The Burning Dolphin

Steve was thinking about the Jesus Nut. In the aviation world, a Jesus nut has nothing to do with weird people, but it does have a lot to do with prayer. Steve had always loved helicopters - even after he had learned that helicopters are no less than ten thousand finely machined parts forced to fly in an extremely tight formation. Let one of those parts go wrong, and the whole helicopter will drop out of the sky in short order. The Jesus nut on a helicopter is the weakest link. Quite simply, it's a single set of nuts that hold the blades of the rotor to the shaft they spin on.

Naturally, Steve was hoping the nut would hold the rotors on today. It did most days, but knowing it did is different than knowing it would. You could never be sure that it always would. In fact, given enough time, the point will arrive when the Jesus nut will fail. So, the mechanic has to replace all of the Jesus nuts at a given number of hours that the helicopter has flown, and at every multiple of that, for the life of the helicopter. For the helicopter Steve was flying today, the Jesus nuts have to be replaced after every one hundred hours of flight time.

Steve checked his flight log for the helicopter. The last routine maintenance showed ninety three hours on the Jesus nuts. "Great." Steve thought. He looked at the rest of his crew, as they got ready for a routine flight.

With pre-flight checklists complete, Steve lifted his helicopter into the brightening morning sky. Set for a routine patrol flight over the Gulf of Mexico, followed by some training, this was setting up to be a regular day for everyone aboard the helicopter. The weather was even helping out. There was not a cloud in the sky, and hardly a breeze was blowing. The water below was perfect, smooth as glass and showing every now and then a ripple as a slight breeze disturbed it or a small fish jumped. Below, gulls and plovers circled, close to the water.

"Alright, everybody, it's a perfect morning!" Steve said.

"Check that!" said his co-pilot, Mike.

"You ain't kidding!" said his crewman.

The crewman spoke into his mike on his helmet: "Request to open door for routine equipment checks."

Mike, the co-pilot, answered: "Roger, is the compartment secure for open door flight?"

The crewman answered: "Passenger compartment stowed and ready for open door flight."

Steve answered: "Thank you. Open door for equipment checks."

Mike made his next request right on cue. "Configuring controls for hover." As the pilot, Steve had to make sure the co-pilot got all the practice he could. The rules in aviation are simple. And as Steve watched Mike put the helicopter into a hover fifty feet over the smooth Gulf waters, he thought about rule number one: "If machinery can fail, people can too." It was this rule that pretty much made sure that every aircraft that was ever made with room for more than two people also had two sets of controls in it - one for the pilot, one for the co-pilot.

It was obvious Mike was good at this. Mike spoke into his microphone: "Starting hover. Begin routine equipment checks." The crewman was just as good. "Starting equipment checks."

The crewman checked the hoist on the side of the helicopter. "Permission to lower hoist."

Mike responded: "Altitude fifty feet. Lower hoist."

The crewman responded: "Lowering hoist."

The hoist dropped away from the helicopter, the weighted ball on the end dropping at a steady rate for forty feet. The cable on the hoist is painted with a white stripe 2 inches wide, with the center of the stripe directly over the point that is ten feet up the cable from the last stripe. The only difference is the weighted ball and clip at the end - they drop about six inches below the end of the cable. The stripes don't take that into account.

As the crewman watched, he called out the stripes as feet.

"Ten feet."

"Twenty feet."

"Thirty feet."

"Forty feet."

Then the crewman said something different.

"Up. Up. Up."

Mike responded. With the door open, and the hoist lowered, it was the crewman who instructed the flight of the helicopter. The word "up" repeated three times meant the pilot was supposed to gain altitude. Without a word, Mike pulled up on the collective, and the helicopter lifted straight up.

Steve spoke first: "crewman, what's the problem?"

The crewman answered: "What was our hover altitude?"

Mike answered: "fifty feet."

"Negative," the crewman said flatly. "I paid out forty feet and dunked the ball."

Dunking the ball wasn't a bad thing in and of itself, but when you think you're at fifty feet, and the hoist hits the water after forty feet, now that is a bad thing. Ten feet of error isn't bad, but ten feet of error every fifty feet of altitude is an altitude error of twenty percent. That needed to be fixed, and now.

Mike said: "Confirm that, please?"

The crewman said "Sure. Raising hoist. Standby."

"Thirty feet"

"Twenty feet"

"Ten feet"

"Hoist operations complete. Locking hoist. Confirm hoist was lowered only forty feet."

Steve and Mike exchanged a look.

Mike spoke up:"Guess that means we have to get the radar altimeter checked?"

Steve answered: "At the very least. Radio back to base and tell the mechanic to get his flight card."

Mike: "Okay, transition to flight."

Steve: "roger. Crewman, close door."

The door on the helicopter slid shut, and the helicopter gained altitude and began the journey back to the base.

As they crossed over the coast, they noticed another helicopter sliding by below and to the right of them, and judging from the forward tilt of the rotors, it was speeding south out over the gulf.

"Crewman," said Steve, "get that tail number."

"612, sir. That's the hot bird in our squadron."

"Really," said Mike, "they go out that often?"

"Yes, sir. I've heard twice in a day, during the summer months. No rest or vacation like regular people."

"Well, none of us do this because it's a vacation, right?" Steve asked from the pilot's seat.

"Roger that," Mike said.

"Hoo freakin' rah." Said the crewman, sarcastically.

The radio squawked to life and relayed information to Mike and Steve, who looked at each other in a way that said "I told you so."

The crewman noticed, so he asked. "Sir, can you patch me into the comm. Channel?"

Without a word, Mike reached up and threw a switch on one of the overhead control panels.

The crewman's helmet came to life with the same information that Mike and Steve were hearing.

"612, Station Panama City, say again?"

"Station, 612, we have the boat in sight now."

612, Station Panama City, understand you have boat in sight now. Keep advised."

There was a brief pause. The radio crackled again.

"606, Station Panama City. Relay status and fuel state."

Mike spoke up. "Station, 606, status is airborne, monitoring comms between 612 and Station, we are returning to base, fuel state is one hundred and forty pounds. A little over two hours."

"606, Station Panama City, plot route to scene and proceed as backup."

Steve immediately started punching numbers into the avionics panel in front of him.

"Station, 606. Computing route now, and adjusting course. Proceeding to scene. Inform 612 our ETA is ... eight minutes."

"606, Station Panama City, roger, understand eight minutes to time on scene."

The orange helicopter heeled over sharply, the rotor disk titled forward slightly, and the helicopter picked up speed and began to move with a purpose back out over the smooth gulf waters.

The radio crackled.

"612, Station Panama City, copy dispatch of 606 to your scene."

"Station, 612, roger, request chop 606 to 612."

"612, Station Panama City, request granted. 606 to your command until bingo fuel state."

Mike answered: "Station Panama City, 606, understand command from 612 until bingo."

"606, this is 612, change to channel four for instructions on scene."

"612, this is 606, changing to channel four."

On channel four, it became apparent what was happening.

"Flex, Ready the hoist, standby the diver."

"Roger, Trip, diver at the door. Standby."

The orange Coast Guard helicopter settled into position over the water. It was a perfect day for a rescue, the water was flat, beautiful, and inviting - except for the foundering boat with 4 people swimming away from it.

"Flex, Diver Away."

"Roger Trip, Diver Away Now now now."

At that moment the diver sitting the open doorway of the helicopter shoved himself into the air and fell twenty feet to the water below. He surfaced, set his mask and snorkel, and arrived at the swimmers in the water in short order. With a hand signal, he requested the basket be lowered from helicopter 612.

"Trip, Diver requests basket."

"Roger, Flex, moving to position over diver."

The helicopter Flex was flying really is a marvel of technology. With a few buttons, the helicopter's radar altimeter will maintain a height, and with a certain input from the pilot, will even fly a preset search pattern by itself to allow the pilot and co-pilot to look at the water for whoever needs the help.

As the helicopter settled into position over the diver and group of swimmers in need, a request came in over the radio of chopper 606.

"606, 612, request your fuel state."

"612, 606, my fuel state is 2 hours remaining."

"606, 612, acknowledge 2 hours."

"606, 612, do you have a diver aboard?"

"612, we do not repeat do not have a diver aboard, what's your request?"

"606, 612, we may not be able to complete a rescue. We have a problem with our hoist."

At this moment, the first wisps of smoke began to be visible in the rotor wash under the helicopter.

The radio crackled to life, on the guard channel, a familiar squeal that always started right before the guard channel carried a transmission - it was the radio automatically over-riding other channels so that the guard channel would come through. Mike and Steve looked at each other. They had seen the smoke come from 612. This wasn't going to be good. True to expectation, the guard channel crackled. It was 612:

"Station Panama City, 612, Declaring in-flight emergency - fire in the aft cabin, fire in the aft cabin."

"612, Station Pascagoula, Understand your in-flight emergency, vector 350, to Cutter Coho, twelve nautical miles."

"Station, 612, vectoring 350, Cutter Coho, twelve miles."

The helicopter broke hover and began to move off to the north. It was obvious that the people in the water did not know what was going on. The diver moved into position between the stricken chopper and the swimmers. The boat, now almost completely submerged, lifted to a little higher angle and began its final descent into the water. The boat was lost.

Steve and Mike responded automatically as the first helicopter flew away, now smoking badly. The helicopter was on fire badly now, and it was obvious that things on helicopter number 612 were going wrong at an accelerating pace. This never is a good sign in any situation. In a rescue, it was clear that other assets were about to be involved - to rescue a downed helicopter crew.

The radio crackled to life.

"Station Panama City, 612, distance to Coho now ten nautical miles. Cutter Coho in sight. Beginning the ditching checklist."

Far above, and to the north, the smoking helicopter could be seen coming back down to the water's height. As it settled into position, the flight engineer, "Flex" to his crewmates, was sitting in the door. The helicopter was smoking badly from the open cabin door, and the licking fingertips of red flame could be seen coming through the smoke. The smoke was also now beginning to come from the housing around the engine - a sure sign that only moments remained until the helicopter fell out of the sky at the merciless command of gravity.

The Cutter Coho broke into guard channel:

"612, Cutter Coho, have you in sight, boat crew standing-to. Ditch when ready."

"Cutter Coho, 612, have towels ready. Ditch Ditch Ditch"

The co-pilot's door came open. The flight engineer, "Flex" threw himself off the helicopter from a height of about 30 feet. The pilot, "Trip" kicked open his door, and with an extra little push, the door popped off its hinges and dropped into the water below. It floated back to the surface. Flex, already in the water and surfacing after the drop, began to get his bearings as the co-pilot dropped into the water. The co-pilot dropped his door off its hinges and followed the door into the water, landing a short distance from it.

With smoke all around him in the cabin, Trip drove the helicopter a short distance away from where he had dropped his crew members into the water. He began to lose some control ability as the he cut power and began to descend into the water. He held control as long as he could. Trip somehow managed to actually almost land the helicopter on the water, and let it sink around him, but just as the water touched the bottom of the helicopter, it settled heavily to the left, away from Trip's side and the still churning rotors hit the water. They came apart and threw themselves all over the place into the air.

With the aft doors open, and every door gone from the helicopter, water flooded the cockpit and space inside the helicopter. The fire was put out immediately, but Trip was still wearing his harness, strapped to the seat.

The water hit Trip's face. He responded with his training. He held his breath, and waited until he could see bubbles. The bubbles were rising from his left to his right, and as he looked to his right, he could see the light of the surface. He released his harness, and burst from the helicopter with a push towards the light. He broke the surface with his escape breather in his mouth. He never remembered actually grabbing it, much less putting it in his mouth. He looked down below him. The helicopter that had rescued dozens with him at the controls, was now just a shadow, still helicopter in outline, dropping farther down into the water below him. He looked around. In the distance, his crew was swimming towards him.

The three members of the downed helicopter checked each other over carefully. Flex was a bit banged up, but the others were only water-logged and a little pissed off.

" Flex, what happened to you?"

"I was watching you while I was swimming towards you. The co-pilot's door hit me in the face."

"It's an improvement. To your looks, I mean. Your temper's always needed work." Trip said, smiling.

"You think 606 can handle a diver like ours? I mean, they're the new guys..."

"Didn't they still need a diver anyways?" the co-pilot asked.

"Yeah, but a diver like that one?" said Flex. "He's a royal pain to deal with. His ego's unbearable."

"You break every record the base has the way he did and you'll get an ego, too." Said Trip.

"Yeah, well, there's one record he's still after."

The three of them started laughing.

Nearby, an orange life raft popped to the surface and began to inflate itself. In the distance, an inflatable boat, launched from the Cutter Coho, could be seen making its best speed towards the point where the helicopter hit the water. The orange life raft had popped free from its place in the chopper automatically, and a small lanyard pulled free as it floated up, triggered the canister of carbon-dioxide to inflate the raft and force it to the surface.

Over the swimmers, Steve, Mike and their flight engineer were busy hoisting the swimmers up to the helicopter. A hover eats fuel pretty quickly, but with two hours of fuel remaining when this started, they had a comfortable margin.

With all the swimmers aboard, it was time to pick up the diver. The crewman was about to drop the basket again, when the diver signaled for the hook only. The flight engineer looked through the rotor wash, and saw that the diver was wearing a lift harness, and he relayed his surprise into the radio.

"This diver's no joke, he's wearing a harness."

"Well, I heard when I arrived that this guy likes to hit the water ready for anything."

The four rescued men made a motion for a set of headphones. The engineer gave an OK symbol and yelled out loud, "WAIT ONE, GOTTA GET THE DIVER!" The men nodded their assent, and the engineer dropped the hook. He called out when he had the diver on.

"Diver on the hoist! Up! Up! Up!"

Mike pulled back on the collective and as the hoist lifted the diver up, the helicopter climbed up to about fifty feet or so. As soon as the diver got on the floor of the helicopter, he asked about his crewmates:

"Pilot, what happened to my helicopter?"

"Diver, they ditched nearby, we're about to fly above them now."

"Are they okay?"

"Yes, diver, they're fine, your engineer got hit in the face with a door, though."

"Oh, he okay?"

"Yeah, diver, he is."

"Pilot, since it looks like we're crewmates now, please use my name. It's Petty Officer Zimmerman."

"Zimmerman, eh? I've heard about you."

"Yeah, Just call me Zim. Everyone else does. What does everyone call you?"

"Just got orders to this squadron and this helicopter. Don't even have a callsign or diver yet."

"Well, what's your name?"

"Lieutenant Dortch."

"Well, Lieutenant Dortch, what do you think caused that helicopter to catch fire?"

"Zim, I'm not quite sure what would torch a Dolphin like that."

"Lieutenant, I just figured out your callsign."
"Yeah, and what would that be, Zim?"

"Torch. Torch Dortch. That's funny," said Zim, laughing.

The co-pilot looked at Lt. Steve Dortch, and broke up laughing.

The rescued men from the boat were wearing headphones by the time the helicopter flew over the crash scene. The coast guard inflatable boat from the Cutter Coho was just reaching the life raft containing the downed aircrew, and all three on the life raft waved as the newest pilot in the Coast Guard Dolphin Squadron at Station Panama City flew home, with four rescued souls on board.

Lt. Steve "Torch" Dortch was walking around the helicopter, completing a post-flight inspection when he looked up at the rotors. He saw a patch of blue afternoon sky where he should not have. Torch was looking at a hole in one of the main rotors for the Dolphin Helicopter. A single bolt and its accompanying"Jesus Nut" were missing from their place in the main rotor above him.