No One Knew They Were Coming

It was in the early 1960's, back in the days when Robert McNamera was Secretary of Defense. His inspection teams would land at various air force bases, without warning and check for regulation violations, safety hazards, unnecessary expenditures and ineffective leadership. If any of these conditions were found by his team, it might become necessary to fire or transfer commanders, call for further investigation or even, in extreme cases, close down the air force base. McNamera's no notice inspection teams were about as welcome as the news that you needed a root canal.

Having mentioned the above, you can probably guess that the folks at a stateside air force base, which shall remain anonymous, were less than enthusiastic at the thought that their base might well be inspected by this team in the near future. Still, it accomplished nothing worrying about it so...on a beautiful, clear, spring day, in the above mentioned time frame, one each KC-135 refueling tanker landed and pulled up to it's parking spot and shut down. It had been a long flight. The crew grabbed their bags and headed for the base hotel for some much needed rest.

The flight crew had hardly left when next on the scene emerged a slightly rotund, inexperienced and yet overconfident aircraft maintenance crew chief. He was there, primarily, to service the aircraft with fuel and check for any mechanical discrepancies. The large, cargo aircraft was parked on PSP material, which was a temporary runway metal surface. It was pliable and had uniformly spaced holes drilled inside, making it flexible and easy to install in areas where concrete had not yet been poured.

When the young crew chief prepared to attach the refueling hose from the massive KC-135 to the JP-4 fuel bladder, he discovered that the hose would not quite reach, being about two feet short. The aircraft would have to be towed slightly so that refueling could be accomplished. Or would it? After all, he reasoned, towing the aircraft would require several people to help. Surely he could figure a way to move the aircraft himself without bothering anyone.

Our hero thought it thru and devised a plan. "The tanker is parked on a slight incline," he thought. "Perhaps I can remove the wooden wheel chocks that block the huge tires and then place them about three feet forward, so I'll know where to stop the aircraft. Then I can go upstairs and release the parking brake and reapply it when the tires hit the wheel chocks. Think of all the manhours I'll save the air force," he pondered. With visions of self admiration dancing in his head, he unfolded the plan, but after releasing the brake he could not get the aircraft to budge. Perhaps a little push on the tire from a tow tug would get things in motion. Sure enough, the aircraft started to move.

Quickly our mental giant shut off the tug and ran upstairs to the pilot's seat to man the brakes. The bulky aircraft lumbered forward at a very slow pace while mankind's gift to the air force yawned. Upon finally reaching the wheel chocks, the tires, instead of stopping, pushed the chocks down into the flexible PSP and continued on. Our hero, sensing something was amiss, applied the brakes, but to no effect. He was later to discover that the aircraft must be running to generate hydraulic pressure to the brakes. The gigantic aircraft, loaded with one frantic passenger, and the help of gravity, began to pick up speed. Not only that, but the gravity of the situation began to sink deep into Einstein's brain bone.

To make matters even more hysterical, while our valued air force asset was pounding with remarkable force on the brakes in a futile attempt to get them to apply and while he was screaming great obscenities in the upper decible ranges, he was also heading, by now, at break neck speed, toward the active runway. In front of him was a recently landed and taxiing B-52 behind an air force "Follow Me" truck, being led to a parking spot. When the B-52 was unable to reach the careening KC-135 on the radio, it slammed on it's brakes just in time for the KC to plow between the B-52 and the "Follow Me" truck.

By this time the world's smartest crew chief was feeling like he was in the latter stages of a massive cardiac arrest. He was heading straight for the nose of a parked, with power on, KC-97 aircraft. The 97 crew chief spied the KC-135 coming straight for him and saw our mentally gifted hero bail out, just in time to bail out himself. The two aircraft, then collided headlong amidst fire and explosion. Emergency vehicles were rallied to the scene and as our nimble footed and bruised hero lay in a wretched heap, mouth agape, promising career melting before his eyes, who should he see approaching the parking area? You guessed it and as usual, no one knew they were coming.