Risk Management Magazine

The radios were silent, systems were in the green and the Atlantic Ocean was rolling calmly along the empty white-sand beaches below. “Bird, 11 o’clock,” the left seater said matter-of-factly. “Contact,” responded the right seat, followed by smooth cyclic inputs that guided the aircraft effortlessly toward the one o’clock position.

My career, like those of most Army aviators, consists of routine flights that represent a lot of planning. But some of those routine flights turn into memorable events. One of those now-memorable flights was a routine mission transporting two people from Cairns Army Airfield at Fort Novosel, Alabama, to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and then returning.

Just after midnight, there was a knock on the door to my containerized housing unit. I opened it to see my platoon leader (captain) and platoon sergeant standing there grimly. I knew we hadn’t crashed, but by the looks on their faces, I knew something happened.