Recognition of the Good and the Bad

Recognition of the Good and the Bad

Keith Nightingale

For more than 40 years I have ridden in and been mesmerized by helicopters.  As a 2Lt,I rode as an unqualified co-pilot in a bubble top H13 from Ft Bragg to Ft Stewart.  This trip, as a novice, gave me an appreciation for the subtleties and nuances of the bird and the necessity for constant focus and attention.  Later, in Vietnam, I rode to work in all manner of weather, terrain, humidity and enemy activity.  I gained a more sophisticated appreciation for such arcane issues as density altitude, RPM, pedal movement and hover control.  Mostly, I learned that the aircraft is extremely complex and as a violin can be as good or bad as the person playing.  The bird will do whatever is asked within reason and it is possible with skill, practice and nuanced physical application.  Skills I do not possess.

It will fly into holes in the jungle seemingly smaller than the opening provided.  It will lift more weight than is either rated or wise under direct assault by fire if the pilot tells it to do so.  It will feed you, protect you, save you and move you if asked.  It is a unique invention that can be flown by the most average pilot but it can also achieve the most extraordinary feats if managed by an artist with hands on the collective.

Later, in equally distant desert lands, the contemporary birds have swayed and swallowed in the darkest night to deposit our finest soldiers on far distant hills and rude farmland.  The rotating blades swirl masses of green and gold mist markers from sand and air before departing into the darkness with only the green and amber glows on the cockpit instruments visible to the naked eye.  They have proven to be utterly reliable, flexible and superb instruments of movement and operational maneuverability.

Yet what comes to mind, as in baseball, music or art, is the output of the instrument in the hands of a truly skilled artist.  The bird is transformed from a heavy piece of metal into an unusually graceful, responsive instrument that can do the  bidding others of the same make cannot.  It is the pilot, not the bird that makes the difference between functionality and artistry.

Good pilots make me sick with envy.  They guide their craft with the skill and subtle controls of a mounted rodeo champion or classic violinist. They weave through narrow openings over streams, waft over slender openings in the jungle below, quickly shift and hover on the edge of cliffs and escarpments to deposit their loads where goats would fear to tread.  Like the avian companions they emulate, they dip and swirl with the currents of wind and weave their sensing into the machine with minute adjustments discernible only to the pilot.

My hands are too old, hard and insensitive to match the delicate sensing of fingers and feet on mechanical aids to bring performance from solid to sensational.  Rodin could mold with clay something others could not-so it is with some pilots.

The mesh of the fingers, feet and feel on the instrument produces a result as extraordinary as when YoYo Ma grasps his cello.  The body is sure of the movements and the instrument responds as it could for no other.  The pilot and the machine become one with a unique sensing that binds the two.  While I can understand the physical acts and roughly emulate them, I cannot achieve their performance level.  This makes me intensely jealous.  It is as if I am a minor league pitcher watching Sandy Koufax or Clayton Kershaw pitch-I can only admire but never emulate the results with my crude capabilities.

The eyes and brain sense so much we cannot. The updrafts, side currents, power feed, drift and shift of ground coincident with enemy action are subtly but instantly transferred by the pilot to a response by the machine which is perfect for the moment and the passengers inside.

There is a moment when skill equates to service and transforms the ordinary to extraordinary.  In my experience, this a rare but treasured event.  The artistry of the air is transferred to the service of those in desperate need on the ground.  It is the lumbering UH1H that dove through crisscrossing tracers to perform a medevac for me one very bad night during Tet when others had tried and failed for want of skill and service.  A nameless, faceless pilot made a mortal decision and forced his machinery to do things it was not supposed to do.  The strength of his soul flowed through the powertrain of his tool and some of my soldiers were saved that otherwise would not.

There was such a moment when Bob Crandall and Ed Freeman decided their aircraft and their lives were less important than the necessities of survival of LZ X-Ray.  They flew repetitively into an environment where others would not and could not navigate.  Their skills multiplied their qualities with the brightness of the service and provided tools and support where none previously existed.

In Mogadishu, small helicopters never envisioned as ground level combat tools, in desperation of the moment, were flown to the street levels, did pedal turns at door level, loosed mini-guns where it was impossible to be and saved soldiers for another day.  Safety of flight became far less important than the sanctity of service to those at great risk.

In the dark cold fastness of the Afghan border, a pilot proved that the issues of wind, lift and hostile fire were subordinate to a sense of duty and strength of will.  A small group of our finest soldiers walk because a pilot decided they were more important than facts that told him he couldn’t fly where they were.  He transferred his will to skills and brought more out of his machinery than the manufacturer ever envisioned.  Like a rare surgeon, he used a common tool to achieve uncommon results for the benefit of others.

The helicopter is simply a machine-an instrument of war or peace.  But in the hands of an artist of the air, it is transformed into something truly extraordinary-known by some but appreciated by all.  Some people are just perfectly matched for their instrument and we are all much better for it. I do not wish I was flying the missions described but, I am still intensely envious of the ability to be a bird without the feathers.  It takes a special skill to fly to the level of artistry but the act on behalf of those in desperate need returns a special grace and favor for both the flier and the flown.