At one point during an EOD career you are going to
do something really stupid and embarrass yourself in front of your peers. My turn came in the summer of 1986,
while I was stationed at Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico. We had just received a call that a
target drone had washed ashore near Arecibo, my hometown. These target drones are launched from
our base and used for target practice by Navy airplanes. If the flyboys don’t shoot the drones
down, then they go into a self-destruct mode by moving their wings and going
into an uncontrolled spin and crashing into the ocean. The drones contain a liquid fuel, which
is very hazardous and toxic, representing a serious health hazard for the
population. This particular drone
had failed to self-destruct, gliding into the water and floating for miles
until it reached the shores of Arecibo.
Because of the chances of having to interface with
the local authorities and because it was my hometown, the OIC (Officer in
Charge) decided it would be a good idea if I went along. The three lucky guys going were LT Tyler
Heerwagen, MM2 Ricky Angove and myself.
We did some quick research about the drone, gathered our gear and
departed. Since this could turn
out to be a health hazardous situation and the media probably knew about it by
now, we decided to travel by helicopter. Besides, it would be faster and we
could be back by happy hour (a very important consideration when planning EOD
operations). It was a beautiful
flight, going along the northern coast of the island, traveling east to
west. Throughout the flight, I
kept pointing out places of interest to the guys. As we flew over Arecibo, I pointed out to them to them my
family’s house, where I was born, where I used to live and so on.
Our plan was an example of simplicity: land, put
holes on the drone, lift it by helo and drop it out to sea and watch it
sink. No big deal...easy. The first obstacle presented itself as
we flew over the beach where the drone was situated. There were over 500 people waiting for us, including media
cameras from every TV station on the island. LT Heerwagen decided that since it was “my people” and in my
“hometown”, I should lead everyone out of the helo after landing. What a great idea, I thought! I had all my “cool” equipment on, a
pistol in my shoulder holster and I looked like Rambo! What a way to impress my family and my
childhood friends when they see me on the evening news. I knew that, at the very least, I would
get a TV interview out of this, and hell, maybe even a medal for bravery!
The helo landed on a grassy field and I could see
all the cameras pointed in my direction as I stood by the door. I could even feel the zoom of the
cameras on my face. There seemed
to be a million eyeballs looking at me and I made sure the nametag on my
uniform blouse was showing, so that they could get my name as I walked past
them. As soon as I received the
all clear signal from the crewman, I unplugged the internal communication
system (ICS) cable from my helmet and stepped out of the helo into instant
fame; the sound of a “million” people cheering and clapping was deafening. What a great feeling…my hometown folks
cheering for me! The feeling of
euphoria was climbing steadily within me as I ran hunched over to get clear of
the helo’s rotors, leading the team.
As soon as I got in front of the cameras, all the reporters trained
their lenses on me like the barrels of a thousand guns. I turned my head to look at them, just
to make sure my family could recognize me. I could hear my mother and grandmother’s voices as they told
me how proud they were of me. I
could feel my father’s big hand on my shoulder giving me an approving hug. Life was going to be grand! And that’s when the proverbial manure
hit the fan. As soon as I turned
my head, I stepped in a hole, lost my balance and fell down. The first thing hitting the grass was
the left side of my face. I didn’t
even have time to break the fall.
It was simply pathetic. My
gear flew all over the grassy field, my pistol came out of its holster and my
helmet fell off. As I lay sprawled
out on the grass, there were two things on my mind: one was “Oh no, this can’t
be happening to me.” The other
was: “Pick up your shit and get the hell out of there and just hope that the
cameras didn’t get the name on your uniform”. I felt I was about 2 centimeters tall at that moment. The next thing I felt were hands
grabbing me by my harness and dragging me out of there. The guys did not even miss a beat; they
just grabbed me and continued to start the mission. I glanced back once, and saw the smiling faces of my
teammates, and I knew that somehow I would never live this one down.
But it was not over yet. We ran over to the edge of the field where we found a
twenty-foot drop to the beach.
After descending, we set up our CP (command post) and staged our gear
about 100 yards from the drone.
The LT, in all his wisdom, told me to vindicate myself by taking the
handpick and punching the drone full of holes so that we could sink it. I walked to the drone, while the whole
“world” watched from a distance. I
took the first swing at it and when the pick hit the skin of the drone, this
shock wave came out and was transmitted through the pick to my hand, arm,
shoulder, and whole body, and it hurt!
I didn’t even dent the drone.
The LT saw what had just happened, and thought that I didn’t hit hard
enough and told me to do it again, which, like an idiot, I did with the same
resulting pain. At that point I’d
had about as much as I could take in one day and stormed over to the rest of
the guys. I threw the pick down on
the sand and said the only other thing I was going to do was to get in the helo
and fly back home. I was done for
the day. After the laughter
stopped, Ricky took out his pistol and emptied a full magazine from about
twenty-five yards away and again, not a single hole. We ended up taking the thing apart just enough for water to
rush in. We told the helo to come
over us and pick the thing up and we jumped in the helo, departing the
place. We dropped the drone about
5 miles out over the ocean, and we circled above to make sure that it would
sink.
Then, and only then, did we proceed back to our
base. I was so embarrassed,
thoroughly relieved to be going home.
I caught shit for that incident for months. As a matter of fact, I still do. It is my father and uncle’s favorite story,
which I have to tell to friends and relatives on request.
