Wow, first gold award, thank you kind stranger.
So first correction, the date of the incident was Jan 10 94, not Jan 91 (So the commanding officer would of been CAPT. Larry Clifford Baucom, not CAPT James Curtis) apologies.
I am generally hesitant to discuss details of the accident. Mostly out of respect to those who died but also guilt for being the lone survivor. To say this event changed my life is an understatement. I was given 30 additional years, a loving wife and a son. I look to them and think how fortunate I am everyday.
I was a member of a search and rescue team based out of NAS Norfolk. HC-6, now HC-26. The aircraft was a CH-46D Sea Knight helicopter, now long decommissioned. It was by chance that I was even assigned to the detachment as I had just completed a six month Med deployment. It so happened that another squadron mate and crewman had ruptured a hernia and since I was the single guy I was an easy pick to replace him.
I recall with resentment the workup schedule prior to the main deployment. It seemed everyone on my team had a chance to miss at least one workup but myself. I endured and went through five or six of those.
On day 5 of our main deployment the ship had a safety stand down, ironic after the fact, the following day we started flight ops along with the Marines. The day started early, I wasn't scheduled to fly until later that evening, but because we were the only SAR support, another crew was up and flying the aircraft that I'd be flying. Preceding the crew swap, I checked to make sure my flight gear was in order and harassed the PR guy to ensure my HEEDs bottle was full.
At around 5 that evening we swapped crews. I was the first crewman, the second crewman was a seasoned H1 Huey member who knew his stuff and two pilots who I deployed with prior. I positioned with my back against the life rafts in the second crewman's spot, the second crewman held the first crewman's spot. We began the night running circles practicing SAR maneuvers about 20 or so miles from the Inchon to avoid interference with the Marines who were also flying. A couple of hours later we retuned to the Inchon to perform a refueling. Normally during this time we run fresh water in the engines to keep the salt intake down but flight ops pushed us to wrap up because it was causing delays with the Marine flight crews so only a partial engine was was done at best. After refueling, we were back at it running circles but by this time we had to drop floatable flares in the water to assist the pilots. After a couple of hours of monotonous circling, the sun was set, and everything unfolded at once.
I'm still sitting up against the 25 man life raft, the second crewman is zoning out looking as bored as I felt, the pilot stated the last words I would hear from him, "Shit". I immediately looked at my second crewman who didn't seem to acknowledge the situation. I could only manage to grab the leading rail that ran fore and aft of the aircraft that was just above my head. The next moment I woke up under water. I somehow expected the running lights to be visible as I knew it was saltwater activated but couldn't see my hands in front of my face. At this point I recall thinking I was surely a goner and had no hope in hell of getting out of the aircraft. I grabbed for my HEEDs bottle, took in a breath or two and started kicking like crazy. Eventually making it to the surface, I popped my CO2 life vest and discovered I was still attached to my seat. (The aircraft must of broke in two right where I was sitting).
For the next hour or so after, I went through my gear, shooting off flares, trying to communicate with my Pric90 with the Inchon but was too worried to take off my helmet in order to be successful in that, so instead I whined like a school girl, (In actuality I was yelling pick my fucking ass up... so many regrets after the fact).
Because the only air SAR was now in the water, the Trenton came and rescued me.