Charlie Five Alpha

By Edwin Stanfield

What happens when austere conditions, extreme hours, and accumulated stress combine with the challenges of operating archaic equipment in a remote combat zone? Welcome to the gritty world of heavy military aircraft maintenance.

The US Air Force's Air Mobility Command pushed its personnel and equipment to the upper reaches of their operational limits in an effort to facilitate mass troop and materiel movements for the 2009 Afghan Surge. This raw portrayal of the realities faced by one such C-5A Galaxy crew skipping across the globe in a forty-year-old cargo jet will leave you reeling.

Patience wears down to bare metal and tempers ride on a hair trigger in this brutally honest, character-driven novella as the flight crew attempts to compartmentalize their emotions, focus on their mission and return to their families in time for Christmas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edwin Stanfield
• Release date: Jan 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223405689

Book preview

156

Forward

The 2001 invasion of Afghanistan and 2003 invasion of Iraq marked the beginning of the United States’ simultaneous involvement in the two largest nation building projects since the Marshall Plan and reconstruction of Japan following the end of World War II.  During this slow process, the United States military struggled to maintain stability amid a chaotic and violent insurgency in both nations. 

After the relatively successful implementation of a counter insurgency strategy in Iraq during 2007 and 2008 utilizing a surge of twenty thousand additional troops to accomplish its goals, the US government decided to employ similar tactics in Afghanistan.  An additional thirty thousand military personnel begin deploying to Afghanistan in December of 2009, supplementing the sixty-eight thousand already in place.  Unlike in Iraq however, under intense political pressure, the timeline for US withdrawal was announced before the operation even began.  Many analysts believe releasing the scheduled pull out dates doomed the operation before the influx of US troops ever hit the ground to begin their mission. 

Meanwhile, the United States Air Force’s vastly over-extended Air Mobility Command struggled to keep up in its efforts to facilitate the unending rotation of troops and equipment into various combat zones and support bases.  This forced the Air Force to continue its practice of relying on aging aircraft from presidentially activated Air National Guard and Air Force Reserve units as well as civilian contract carriers to provide the overwhelming majority of its airlift capability. 

By 2009, the average age of an airplane in the United States Air Force was over two decades, while its Air Force Reserve and Air National Guard components’ aircraft inventories were approaching an average of thirty years of service.  One of the oldest of these were the C-5A models—built between 1968 and 1973—which also happens to have the largest airframe in US military history. 

234

8:40 AM EASTERN STANDARD TIME

DECEMBER 15th 2009

1340 ZULU 15DEC09

SHEPHERD FIELD, MARTINSBURG • WEST VIRGINIA

Exhaustion gripped Technical Sergeant Michael Saunders as he climbed down the crew ladder of the old A-model C-5 Galaxy, duffle bag in hand.  Oil splotches, grease and smears of RTV sealant streaked his desert flight suit as the sunshine warmed his face.  The December morning air was cold but far warmer than it had been in Germany eight hours before, or Kyrgyzstan the day prior where the temperature lingered below zero.  His knuckles were chapped and his lips were cracked and bleeding.  If working on the cold windswept concrete ramps the C-5 parked on wasn’t enough, the water separator in the massive aircraft’s ancient air conditioning system took every bit of moisture out of the air during flight.  For the last two weeks he’d been shooting nasal spray up his nose and rubbing Vaseline inside his nostrils during every flight just trying to keep from bleeding.  Even still, as he stepped off the plane he couldn’t help but smile. 

The aircraft was surrounded with various types of personnel.  Mechanics were inspecting the wings and landing gear.  Fleet Service emptied the latrines, as more mechanics poured oil into the engines from mobile maintenance stands.  A bus idled, waiting to pick up the flight crew.  Two guys in coveralls and face shields hooked up heavy hoses from a tanker truck, noisily filling the dewars with liquid nitrogen. 

A friend saw him and yelled from under the wing.  Mikey!  They strode quickly toward each other and their hands smacked together in a flight line embrace—the over the top arm wrestling grasp that flight line personnel reserve only for their most trusted friends.  Joe looked all military—compact muscle, a medium skin fade and a complexion that made him appear tan even in winter. They were both twenty-eight and had worked together for years.  Joe yanked him forward with his powerful grip and threw his other arm around him forcing a hug. 

Get the hell off me! Saunders laughed.  I’ve had these clothes on for two days, and it’s been longer than that since I’ve gotten a shower! 

What? You think I’m worried about getting dirty? Joe chuckled.  I’ve been lubing landing gear all morning! 

Saunders sighed and shook his head. 

I hear you had a rough time?

Shit… left wing bleed duct hot.  I de-paneled the whole damn wing and checked two dozen fire loops before I found it.  I was on the ramp in Manas for days before we got it fixed.  Then of course they immediately alerted the crew, before I had time to change clothes or get a shower or anything.  I’ve probably got cancer by now, he said glancing down at the oil and hydraulic stains on his flight suit. 

Fuck it, Joe remarked, Cancer won’t hit you till later.  You’re home now, in plenty of time for Christmas, that shit’s not ‘til next week.  You even have time for last minute shopping. 

Saunders grinned.  The first time I’ll be home for Christmas in four years.  My brothers are coming home too. 

He threw his bag in the back of the maintenance truck followed by his backpack, then after returning to the plane, a canvas bag of tools and a pelican case containing a trip kit filled with spare parts.  Saunders jumped in and his assistant Crew Chief, a younger kid of about twenty, climbed in the bed.  Joe dropped them off in production, a large room with windows facing the flight line.  The flight crew was gathered around a table with the Production Superintendent debriefing the flight. 

Looks like you had a mess, the Pro-Super said, addressing Saunders as he walked in.  Busted air conditioning turbine in Turkey, two tires cut beyond limits in Afghanistan, bleed duct hot indications in Kyrgyzstan.  You ever going to take a jet out of here without breaking it into pieces while you’re gone?

Shit… Saunders replied.  I was fixing things… they broke it!  He gestured accusatorily toward the haggard flight crew standing around the table. 

What do you expect? asked the aircraft commander, a major in his early thirties.  The tempo they’re asking us to maintain in these old-ass aircraft—back and forth across the globe to the most remote places on earth.  We’ve been set up for failure, it’s amazing we deliver any cargo at all. 

"See, Saunders inferred, nodding at the Pro-Super, told ya they broke it."

The Pro-Super chuckled shaking his head. 

Saunders smiled through cracked lips. Doesn’t matter now, none of it matters, we’re home. 

The exhausted pilots and flight engineers explained in detail various maintenance issues that weren’t critical enough to delay the mission and deal with on the road. 

One of the lieutenants passed out copies of the trip report and hostile fire documentation.  Saunders took them along with his headset and flying bag into the adjoining room and threw it all in his locker.  All things to sort out when I come back to work, he thought, not now.  Then he took his tool bag and the trip kit through a fire door and into the large maintenance hallway to the counter for turn in. 

Hey you made it back, the staff sergeant behind the counter said as he emptied out the tool bag and scanned in the Johnson Bar.  Damn this stuff’s been checked out three weeks.  Have some problems out there? 

Yeah, Saunders replied raising his eyebrows. Hey look, I marked all the things I used out of the trip kit on the inventory sheet.

Well thanks. 

Yeah I’m good like that.  You got this shit? 

The staff sergeant nodded.  Saunders turned and headed back down the wide maintenance hallway that connected two hangars, a dozen specialist back shops, and the production office. He would collect his things, shake hands with the flight crew and get Joe to drive him to his car.  Then if he could only stay awake for his hour drive home he wouldn’t have to be back for three full days.  His steel-gray eyes closed for a second as he walked, three days, with no jet engines, no generators, no radios, no shaving, no oil, no whining hydraulic pumps, no time changes, no alarm clocks, no more crackers and canned soup for meals in the back of a cold dark airplane.

Sergeant Saunders! someone yelled from the far end of the hallway behind him.  His eyes opened and he turned around.  It was Senior Airman Smith, a kid of maybe twenty.  Saunders stopped and stood there as Smith half ran down the hallway to meet him, his eyes were lit up and he was clearly excited about something.  Saunders closed his eyes again as he waited and it hit him like a surge how exhausted he was.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped he’d be okay to drive home.  It had been more than two days since he’d last slept in a bed. 

Sergeant Saunders, the kid said again, now standing in front of him, I’m flying with you tomorrow! 

Saunders squinted through tired half-open eyes, Smith was a sturdy kid about his height, six feet tall, with a little baby fat that showed in his cheeks.  He had short blond hair and a lazy eye, that had always given Saunders the impression he wasn’t quite looking at him. 

Shit, Saunders answered locking on Smith’s good eye, Not with me you’re not… I just made it home.  I’ve got the next three days off, then I’m back here on the flight line for a couple days and home for Christmas.  He looked at Smith, but Smith seemed to peer around him as he stared back.  Somebody just made a mistake, check the flying board. 

Smith always seemed to have his mouth hanging open, it was hanging open now as he stared to his left and right simultaneously.  I did check the board, that’s how I knew I was flying with you. 

Saunders’ eyes narrowed as his head tilted a little to one side.  He spun around, hustled through the fire doors down another hallway and back to the production office as Smith scampered after him. 

Hey Mike, great flying with you, the senior flight engineer said as Saunders walked in.  If it weren’t for you we’d still be in Kyrgyzstan, he added beaming and shook Saunders’ hand.  Saunders only offered him a weak smile before walking past him to look at the flight board. 

There it was, plain as day in black dry erase marker. 

SAUNDERS/SMITH — December 16th

His heart sank… then spiked back up with anger. 

This is bullshit! he let out, loud enough that the conversations behind him stopped.  He turned around to see the pilots, flight engineers, the Pro-Super and half a dozen maintenance specialists staring at him. 

Saunders stormed down the hall to the flight chief’s office, entering unannounced.  Smith chased after him like a puppy dog.  The flight chief was at his desk.  A staff sergeant stood beside him, pointing something out on a sheet of paper. 

Saunders didn’t have to speak, his face said it all.  When the flight chief looked up there was only a short silence before he stated, We’ll finish this up in a couple minutes.  The staff sergeant glanced at Saunders before gathering up his papers and brushing past him on his way out the door. 

Saunders started to speak when he realized Smith was still standing behind him.  Turning, Saunders gave him an expectant look, but Smith didn’t get the hint, he just blankly gazed back—seemingly around him—with his mouth drooping open. 

Could you please, Saunders began, wait in the fucking hallway. 

Smith’s mouth snapped shut and he ducked out of the office. 

Shut the door behind you, the flight chief called after him. 

The door slammed, and for a long unflinching moment the two stared at each other. 

Listen Mike, I don’t want to hear any shit. 

Saunders leaned forward partly over the desk and pointed one extended finger down on its surface.  The two never broke eye contact.  In a slow steady voice through chapped lips and unbrushed teeth Saunders said, I just got fucking home.

The flight chief waved a