by Phil Rowe
"Put your blindfold on, mister. This slide is supposed to simulate a night water landing," the instructor explained, hooking the student's harness to the cable. The anxious lieutenant stood atop a four-story tower at the water's edge. A steel cable angled down across the lagoon at thirty degrees.
The trainee stood at the rail, back to the water he was about to enter. Then he stepped off into the void, suspended by his harness connected to the slider on the cable. Down he went, accelerating rapidly as unseen water passed by.
SPLASH. His feet touched first, pulling him backward, almost horizontal, as the slider continued a few feet more. The lieutenant grabbed for the harness releases, shoulder-high on both sides, and pulled down. Soon, he was floating on the water, still protected by his helmet and still blindfolded.
Everything was by touch and feel. First, he inflated the life preserver using the mouth tube. That gave him the security of floating. Then he eased out of his parachute harness, being careful not to puncture his water-wings.
The instructor barked, "Okay, Lieutenant, remove the blindfold and proceed to the life rafts." Gratefully, the soaked young man removed the blinders. About ten yards away bobbed the first of six moored life rafts. He paddled toward a small one-man raft closest to him. His flight boots seemed heavy.
On reaching the raft, barely big enough to hold a single person, he wiggled aboard, rolled over and sat there catching his breath. A moment later he looked up to see the next student slide down the cable to splashdown. It looked more scary than it actually was.
Someone ashore yelled at him, "That's good enough. Now move on to the next raft. Keep it going." The waterlogged student rolled out of one raft and scrambled aboard the next. At the last, and largest raft, it was difficult to climb the high sidewalls. Getting in without help was hard work.
That completed the first day's water survival training. Students were relieved that Biscayne Bay, south of Miami, wasn't cold even in December. It was actually pleasant, except for the rigor of training.
Next day the class of fifteen aviators got wet again, this time without being blindfolded. One-by-one they stood at the stern of a modified landing craft, awaiting a new way to get dropped into the water. This time they were five miles off shore, not quite out of sight of land, steaming along at five knots.
Cantilevered aft of the vessel was a railing extending 10 feet out over the water. Each student's parachute harness was attached to a slider on the railing, suspending him eight feet over the waves. Below the harness hung an inflated one-man life raft on a short lanyard.
An electrical release mechanism dropped him, when the instructor pushed a button. Anxiously, each student waited, never knowing when the button would be pushed.
The release mechanism included a swivel, allowing the instructor to turn the suspended student to face aft. Suddenly, he pushed the button, sending the student plunging free into the water. It came as a surprise.
One-by-one, at intervals of about a quarter mile, the students dropped into Biscayne Bay. Each repeated the process of inflating water wings and scrambling into tiny rafts. From water level, they could not see one another, nor could they see land. It was like being in mid-ocean. There they would stay from early morning until late afternoon.
During the day, they were expected to practice using survival equipment included with the rafts. With signal mirrors, they attempted to shine reflected sunlight toward passing airplanes. They rigged handlines and tried their luck fishing. Later, they sampled survival rations and drank canned water from their kits.
One student caught a terrible looking critter with menacing teeth that could crush oyster shells. He elected to cut the line rather than invite the creature in his delicate inflated raft. He didn't want to risk getting bitten nor puncturing the raft.
Another snagged a small shark. And one fellow caught a barracuda with even more fearsome teeth. Not one caught anything he wanted to eat, but at least gained confidence that the sea could provide sustenance. Even a bare hook, with just a streamer of red cloth, could catch fish.
Shortly after 5:00 in the afternoon, a helicopter appeared. Students popped the covers of their smoke flares, attempting to get the pilot's attention. Bright orange smoke trailed downwind from each bobbing raft. Soon the chopper hovered fifty feet over the first, and lowered a collar and cable to the surface. Students were warned not to touch the collar until it first hit the water, to preclude getting a static electricity shock.
One-by-one the students and their rafts were winched up to the helicopter, trailing a stream of water. Para-rescue specialists guided them into the cargo door aft of the cockpit. Not until they were securely inside did they remove the padded lifting collars. This was the most dangerous part of the rescue, for some unfortunate souls have dropped by prematurely attempting to shed the collar. The sunburned and weary students were deposited on a beach. Another instructor awaited to review and critique the day's exercise. It was a valuable learning experience, especially for those who had never seen so much water. Yet they all did well.
Water survival is just one facet of total comprehensive training that military pilots and aircrewmen must complete. Many go on to arctic survival school, desert and jungle training. A lot of taxpayers' money is spent to give our fighting men a chance, no matter where they go. It's a worthwhile investment, a good life insurance policy.