It was near the end of the Cold War when I served as an aircraft loadmaster in the United States Air Force and, as such, spent many hours in the air as we traveled the globe supporting our mission. During that entire time, there was only once that I felt my life was really in danger. In my four years of flying, there was just one in-flight emergency and it occurred immediately after take-off on what would have otherwise been a routine mission back in 1982.



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Our 20th Military Airlift Squadron crew that day consisted of our Aircraft Commander, Major Ira "Dan" McCauley, the co-pilot, Captain Stephen MacCauley (no relation), flight engineers Staff Sergeant Joseph Del Sordo and Sergeant Felix Serret, and loadmasters Airman First Class Wilfredo (Willie) Pino and myself. Our aircraft was a 16 year old C-141B Starlifter based at our squadron's headquarters; Charleston Air Force Base, South Carolina.



The crew had been on "alert" status, which meant the plane was made ready and then sealed. A few planes were, and probably still are, kept in this condition at all times in order to be ready in the event they are needed immediately. On this day, just such a situation required our activation. Upon our alert we loaded our gear, seated the 17 passengers and took off from Charleston en route to Athens, Greece.



Shortly after take-off the plane became uncontrollable, rolling first to the right and then to the left. Major McCauley immediately declared an in-flight emergency and then, together with Captain MacCauley, fought to regain control of the giant machine. Meanwhile, as I tried to keep myself composed in front of the concerned passengers, one of them pointed out that another crew member was smoking while making the sign of the cross on his chest. This in spite of the fact that Major McCauley had turned on the "No Smoking" and "Fasten Seat Belts" signs. I explained that our crew was doing everything necessary to keep us safe.



At Major McCauley's request, myself and another crew member looked out the windows and reported the positions of the ailerons. The way I remember it, when the pilot would steer one way, both ailerons would go down and then both would go up when he turned the other way (as opposed to one up and one down like they're supposed to). Major McCauley eventually corrected the problem using some creative thinking thus saving all our lives. My understanding is that he depowered the ailerons and used tab operable to, in essence, fly the ailerons. Evidently that wasn't the intended purpose of the tabs. Please understand that I am not a pilot and am relaying the story as I remember it from 35 years ago, so the technical details may not be exactly correct. What I do know is that it was way scary.



Upon our return to Charleston, I was very happy to be safely on the ground and was ready to go home and recover from this terrifying experience. However, the Air Force had other plans as they still needed their mission completed. They insisted we get right back on the horse. Our crew, passengers and cargo were transported to another airplane and off we went.



I want to take this opportunity to thank my fellow crew members, especially Major Dan McCauley, for their professionalism that day. Because of their training and determination, 23 lives were saved, including my own.



Photo from the August 1982 edition of The MAC Flyer

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