helicopters, at least one of
which
assembled from the pieces of two destroyed airframes.
Every aircraft assumes at least some personality, either good, bad, or
just
odd. In given instances, aircraft will either rise to the occasion, or
let you
down - but the outcome was usually blamed on the lifeless aluminum kite as
if
it actually breathed or erred. I used to wonder what possessed one bird,
while
I felt perfectly safe flying in another. Sometimes, there was just no
question.
The radio callsign for Archangel helicopters was "Copyright", and each
helo
had a corresponding side number from 00 to 14, with gaps in the series of
numbers. Aircraft 00 was called 'Double Nuts', but the rest of them went
by
Copyright Zero One, Zero Two, etc. I had no problems with any of the
squadron's beat up old hacks, with the exception of Copyright Zero Five.
Our heloes were old (well, older than myself at any rate), and after a
tour
with a Sea-Duty squadron, they return to the States for extensive rework.
Unfortunately, to those of us who fly in them, it often appears that
'extensive
rework' is limited to three layers of thick paint, hiding a multitude of
evils.
We actually had to dig through paint to find the rivets that had been
entirely
concealed during such repairs. We eyed all 'reworked' birds with a
suspicious
glare.
Zero Five came to us after an extended tour with a squadron stationed in
Barbers Point, Hawaii. It had made several cruises aboard Destroyers and
Frigates from Pearl Harbor and was long overdue when it finally returned
to San
Diego. It showed up in the Archangel hangar looking like a 50-year old
hooker
with several hundred pounds of paint substituting for makeup.
After two acceptance flights, the helicopter was released for duty and
rolled
out to the Flight Line. We were the Hot Seat Crew for that first flight:
the
other crew comes in early, preflights, and then flies 2.5 hours before
turning
it over to us. When they return, we slide into their seats while the helo
idles with its rotors spinning overhead.
The only real look a Hot Seat Crew gets is at the aircraft's discrepancy
book
which contains any problems noted within the last ten flights. Everyone
else
in the entire Navy waited until after the crew briefing to check the
ook -- I
didn't, because that book told me what equipment was working and what
wasn't.
It seemed silly to me to brief for a submarine-hunt or Radar flight when
the
Maintenance department had removed that gear for repair, but it was a
common,
wasteful practice.
Zero Five's book was ominous, even closed. At least twice as thick as the
other discrepancy books, many of the gripes were the dangerous repeat
variety.

From behind, the approaching pilot asked my opinion of our "Trusty Steed".
"Sir, this thing is a Steel Grave!", which was probably the wrong thing to
say
to the Squadron Maint Officer. Judging by the ass chewing, you would
think my
unfortunate reply had included a reference to his mother.
After a rather dry crew brief (lots of glaring), we stood widely apart on
the
Flight Line, waiting for the familiar smoking dot on the horizon. Many
other
squadron aircraft were noisily coming and going and we waited our turn in
silence. Of the 30-odd helicopters on the line, half were running their
engines, adding to the din.
Right on schedule at 1120, Zero Five arrived over the airfield. The MO
gave
me a dagger look, and strapped on his helmet.
However, instead of landing in front of the Squadron, the helicopter
slowly
motored down to the end of Runway One Eight, losing altitude and smoking
more
than usual. At the far end of the runway other folks were also waiting
for
Zero Five's arrival. They waited in fire trucks and rescue equipment.
For a
moment, the aging helo held its hover, then gingerly landed amidst the
Crash
Crew.
I popped the snaps on my helmet, and whistled my way back to the hangar.
Due to unusual circumstances, Zero Five had completed what was intended to
be
an aerial maneuver by slamming into the ground at one of our practice
airfields. Autorotations* normally end at 40'; sometimes, we go ahead and
land
lightly. This time, the chopper fell the last 40 feet and bounced back
ten
feet in the air! NOT good.
The crew made a cursory inspection and somehow decided it was safe to fly
back
home! Amazing to me.
The tailwheel had been jammed several feet up inside the helo's butt and
the
entire fuselage looked like a warped washboard. Many of the electronics
were
permanently wrecked and repairs were needed almost throughout the
airframe.
Soooo, no flying for us that day.
I must say, I felt it was more than a coincidence that, months later, my
next
acceptance flight was for Copyright Zero Five...
after it returned from 'extensive rework'!

* Autorotation - the act of disconnecting the engines from the rotors to
allow
a falling helicopter to spin its rotors enough to act as an air-brake. It
works, actually. We defined it as "a method of keeping a pilot's hands
and
feet occupied as he plummets to his death".

postscript:

This airframe was later destroyed without fatalities. As a short aside,
the
pilot involved was Ensign Mark Cooper. During primary flight training at
Pensacola, he trashed another helicopter, bad enough to twist the rotor
head
off the TH-57.
While we were stationed together, he totaled two cars and eventually
crashed
an H-2 into the sea during a night takeoff. He killed himself and his
co-pilot, Lt Glenn Miller. By sheer luck, the crewman awoke in the
desintegrating wreckage and managed to swim free. 8/17/84 That lucky
crewman,
AW2 Scott Montgomery, retired recently as a Senior Chief Petty Officer
after a
long and interesting career.

v/r
Gordon
====(A+C====
USN SAR Aircrew

"Got anything on your radar, SENSO?"
"Nothing but my forehead, sir."