I was a maintenance officer hitching a flight in a navy SH-60 helicopter returning to my base at North Island Naval Air Station in San Diego. The tower put us third in the pattern to land, behind an H-3, a different kind of helicopter. Then a fast executive jet came into the pattern behind us and the tower erroneously informed him that there was one rotary wing (helicopter) H-3 ahead of him in the pattern and to keep his distance. The tower failed to mention that there were two helicopters in the pattern. The jet replied that he saw the H-3 ahead of him. We were in an SH-60 so we knew he didn’t see us and would soon be occupying our airspace (meaning BOOM!) so the pilot quickly put our SH-60 into a sort of a sideslip dive to get the heck out of the way. As I looked out my window, I could see the classic spires of the famous old Hotel del Coronado coming closer and closer. I suddenly realized we just might not pull up from our dive in time and the resultant crash into the 100 year old wood edifice would be a disaster of historical proportions. Fortunately, our pilot was a very experienced instructor pilot and managed to “flare” the helicopter just a few dozen feet above the top of the hotel roof. When we landed at North Island, instead of doing the post-flight shut down, the pilot left it to the co-pilot, literally ran to the tower and proceeded to punch out the air traffic controller who had almost killed us with his mistake. Normally, you could get court-martialed in the Navy for hitting another service member like that, but our pilot got away with it because, basically, the tower guy had it coming.
For that few seconds we were dropping like a rock towards the hotel, I thought I was a goner for sure.
I was in Destin, FL on vacation. Playing in the ocean. Decided I was going to try to swim to the sand bar. (You can walk most of the way, and never get in water above your neck, then it sort of deep for several yards, then you’re back in waist deep water when you hit the sand bar.)
I suddenly started having an exercise induced asthma attack like thing where I couldn’t exhale. I started dog paddling (trying to use the least amount of energy) to get back to the shore side sand. I literally 100% thought I was going to die.
Just remembered this one while posting in another thread:
I was stationed in Korea a while back (the South one, since everybody feels the burning need to ask), and one day I had the opportunity, along with several dozen other airmen, to go on an incentive ride in a US Army CH-47 Chinook.
If you’re not familiar with the Chinook, it is what happens when you decide to rely on brute force to defy the law of gravity. It resembles nothing so much as an ugly green school bus with two huge propellers mounted on the front and back to lift itself up in the air. Also, I didn’t so much have the opportunity as I was told that I was getting on the bus (and only on the way did I find out there was a helicopter ride in it for me. To be fair, I would have volunteered to go on the ride if they’d actually asked.)
Anyhow, about 40 of us get on the chopper (as I said, ugly green schoolbus), strap in and as the Army enlisted crew chief closes the rear ramp, the helicopter taxis out to the runway (turns out, you can’t take off from the parking ramp even if you’re a helicopter). Once they get onto the runway, they proceed to take off straight up in the air (considering that they bothered to taxi out to the runway, it amused me somewhat that they then decided not to use it after all).
The Army pilot gently rotates the Chinook this way and that, letting all of the airmen crammed into the dark cabin ooh and ahh at the tourist’s eye view of the Korean coastline and the Yellow Sea.
Then he remembered two things: 1) He’s an Army pilot. 2) He had 40 Air Force personnel crammed in the back seat, truly a captive audience if there ever was one. He then decided that he was Maverick and this was the climactic scene in Top Gun. Climbing, diving, banking sharply this way and that (a Chinook can bank far more sharply than most people would ever care to know).
I remember distinctly thinking two things over and over again:
“If I die in a helicopter crash while I’m out in Korea, my wife back home is going to kill me.”
“Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, but if you do throw up, puke on the Army crew chief’s tan boots.”
In 1968 I was running a Graves Registration Point out of Cam Ranh Bay. Received a call from the Helicopter battalion that they had one down inland in an ‘insecure’ area. That meant there would be no backup and we’d be on our own. Didn’t think much of it at the time as far as I could see every helicopter crash was insecure.
Went to the supply room and checked out one of the two M16’s and all the clips we had. Went back to my room and started cleaning the rifle and carefully wiping off each round and loading the clips. Did the same with the 45 we used for armed escorts. We’d be flying out in the morning.
I suddenly got a profound premonition that I wasn’t going coming back. Nothing specific, no fear of dying, just a strong feeling that this was it. I remember looking around the room. Didn’t have much in the way of personal effects so there wouldn’t be much for my men to collect and send back. Thought about it for about an hour or so and decided if my time was up it was up. Not much I could do about it (except worry about it).
My roommate was the CO and I advised him I would be going out first thing in the morning and went to bed. Didn’t eat dinner or breakfast (see thread about bowels letting go on dying).
The next day I took a new guy because he had mortuary experience and the other guys were in the unit because they knew a cushy job when they saw one. Big mistake, the poor guy was so scared he was practically shaking. Felt real bad about it and that took my mind off my own speculations.
Needless to say, nothing happened and I never had that premonition again.
When I had dengue fever while living up in the North. I was too sick to move, lived alone, everyone thought I’d left town like I normally do, so no help forthcoming. My temp was 104 Fahrenheit, and maybe higher but after that reading I finally could not shake the thermometer down to use it, because each shake felt like a sledgehammer in the head.
After a day or two, I started getting better, managed to come down to Bangkok and was diagnosed with dengue. I really thougth I’d bought it at the tuime.
Another time in the North, I accidentally stepped off a bridge in pitch darkness. For a fraction of a second I thought that was it too. But I landed on my back in soft mud without being impaled on anything.
September 2009, riding my motorbike through Spain and Portugal. I was headed North, the sun was beating down, and all day I had the ocean to my left, sparkling and inviting me to cool off. Late afternoon meant I was exhausted, so I scoped out somewhere to camp, whilst the ocean teased.
I rode down to the sand, jumped off the bike, no-one in sight for miles along the stretch of gorgeous beach. It was breezy, but hot, the waves were crashing onto the shore, but nothing spectacular. I ripped off my leathers, dropped them on the sand, sprinted towards the water, stark bollock naked. My helmet cam was still running, and captured my pink arse all the way to the water.
I’m in my 40s, fit…ish, a good swimmer, though no fitness freak. The waves weren’t huge, I decided that I’d be strong enough to swim through them and out…
As the first wave started to break, I had an inkling I may have misjudged. Instead of powering through the water and surfacing on the other side of the breaker like Johnny Weissmuller, I ended up going backwards…upside down…who knows. Stay calm boy, I told myself, you took a deep breath before your head went under, the water’s no more than 7’ deep. Don’t fight it, you will surface in no time…
I hit my head, rough sand, silt and pebbles in my face, ears. Great, well, at least I’m back at square one, I’ll get out and think my swim plan out again.
The ocean, however, had other plans. I was on all fours, right at the water’s edge, but the wave receded, taking me with it. I had no purchase on any of the sand, it just sucked me off (oo-er!) and above me I could see the towering peak of the next wave about to crash over me. Once again, a deep breath and the feeling of being in God’s washing machine. This time it was more violent, I had no idea which way was up, the relative cold of the water and my obvious lack of underwater breathing ability instantly cut down my confidence in being able to survive.
As others have said, I distinctly recall thinking to myself “This is how it all ends, you stupid tit. And everyone will see you drown when they find your camera on the beach…”
Um, dunno what happened just now, it posted before I finished!
Anyway, obviously I managed to haul my sorry arse out after the fourth wave had just about finished me. A lesson learned - you are only flesh and bone. No, “a man’s got to know his limitations”.
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Was taking a cab back to our hostel in Chile with a friend of mine who insisted on getting into an off-duty cab. I couldn’t let her get in on her own (we were both hammered, she moreso than me), so I got in, too. Said cab started to drive into the mountains as soon as the driver picked up his friends at a liquor store. Some guy was starting to fondle our legs when we opened the door and prepared to jump out. The driver stopped and we had to walk back to town. I was fine with that.
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Had such severe food poisoning I had seven seizures in a row because I couldn’t keep down my meds and had a dangerously high fever. I wasn’t insured so I refused to go to the hospital - I figured if I was going to die, I wasn’t going to do so in debt.
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Had a gun held to my head while walking through the parking lot to get to my car in grad school.
I also recently stepped in front of a car that was about to hit my son in the parking lot. Luckily the car stopped. I wasn’t expecting to die, though - just get my legs crushed.
That mortar attack was on August 29 ,1968 . There were 4 marines wounded. On August 28,1968 there were 7 122mm rounds ,1 kia and 4 wounded. So on the 29 we were thinking 122 mm rounds. We took 28 mortar rounds that night 1st one hit the chapel ,then Truck CO, the Sickbay, mess hall and 14 right around our hootch. A couple on the mess hall side of the hootch , one direct hit on the bunker , 2 next to the ventilation ports of the bunker, and one right in front of the shiter. I was to scared to think about dieing. I was sitting to your left in the bunker with a poncho liner wrapped around my head trying to control my hyperventilating.That’s the night I asked you for a cigarette and I started smoking !!!
Back in the early 1990’s I was with my friends band. They were playing in Abingdon, VA. I was driving a '65 Mustang at the time, so rear wheel drive, a lot of torque.
Anyway, on the way up, met my friend at the intersection of I77 and I81 and picked him up from there all the way to Abingdon. When I got off of I77, there was nothing. By the time we started back (within 20 mins), it had started to snow pretty badly. Got less than 5 miles down the interstate and the whole road was covered. We went really slowly and made it without a problem.
Fast forward to a couple of days later (I picked him up on a Friday, we left back out on Sunday). In the band house, there was no TV. We started out and all of the snow had melted by Saturday afternoon. GREAT looking day! We decide to stop at a Pizza Hut before we leave town and we stay a bit too long.
By the time we leave, it’s starting to get overcast. We head on down the road toward Pulaski, where I’m to drop him off and head on back home down 77.
As we’re going down the road, it starts to rain. My old defroster box in the Mustang had a hole in it, so it wouldn’t defrost on one side well. Anyway, the rain starts to freeze to the windshield on the drivers side. So we stop and scrape about every 15 mins or so. Still, on the road, it’s just rain…
We top over a hill and I see people putting their brakes on way ahead of me. I look and there’s a Cadillac in the opposite median that had spun out, so I figure that’s what everyone is looking at.
We’re heading down the hill and gathering speed back up. We’re in the center lane. All of a sudden, we’re in the left lane.
“Why’d you change lanes?”
“I didn’t”
I tap the brakes and we’re on a solid sheet of ice going down this hill at close to 60mph. The car starts to fishtail, but I keep it under control. Then it starts to fishtail the opposite direction - I keep it under control again.This goes on for a couple more times and then the car turns 180 degrees and we’re going BACKWARD down I81 at 60mph and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it!
I manage to get the car turned back around straight, but then it 180’s again.
This time, I’m aiming for the median.
“What are you doing? We’re gonna crash!”
“The GRASS will STOP us! Shut UP!”
I did manage to get us stopped facing the wrong way and everyone creeping by…
We finally get out of there and go 20mph the rest of the way. Took us a little over 4.5 hours to get to Pulaski and I ended up staying the night there.
Oh, and the best part?
Driving 20mph and notice something out of the corner of my eye as a car passes us and hear a grinding sound… My windshield wiper blade had flown off on the driver’s side. If you know the old Mustang, you know the wiper arms don’t retract all the way out. It was either have no wiper on the passenger side or scrape the crap outta my windshield…
I really thought we were goners that night…