Two scientists and their helicopter pilot stranded on Alaska’s Mount Mageik waved their hands and yelled as Maj. Brian Kile aimed his HH-60 Pavehawk toward a 100-foot wide crevasse near them. Weather near the top of the 7,100-foot volcano prevented a nighttime rescue effort from reaching them and kept Kile’s crew at bay. His aircraft was now at bingo fuel, the point where he must turn around to make it back to his squadron at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson.
Just before he left to refuel for the third time that day, a slight weather window opened, making rescue a possibility, but just for a few minutes.
“You have 10 minutes,” Kyle told his pararescuemen on board, Master Sgt. Willis Strouse and Tech. Sgt. Bill Cenna, as he maneuvered the Pavehawk within about 500 feet from the stranded scientists. “Ten minutes to get up there, get ‘em and get ‘em back down.”
Within seven minutes, Cenna and Strouse had descended the 50 feet from the Pavehawk to reach the survivors and had them all safely on board. They headed toward King Salmon Airport, dropped them off and were back on base by 8 p.m., finally ending a day that began 16 hours earlier.
Members of the rescue squadrons often see the scenic views of Alaska while on missions and understand although the sights are beautiful, they’re just as dangerous.
The volcano rescue was just the first of six missions in a 100-hour period from Thursday, Sept. 8 through Sunday, Sept. 11 for members of the 210th, 211th and 212th Rescue Squadrons at JB Elmendorf-Richardson. In four days, the squadrons conducted six rescue missions, including one bear attack and five crashed and missing airplanes. Those 100 hours were part of a week that included nine missions.
“This has not been a typical period for us, but historically, this is the biggest time of the year for our missions,” said Maj. Matthew Komatsu, the 212th RQS director of operations. “During the summer and fall, many more people are out, and the bad weather in the fall ends up complicating aircraft flight.”
All three squadrons conduct rescue operations in support of an 11th Air Force memorandum of understanding with the Alaska Air National Guard.
“We do civil search and rescue for Alaska on a non-interference basis,” Komatsu said. “What that means is if it isn’t interfering with something that is a higher priority, we can take missions to support civil search and rescue up here, which we do an average of 52 missions a year.”
Nobody within the Air Force rescue community routinely performs these civil service rescue missions, Komatsu said. The 212th RQS is the only Guardian Angel squadron, which includes combat rescue officers, pararescuemen and survival, evasion, resistance and escape, that is on 24/7 alert, said Capt. John M. Romspert, a combat rescue officer. Newspaper articles and photographs line the hallways of the squadron headquarters that tell the story of more than 20 years of rescue missions in Alaska and elsewhere. The late Sen. Ted Stevens pushed for a rapid rescue capability in the state after a plane crash at the Anchorage International Airport killed five people, including his wife, on Dec. 4, 1978. Thirty-two years later, Stevens was also killed in a plane crash in Alaska. Two decades later, rescue crews continue to risk their lives under the motto, “That Others May Live.”
Staff Sgt. Brett Wilson slowly raises a simulated injured hiker closer to the top of a cliff during a high-angle rescue training mission in the mountains outside of Anchorage, Alaska.
So far this year, the squadron has conducted 54 missions and saved 79 lives. Rescue missions directed by the 11th Air Force Rescue Coordination Center have saved more than 2,050 lives with more than 100 missions so far this year alone.
The three squadrons also maintain a presence in the U.S. Central Command area of responsibility. Last year, they deployed to Afghanistan for five months and saved 305 lives in 431 missions, with 11 members receiving nominations for the Bronze Star with Valor.
Despite the cold climate, a certain type of pararescueman thrives in Alaska and the frenetic pace of real-world missions. For the “mission monkeys,” as they call those who relish real-world missions from the moment they arrive after training, they refer to Alaska as “PJ Heaven.”
“It’s a crazy thing to hope for a mission because it means someone is probably having the worst day of their lives,” said Staff Sgt. Cody Inman, a pararescueman with the 212th RS. “The way I look at it is that somebody out there is going to have the worst day of their life, and I just want to be the one to be there and assist them when no one else can. It’s very rewarding, and why I think a lot of (pararescuemen) want to come up here.”
But for the hikers and hunters who don’t take the weather and landscape seriously, the nation’s 49th state also offers an environment that can be as far from heaven as it can get.
Capt. John Romspert (left) and Master Sgt. Leovan Claunan prepare their gear for a high-altitude training jump at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, Alaska. Romspert is a 176th Operations Group combat rescue officer, and Claunan is a 212th Rescue Squadron pararescueman.
“Alaska is a different beast,” said Cenna, a couple of days after the volcano rescue. “There is a lot of adventure happening in Alaska. We are on alert 24/7 and provide a safety blanket to all of the adventurers out there, whether it’s downed aircraft, hikers or climbers. Alaska is just a different place than the lesser 48. I’ve seen bears, moose and wolves right in our back yard.
“The adventures you can get into up here are serious. The weather and climate are serious, and everything about the landscape is serious. You have to be prepared for that. If you’re not, then we’re coming in for you.”
Kile, Cenna and the rest of their Pavehawk crew hadn’t even made it back to base from the volcano rescue when they heard about the squadron’s next mission. An airplane with two people on board had been missing since it took off from Port Allsworth the previous afternoon, so they altered their route to search on the way back from King Salmon. They searched for an hour and a half, and a HC-130 crew continued the search the following day, trying to detect an electronic location transmitter signal from the plane, but neither mission was able to find the plane.
On Saturday night, about 24 hours since the successful end of the volcano mission, another plane crashed about 15 miles southeast of Talkeetna and 100 miles from JB Elmendorf-Richardson. A Pavehawk crew brought them back and returned to base by 9 p.m. The same night, the center learned that Alaska State Troopers had located the missing aircraft upside down with a note that the two people on board were walking 30 miles to the nearest town. State troopers picked them up the next day.
An HH-60 Pave Hawk takes off for search and rescue mission in the mountains of Alaska.
About 1:15 p.m. Monday, an experimental airplane crashed near Big Lake, about 25 miles from the base. The Pavehawks were down for maintenance, so Komatsu put four pararescuemen on Alaska Army National Guard Blackhawks. They found the pilot had been killed, and the passenger had suffered a broken leg and other life-threatening injuries, but survived.
“If we didn’t get there when we did, he would have died on the scene ,” Komatsu said. “We had guys trying to treat the critically injured (passenger) while others were cutting the deceased out of the wreckage.”
The rescue squadrons were approaching the end of their 100 hours when they learned of two more missions late the following Monday night. The rescue coordination center informed Komatsu of an aircraft that was overdue out of Yakutat, so he launched the nighttime C-130 crew. They also learned about a grizzly bear attack about 50 miles south of McGrath. The crew on alert from Eielson Air Force Base rescued the hunter the following afternoon, and he was taken by a civilian areomedical flight to Anchorage.
Demanding schedules like the base’s rescue community faced in the past 100 hours illustrate the toll the job takes on pararescuemen in “PJ Heaven.” One of the squadron’s priorities is finding ways to help them deal with the heavy emotional, mental and physical demands of the job, , Komatsu said.
Capt. John Romspert looks at the forecast for the location where he will conduct a high-altitude jump. Romspert is a combat rescue officer with the 176th Operations Group.
“We have to look at our operators like we look at our airplanes,” Komatsu said. “Airplanes have to be maintained all the time to keep them functional and ready for the next mission. What we’ve seen over the past 10 years of constant conflict is our group across the Air Force is in dire need of maintenance.
“We don’t have aircraft, we have people, and our people are well prepared for the mission. But until recently, we hadn’t considered maintaining our people. This is why we’re starting to see high incidences of (post-traumatic stress disorder), and emotional, mental, spiritual and physical issues.”
Komatsu said the squadron has adopted a U.S. Special Operations Command program that addresses they physical and emotional toll the job takes on its pararescuemen.
When crews return from rescue missions, even those with happy endings like the Mt. Mageik mission, there isn’t exactly a celebratory mood on the C-130 and HH-60. Kile congratulated his pararescuemen on their rapid rescue of the three people from the volcano, then attention turned to how they could have done the job more efficiently, whenever the next mission occurs..
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