January 1987. A New Squadron.
We were the pioneer batch. That phrase carried weight. It meant there were no precedents, no seniors to guide us, no established procedures to follow. Everything we did would be done for the first time. Every success would become a template. Every mistake would be a lesson for those who came after.
My team, the ATE group, was assigned to the third-line repair bay, along with two other teams. Third-line meant deep maintenance—the most complex repairs, the ones that required removing systems from the aircraft and bringing them to a dedicated facility. It was the highest level of technical work in the Air Force, and it was ours.
Our new home was a bomb-proof shelter, designed to survive attacks that would level ordinary buildings. The shelter was empty when we first saw it. A shell. A promise. Nothing more. We had three weeks to turn it into a functioning repair facility. Those weeks were a blur of physical labor and logistical coordination.
Once the facilities were ready, we waited. For the arrival of the CETS.
A specialized team of personnel from Grumman Aerospace, the company that had designed and built the E-2C. Their mission: to assist us in running the squadron for the first two years of its operation. To train us, guide us, ensure that we could do the work before they left us to do it alone.
Our ATE team split into two groups. One would handle the CAT-3D, the general-purpose test system. The other would take the RADCOM, the specialized system for radar, communications, and more. I was assigned to the latter. And I was fortunate—more fortunate than I knew at the time—to be placed under the guidance of a man named Ronald Dykeman.
No comments:
Post a Comment