My friend Brad had been dispatched on a Search and Rescue (SAR) mission.  Departure from the air station, NAS Adak, Alaska, was under marginal weather conditions that rapidly deteriorated once they were airborne.

 

Soon after the launch, the pilot, co-pilot and two members of the flight crew found themselves flying up a wide valley in a "white out".  This is a situation where the clouds close-in and you cannot tell the difference between the sky and the ground.  Everything is swathed in an impenetrable white, wet, cotton-colored mist.  Brad and the other crew man looked out the side windows.  The white mist was so thick that they could barely make out the tracking marks located half way down the length of the twin rotors going WOP-WOP-WOP-WOP-WOP-WOP above their heads.

 

It was then that things started to go from bad to worse.  One by one the aircraft's navigation systems started to go out: first the gyro, then TACAN, and the magnetic compass was useless this far North.  The altimeter told the pilot that he was flying between 2,500 to 3,000 feet, but the highest point in the valley was 3,500 feet.  The pilot continued on, hoping that his dead-reckoning wasn't off and they'd clear the 3,500 foot peak.  Brad and his buddy sat facing one another on the troop seats, listening to the pilot's chatter on the ICS (interior communications system) and just staring at each other through the clear visors of their flight helmets.

 

It was about the time Brad had exhausted his prayers he saw the angry red light of the low fuel warning indicator on the console between the pilots.  He wondered what would get them first: the 3,500-foot mountain or fuel starvation?

 

After what seemed several lifetimes, the CH-46D broke out of the valley and into clear skies.  The pilots looked about and one of them spotted the radar dishes of "White Alice".  (White Alice was a sophisticated Cold War early warning radar and communications system built in the 1950s to protect the continental United States.)  The pilot quickly oriented himself and knew what direction to fly to make it back to the airfield.  Fortunately the radio worked perfectly.

 

"Adak tower, this is Navy 706.  We are declaring a Bingo fuel (out-of-fuel) emergency, over."

 

"Roger, Navy 706.  You are cleared for a direct approach emergency landing.  Adak tower, out."

 

With in 10 minutes, the end of Adak's runway appeared and the CH-46D flared to touchdown at the end.  About six feet above the tarmac, both turbine engines died and began to wind down.  The CH-46D came crashing down with a great THUD. 

 

The pilot looked at the co-pilot in astonishment.  "Did you shutdown?"

 

"No, sir."  Both looked down to see all the flight controls in the "fly" position.  Brad and the other crewman dropped the back ramp of the CH-46D and quickly went to the side sponson to dipstick the fuel tanks.  Empty!  There was hardly enough fuel left to wet the dipstick.  By this time, they were joined by the pilots.  Everyone looked at each other with the silent understandjng that today was not their day to die.  They all started walking toward the operations building.  On the way in, they were met by a group that asked them why they hadn't brought the chopper over to the hanger.  The look back was enough to tell the questioners that this had been really SERIOUS.  There were survival celebrations that night at the Officer's and Enlisted Clubs.