Alex Duncan - Sweating the Metal

The EAPS means that start-up procedure is slightly different. I hear a whoosh of air through the intercom when I select the EAPS No.1 – that tells me that it’s working so I can then start the engine. Normal start; I engage the rotors. Then select No.2 EAPS on and repeat the process. All good so far. I advance the throttle on the number one engine and then do the same on the number two. Tourette’s does the arming-up check and engages the Defensive Aids Suite.

The Chinook is well equipped with defensive aids, which include a Radar Warning Receiver, an Ultraviolet and Doppler Missile Approach Warning System, infrared jammers and chaff and flare dispensers, which can be manually or automatically fired. Then there’s the armament – two M134 six-barrelled Miniguns, one in each front side window, and the M60D machine-gun on the ramp. We’re live now, so the system should start throwing out chaff and flares to defeat any threats detected. Craig and Jonah down the back arm and ready the guns.

‘KAF Tower, Splinter Two Five. Holding at Mike Ramp, request taxi to Foxtrot.’

‘Splinter Two Five, cleared taxi to Foxtrot.’

Foxtrot is a taxiway that’s parallel to KAF’s main runway 05/23, and it’s a departure point for all helicopters. We never use the runway. One, we don’t need to, and secondly, it’s just too busy. With around ten thousand movements a month, and aircraft of all types from fast jets to airliners and transports, KAF handles almost half as much traffic as Gatwick and that only handles airliners.

I lift the collective with my left hand. Gently does it. The Chinook handles sublimely and needs only the merest hint of input. It’s like flying by thinking. I feel the cab straining as the rotors pull it upwards and then the wheels have only the merest contact with the ground. We’re airborne. I push forwards on the cyclic and the nose dips. I fly us forwards at little more than walking pace, then land on at Foxtrot.

‘KAF Tower, Splinter Two Five ready for departure, Sector Hotel Low.’

It’s an unsecure radio so we use different letters randomly to represent whichever sector we want to depart from. This time, ‘Hotel’ means an easterly departure. Low means we’ll be departing at low level.

‘Splinter Two Five, Tower, clear take-off. Wind two-two-zero at four knots.’

‘Clear above and behind,’ says Craig.

‘Clear take-off, Splinter Two Five.’ Into the hover again and we’re away.

‘Two good engines, 65% torque, 100% NR maintained, CAP is clear, Ts and Ps are all looking good,’ says Aaron, running through the after-take-off checks.

65% torque? That’s a product of the hot and high environment that defines Afghanistan. Bearing in mind that we’re empty, it’s the first take-off of the day and we’re carrying normal UK fuel weight, that torque figure means we will be unable to fly on a single engine should one fail.

I make a left-hand turn maintaining low level and head for a wadi on the edge of the Red Desert. We departed at low level and ran out to the south-west from the runway. It’s a lovely flat run to get to the wadi and then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, comes the Red Desert. It’s that sudden; a literal line in the sand. If we’re flying anywhere in Helmand then once we’re over that, away from the eyes and ears of any enemy, we’ll climb. It’s better because it’s a more comfortable ride and it’s cooler at height, both of which make for happier passengers and crew.

‘Okay Frenchie,’ says Tourette’s. ‘I want you to set yourself up for a dust landing in the wadi. It’s nice and dry so you should get a good dust cloud there.’

‘Okay Aaron, I’m going to set up for a basic one. It’s at least eighteen months since I did them on ops in Iraq, so I’m probably a little rusty.’

‘Aye, never worry. You’ll be grand.’

I start my descent and enter ‘the gate’. I’m at 100ft and flying at 30kts and I know that having maintained that speed and height for a few seconds, Aaron will rebug the RadAlt to 40ft – that will give the crewman an audible alarm at 40ft so he can confirm our altitude by sight. I pick a landing marker through the Perspex floor bubble – a bush. The aim is to keep it beneath my right boot. I trim the aircraft to a six degree nose-up attitude and lower the lever for the descent. If the bush’s position through the windscreen rises, I’m too low; if it falls, I’m too high. I’ve put the aircraft in a six degree decelerative attitude, just as I was taught at Shawbury all those years ago, so the speed will start coming down. I let the aircraft do its thing; I don’t touch the speed. My job is to keep the ‘picture’ – the bush – steady.

Aaron calls my height and speed: ‘100; 30: 75; 25: 50; 22.’ 50ft and 22kts. At this point, the crewman is leaning out of the side door immediately behind the cockpit so that he’s visual with the ground.

‘40; 16,’ Aaron says over the intercom, and simultaneously the RadAlt alarm sounds, confirming what I already know. ‘Cancel, continuing,’ I say, killing the alarm. Jonah starts calling my height and voicing the formation of the dust cloud:

‘30… 20… dust cloud forming… 15… at the ramp… 10, 8… centre… 6… at the door; with you…’

I see the dust cloud enveloping the nose. The ground is obscured from view and I’m entirely reliant on the crewmen. It’s a difficult skill to master, but master it they do. And for us, as pilots, it’s all in the voice; its cadence says almost as much as the words and numbers. It is imperative that he gets it right because if he calls 1ft and I’m at 10ft, I’m going to cushion the aircraft to land with a bit of run on – except that at 10ft, I’ll go into the hover instead. In the brownout, I’ll have no references, so if I drift, I could hit something and crash. The trust is absolute. I’m relying on him to be accurate; he’s got to have complete faith in me to get us down. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

‘3; 2…’ I gently, almost imperceptibly, arrest the collective to cushion the landing. ‘Four wheels on,’ Jonah calls. The rear wheels compress on their suspension as they touch solid ground. I push the cyclic forwards to get the front down and hear ‘Six wheels on.’ We’re down. I push the pedals to arrest our forward movement and we stop; exactly where I wanted us to be. In the back, the dust cloud billows up the ramp and through the cab, temporarily rendering visibility down to zero and coating everything in a fine layer of dust.

‘Good!’ says Aaron. ‘Nice one Frenchie. Fancy some pairs landings?’

Nichol Benzie another mate on the flight, was doing TQ in another cab in the same area, so Aaron called him over the radio and set it up. You take it in turns to do the pairs landing, which is a lot more difficult because you want to stay close but not too close – two rotor spans is near enough. The technique is to follow the lead and watch for the second that he puts the cab in a nose-up attitude. That means he’s started his descent, and it’s important that you get down together because even if there’s the merest hint of lagging, you’re going to get his dust.

Obviously we have drills to ensure that should either of us have to abort, the right-hand cab will go right or straight ahead and the left-hand one will go left or straight ahead. Whatever happens, the one thing you don’t want to do is cross. Not good at all.

So that set the pattern for the next couple of hours. A few more dust landings, single, in pairs. Different variables; landing without markers. By the time we were done, the old muscle memory was back and it was all second nature, just the way it should be. Aaron suggested we do some theatre familiarisation and we headed off to Lashkar Gah and Gereshk so he could show me the HLSs and point out what markers to use to get my bearings on the approach. And later that night, I got to do the whole thing again; on NVGs.