This story is true and actually brought about a change in Navy safety policy. It was fall of 1966 and I was aboard the Kitty Hawk. We had been out at sea a short time and were headed over to Hawaii before continuing to the Gulf of Tonkin off Vietnam. It was my first cruise, along with the first cruise for many more young sailors.
I was eager to get more familiar with the ship, not knowing what to really expect when we hit the war zone. I was walking across the center of the hangar deck and headed in the direction of an A-4 Skyhawk that was chocked and anchored by the number 3 elevator.
I must state that the four main elevators on the ship were large enough that they were used to raise and lower full sized jet aircraft and even our large radar early warning planes. Everywhere around the ship's flight deck there are wire nets to catch an unwary sailor who gets too close to the side and takes that one step too many. The problem is that the elevators are kept up at the flight deck level and the wire net is around the edge of the elevator and that is four stories up from the hangar deck, leaving the hangar bay doors open with one small wire across the opening like a miniature waist high rope to control lines at a movie show. The full doors on the hanger deck are only shut for severe weather. I only saw them shut once when we steamed through a typhoon.
This particular day the A-4 was anchored with chains to hold it in place while a jet mechanic ran up the engine to 100% power after doing some maintenance work. The jet exhaust was shooting out the open hanger bay. The plane captain was out in front giving the mechanic the turn to signal to ramp up the engine as he watched the operation.
A pair of snipes (engine room crewmen, pale as ghosts, for they rarely ever leave the bowels of the ship) came strolling along, down the deck, getting a breath of fresh air on their way to the mess deck (galley). These two new guys had never been above deck since the Air Group came aboard and had never seen any warplanes up close, so they were gawking right and left as they walked down the hangar deck. The jet was making a ferocious roar on that partially enclosed deck, so much so it enveloped the area and there was no way to tell where the noise was coming from. I saw them approaching the rear of the plane and starting to pass behind it at the same time the plane captain saw them. It was like a horrible nightmare, we could see the event in a slow motion, the plane captain tried to yell at them to stay clear, but the jet created a din that no voice could penetrate. The two snipes walked right behind the jet and got an instant free ride over the side. It was like a giant invisible broom swept them out over the edge and into the sea. They were gone like a leaf from a tree branch in a storm. The plane captain signaled the mechanic to shut the engine down and he took off to report the incident. Someone else had seen the nightmare unfold and called the bridge. The on duty bridge crew called “man overboard” on the 1-MC and the entire ship knew about it in an instant. The ship radioed the destroyers in our battle group to pick the hapless snipes out of the water and the rescue helicopter was called to launch.
One was picked up and the other was lost at sea. Those poor guys had no idea of what could and did happen to them. The wake of an 84000-ton aircraft carrier steaming at 20 knots is awesome enough to lift a full destroyer up several feet from its normal level in the water when it comes alongside as the four screws that propel the carrier through the water churn up a frothy, scary wake beside and behind the ship. That huge wake no doubt swept the guys under water and the one man never came back up. From that time on, whenever a jet turned up for maintenance on any Navy ship, there was not only a plane captain up front, but two other squadron members, one on either side of the wings and a wire forming a triangle between them to keep unwary walkers away from danger of jet exhaust on the hanger deck or up on the flight deck.
I never knew those guys names, but I think about that incident many times every year.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
I was eager to get more familiar with the ship, not knowing what to really expect when we hit the war zone. I was walking across the center of the hangar deck and headed in the direction of an A-4 Skyhawk that was chocked and anchored by the number 3 elevator.
I must state that the four main elevators on the ship were large enough that they were used to raise and lower full sized jet aircraft and even our large radar early warning planes. Everywhere around the ship's flight deck there are wire nets to catch an unwary sailor who gets too close to the side and takes that one step too many. The problem is that the elevators are kept up at the flight deck level and the wire net is around the edge of the elevator and that is four stories up from the hangar deck, leaving the hangar bay doors open with one small wire across the opening like a miniature waist high rope to control lines at a movie show. The full doors on the hanger deck are only shut for severe weather. I only saw them shut once when we steamed through a typhoon.
This particular day the A-4 was anchored with chains to hold it in place while a jet mechanic ran up the engine to 100% power after doing some maintenance work. The jet exhaust was shooting out the open hanger bay. The plane captain was out in front giving the mechanic the turn to signal to ramp up the engine as he watched the operation.
A pair of snipes (engine room crewmen, pale as ghosts, for they rarely ever leave the bowels of the ship) came strolling along, down the deck, getting a breath of fresh air on their way to the mess deck (galley). These two new guys had never been above deck since the Air Group came aboard and had never seen any warplanes up close, so they were gawking right and left as they walked down the hangar deck. The jet was making a ferocious roar on that partially enclosed deck, so much so it enveloped the area and there was no way to tell where the noise was coming from. I saw them approaching the rear of the plane and starting to pass behind it at the same time the plane captain saw them. It was like a horrible nightmare, we could see the event in a slow motion, the plane captain tried to yell at them to stay clear, but the jet created a din that no voice could penetrate. The two snipes walked right behind the jet and got an instant free ride over the side. It was like a giant invisible broom swept them out over the edge and into the sea. They were gone like a leaf from a tree branch in a storm. The plane captain signaled the mechanic to shut the engine down and he took off to report the incident. Someone else had seen the nightmare unfold and called the bridge. The on duty bridge crew called “man overboard” on the 1-MC and the entire ship knew about it in an instant. The ship radioed the destroyers in our battle group to pick the hapless snipes out of the water and the rescue helicopter was called to launch.
One was picked up and the other was lost at sea. Those poor guys had no idea of what could and did happen to them. The wake of an 84000-ton aircraft carrier steaming at 20 knots is awesome enough to lift a full destroyer up several feet from its normal level in the water when it comes alongside as the four screws that propel the carrier through the water churn up a frothy, scary wake beside and behind the ship. That huge wake no doubt swept the guys under water and the one man never came back up. From that time on, whenever a jet turned up for maintenance on any Navy ship, there was not only a plane captain up front, but two other squadron members, one on either side of the wings and a wire forming a triangle between them to keep unwary walkers away from danger of jet exhaust on the hanger deck or up on the flight deck.
I never knew those guys names, but I think about that incident many times every year.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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