No Sacrifice Greater

It was July 20, 1993.

I recall I was standing up in the television control room, watchingthis new system we installed called DirecTV. My office was on the 01level, just three levels below the flight deck. At sea, during flight ops, a person became used the monotonous sounds of aircraft landing on the flight deck. While I was watching the satellite feed, the routine sounds continued in the back ground.

And then, something different happened.

There was a unusually loud “THOOM” and what sounded like a huge load being dragged across the flight deck. My friend who was sitting next to me, look up and said, very matter of factly, “That didn’t sound good.” I barely noticed and shrugged.

“FIRE, FIRE, FIRE…FIRE ON THE FLIGHT DECK!” came blaring across the 1-MC system, a ship wide intercom system that the bridge used to transmit the time and other important information. I remember feeling a little cooler. I think the blood had run from my face. I had never experienced anything like this before and didn’t know what to expect.

I went to my desk and pulled out my fire gloves and my head gear for fighting fire. I had no idea how bad the fire was or if I would even be involved, but I and the other guys in my division were getting ready for General Quarters. I had just tucked my pants into my boots when my Leading Petty Officer, JO1 Bill Mooney came into the room and looked at me.

“Grab a camera and get up to the 08 level. Start filming what is going on up there.”

So I grabbed a camera and ran. It was seven quick ladders later and I opened the door to the observation deck. I had been up there before to watch routine flights ops. But now, things were dramatically different. The flight deck was covered in aqueous film forming foam, or AFFF. Where there was no AFFF, there were jet parts. And overhead, still in the air, were Naval aviators needing to land.

I started filming everything, from one end of the flight deck to the other. I had never seen such a mess. Flight deck crew members were pushing huge parts of what was once an F-14 over the side of the ship. They understood that the flight deck needed to be opened again before planes above ran out of fuel. I thought to myself, “I wonder what is going to those pilots heads right now.”

JO1 Mooney showed up and told me to go the the fantail, the very back of the ship, and get video of the wreckage there. I climbed down nine ladders and worked my way to the back of the ship. When I got there, I
was stunned. There I learned that when the jet crashed into the ship and broke in half, the front half skidding across the flight deck, spreading jet fuel and fire everywhere. The back half fell on the fantail, then into the ocean. Laying there on the deck was one of the landing gear, its solid metal shaft snapped in two. It was a sight that has stuck with me, even after all these years. It was surreal.

Turns out, the Radar Intercept Officer ejected and recovered with minor injuries. However, the pilot ejected directly into the flight deck. He died that night. There may have been news about this in the States, but there were no body counts at the time to make this death significant news.

A little over a year later, still sitting in the same office, the 1-MC erupts again.

“MAN OVERBOARD! AIRCRAFT IN THE WATER!”

I grabbed my camera again without having to be told, but by the time I made it to the fantail, there was nothing to see. A helicopter hovered over the crash site, but the jet was gone. I took some video
anyway, hoping to see the crew members rescued.

Lieutenant Kara S. Hultgreen had just taken her F-14 into the Pacific. She was ejected directly into the ocean, killing her instantly. Later, it was declared that a combination of mechanical failure and pilot error resulted in her death. She was the first female naval carrier-based fighter pilot.

Just a few months later, on January 28, 1995, an aviator crashes at sea shortly after launch. Another sailor is killed.

These men and women did not die in combat, but their sacrifice is not diminished because of it being peacetime. There were tears shed on board each time. I was there at the memorial services, each time. I did
not know these sailors personally, but I cried. I couldn’t help it. I felt the loss, the powerful sense of vulnerability each officer in that room felt. Hearing the words spoken at those memorials, words of
remembrance for friends lost, I felt the sadness overcome me. I knew then that these aviators could make no greater sacrifice.

This Memorial Day, remember the sacrifices made defending this country are not always made during wartime, and do not always make the front page. But sacrifices made during training or during routine
exercises are still greater sacrifices than most of us will ever have to face.

Remember the fallen, whenever they fall, where ever they fall. God bless each one of them.