African Adventures Following my Navy tour in Antarctica I was transferred to the Naval Air Station in Port Lyautey, Morocco. (While I was in Morocco the name of the Air Station was changed from Port Lyautey to Kenitra to erase mention of the French General Louis-Hubert-Gonzalve Lautey and the occupation of the Morocco which had ended shortly before our arrival in Morocco.) It was a real delight to be again with my wife and daughter after 16 months on the Antarctic ice. We made our trip to Africa by naval aircraft and the transition between continents was accomplished in just a matter of hours. At first we had to live in a small hotel but we were soon able to rent a two story house that served us well for our two years in that lovely country. Over the course of my tour in Morocco my wife, daughter and I drove over much of this interesting country and we never felt intimidated by any of Moslem natives. In fact we always felt welcome and secure in their midst. My primary assignment during this North African tour was as Flight Officer to the Operations Department. In carrying out this task I had to schedule local flights in both the assigned fixed wing aircraft and the base assigned helicopter. For the better part of my tour there was just one other helicopter pilot and we shared the helicopter flight time equally between us. I enjoyed flying the helicopter over the Moroccan countryside because everything about the farmland was so orderly in appearance. Even though there were deep feelings against the French it was very apparent that the Moroccan farmers had learned a lot about farming from the French. Considering the fact that most Moroccans were abstainers from drinking alcohol they produced a fine selection of wines. This, I am sure, resulted from their French association. During December of 1958 the country faced very heavy rains and the Sebou River, which flowed around the edge of the town of Port Lautey and alongside the

edge of our naval air station was heavily flooded. The overflowing river covered thousands of acres of farmland just to the north of our base. Many Moroccan farmers were not able to escape the rushing waters by moving to higher ground and had to climb on to their rooftops to survive. It was just two days before Christmas when I was ordered to fly the helicopter over these engulfed farms to provide food and water to the stranded natives. Fuel trucks and supply vehicles from our home base were placed close to the edge of the raging flood waters so our single helicopter could carry out rescue missions and emergency food delivery flights without having to go all the way back to the air station between missions. In the beginning we had hoped to airlift natives from their stranded positions but the natives didn’t want to leave their farms because they were afraid that they could lose everything they owned if they left the area. So we started overflying the flooded countryside and lowering food and water to the rooftop trapped farmers and their families. Our operations went on continuously from sunup to sundown sharing the flight time with the other helicopter pilot until there were no more distressed farmers needing our assistance. I recalled returning home after dark on Christmas Day grimy and tired out from our day of flood relief work. I had missed the joy of sharing my Christmas Day with my family but the work we had accomplished in helping our stranded Moroccan neighbors left us feeling quite satisfied. The following year the Sebou River flooded again and we were called into action to provide relief for the stranded farmers. This time the U.S. Air Force provided two HRS helicopters and the pace of provisioning stranded natives took place a lot faster than on the previous year. I had expected that when this mercy mission was completed that our work was over that we could return to the air station to receive a "well done" pat on the back but it didn't work out that way. We were ordered to fly the following day towards the Atlas Mountains presumably to check out the river conditions where the Sebou River emerged from its mountain pass. We thought that we might be further involved with providing relief to stranded natives on rooftops so we were disappointed to learn that the real purpose of our flying eastward was to have a celebratory luncheon at the home of the regional Pasha. We made our first stop along the way at a French Army Base where we refueled the helicopter and after a considerable delay at that airfield we were directed to fly to the Pasha's mountain home where we were told we should land. When I arrived at the Pasha's place I discovered that the house was set deep into

the mountains and on first glance I could see no favorable place to set the helicopter down. So I overflew the house and soon found a small hole between the tall trees that surrounded the Pasha’s house that was large enough to land the helicopter. In order to make the landing I had to come to a hover over the trees and then descended vertically to the ground. In theory such a vertical descent was dangerous because we were well above sea level and our available engine power was less than I would have liked. Still I was expected to land and with much trepidation I put the helicopter down softly in the grass having missed hitting any of the trees that seemed to reach out to touch my rotating rotor blades. So this event was the Pasha's way of thanking the U.S. Navy for providing the emergency relief to the farmers who were stranded by the flooding Sebou River. We were entertained at the Pasha's palatial home with cocktails and later a sumptuous meal. The Pasha didn't understand English but the day was saved because we had provided an interpreter for the occasion. Everything about the event was cordial, but in a way it seemed put-on as though this was the way things were done in Morocco but it wasn't necessarily a sincere gesture. Several hours later when the conversation seemed to becoming repetitious it was obvious that we were being subtly told that the cocktail and dinner party was at an end. So I informed everyone that I did not like flying back to Port Lautey in darkness and that I should perhaps get underway. The Pasha seemed to applaud that idea and within minutes I was back in the helicopter. The vertical assent from the Pasha’s small forest gave me the same feeling of trepidation as had experienced during the landing but I once again cleared the branches and was soon on the way back home. Along the way as we flew besides the flooded river we spotted what appeared yo be a native who was lying face down on the edge of the river. It seemed that his body had been deposited on the river's edge by the flowing waters. After landing close to the body I sent my crewman to examine the body to assure ourselves that the man was actually dead. Looking off into the distance we could see local men who were coming in our direction, so we departed for our home base after being assured that someone would be taking care of the deceased man’s body. I believe that the rescue work that we performed following the Sebou River flood resulted in providing food relief for hundreds of people and while this action of ours affected many farm families the United States military was not accorded the media applause that we really thought we deserved. It seemed that everything

the U.S. military did to aid the destitute of Morocco never received “front page” recognition we thought it deserved. Some time after this rescue event concluded as I was at home with my family on a Sunday afternoon enjoying the spring weather that just begun. I was on the flight schedule as the duty helicopter pilot but this was of little concern to me for neither of us helicopter pilots had ever been called to fly an emergency mission on the weekend. This particular Sunday afternoon was destined to become an exception. At about 2:00 p.m. a Navy automobile pulled up at my front gate and I was told by the driver that a French jet had crashed into the Atlantic Ocean just as the pilot was preparing to land at our airfield. I was told that our base helicopter was being removed from the hanger and it was being preflighted for a trip to the crash site. Without so much as goodbye to my wife I left on my motorbike headed for the airfield. It should be noted here that there were two roads from the town of Kenitra to the Naval Air Station. First, there was the lower road which ran along the river to the Main Gate entrance and there was the hilly road to the Back Gate, a longer way but less traveled. Both roads came together at two locations so that they formed a complete loop. I decided to take the Back Gate Road because it was less traveled; the lower road bore heavy traffic on weekends. When I reached the juncture where both roads to the base came together I discovered that both sides of the road were lined with Moroccans and I was brought to a stop by a local police officer. He indicated to me that a bike race was in progress and I could not enter either road. In my broken French I told him several times that “a French jet had fallen into the ocean” and I was a “pilot of a helicopter” going to the crash site. I will never know if he understood my poor French, but he quickly opened a way between the crowds of Moroccans and allowed me to enter the Upper or Hilltop Road going to the base. As I applied full throttle to my bike I started passing cyclists who were in the race. Each time I passed a cyclist I received thunderous applause from the roadside observers. I passed a dozen or so cyclists along the way and the applause was so distracting that I almost forgot the mission I was on. Finally, I reached the Upper Gate and after being ushered in to the base I drove directly to where the helicopter was parked. My flight gear had been located and in moments I was underway to the cash site.

Unfortunately the French jet had long since crashed into the ocean and there was nothing but debris floating in the water. The pilot’s crash helmet floated in the water giving evidence that our efforts to rescue the crashed pilot were all in vain. I returned to my base landing pad and landed. I was very unhappy that things had gone differently and that I might have rescued the jet pilot from the ocean. There was just one more mission that had to be performed before I completed my two year tour in Morocco. One morning I was told to go back to my home in Kenitra and pack clothes and shaving gear for a trip by helicopter to the Naval Air Station in Rota, Spain. The trip was rated as Top Secret and I was tell no one where I was going or when I might return. By noon I was airborne in the station helicopter with just one air crewman to help me. It was a long flight to Rota, with much overwater flying along the way. When we arrived at the Naval Air Station in Rota we were met by an officer I had never met before. He separated me from my aircrewman and told me that I was on a critical mission scheduled for the next day. He gave me no details on the mission but told me I should get a good night’s sleep and await a predawn awakening at the Bachelor Officers Quarters. When I awoke I discovered it was raining heavily so I thought whatever flying that had been considered for us had been cancelled. I was wrong. The officer I had met the day before met me, and one of the helicopter pilots from N.A.S. Rota, at breakfast and told us to be ready to takeoff at around 10:00 a.m., but he gave no details on what we were to do once we were airborne. Promptly at 10:30 a.m. the Rota pilot and I went out into the rain which was coming down heavily and both pilots proceeded to start their helicopter engines. Just when it appeared that the rain was so heavy that our flight might be cancelled the officer in charge of this mission turned up at my cockpit window with directions for me to follow after takeoff. He told me to take off along with the other helicopter and to fly on a particular heading which was mostly southward. Shortly after leaving the base our course took us over the Atlantic Ocean and we were not to see land until our fuel was almost consumed. After about forty-five minutes of flying we had been directed to make a radio call on a prescribed frequency asking instructions on what to do next. Please note that at the time we were to call our unknown radio station we would be about 100 miles out to sea and as far as we knew we were not being monitored by anyone capable of rescuing us if we had to crash land in the sea.

During our flight southward I talked at times with the pilot of the other helicopter about our situation, however he was as “in the dark” as much as I was as to the operation at hand so his transmissions provided me no relief as to what we were doing so far at sea with no help in sight if one or both of us crashed into the sea. Finally we reached the time when we were expected to make radio contact with our unknown partner, so I transmitted a radio call giving the specific code words I had been given before takeoff. Almost immediately we received a response which included a direction and distance to our unknown “playmate.” Both helicopters turned as directed and within a few minutes we arrived over a U.S. Navy destroyer. As we flew over this ship we were told that we would be joined shortly by another “playmate.” About a minute later a nuclear submarine surfaced nearby and we were directed to start making airlifts between the two ships. So there began for the two helicopters a series of trips between the two ships transporting packages of cargo from the submarine to the destroyer. On one traverse the other helicopter transported a man from the submarine to the destroyer. In all we each made about four transports each during which time the rain pelted us severely. The submarine rolled considerably due to the ocean swell making our transfers more difficult. While this evolution was taking place I was starting to worry because we were running low on fuel and I was worried that on our flight back to Rota we might run out of fuel before we reached land. Finally we were advised that no more transports were required and we were given a magnetic heading and distance back to the Naval Air Station where we had departed, seemingly an eternity ago. Our helicopters each had a red warning light that advised us that we had just 20 minutes of flying time left before we ran out of fuel. Seeing the light come on and not as yet having the coast of Spain in sight produced a sick feeling for me and I presume it did the same for the other helicopter pilot. After the 20 minute warning light came on I flew for another ten more minutes before the Spanish coastline came in sight and what a great relief it was when we were able to be over land instead of water. The magnetic heading we had been given proved to be quite accurate and we were able to land several minutes before we had used every drop of usable fuel. The following day I was allowed to fly back to N.A.S. Kenitra, however, I was warned that our mission was to be considered as Top Secret so I was unable to talk about it with either my Navy acquaintances or my family. That was a real pity

for I was dying to tell every one of my great experience. I was never told what was the purpose of that overwater excursion or what was contained in those packages we transported between those two ships but I have let my imagination run freely over those unknowns over years and have yet to conclude what we had done for the Navy that day. When my day approached when my Moroccan tour was about to end I purchased, through the Naval Exchange a new Mercedes automobile at a large discount of the price I would have paid had I purchases the car back in the U.S.A. I took a few days off and flew to the Mercedes factory in Stuttgart, Germany and drove the new sedan to Naples, Italy where it was loaded on a Navy supply ship for the transport back to the States. I was left with what I might do to get my old Packard sedan back home for military regulations only provided for a single car transport. I found an officer at Rota, Spain who agreed to take my old car and load it on a combat ship headed back to the States. This was legal but an uncommon thing to do. My big problem was to get my car from Kenitra to Rota, Spain where the combat ships headed Stateside tied up at the pier. So I worked out this plan of action. I would awaken at my home in Kenitra at around 3:00 a.m. and drive northward to Casablanca, Morocco and board the ferry to Gibraltar for the trip across the Straits of Gibralter. Once unloaded at the Spanish port I would then drive to Rota, Spain where I would leave my old Packard for its trip to Norfolk, Va. A Beechcraft aircraft would arrive at Rota around sundown to fly me back to the air base in Kenitra. That was the plan but as all such planning goes there were some slips along the way. I did arise at around three in the morning, as planned, and after a quick breakfast I headed north toward Casablanca. I faced no auto traffic for my entire trip so my plan seemed to be working well. After about an hour of driving I noted that my headlights were growing dim and a few minutes later they went out entirely. Now I was left on the road without headlights. After a while of driving in the dark my eyes adjusted somewhat and I was able to continue driving northward, although at a slower pace. I couldn’t go too slow, however, because the ferry left Casablanca at 7:00 a.m. and there wouldn’t be another for twelve more hours. I became very tense because I may meet a man or an animal on the road and I might not be able to see him, or it, in time to avoid a collision. Little by little the sky started to light up and soon I was able to drive with less caution.

Just outside the city of Casablanca I was running low on fuel so I had to stop along the edge of the road and transfer the extra fuel I carried in the car trunk to the gas tank. First, I inserted the key from my key ring into the locked gas tank cover. (Gasoline for Moroccans was a very expensive item so our fuel tanks had to be kept locked to avoid having fuel tanks siphoned.) Next I used another key from my key ring to open the locked trunk. Once the trunk was opened I placed the gas tank cover and my ring of keys inside the trunk since it was a convenient thing to do. As you will see this was a big mistake. Next, I removed the two “Jerry” cans, which were full of gasoline, from the trunk and proceeded to transfer the gasoline to the fuel tank. When both cans were empty I replaced their covers and then placed them back in the trunk. Next I reached up and closed the trunk. Big mistake! I forgot that I had put the car keys and the gasoline tank cover on the floor of the trunk and now they were all in the trunk. For a moment I just about “came unglued.” It was just a short while before the ferry sailed for Gibraltar and my ignition key was locked in the trunk. At first I had no solution in mind but after a few moments I remembered that the rear cushion to the back seat could be pulled free so I proceeded to pull it free. When it came loose I found that there was a plastic wall behind the seat that precluded me from seeing into the trunk. Next I saw what looked like a weak spot in the plastic wall so I hit it with my fist several times before I blaster a hole about three inches in diameter. Now I was able to get my arm and hand in the trunk but my arm wasn't long enough for me to touch my key ring. Next, I went walking along the road hoping to find a short stick long enough to help me reach the car keys and ring so I could drag them where I could reach them with my hand. I must have walked two blocks or so before I was able to find a tree branch large enough to reach into the trunk and retrieve the auto keys. I replaced the gas tank cover and proceeded to drive way. Fortunately there was enough electricity still in the battery to restart the engine. I headed then to the ferry boat landing but when I was several blocks away I heard the ferry blow its whistle indicating it was about to leave for Gibraltar. When I reached the auto ramp to the ferry I noted the ramp barriers were in place and I felt certain at that moment I had missed my voyage completely. There was a young teen age boy standing with a group of men and he stepped up to my car window and asked if I wanted to go aboard the ferry. I told him that I certainly did and he asked me for the ferryboat fare, plus a liberal tip which I gladly turned over to him. He raced toward the ferry and after a bit of

discourse with the ferry personnel he was able to have them reopen the ramp barriers and usher me on board. Soon we were underway to Gibraltar and I was in the men’s room trying to remove some of the dirt and grime that I collected on my arms and torso collected while trying to retrieve my keys from that ten year old filthy car trunk. Once we got to Spain I drove off the ferry and headed west and was soon back aboard the base at Rota, Spain. I was quickly able to turn over my automobile to the man who had promised to have it shipped to Norfolk. Next the aircraft scheduled to take me back to Kenitra arrived on time and I was quickly underway back to Morocco. I was surprised to learn when I got back home that our friends were giving us a Surprise Farewell Party and any hopes that I might have had for going to bed early quickly dissolved. It was after midnight before I found that much needed sleep my body so craved.