From the cockpit, it looked like I was flying down a mineshaft at midnight. With the altimeter plunging from 300 feet above ground down to 200 and then 100, I strained to see anything resembling the outline of a runway. But outside, I saw a black void. No familiar shapes of trees, no brightly lit buildings, no landmarks, no nothing, nada.

Any second now - according to the plane's instruments - we'd smack the Earth. My eyes, however, disagreed. I prayed that God was co-piloting.

Without warning, the plane's tires suddenly screeched beneath us, thrust reversers and brakes howling like a thousand demons.

Fortunately for the souls aboard, aircraft commander Capt. Robert "Stevie Ray" Vaughn is a blessed man, in spite of shunning sunlight and embracing the "dark side."

He and his covert converts at Charleston Air Force Base, S.C., only come out at night, finding sanctuary in the shadows. They're members of the base's 16th Airlift Squadron, who fly specially configured C-141 Starlifter cargo jets - planes that never see the light of day, if all goes right.

The unit conducts SOLL II missions (short for Special Operations Low Level, version Two), which support special operations forces. Their intense mission profiles can involve covert, high-speed, and low-altitude force projection under the cover of darkness. Translation: They fly into dangerous locations where people might shoot at them. It's this dicey operation that's earned the 16th the nickname, "Bad to the Bone."

Charleston is one of two bases in Air Mobility Command conducting SOLL (pronounced soul) II missions. The Night Riders from Dover AFB, Del., equipped with the massive C-5 Galaxy transport, are Charleston's SOLL brothers. Both bases receive their real-world orders from the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and keep crews on alert 24 hours a day for instant response.
They augment Air Force Special Operations Command by providing airlift support in jets with greater range, speed and lift capabilities than AFSOC's organic aircraft, like the MC-130 Combat Talon. Military Airlift Command, AMC's predecessor, joined the special ops fray following the aftermath of Desert One: the April 1980 failed attempt to insert special operations forces into Tehran to rescue American hostages held by Iran.

Hide & Sneak

Just like their AFSOC brethren, SOLL II crews mustn't betray their existence or position. Hence, they sneak into no man's land, flying at treetop level under the veil of darkness. They airdrop payloads when the sun doesn't shine and land on blacked-out, impromptu runways. To navigate through the darkness, aircrews wear night-vision goggles, NVGs for short, and use a FLIR system, forward-looking infrared, both of which turn night into day.

Understand too, Charleston crews fly their missions in a 30-something-year-old, four-engine jumbo jet. Lockheed originally designed the Starlifter to ferry cargo from point A to point B, cruising at a comfortable and safe altitude of 35,000 feet. The stealth fighter, it ain't. In fact, the C-141 is about as inconspicuous as a polka band at a funeral. Consequently, bona fide SOLL II missions involve a certain amount of risk.

"It's the coolest [job] in the world. I love this stuff!" Vaughn said. "For me, it's really boring to go back to flying vanilla missions ­ having to drag eight hours across the pond. It's pretty anticlimactic."

For the moment, however, Vaughn needn't worry about getting his adrenaline fix. He gets plenty of thrills just practicing for the real deal. On a recent training flight to North Auxiliary Air Field near Columbia, S.C., Vaughn dared an observer, me, to watch the first landing of several without the night-vision goggles. It's an experience I never want to repeat. It was like driving down a winding, country road on a moonless night wearing sunglasses.

However, once I flicked on the helmet-mounted "nogs," as the goggles are nicknamed, everything became clear well, almost. Nogs hardly give you 20-20 vision. The devices, which look like a pair of stubby binoculars, cast the world in a lime-colored, specked glow. It's like watching a television with poor reception.

On the second pass over North Field, I switched the goggles on. I saw four flashing infrared beacons - invisible to the naked eye - that alerted the pilot to the location of the runway, helping him line up his approach. Called "the box," the lights were placed on the field by combat controllers - Air Force air traffic controllers with an attitude.

To accommodate the use of goggles in-flight, the Air Force converted 11 C-141s to be NVG-friendly, with two more jets on the way. The bright white displays, alarms and signals, which flare up when viewed through the goggles, were replaced with greenish-blue displays that can be read while wearing nogs and won't blind aircrews. Before the modifications, crews had to stick duct tape over the offending lights.

Other changes on these C-141s include infrared exterior lights, an NVG-viewable heads-up display, a special global positioning system, a radar warning receiver and chaff system to protect against missile attacks, and the FLIR ball, a turret-like device jutting out from the plane's underbelly near the nose.

Unlike night-vision goggles, which amplify ambient light, forward-looking infrared pierces the gloom by sensing differences in heat levels. The system doesn't rely on ambient light, can operate in total darkness, and can cut through smoke and fog. The C-141's infrared ball has a 3-mile range and 360-degree view.

"It's my window to the outside," said Capt. Celeste Sanders, radar navigator for Vaughn's crew. "Otherwise I'd be flying in the dark. Using the FLIR, I can see turn points better and often see the runway better than the pilots."

As navigator, Sanders tells pilots where to go. She instructs them when to turn, when to speed up or slow down, and directs the time over target.

"The end result is I'm responsible for us getting over the target when we're supposed to," Sanders said. Sanders said she has plus or minus 30 seconds to deliver the goods, but considers anything more than 10 seconds off sloppy. "We've got to be on the money," she said.

That's because special operations forces on the ground don't have time to search for their equipment and supplies when the enemy is breathing down their neck.

"We try to be dead on," said Capt. Dan Staley, a map navigator, "even though there's no beacon or flashing lights saying 'Drop Here!' It's just pitch black."

Because drop zones are almost invisible, SOLL II missions are more like a precision bombing run than a "trash-hauling" flight. Staley must figure out 22 computations to ensure he hits the X, taking into account wind speed, air speed, weight of the load, type of parachutes, and load placement, among other variables.

Besides two navigators, a typical crew consists of three pilots, two flight engineers, two loadmasters and two maintainers. Charleston's eight SOLL II teams are "hard crews," that is, they fly all their missions together, instead of mixing and matching.

"You've got to know what other people are thinking," said Vaughn, who leads Crew 16-6. "A SOLL mission is all about timing. It's like the Chicago Bulls. When Michael Jordan throws a no-look pass to Steve Kerr, he's got to count on him being in the right spot to take the three. It's the same sort of precision we need."

The SOLL II crews also enjoy a special relationship with Charleston's special operations maintenance experts from the 437th Aircraft Generation Squadron. The unit - whose motto is "Darkness Brings Death" - is composed of 30 aircraft repair experts in a variety of fields, all certified in two or more specialties, such as electrical systems, engines, hydraulics, communications and navigation, avionics and guidance control to name a few. For the past three years these maintainers, who fly on real-world SOLL II missions, have boasted a 100 percent reliability rate of getting their jets over the target on time.

"These are the best maintainers in the Air Force. I've seen them do some amazing things, like literally fixing a jet with an empty [aluminum] can," said Vaughn, who wouldn't elaborate on the details.

Cloak & Dagger

In fact, most SOLL II people are very secretive and tight-lipped. Most of their answers to questions about their jobs are of the "If I tell you, I've got to kill you" variety. Take this exchange with Vaughn.

Explain the SOLL II mission?

"We fly in the dark," he said.

But, I mean, how do you do it?

"We do whatever it takes."

How often?

"Whenever my beeper goes off."

Says Master Sgt. Kevin Walker, maintenance special operations superintendent, "A lot of stuff we see we can't talk about. But that's the nature of the beast. It's what makes special ops special ops."

In the rear of the jet, loadmaster Staff Sgt. Phil Manore is equally reticent about divulging details of his job. What he can say though is that tonight he'll airdrop two pallets out the back of a Starlifter as it flies 650 feet above ground at 150 knots. Like the cockpit, the cargo hold is blacked out.

"We've got to know the back of this plane inside and out in the dark, sort of like a blindfolded Marine taking apart his rifle," Manore said. "We can't be fumbling around, looking for circuit breakers when we get the green light."

'Round midnight, the C-141 sinks down from the clouds, preparing to release its payload. The jet bounces and bobs in choppy air while the four Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines groan to keep the 168-foot-long jet aloft. Vaughn tilts the nose of the Starlifter up so the pallets, resting on casters, can easily roll out the back. Then, the clamshell, cargo bay doors slowly creak open, and the cold air outside whooshes in.

When Sanders gives the word ­ "green light" ­ Manore fires two drogues, which release parachutes connected to the strapped-down skids. The chutes yank the loads out of the plane, and they float earthward, slamming down in a cloud of dirt near North Field.

Mission complete.

By the time the crew lands back at Charleston, it's nearly 2 a.m. Oftentimes, Manore said, SOLL II crews are holding their mission debrief as daytime shift workers just begin strolling in.

"They'll make jokes that we're vampires, because we're afraid of sunlight," Manore said. "But, hey, I don't mind. I like working the night shift. ..."

SPECIAL NOTE

I was pleased to see your article "Heart and SOLL" (March '98) on the Air Mobility Command special operations force. However, the article stated that Charleston is one of two AMC bases, Dover being the second, conducting Special Operations Low Level (SOLL II) missions. This is not accurate. As part of the C-141 drawdown plan, the 305th Air Mobility Wing at McGuire AFB, N.J., has been tasked to stand up the C-141 SOLL II mission as Charleston ceases C-141 operations.

Team McGuire has been an active participant in SOLL II operations since September '97. And as of this writing, McGuire has one crew supporting the mission with two more in training.

Maj. Lance J. Lindsley
McGuire AFB, N.J.