A mission to remember

When RCAF flight engineer MCpl Joanne Hamelin volunteered to join CH-147D Chinook crews in Afghanistan, she was nervous for what she might encounter. In this special feature for the RCAF, Hamelin describes one night mission in 2009 when her aircraft came under enemy fire for the first time, and how it changed her perception of her job with the military and the family she formed with her peers.  

I volunteered to join the crews that would fly on the CH-147D Chinooks in the very place I swore that I’d never set foot in: Afghanistan. On the flight there, my stomach was full of butterflies and I kept imagining the scenarios that I would potentially face.

Three months into my arrival, I found that I had overcome my fears and loved my job. The Chinooks capabilities kept many soldiers off road convoys and safe from the improvised explosive devices that had killed too many ground troops.

Our workload was diverse and included moving coalition troops and equipment to various parts of the Kandahar region. We operated seven days a week, by day or night. I always felt satisfaction knowing that we were making a difference when I saw the smiles of the troops we picked up from the forward operating bases.

Prior to deploying, we worked for almost a year to reach the required standard of readiness. I received what seemed to be endless training, including CH-147D technical courses and operational training with the United States Army; survival techniques in unfriendly environments; door gunnery; tactical combat casualty care training; and, Afghanistan cultural awareness. Once in theatre, I realized just how valuable all that training was.

At 6 p.m. on May 31, 2009, I was sitting in a very warm tent with about 80 other aircrew, waiting for our mission brief.

Usually flight engineers and gunners don’t attend the full mission brief. Instead, we would get a shorter brief near the helicopter that we were readying. It would include information on loads, routes, weather, timings, conditions of the landing zone and – most importantly – enemy action in our intended flying area.

But this mission was different; we would be supporting British troops out of Camp Bastion, the main British military base in Afghanistan, with two of our Canadian Chinooks during a night mission to transport soldiers.

We were part of an 11-ship air mobile troop insertion, my biggest mission into this deployment…even the biggest in my career as a flight engineer! Missions of this magnitude are a planning and logistical nightmare, requiring intricate planning for timings, pre-determined passengers in specific aircraft, possible overshoot scenarios, enemy force on ground, contingencies, etc.

There was no margin for error and I was determined to be on the ball.

It was close to midnight and we were all geared up with rotors that had been turning at ground idle for more then an hour to ensure we had contingency time for the possible occurrence of an unserviceable aircraft on start.

That day I had more than my usual feeling of excitement for a mission and there was tension on board. We all knew that this mission would be very different from our usual work. We mostly sat in silence, listening to radio transmissions and trying to anticipate anything that would change the course of planned operation. We would be at the tail end of the 11-helicopter formation. The other Canadian crew was behind the lead aircraft of the CH-147 flight. The overall formation consisted of six Chinooks escorted and supported by four Blackhawks and one Apache.

Our departure time came and we headed to the assigned location. The other flight engineer stood behind the aircraft with the ramp down and held up two green glow sticks to identify our chalk number to the incoming troops. It was most crucial that we load the right chalk of soldiers as their locations on the terrain were pre-established in accordance with their chalk numbers.

I was at the cabin door, my preferred position in the aircraft. The cabin door flight engineer is responsible for the entire cabin area and must also guide the pilots into the intended landing area, which, that night, was into very dusty and challenging conditions through night vision goggles.

The ramp position flight engineer was also very busy. His duties typically include, with the help of the gunner and the cabin door flight engineer, loading and unloading of all internal cargo, passengers, equipment, slung load hook-ups and releases, systems monitoring of gearboxes (engine and hydraulic systems through the maintenance panel) and monitoring all engine starts and shut-downs for abnormalities or leaks.

When nothing is being moved around in the cabin, a ramp and cabin check is most likely in progress to ensure all systems are operational. The ramp flight engineer also mans the M-240 machine gun (the American equivalent to the C6 general purpose machine gun or GPMG) that is installed on the ramp during take off and landing and at all altitudes below 1,200 feet [365 metres].

Once the troops were boarded, the ramp up, the cabin secured and weapons loaded, we took off and the pilots used my cues to move the monster of a helicopter safely from the ground. I felt the wind, the dust on my face, and the rumbling of power transmitted from the huge rotor blades. After a few minutes I took a moment to cherish the view below on the ground.

The sight was a rare spectacle, something I had never seen before; moonlight shadows of 11 angels in the sky flying along this narrow valley above a village. As planned, our 11-aircraft formation flew at 120 knots [222 kilometres] 100 feet [30 metres] above the ground with the moon shining directly above us.

Flying under the cover of darkness allows for missions that would be impossible to conduct during the day. It becomes safer to fly in higher threat areas or over populated villages and farms.

My experience flying through the darkness of Afghanistan made me quickly recognize that there was something amiss in the village below. There were no human movements, which was unusual, even for the middle of the night.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a red flash climbing into the sky like a firefly. It took a moment to realize what was happening. Then there was a second burst of red light. Tracers were being fired towards the front of the formation by enemy forces on the ground. In horror, I witnessed our entire formation under fire from an insurgent ambush.

As I called enemy fire from our right, radios filled with transmissions from our formation, while the sound of machine guns rose up through the airwaves like a cruel soundtrack. When the pilots banked the helicopters to the left in evasive maneuvers, new tracers burst from that direction. Trapped in a valley surrounded by mountains, the only option we had was to fly over the enemy and return fire.

I called a contact from the right again, and this time it is within range of my M-240 machine gun so I returned fire at a real enemy for the first time. This was not training through the firing range but an intense and crazy real situation. As real as it gets. I felt my knees weaken under the weight of this unexpected reality, knowing that I was firing back at real people who were firing at me.

Time seems to stand still. I cleared my mind of all the chaos and confusion. This moment was exactly what I feared the most when I embarked on this journey. I knew that this could very well be the beginning of a series of events leading to an emergency situation, such as a firefight with casualties or a crash.

It happened in the blink of an eye. I had to react with no time for second-guessing. I shook off the fear. I was part of this crew and my duties were to protect it. I returned fire again until the insurgents fired their last round.

Standing strong with all the confidence I had left and hoping my voice was not too shaky, I called for a ramp and cabin check to ensure the aircraft was not critically damaged and that none of the crew or passengers were injured. All systems appeared normal. We continued with the mission as planned, and I mentally prepared for the most crucial landing of my flying career.

The pilot called the final approach. A time when I needed to place others and duty before self, act as a real soldier, and hide any fear that I still felt as I guided the pilots. I used all my training and experience to ensure the aircraft landed safely, all the while anticipating another enemy attack or a rocket going through the fuselage.

The ramp started moving down as soon as the wheels touched the ground and before the ramp was completely down, passengers were jumping off. As the last boots hit the ground, the ramp came up and we were out of the landing zone. Within 30 seconds, we were on our way back to Camp Bastion. It was the fastest insertion I had experienced.

The last leg of the mission was done in silence, with only necessary calls and radio transmissions. As we finally shut down the aircraft, my heartbeat finally returned to a semi-normal rhythm.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was my left gunner, Andre, with open arms and a big hug. I still wonder if that hug was meant more for me or for him. All I know is that the human contact made this nightmarish situation a little bit more bearable. I realized that I was not alone… that it was OK for me to feel shaken and scared.

That single moment allowed me to truly understand the meaning behind “I got your back,” and to fully comprehend the brotherhood and the strong bonds created in a time of war.

That mission gave me real insight into what it means to be a flight engineer within the tactical helicopter community of 1 Wing Kingston. It made me realize the true duties I have towards my peers, my friends, our soldiers on the ground and my country. As a Canadian soldier, I know that I stand to serve and protect, putting others before self, as we all did during that intense and unforgettable night.