The C-130 Cargo Plane Debacle

This is not good! Not good at all. I think, watching the crew try to maneuver an M113 Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) into the C-130 Hercules Cargo Plane somewhere in the middle of South Vietnam in 1967. The plane was originally scheduled to leave in the early afternoon. Maybe, because of weight limitations, I am the only passenger scheduled to ride in the back with the Armored Personnel Carrier. But they are having a very difficult time getting it into the belly of the beast. There are problems with the tracks, and God only knows what other issues. Plus mechanics are working on the plane itself; mostly on the engines and/or the propellers perhaps? I do not know if they are doing routine maintenance or if there are unusual problems. It is normal to have unexpected problems in our often chaotic, high-pressure, combat environment.

You just never know.

I am assigned to a one-man walking sentry post around the cargo plane; is it for security or just to keep me occupied? I don't mind. I am used to doing perimeter duty and even night patrols or ambushes. Always better to keep busy. It is the middle of the night by the time everything is resolved, the armored personnel carrier is finally loaded and secured into the belly of the plane. The only other person in the back is the Loadmaster who has a jump-seat in the front of the bay, with an instrument panel beside it. He lets me pick my spot and then helps me secure my gear and weapons underneath a canvas seat. I sit on the seat which is along the starboard bulkhead, waiting to takeoff.

I pick that seat because it is by the only port hole and I can look outside, even though it is pitch dark. The Loadmaster shows me how to use a headset to hear the pilot speak to us. The loadmaster buckles in after putting on his own headset. I have never flown in a C-130 cargo plane, but I was a machine gunner on a Huey, so I am not unduly worried about the difficulties; things rarely go smoothly. And I know what a C-130 is capable of doing. At one point, I was stationed at a marine base on a hilltop north of Khe Sanh, which is on the northern border of Vietnam, a very dangerous outpost. On a clear day, we could see 20 miles into North Vietnam. The North Vietnamese army hated the fact that we were there and attacked or skirmished in some fashion every day, usually at dawn or dusk.

At that outpost I saw C-130 cargo planes come in and drop their loads without coming to a complete stop on the temporary metal sheet runway. There was a very real danger of Aircraft being hit by incoming enemy fire, especially mortar fire. The C-130’s would do touch and goes and dump their loads out the rear of the plane without stopping. As soon as they were empty, special thrusters ignited, launching the planes out of danger as quickly as possible. It was an incredible thing to watch: the noise was intense and the ground would shake like a heavy train going by. Those air crews had guts for sure. The C-130 is an amazing, very sturdy, powerful aircraft; vital to our resupply.

Looking out the little starboard window, I see above my head the wing mounted turbo-prop engines; two of them on each side of the plane. As soon as we taxi, I hear and feel the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Shortly after take off, there is a bright flash of lightning. The pilot turns on the intercom and says we are going to try to go around the thunderstorms. He tells us to make sure our seatbelts are securely fastened, it is going to be a rough flight.

I know that we are flying into very mountainous, jungle covered terrain because we are heading into the northern province of South Vietnam, designated I Corps. Brief glimpses out the window, watching the lightning flashes, reveals we are surrounded by storm clouds. Immediately, the plane begins to bounce, lurch and sway. Suddenly the aircraft drops like a rock and my stomach catches in my throat.

Whooo-ah! I watch the Personnel Carrier creak and groan against the straps holding it; the roaring propellers finally catch air, halting our descent. Only then do I exhale and breathe again. From that point on the ride is very bumpy with frequent, unexpected, sudden drops in elevation, which end with the plane plowing ahead, turbo-props straining to get back to cruising altitude, which hopefully is sufficient to clear the mountains. I start feeling nauseous and my thoughts become onerous! The pilot also seems nervous, yelling over the headset to make sure my seatbelt is tight and my weapons and gear securely stowed. Everything is under the canvas seat and I use my feet to hold it in place as best I can.

Suddenly, there is a very loud BANG! outside the aircraft. Through the heavy rain I see that the outer starboard engine is shooting out flames! The fire is quickly extinguished, and the engine shut off, allowing the propeller to free-wheel/feather. The pilot clicks on the intercom and explains that the C-130 is a very robust aircraft which can climb with just three turbo engines, even with our current load. We are high enough above the mountains that we should be able to stay on track.

I am relieved to hear that - until I hear another loud BANG! on the port side of the aircraft. I can't see anything there, but I hear the sound of the engines on that side diminish by half. I feel the plane’s attitude change as the pilot struggles to get it realigned and trimmed. The two remaining. engines labor as the propellers try to claw the airplane forward, off kilter. This time when the pilot comes on the radio he sounds tense, but tries to reassure us by saying that the C-130 is a very sturdy, robust aircraft which can maintain altitude with just two engines, even with our payload.

We should be fine. But the pilot directs me to put on the parachute the Loadmaster tosses to me. We are still being buffeted so he demonstrates from his secure spot, the proper way to don and wear the parachute. The ride is still very turbulent. We are in train-type thunderstorms stretching a very long distance, possibly all the way to our destination near Da Nang, Vietnam. Now I am incredibly anxious and soon notice that my mid-torso has become very wet and smelly. I have pissed myself. I am trembling in fear but think through my options if I have to jump.

What the hell am I going to do with my helmet, should I wear it? What if the parachute catches on it? If I hook it to my utility belt and then land on it, that could hurt like hell, break a rib, maybe … maybe I should just throw it out when I jump from the plane. Nah! On the ground, my chances of finding it will be negligible, especially if I land in the jungle somewhere in the mountains …Oh my God! And my M14 rifle - what do I do with that? I should lengthen the sling so I can strap it over my left shoulder, pointed down and wrap my left arm around it, that way, my right hand will be free to pull the rip cord …this thing here in the front of the chute … the Loadmaster points to it on his parachute, indicating how to pull it…

Suddenly, when I began to think it couldn't possibly get any worse … BANG! This time it seems to be right over my head. I sneak another peek out the porthole and realize the starboard side engine is on fire, but the pilot quickly squelches the fire and feathers the prop. Now the Loadmaster's face is pale and twisted in fear, just like mine! This time when the pilot comes on, his voice is tremulous. He tells us that the C-130 can not maintain altitude with just one engine and that we are definitely "going down!” It is pitch dark outside, the rain has not let up and there are still flashes of lightning. After a brief pause the pilot tells us over our headsets that he will tell us when to evacuate the aircraft. First, he will tell the Loadmaster to lower the ramp in the back. Then he will tell us when to unfasten our seatbelts, and make our way to the back of the aircraft and leap.

I am riddled with fear. I know what it’s like when people are shooting, desperately trying to kill me. At least I can fight back. But here I am completely helpless, desperate and terrified. I see the loadmaster’s fingers move on the control panel and the ramp starts to go down, air, and rain, rushing in sideways. Damn it! I am going to have to jump out of the back of this airplane.

Suddenly the ramp stops and slowly rises up again. What the hell? A beam of bright light appears inside the cargo bay - it glows on the side of the personnel carrier in the middle of the bay. The light is coming in the tiny porthole as the plane pops out of the night into daylight in the span of a few seconds, simultaneously escaping the thunderstorms. Dawn has arrived. The Loadmaster slumps in his seat; gleeful relief on his face. The pilot’s voice comes back on the headset, saying we don’t have to jump … we have broken out of the clouds that are just barely above the mountain tops and we are descending into a valley. He sees an air strip in front of us, and that is where we will land.

The runway doesn't look long enough, but he is sure he can get the plane in there somehow. It will be much safer than jumping out. My heart is beating frantically but now, with some hope of a safe landing, I hang on for dear life. It is a rough go, but the pilot manages to land the plane with some bouncing, slewing and skidding until we reach the end of the runway where the plane veers into a rice paddy and throws up a waterfall of muddy water and we stop. We all scream victoriously. The Loadmaster lowers the ramp. The pilot leads the crew down from the cockpit into the bay, walking as if someone had stuffed a wad of manure in his trousers, making me feel a little better about my own defilement. We are thankful to be alive and know how lucky we are. We wade through the rice paddy and I promise myself I will never, ever ride in another C-130 cargo plane. A promise I will end up breaking.

Postscript - Spring 2024, at a small church in Seymour, Tennessee.

I am a guest speaker at a recovery meeting full of sober people who have been that way, most of them, for years. It is the group’s 35th anniversary. I talk about my C-130 crash experience as a metaphor for a drunk hitting bottom. Alcoholics drink excessively for a period of time, but can still function and climb ahead in life. Then it gets worse and they just try to maintain until their uncontrollable drinking gets to the point where it's so bad they know that there's only one way and that's down … Inevitably, they will go down for the count.

After speaking I sit down. The meeting over, the man next to me, who looks to be about 90 years old, takes my hand saying he was a pilot of C-130 cargo planes stateside during the Vietnam war. A few minutes later, another man about 80 years old shakes my hand saying he was a Loadmaster on a C-130 during the Vietnam war in 1968, and he knows exactly where our dirt strip was west of Da Nang, Vietnam.

Neither of them were on that plane. That recovery meeting was in a very small village in eastern Tennessee with about 50 people present. What are the odds two of them would be C-130 crew members? Unbelievable.

Incredibly, a few days later, at another meeting in Farragut, Tennessee, at an open house for alcoholics, the topic is powerlessness. I repeat the same story. After the meeting, a young man walks up to me, very subdued and asks if he can talk to me. Slowly, painfully, he tells me how powerful my experience was for him because his father was the pilot on the last C130 cargo plane that crashed when we exited the Iraq War. He was nine years old when his father died in that crash. The coincidences seem incomprehensible.

Thank you, Lord for all my experiences and the blessings you have bestowed upon us.

****

Born in 1946, the author, Rand R. Timmerman, Esq. grew up in a small village, Adams, New York, which had more cows than people! He attended Oswego State University for three semesters. In March 1966 he enlisted in the United States, Marine Corps and served primarily with the 1st Marines in Vietnam reaching the rank of Corporal. He was promoted temporarily to 2d Lieutenant in Vietnam for the last few months. After that combat experience, he went to Officer Candidate School, and the Basic school, and then Judge Advocate General [JAG} school. Thereafter he served as a JAG officer and was honorably discharged as a 1st Lieutenant after five years of service. In 1970 he attended Syracuse University acquiring his BA degree and graduated summa cum laude from Syracuse law school in 1975. Thereafter he worked for a short time for a small company, and then was self-employed 40 years via three separate law firms serving Saint Lawrence, Jefferson, Oswego, Lewis and Ononadaga Counties. Since retiring in 2012 the author has written numerous books and short stories, including one regarding hiking the Appalachian Trail with his brother in 2018 and 2019. The author is married with four daughters and seven grandchildren, and spends half his time in Knoxville, Tenn. He also participates in and performs services in an alcoholic recovery program.

Author: A Spiritual Passage
Publisher: Wildebeest Publishing Co.
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See: https://www.randtimmerman.com

Guest ContributorFebruary 18, 2025