“As a first responder or member of the military, what is the best, worst, or funniest prank you have ever seen or encountered?”
Haha… Thanks so much for this A2A, Randall… as soon as I read it, I chuckled and thought about how deviant our sense of humor is.
“BOOM!”
I was working on top of one of the several Blackhawks in the large hangar on what was previously George Air Force Base, near Victorville, CA. The sound wasn’t an actual explosion – rather, it was someone yelling it at the top of their lungs.
“BOOOOM!”
The acoustics of the hangar made it hard to locate the source, but the gaggle of people around one of the nearby birds gave it away.
“BOOOOM!”
By this point, curiosity had gotten to me and I had made my way down and over to where some of the senior crew chiefs were standing and trying not to overtly laugh. Perched near the inlet of the helicopter was one of our newer, and more gullible crew chiefs; at the exhaust, his equally gullible counterpart. I had heard about this prank, but never thought I would be witness to it: the “inlet alignment check.”
The premise is that, once the inlet is installed, the need to check alignment is best done by measuring echoes as they resonate through the engine. One person sits in front of the inlet and…
“BOOOM!”
…Yells loud enough for their assistant – with a multimeter, no less – to measure the residual echo at the other end.
Silly prank, yes… but funny as hell at the time.
In typing that one, one of the most evil (and justified) pranks I have ever pulled came to mind.
Prior to starting the training cycle at the Joint Readiness Training Center (JRTC) in Louisiana, the helicopters need to be fitted with the multiple integrated laser engagement system (MILES) – a fancy form of laser tag equipment.
The process of installation is usually a pain in the ass… a fact exacerbated by weather. We were installing it in the middle of summer, and if you have never experienced the heat and humidity that Louisiana is capable of, then you are fortunate. The flight line was nothing more than an assortment of dirt: roads, runway, and parking areas which hadn’t seen rain in several weeks. All of our birds were on the ground and being fitted with the sensors and wires necessary for our operations in the training area, and we were nearly done when a lone aircraft came in – the downed aircraft recovery team.
Common decency, in dusty areas, is to minimize the time spent hover taxiing near other aircraft or personnel. These guys, however, were either not gifted with gracious behavior or, more likely, wanted to be jerks. They slowly hover taxied along the dirt road behind every… single… helicopter parked, did the slowest pedal turn at the end of the row, slid left and right to line up on the nonexistent pad, and crept forward until they were lined up with the rest of the birds before gently landing – keeping pitch pulled for just a bit longer to add insult to our injuries. The plume of dust they stirred up bonded nicely with our sweat, making us animated gingerbread crew chiefs.
…And pissed.
Not the same, but close. (Source: author)
The crew eventually shut down, packed up their overnight stuff, and hopped in the air conditioned van to head to the barracks. Once they were gone, I walked over to their bird and opened the cargo door. The cabin was packed: parts containers, tool boxes, special equipment crates… everything usually needed to recover a broken aircraft… along with several empty pizza boxes.
The auxiliary power unit (APU) on a Blackhawk is usually started with a hydraulic accumulator which is serviced with nitrogen and hydraulic fluid. Prior to maintenance on the system or in extreme circumstances, the movement of a toggle switch can open the valve which allows the compressed nitrogen to push hydraulic fluid through the lines to turn the starter on the APU. If the APU hasn’t been configured to start, all that really happens is a loud whirring noise which dissipates as the pressure drops and necessitates manually pumping the accumulator prior to the next start… which requires plenty of space in the cabin, as the pump is located in the cabin ceiling.
So, I carefully excavated enough space to get to this toggle, flipped it up, and listened to the only time the dumping accumulator sounded lovely.
I carefully re-packed everything I had moved and left no trace of my actions. When the crew came out to fly next, they would have to check the accumulator gauge… and then unpack nearly every single box and crate to pump the accumulator up to get the APU to start.
As I was walking back to continue where I had left off on my own bird, one of our platoon sergeants came around the nose of my bird and angrily demanded what I did. There was no sense in denying what had taken place – any pilot, crew chief, or maintainer knows that sound… and I was the only one in the area.
Noting he was just as dust caked as me, I kept my face as neutral as possible. “Nothing, Sergeant.”
His face cracked into a knowing smile. “Exactly. Get back to work.”
I never did get to enjoy the fruits of my revenge, but I also brought great pride and credit to every “shake & bake” crew chief out there that day.
milsurpwriter 