USAF Pararescue and Scuba Diving

[sheeper]

Great thread.
We just completed supporting some dive training for the 38th RSQ a few weeks ago.

 

[John C. Ratliff]

I just spent hours reading everything and enjoyed it deeply. When it comes up in discussion about the elite, I always have to tell others about PJs and I am surprised that therte are so many that does not even know that there are PJs. I once and only brush with a PJ was 02-17/18-2003 in Okinawa, Ikei Island. Japan. We, as a unit, lost one of our Marines when he and two others entered into a water filled sea cave, Two came out on one didn't. From my buddy who was the course director, he said that of all different military branches on the island only the PJs are qualified for this recovery. So I salute you John and all that came before and after your service. I really like the manner in which you write John. Very humble.
So the questions: 1) When jumping with fins on is it hard to keep your feet from blowing up? 2) How did Banger get his nickname? 3) What was your nickname? 4) What was your personal worse case, oh crap moment?

Tony,

1) When jumping with fins on is it hard to keep your feet from blowing up?

Concerning jumping with fins, they presented some special problems. Usually we used masking tape to tape the fins to our feet. This ensured that they would not come off while we were in the air. Concerning whether our fins caused our legs to "blow up," or go over our head, yes and no. It kinda depended upon which aircraft or helicopter we were doing the parascuba jump from. The HU-16B Albatross had a hatch, and we needed to almost dive out the hatch, with one foot on the lower ledge propelling us out into the airstream. Usually this resulted in some twists, but not in our feet going up, even with fins.

But with the HC-130 Hercules aircraft, with its turbofan engines and huge wind blast, all sorts of weird body positions were possible jumping out the side door (I never did a ramp jump out of a HC-130 during my USAF career). Usually in the early days we were jumping Duck Feet fins, or USD Aqualung fins. Some of us bought our own fins, and I used modified Super Stag fins White Stag fins modified to a "scoop fin" design of my own making). Later, many PJs went to Jet Fins, and still later some PJs elected to use Force Fins (which were easier to walk in with full parascuba gear). But it wasn't uncommon to have one or even both fins up in the suspension lines when jumping from a HC-130, and some PJs actually flipped through the risers. Here's my description of my first water jump, from my memoir:

That first water jump was interesting in that we had to jump out the door with fins on. Our fins at that time were either our own (in my case) or issued “competition” style open heel fins. They had a rubber heel strap which was molded into the fin. Mine, which I got in 1963 for my birthday, were the “Original Swimaster Duckfeet” fins, made of natural gum rubber. They were of the same basic design, but were made earlier, before AMF Voit bought the company. When that happened, legend says Swimaster destroyed the original molds, so I treasured these fins. But in order to keep them on during a jump into the prop wash, we had to tape them onto our feet. We used masking tape or duct tape, and at times we looked held together by duct tape. But the tape served its purpose, and our fins stayed on.

We also jumped with a diving knife strapped to one leg. On the knife case was a Mark 13 day/night flare, taped in place with duct tape. Both the knife and the flare were for emergency use only.

The jumpmaster came by and checked our equipment. He read off items from the checklist while he made his individual inspections of our equipment. He checked our harness, to make sure it was attached properly, the Capewell riser releases, that our mask was on our neck, and our underarm life preservers (LPUs) were worn correctly. LPUs--folded orange bladders packaged inside small underarm packs that could be inflated by small carbon dioxide cylinders to support us in an emergency. Then he went behind us to look at our parachute, and make sure the 80 pound breakaway cord was intact, and routed correctly. Finally, he inspected our reserve parachute’s pins to ensure they were not bent (for water jumps, we didn’t have the knife on the reserve).

Jumping from the door with fins on meant that we had to stand in the door, in a two hundred mile per hour blast of air, with the fins on our feet, find our footing, and push off with our hands while leaping against the edge of the door’s flooring. The doorway was curved outward, so our feet were somewhat behind our hands as we stood in the door. Our fins had to be out in the blast so our toes could be against the edge of the step, but the “slip stream” wanted to lift our fins, and our body, off the floor. So our first few jumps resulted in “interesting” body positions out the door.

The view out an open door at 1,250 feet over Eglin Bay was breathtaking. We could see the target, a yellow life raft, below looking like a Tonka Toy, with wisps of smoke coming from two different large flares that had been dropped during the spotting procedure by the jumpmaster. We would be dropped directly opposite the first flare’s smoke, and hopefully an equal distance upwind from the flare’s downwind location. The jumpmaster would count from the flare to the target, and then count down as we passed over the target. When he got to zero, he tapped my leg, and I jumped out.

As our parachute’s lines played out of my deployment bag, which stayed behind with the plane in the static line, my body did a flip and twist, and I ended with my feet in the lines. I untangled myself after the ‘chute had opened, and dropped down from an upside down hanging position to a normal upright position, hanging from the harness while I turned several times under the canopy. Finally, I had untwisted and could begin steering. I pulled the pins (which must be done to release the riser when we hit the water), and began slipping the risers to face into the wind.
From Between Air and Water, the Memoir of an USAF Paraerscueman, unpublished, Copyright 2018, John C. Ratliff

Jumping from helicopters parascuba was easier, as we started from sitting in the door, and there was no wind blast, but the 'chute took longer to open and so we started from 1500 feet for the static line jump instead of 1250 feet from an aircraft. Usually you would think of a PJ deploying via a simple jump into the water from a hover, which we usually did for missions, but we still had currency jumps to make and if assigned to a helicopter unit, we made them from that platform.

2) How did Banger get his nickname?

Actually, it was Rick Harder, and the nickname was "Bagger," not "Banger." ('Sorry if I misstated that earlier.) His first several years' work resulted in a number of body recoveries. Here's an early photo of Rick, in parascuba gear at the 304th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron at Portland, Oregon.

3) What was your nickname?

Well, it's "SeaRat." I extended my enlistment to go to DaNang, Vietnam and fly the HH-53C Super Jolly Green Giant helicopter with the 37th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron. Some of the PJs started calling me SEA-Rat, because they thought there was another Ratliff somewhere in Europe. The "SEA" stood for SouthEast Asia RATliff. That really did not catch on much, as only a few guys used it. Mostly, I was "Ratliff."

I then got out of the service, to the surprise of many as they thought I would be in the Vietnam war zone to re-up and get a VRB (variable re-enlistment bonus) of 4 (4 times my monthly salary for re-enlistment), and stay with the PJs. Instead, I wanted to continue my education at Oregon State University. So I did get out of the service, went to school in the summer of 1971, and facing the need for a summer job, became a smokejumper at the North Cascades Smokejumper Base in Winthrop, Washington. There's a lot of stories there, but concerning my nickname, I was sent to Alaska and jumped on a project fire in the Brooks Range, working with a Native American crew of Athabaskan Indians (how do you remember their name?--"half a gas can," they told me). Anyway, we had over a week on that fire, subsisting on C-rations, and finally came off after mopping up what we needed to make cold, and were flown by helicopter to a village where we were treated to a steak dinner. But me, being me, I was still hungry, and so I found some more C-rations, and got into my favorite part. Someone saw me doing this after a steak meal, and started calling me "C-Rat."

Well, I didn't like that, and so changed it to SeaRat, as I really loved the water and was no longer in the Forest Service. That one stuck to a degree when I re-enlisted in the USAF Reserves with the 304th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron (Reserve) in Portland. I stayed with that unit for five years, until I got married and decided to step out of my PJ role, and into the job market with my new wife, Chris. It was a good decision, as Chris and I last February celebrated our 42nd wedding anniversary.


SeaRat

 

[John C. Ratliff]

4) What was your personal worse case, oh crap moment?

Oh, boy, there were several. Here's one, from my memoir:

We finally completed the last jump, a night water jump which turned into a disaster for me. We jumped into Eglin Bay from a HC-130. It was a very dark night, and I was leery about the jump for some reason. Usually I liked jumping by now, but this was a full scuba jump, with the tanks, the reserve parachute, a medical kit, and a butt-boat (one-man survival raft). Looking out the door, I could see almost nothing as we were not dark-adapted for the jump (the lights in the plane had not been dimmed).

I jumped, felt a good opening, and was relieved to be out of the heat of the plane. The water was less than a minute below me. After checking the ‘chute, my next task was to pull the pins of the risers so I could steer. But something was not right with my right riser group. Rather than going up at an angle, these two risers went straight up. I looked up, and there was a wrap of parachute line from the rear of the skirt down to the risers, which had been looped over the other riser, forming a half hitch around both risers. This kept the two risers together, and made it impossible to use this riser group for steering. We were still using the slip-riser method of steering the canopy by distortion of the rear steering oval in the ‘chute. With only one riser group to steer with, I made a poor, down-wind landing into the water. I hit hard on my fins, then dove face-first into the inky black, salty bay. Coughing and sputtering, I got to the surface just in time for the canopy to start pulling me through the water. Still face-down, I grabbed another breath, and released the left Capwell Quick-release. The risers flung away, and I was at last free on the surface, or so I thought.

While I rested, the current in the bay and the wind carried me into the unseen parachute shroud lines, and they began tangling around my diving tank and regulator. When I was pulled from the water, I had these lines all over my tank and my leg. It took a few minutes to clear up the mess. Then I was asked by one of the instructors, “What would you have done if this was a mission?” The implication was that I would have needed rescuing rather than being the rescuer.

I had a good reply, and pulled out my diving knife with its seven-inch long blade, the orange-handled Sportsways dive knife with the Soligen stainless steel I had gotten from my parents several years prior for my birthday. Unlike the military-issue knives, with Japanese “stainless” steel that rusted and which would not hold an edge (and rarely were sharpened), this knife was razor sharp. I told them that I simply would have cut those lines off me like I did the fishing line that was a perpetual problem for divers in the Pacific Northwest. But in a training situation, I couldn’t do that as it would destroy a valuable parachute. On a mission, the parachute was expendable, and they usually were allowed simply to sink.

I then told them of my problem with the riser, and the half-hitch over the group which precluded my using it for steering. I’m not sure that they believed me, but this allowed me to get through the jump. To this day I don’t know if that was purposely done in packing the chute, or accidentally happened either in the packing or the deployment.

Whatever the cause, this jump cost me the “outstanding student” ranking. That went to another. Without this incident, it would have been mine, but that did not matter and I did not even know I was in that position until after graduation. What mattered was graduating, and I had completed the last requirements of Pararescue Transition School.
from Between Air and Water, the Memoir of an USAF Pararescueman, unpublished, Copyright 2018, John C. Ratliff

This was probably my worst jump in my career as a PJ, and it was the last jump of Transition School. But if you don't die, you learn. That insight carried me through the rest of my life.

SeaRat

 

[John C. Ratliff]

4) What was your personal worse case, oh crap moment?
Like I said, there were several. I'm only going to concentrate on the scuba or para-scuba events.

8 August 1970


Dear Mom and Dad:

My muscles ache, and yet they wish to get out and do something. I went to bed last night at 11:30, and woke up at 12:00 noon today. And thus ended one of the longest weeks I've had.


Last weekend I had alert both days. Monday we got up early for a land jump. Tuesday was a regular workday, and Wednesday I again went on a 48 hr alert (the last one before my TDY). Tuesday was the day our air conditioning went out and we slept down at our work section. I got a couple of hours sleep Tuesday night and four or five Wednesday night. Thursday night I got to bed at 11:30 and got up at five for our Apollo jump.


I was the jumpmaster, so I had to get together our jumpmaster kit and make out the forms in addition to getting my equipment together. Our briefing was as usual, going over the weather, jumpmaster briefing for order of jump, communications between the boat and aircraft, and between the jumpmaster and pilot, safety precautions, emergency procedures, airspeed, altitude and flap settings and so on. In addition, we had a photographer and reporter from the base newspaper aboard. Major Risdon, in introducing them, asked whether they had flown before. One said yes, but not in our aircraft. Then the major told them to pay attention to the safety briefing because they "don't know how this crowd operates." I noticed a few chuckles here and there.


The night before we had already loaded the various kits on board. When we got to the section in the morning they had changed aircraft, so we had to change our equipment around.

When briefing was finished, we went to the plane, strapped in, and I dozed as we taxied, awaited clearance, then took off. After takeoff I began getting the clamps (used to hook the spotter chute onto the flare) screwed down on the flares and positioned on the weighted end so that the ignited end would be away from the lines in the water. (It takes about a minute to ignite.) Then I went over and started getting into my equipment. I had my swimsuit, 1/8" shorty jacket (wet suit), booties and knife on when Beasley (one of the PJs) ran up and said "There's sharks all over down there." I rushed to the window and soon began seeing them myself. They were all over. There were big ones and little ones. Hammerheads and others with pointed heads. Most of them were over ten footers, some were over fifteen and one I saw was over 20'. We were still seeing them as we dropped the ADDRS.⁠1 (It's a system with a kit containing life rafts on one end and an Apollo floatation collar on the other connected by a long line. The aircraft passes downwind of the capsule and one kit, then the other a couple of seconds later, is dropped out the back ramp of the HC-130. The spacecraft then drifts into the line which connects the two kits and catches it on a grappling hook attached to the capsule. The parachutes on the kits act as sea anchors and stop the spacecraft's drift so that we don't have to jump on a moving target.)

The original plan was to drop two PJs on the first pass, one (me) on the second and one on the third for a total of four jumpers. Because of the sharks in the area (about a mile from the target), we modified this somewhat. One one person would go out per pass. This way the boat would be able to pick up the jumpers immediately after they hit the water.

I, as jumpmaster, put one spotter chute out and then began the check of MSgt Gorny's equipment, for the next pass was to be a "live drop." We were on final (going for the target) and I gave two corrections to the pilot. Then I tapped the doorstep, the sign for the jumper to get into the door and get ready to jump when I 8slapped his thigh. Immediately I put my hand in front of him and moved him out of the door, calling "No drop this pass, Standby." I had put him in the door too late and, had I jumped him, he would have been too far from the target. The next pass I did jump him; following him was SSgt Branam, a reservist who went to Scuba School with me, and I jumped on the third pass. I had jumpmastered with tanks and a main parachute on, so I was a little tired by the time I got into the door myself. This was one of the better excuses for my bad body position. When I jumped I came up sideways so that my head was down, feet straight up and the 'chute opening on my left side. When it opened I was sorta whipped down into an upright position. Other then that I had a good jump, got out of the harness and rolled into the boat. I just laid there a couple of minutes, happy to be out of the jump gear. As I lay there, a flood of drowsiness came to me, from which I didn't recover until 3:30 PM, when I went to the NCO club and ordered a juicy, medium rare "T" bone steak.

Well, so much for my steak, arrrrr, I mean jump. I have some good news. I have a line number for Staff Sargent and will probably be promoted in September or October.

How's things at home. Swell, I hope. Tell Bill I'm in pretty good shape and hope I can still outrun him even if I can't outweigh him.

Have Bill and Ken scout around for the best hunting and fishing spots if they aren't already doing so (Ha, ha). And tell Bill to be sure and get some pictures of his logging operation.

See you later.

Love, John

What I didn't tell my parents in this letter is that when I got into the water, rather than trying to pick up my ‘chute (standard procedures), the pickup boat came directly to me and said, "Get out of the water!" I said, "Why," and the boat party repeated their order, but louder. I grabbed the gunnel with my hands, and flipped myself up and over the side. I was laying on my back on my scuba tanks in the bottom of the boat when I was told that I had landed on top of about a 10 foot shark.


1 Aircraft Deployed Drift Reduction System (ADDRS) was used to slow the drift of the Apollo spacecraft. Apollo floated with only about 6 inches of draft, and was blown by the wind. To make a parascuba jump on it we had to slow it down. Developed by Robert Fulton, the ADDRS consisted of two bundles with a long, floating line which was placed across the path of drift of the spacecraft. When the Apollo capsule encountered the floating line, the line went over the top of the capsule, and was caught by a special three-pronged hook on the top of the capsule. The line then strung out behind the spacecraft, with sea anchors attached to the bundles effectively stopping the Apollo capsule’s drift. Each bundle contained specific items, including the floatation collar for the spacecraft, life rafts, survival equipment, radios, etc. The PJs then pulled the bundles to the spacecraft (or vice-versa) and started the process of collaring the capsule.

http://www.jsc.nasa.gov/history/oral_histories/StoneBR/StoneBR_10-18-06.pdf

Carmichael, Scott, Moon Men Return: USS Hornet and the Recovery of the Apollo 11 Astronauts, Naval Institute Press, 2010.

From my manuscript, Between Air and Water, the Memoir of an USAF Pararescueman," Copyright 2019, John C. Ratliff
[/quote]
This was a partial chapter in my memoir, which I am bound and determined to get completed this year.

SeaRat

 

[Neptune Warrior]

John was happy to meet you last year when I spoke at the museum. Looking forward to this thread as well.

 

[AdrenalineEnthusiast]

Hello! @John C. Ratliff. I stumbled upon your threads here and on vintage scuba, and I would just like to thank you for sharing your incredible stories. I have been incessantly researching anything related to PJs and am going for tryouts in the ANG next year. Also, would you still publish your book? It's definitely on my to-read list!

 

[John C. Ratliff]

Hello! @John C. Ratliff. I stumbled upon your threads here and on vintage scuba, and I would just like to thank you for sharing your incredible stories. I have been incessantly researching anything related to PJs and am going for tryouts in the ANG next year. Also, would you still publish your book? It's definitely on my to-read list!

AE,
-
If you are headed for PJ tryouts, be sure to get into shape. That includes both running and swimming, with an emphasis on swimming. The requirements, I think, are published, and you need to be sure to read them and to be able to accomplish them easily. The one thing I can say is that you will make it if you can meet those requirements, and never, ever quit! Not quitting is the key, no matter what.

The book is complete, and I’m trying to figure out how to get it published. The Library of Congress wants a copy too.

John (SeaRat)

 

[NW Dive Dawg]

John.......

THANK-YOU so much for your service! I have total respect for PJ's and knew and worked with them as an Aircrew Life Support Tech (92250) in the AF from 73 to 77 and in no way would ever compare my role to what you did. I was basically the guy that maintained, inspected and issued much of the equipment that you used. After Lackland, I went to Chanute, IL for tech school and then was stationed at Pete Field in Colorado Springs as support for Cheyanne Mtn and the Academy. Mostly T-33's and T-39's as trainers and our primary mission was Operation Stardust to take new cadets up for a ride and make-em puke. We also ran simulators to teach egress, bailout, ditching, crash landing and survival procedures.

Again...... thanks so much for your service as a PJ. When you did what you did, you basically wrote a check for an amount up to and including your life...... that could be cashed in at any time. I guess maybe we all wrote that same check when we joined up. But bottom line is that I personally have and always have had total and 100% respect for PJ's and what you all did for our country.....

 

[AdrenalineEnthusiast]

AE,
-
If you are headed for PJ tryouts, be sure to get into shape. That includes both running and swimming, with an emphasis on swimming. The requirements, I think, are published, and you need to be sure to read them and to be able to accomplish them easily. The one thing I can say is that you will make it if you can meet those requirements, and never, ever quit! Not quitting is the key, no matter what.

The book is complete, and I’m trying to figure out how to get it published. The Library of Congress wants a copy too.

John (SeaRat)

Yup, I am in contact with the Alaskan team and am consistently beating the published numbers, and usually once a month I do back-to-back IFTs and see if my performance deteriorates in the second one.

 

[John C. Ratliff]

Tomorrow is Christmas Day, December 25th, and in 1968 we in Pararescue lost a great person, Charlie Douglas King. Here's a link that discusses briefly what happened:

Fallen Hero's / Jolly Green 17 / 40th ARRS / HH-3 / Jolly Green Giant

The USAF Jolly Green Giant Collection - This is my personal collection of USAF Jolly Green Giant heraldry patches ATTENTION: NO ITEMS ARE FOR SALE.

jollygg.blogspot.com

This is from my manuscript, “Between Air and Water, the Memoir of an USAF Pararescueman.”

Beasley tells the Story of Charlie Douglas King

Don Beasley is a tall, lanky guy, with a long nose and a huge smile, a PJ who loved the job and enjoyed talking about pararescue. We were in a truck on a dive site, and had just completed a bottle dive in the bay at Bermuda. I had found two 19th Century bottles on the bottom, which I still have, and we were getting ready to go back to the barracks. Don started talking about Southeast Asia, and his involvement there.


Charlie Douglas King was in my class of PJs in 1967, and I had found out that he was lost on a mission in Vietnam. As Don started talking about the mission where we lost Charlie, he had a hard time. It was Christmas Eve, 1968 and Major Charles R. Brownlee was having a bad day. His F-105 had beet hit, and he had successfully ejected, with his parachute hanging up in a tree. It was late, and without contact with Brownlee, and without night rescue capability, the rescue mission was called off until first light on Christmas day. Jolly 17 was Doug’s helicopter, and was crewed by Lt. Col. William Cameron, aircraft commander; Captian Robert Heron, co-pilot; Sgt. Jerome Casey, flight engineer; and A1C Doug King, the PJ. They were flying an HH-3E Jolly Green Giant helicopter.

Jolly 17 was right over the site, and because they still could not raise Major Browlee on the radio, they were considering their next move. Major Brownlee was just a few feet off the ground, but was just hanging there. The crew suspected an ambush, but after hovering for quite a while without any response, decided to attempt a pickup. This required that Doug go down the hoist to get Major Brownlee out of his harness and into the rescue seat.

Don was on a different helicopter, probably the Bravo crew as a backup to the Alpha crew high and low birds. Don said he heard that Dough was down the hoist, and that they started taking ground fire. Then the radio blared Doug’s call that he had been hit, and the helicopter needed to pull up and get out of there. Doug was on the rescue device with Major Brownlee, whom he had removed from his parachute harness, and gotten onto either a jungle penetrator, and used the hoist to pull him up a hill. Then he got onto the device with Major Brownlee, and the Jolly started taking hits, then Doug was hit. As the two were being pulled up through the trees, they tangled with a tree and the hoist cable broke, dumping both back onto the ground. Doug radioed that he had been hit bad, and for the Jolly to get out of there.

When Don heard this, he was incensed and wanted his helicopter to go in and get both Doug and the downed pilot, but the trap had been set, and it would be a suicide mission. The rescue forces tried several times to see what was happening on the ground, but could not go in to get either man. Don was beside himself about this mission, and telling me about it in Bermuda was hard for him. Doug was in my PJ class, and was the same guy that I had boxed unsuccessfully at the U.S. Naval School for Underwater Swimmers. This was quite a “downer” for me too. Doug was not recovered, nor was Major Brownlee.