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 The MV-22 Osprey, which can tilt its rotors to fly like either a
helicopter or a fixed-wing aircraft, is delivering tons of aid every
day to people affected by the Nov. 8 storm. The U.S. military's
humanitarian effort presents a golden opportunity: The Marines want
to show how safe and versatile the Osprey is, countering critics and
helping to persuade allies to buy their own.
Anger over the decision to base the aircraft on the Japanese island
of Okinawa, the only place in Asia where they are permanently
deployed, has made the aircraft the poster boy of anti-military
sentiment there. Opponents cite noise problems and high-profile
crashes in the early days of the Osprey, though its safety record
since then has been better than any other helicopter-type aircraft.
With its unique design, the Osprey can fly faster and farther and
carry heavier loads than the helicopters it replaced.
"Anything that's different generates criticism. And the Osprey is
different," says Capt. Travis Keeney, who has been flying the
aircraft for six years. "There's nothing like it in military
history."
He's taken the Osprey to Iraq, Libya and Africa, but this is the
biggest humanitarian mission he's ever been involved in. He wants
his aircraft to shine, and his squadron has a lot to prove.
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Keeney's first orders Tuesday appear to have little to do with
humanitarian aid. His crew is told to sit tight and prepare to
transport an Israeli general.
The Osprey has proven itself in battle in Iraq and Afghanistan, and
that has gotten the attention of militaries around the world —
including Israel's.
"Everybody wants to see it," Keeney says.
But that plan is scrapped, and by 10:30 a.m., Keeney's Osprey and
five others delivering aid are on their way to a busy drop zone in
Borongan on the island of Samar. They will make as many runs as they
can to pick up and offload supplies.
Keeney's day usually goes about 12 hours — with nine or 10 in the
pilot's seat and six of actual flying. Shifts earlier in the crisis
were longer, but even now he doesn't have time for breaks. He takes
whatever food he needs with him on the Osprey. If he needs to
relieve himself, he has an empty bottle.
As the plane, now bursting with boxes of supplies from the U.S.
Agency for International Development, gets close to the disaster
zone, the crew chief lowers the back ramp, turning the rear of the
Osprey into a huge window onto the bright blue Gulf of Leyte and the
devastated Samar coastline below. The crew assesses the damage along
the way to see what other places they should try to reach.
Borongan, the first stop, was not so badly impacted, and the drop is
organized and efficient. Local men run to the Osprey, grab the boxes
and race back to the loading area. In 15 minutes, the Osprey is
airborne again.
Lifting off in an Osprey feels much like it does in any helicopter,
but when it switches to airplane mode it's much faster, zooming
forward like a jet.
Guiuan, the next stop, has suffered far more damage and is much more
hectic. It is so congested with aircraft that Keeney decides to bag
it and fly to the USS George Washington, a short hop offshore.
Within a half hour, the Osprey is refueled and back in Guiuan, with
supplies to drop off from the carrier.
From there, the Osprey flies to Tacloban, which was almost
completely flattened by the storm and has become a hub for aid
efforts.
The area around the runway has become a tent city populated by
nongovernmental organizations, military planners, emergency workers
and local people desperate for supplies or a flight out. Helicopters
buzz the skies like mosquitoes. Most of the military aircraft here
are American, but an Austrian C-130 taxis by as Keeney's Osprey
begins to load up.
Keeney takes off as soon as the plane gets more fuel and more
supplies, including 10 bags of rice. En route to Guiuan, over the
eastern Samar town of Salcedo, Keeney sees a distress signal spelled
out on the ground.
He decides to make a quick drop.
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As soon as the ramp goes down in LZ Salcedo, dozens of men, women
and children rush the plane, ignoring instructions from the crew.
They climb on board and fight each other to get the bags of rice.
This is what crew chief Michael Anthony Marin was told wouldn't
happen — that the chaotic early days of the aid effort were over.
This is his first flight since getting to the Philippines, and his
first real-world operation as a Marine.
"I was scared as hell," the 27-year-old says later. "You could see
the desperation in their eyes. I was worried about the safety of my
crewmembers."
Fearing the situation could get out of control, the crew cranks up
the Osprey's propellers, creating a deafening roar and a strong
rotor wash on the ground. With no more rice to grab and the wind on
the ground making it hard even to stand upright, the crowd disperses
and the Osprey flies off.
The next stop is only about a mile away. This time, townspeople run
to the plane, form a chain gang and quickly offload the USAID boxes
— no panic, no fighting.
"I guess a situation like this just brings out the best and the
worst in people," Marin says. "You want to keep them going, but
there is only so much you can do."
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It's just after 7 p.m. Keeney is tired and sweaty after the day's
run, and disappointed about the morning delay.
"We got out, conservatively, about 3,600 pounds of supplies today,"
he says. "We had six Ospreys flying, so altogether that's about
25,000 pounds. But we could have done a lot more if we had had that
extra time."
About two weeks after the typhoon, Marines say things are improving.
Maj. Brian Psolka, the operations officer for the Keeney's Osprey
squadron, VMF-265 of the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Battalion, says
that roads previously inaccessible to ground transport have opened
up, so the Ospreys are under less pressure to make drops outside of
the more established landing zones, like Guiuan and Tacloban. He
said mob scenes like the one at LZ Salcedo are now rare because
logistics and civil order have improved significantly.
Rebuilding will take a long time, but a degree of stability is
beginning to return to the millions affected by the monster storm,
which killed at least 4,011 people, left more than 1,600 missing and
displaced hundreds of thousands more who went days without basic
necessities.
"We hope they get back on their feet as soon as possible," Psolka
says, adding that the Ospreys will leave as soon as the Philippines
government says they are no longer necessary. He also says he is
convinced that the Ospreys have proven their mettle, delivering more
supplies and moving more people to otherwise inaccessible places
than would have been possible with regular helicopters or fixed-wing
aircraft.
Marin, the crew chief, is ready to stay as long as needed despite
his "crazy" first day.
"I've been in the Marines for three years," he said as he smoked a
post-mission cigarette outside the hangar. "It's always training,
training, training. Sometimes you wonder why you do it. Then
something like this happens and it puts everything into perspective.
We prove ourselves by doing something like this."
[Associated
Press; ERIC TALMADGE]
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