Black Hawk Up

This has been a wish-​​fulfillment year for me rid­ing on cop patrols, shoot­ing white water rapids, propos­ing to my girl. Today, I checked another item off of the life­long to-​​do list, get­ting in a heli­copter for the first time. Of course, fly­ing over Baghdad was never part of the fan­tasy.
Black Hawk heli­copters run a reg­u­lar route between the main American mil­i­tary bases around the greater Baghdad area. On a clear day, a pair of the copters comes here, to Camp Liberty, about every hour-​​and-​​a-​​half. But the days havent all been so clear, lately. So it took a full work week for the cap­tain of the unit that Im with to secure us spots on the copter down to Ad Mahmudiya, twenty min­utes to the south­east.
I had heard heli­copters fly­ing off in the dis­tance before. And I knew from the movies, I guess that, up close, they were beyond loud. I stuff foam plugs in my ears well before I can see the Black Hawks com­ing. All of the pas­sen­gers do.
Maybe the ear pro­tec­tion makes a dif­fer­ence. But, as the copters descend tail first onto Libertys makeshift heli­pad, I cant tell. A low-​​pitched, cycli­cal growl turns into a full-​​throated roar when Black Hawks touch the ground. It feels like Im back in New York — on the sub­way plat­form, with a half-​​dozen express trains rock­et­ing by.
We crouch low and scurry towards the air­craft, the deci­bels mount­ing with every skit­tish step. Everything else is now inaudi­ble, except for the whomp-​​whomp-​​whomp-​​whomp of air being sliced by heli­copter blades.
We step up into the Black Hawk. One of the gun­ners shows me how to stick the lap belt and two shoul­der har­nesses into a sin­gle, cir­cu­lar lock. And then we take off, the copter shud­der­ing as we gain ele­va­tion.
Baghdad is just as ugly from the sky as it is from the ground, with block after end­less block of col­or­less apart­ment build­ings and dilap­i­dated fac­to­ries. The roofs are cov­ered with satel­lite dishes and trash.
But as the heli­copters bank south­ward, beyond the urban sprawl, a dusty beauty emerges. From a few hun­dred yards up, we see neatly-​​groomed farms and patches of palm trees. This could be cen­tral California, eas­ily.
The Black Hawk dips and sways. At one moment, were fly­ing par­al­lel to the ground. And then, the copter jerks to one side, rolling into a 45 degree angle. I grin. To me, this is fun.
Apparently, I shouldnt have been smil­ing, the cap­tain tells me after we land. Just about every time the Black Hawks fly, he says, insur­gents take pot­shots at the copters with AK-​​47s. The chances of a seri­ous hit are about one in a zil­lion. Nailing a Black Hawk mov­ing at 150 miles per hour is tough, and a few bul­lets wont bring one down.
But, just to be on the safe side, the pilots do pull a few of those crazy rolls. The gun­ners watch for trou­ble as they swing their 7.62 milime­ter machine guns. And they fire off flares, the cap­tain adds, to attract any heat-​​seeking mis­siles that might be headed sky­ward. I gulp.
Before mak­ing the return trip, we have a few hours to kill at the small American out­post at Ad Mahmudiya — or FOB Shithole, as the sol­diers here call it, using the acronym for Forwarding Operating Base. Life for the few hun­dred troops couldnt be much dif­fer­ent than the rel­a­tive lux­ury and safety of the com­plex where Im stay­ing. Soldiers are packed into con­verted ship­ping con­tain­ers and con­crete bunkers. Piles of scrap metal and shot-​​up cars lit­ter the base. The PX and the oper­a­tions cen­ter recently burned to the ground. Helmets and body armor are required wear­ing at all times.
I sit behind one of the Black Hawks two gun­ners for the ride back. And this time, the noise is even worse, with a high-​​pitched whirr from the rotor, I fig­ure join­ing the chomp of the blades and the roar of the wind pass­ing over the the weapon. The gusts are so strong, its a strug­gle just to lift my arms to take a pic­ture.
The cap­tain wasnt kid­ding. The copter does fire off rainbow-​​colored, almost iri­des­cent, coun­ter­mea­sures a minute or two after we get into the air. But there arent any mis­siles to dis­tract. The rolls are less intense. The dips are less severe. And were back at base just a short while later safe, sound, and wish granted.

July 17th, 2005 | Iraq Diary | 614 Comments »http://defensetech.org/2005/07/17/black-hawk-up/Black+Hawk+Up2005-07-17+18%3A20%3A04noahmax You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.