Sweatin’ the Small Stuff

About five years ago, I had the honor of being the Wing Commander at Charleston, South Carolina, an Air Force base that holds many of the Air Force’s C-17s. Charleston is a pretty large and active base, with about fifty aircrews and about a quarter of the wing deployed at any one time. We were currently having a forty-eight-hour exercise. I took the night shift the first night of the exercise; one, because all of the interesting things happen during the night shift and two, I had to switch off the night shifts with my deputy commander. I began my night by going down to the loading dock and talking to the aircrews and maintainers. I also went down to the far end of the base, away from absolutely everything, and talked to the fuels guys, a part of the logistics readiness squadron.

            These guys have a unique job and one that many people would not enjoy. Simply put, they are in charge of fueling up all of the maintenance trucks and aircraft that are on the base. This type of job creates a unique environment for the workers. When they are surging and filling up the airplanes, they are incredibly busy and things are very fast paced. When the planes are in the air and they have completed their postfueling checks, they normally experience quite a bit of downtime. So, naturally a job like that could become pretty boring for a majority of an all-night shift for these crews.

            I decided I was going to go down to fuels and check out the crew, make sure things were operating smoothly from their end of the base, and also just to make sure they were doing all right. Now, usually when a wing commander makes an appearance in your building, there is advance notice and the entire chain of command responsible for the performance of the unit are present. Well, it was 2:00 am, and my trip down there was a spur of the moment thing, so there was none of that.

            I casually walked into their building and subsequently into the break room, where about fifteen or so young men were sitting around, relaxing, and playing cards. They all quickly stood at attention, most of them looking surprised that I was even down there, especially at 0200. Of course, I put them at ease, and we casually chatted for about the next twenty minutes.

            We discussed a number of different things, and I also asked them a few questions. I wanted to know how was the exercise going for them, if communication was flowing out to them about the mission, what they were doing, what was going on for them, if it was busy, and how the trucks were holding up. After about twenty minutes, I left the building and continued on with my night.

            Fast-forward to six months later; I got the word that I was going out to the Air Force Academy to be the new commandant. So, as is custom at any air force base, a pilot will get a “finnie” flight (the last flight with their unit), in this case in the C-17. Typically, there is a big greeting party, the fire trucks come out when you land, and it’s a lot of fun. Needless to say, I was looking forward to it but wasn’t expecting anything extraordinary about the day; I was just hoping to share a special event with my wing during my last few days as their commander.

            Well, I completed my flight and landed on the runway like any other pilot would do on their final flight and immediately began to get hosed down by the fire trucks. All was going according to plan so far. After the fire trucks hosed my plane down, I fired the engine back up and began taxiing around the corner. When I turned the corner after taxiing in and pulled in to park (this honestly still gives me a lump in my throat even when I think about it), there, lined up, dressed and covered perfectly, was every fuel truck from the base.

            On the hood of the lead truck was an airman standing at parade rest. The moment I stopped the aircraft, they all snapped to attention and saluted. What an incredibly moving experience that was for me. It took everything I had inside of me to keep my composure together and go down to greet them, obviously wanting to thank them for making such an incredibly moving gesture. So, I got off the airplane, went down, and walked across the ramp to each one, shook their hands, and thanked them. Many of them told me, “Ma’am, we’ll never forget that you came down during the exercise.”

            To think that in my mind, I was simply going to check on some of my troops and making sure things were going okay, and talking to them like anyone else. I must admit that I did not think anything of that encounter between the days it happened until my “finnie” flight, because in my mind I was simply just doing my job. However, I will never forget the moment when I turned the corner to see all the fuels trucks lined up, perfectly dressed and covered, with every member of the fuels team out there to greet me. That story will stay with me forever, and I know that it had an impact on me because I still can’t think about it without getting a bit choked up. What they gave to me was worth tenfold to me the twenty minutes I spent with them.