by Dan Emmett
As I sat watching the movie selected by our shift leader and drinking a Coke, the engines of the airplane began to spool up, and we began to move. AF-1 taxied for what seemed a long time as it moved down the taxiway toward the end of the runway. I looked out my window and saw CAT move back and into its trail position to protect us from unwanted attention while on the ground; I hoped they would stay back far enough not to lose another windshield.
We moved directly onto the runway after being cleared for immediate takeoff by the tower and began the takeoff roll. The engines came up to full power, and their combined thrust pushed us back in our seats as we continued to accelerate down the runway. We were picking up speed very quickly but still lumbering down the runway as only this gigantic plane could lumber. Upon reaching the required speed, the pilot rotated the nose, and up we went into the night sky. Sitting toward the rear of the plane, it seemed as if we were going straight up as we heard the motors that powered the flaps and landing gear push them into the up position and then heard the solid “bump” of the landing gear doors closing. We were in the air, and I was now flying for the first time on Air Force One.
As comfortable as it was to fly on Air Force One, an agent was still technically working and was expected to be able to respond to an emergency if necessary. Also, Service protocol dictated that an agent should remain as alert and professional on Air Force One as in the White House. Consequently, one could never really relax during these flights. On this flight, as would be the case on many others, as we watched our movie, I looked and saw President Clinton standing in our section preparing to move into the next compartment in order to conduct an impromptu media session. Our shift leader opened the door separating us from the media, and the president went in, with the shift leader trailing. After the president answered a few questions from the White House traveling press, he moved back through our compartment, where he stopped briefly to offer some friendly words to our shift before returning to his compartment.
In a while, the sound of the engines lessened, and the plane’s nose began to drop. This was the obvious sign that we had begun our descent, and it was our signal to start getting ready. For security reasons, such as avoiding shoulder-fired heat-seeking missiles, AF-1 always came in at a fairly steep rate of descent, and the pilot got the plane on the ground as soon as possible. On this, my first flight in AF-1, I was still putting on my jacket when the main landing gear hit the runway. It was dark and I was a bit startled when we landed, not realizing how close we were to the ground.
The entire shift was up and walking around while the pilot braked and went to reverse thrusters. We were bouncing and staggering around as if we were riding a rough section of train track. The plane had no sooner braked to a halt than our rear door was opened by a crew member and we ran down the stairs and out into the waiting night to protect the president of the United States. I had completed my first ride on an HMX-1 helicopter and Air Force One as a full-fledged member of the Presidential Protective Division.
REVERENT RUSSIANS AND FLYING IN THE BACKUP
As I noted earlier, there are two identical VX-25s, or 747s, outfitted for POTUS travel. Within the United States we usually only took one. On overseas flights we always took both of them, with one designated as the primary and the other as the backup. We took two because we needed the room to transport extra staff. And, in the highly unlikely event that the primary had mechanical difficulties, POTUS could easily switch to the backup.
On the same trip to Russia in 1993 on which I saved the staffer from Yuri, my shift had completed its assignment, and, rather than fly home commercial, we were lucky enough to be manifested on the backup plane. We were all dead tired after a week of protecting President Clinton in the streets of Moscow, Kiev, and other cities around the old Soviet Union, where he would frequently stop the motorcade, get out, and move among the Russians. The people were dumbfounded that an American president would be so open to them, as were we agents. We did, however, have the distinct advantage of being in a country not long out of the grip of Communism. In those days, people still automatically and without question moved when a security official said to move.
We were driving through the streets of Moscow on the way to the airport. Our shift was due to relinquish its responsibilities to another shift, and they would fly home on AF-1 with POTUS. We were feeling pretty good, although tired, heading for the homestretch on this marathon trip. Suddenly President Clinton ordered the driver of his limo to stop. I was in the follow-up vehicle with the rest of my shift when we saw the limo’s brake lights illuminate and the giant car begin to slow. We then heard the voice of the detail leader call out, “Halfback from Stagecoach, Eagle wants to work the crowd”—Eagle being President Clinton.
As the cars halted, the detail leader emerged from the right front seat of the limo as we on the shift moved quickly to our positions. The detail leader opened the right rear door, from which President Clinton emerged into the freezing Moscow air. We went to our designated formation, working the president very tightly.
As we moved toward the large crowd now surrounding the motorcade in the street, we expected to be mobbed. Rather than swarming us, however, everyone who had been moving on the busy streets of Moscow began to quietly move to the sidewalks and stand motionless and mute. What the hell?
The hell was that as soon as we had stopped, a large, fierce group of men, many of whom looked like Dolph Lundgren from Rocky IV, materialized. Almost stereotypically Russian, they wore greatcoats, traditional big furry hats, and large boots. They were also armed with SKS carbines and AK-47 rifles. These men looked like pure evil, with cadaver-pale skin and blank, expressionless faces. They scarcely had to speak in order to control the crowd. Perfect crowd control—no muss, no fuss. Many of these people remembered the bad old days when to disobey a policeman, or even to move too slowly when given a command, could result in a beating, imprisonment in the famous Lubyanka prison, run by the KGB, or worse.
President Clinton shook hands with the people who stood reverently on the sidewalk. We knew, however, that the only thing standing between a mob scene and us were these Russian policemen, whom the masses were obviously terrified of.
President Clinton finally seemed to grow tired of shaking hands with the Russian citizenry—or perhaps he realized Russians couldn’t vote in American presidential elections—and he returned to his limo. As we began moving back to the follow-up vehicle, I walked past one of our evil protectors. This one had the face not of Dolph Lundgren but of Lurch from The Addams Family. He extended his large gloved hand halfway to shake mine, and I returned the gesture without hesitation.
We arrived back at the airport and pulled up next to Air Force One, where our relief shift met us and immediately took over. We gratefully acknowledged the passing of the human baton known as POTUS and started heading over to the backup plane parked about fifty yards in front of us. On the way, I spotted a familiar figure adorned in boots and a full-length greatcoat: It was my wife, who was on the trip as an interpreter. Prior to boarding the plane, I was able to say a few brief words to her. I think I asked her if she had remembered to unplug the iron in the laundry room at home before she left for Russia. Then a quick kiss good-bye and back to work. She would be returning to the United States via commercial aircraft, and I would see her again in a day or two. Being married to another Secret Service agent was never dull.
After giving our names to the air force sergeant at the bottom of the stairs, we staggered on board, numb from the cold and bone tired. Upon collapsing in our seats, we were greeted by the always cheerful air force steward, who offered the usual Cokes as well as beer. Since we were now off shift and POTUS was not onboard, we were free to relax as if we were flying first class on British Airways. For any taxpayer who might wonder, we paid for all meals and drinks ourselves.
FLYING THE PRESIDENT’S CARS
When POTUS travels out of Washington aboard Air Force One, his limousines travel via air force transport. Although both aircra
ft are operated by the US Air Force, there is a world of difference in the ride.
During the 1980s and 1990s, Lockheed C-5 Galaxies and C-141 Starlifters were used to fly the presidential cars. Both of these giants were designed to move entire military units and all of their equipment anywhere in the world quickly. They were also perfect for moving presidential limos and support vehicles, along with legions of personnel, anywhere in the world. The 141s carried the basic package of spare limo, limo, and follow-up. The C-5s carried six to eight vehicles and were used more on overseas flights.
The C-5, in addition to carrying major cargo, can also carry passengers, with an upstairs deck containing ninety-plus airline-type seats. In addition to delivering the POTUS vehicles to where they needed to go, it was also the most economical way to transport the many agents needed to stand post on the middle perimeter of a POTUS event. For the cars, it was a great way to go; for an agent flying the C-5 or C-141, it was always misery, which one learned through experience how to adapt to.
Old and worn-out, first by constant use in the Vietnam War, then by constant use in Desert Storm, the 141s should have been retired to the desert storage area in Arizona years before, but the C-17, which was to replace the C-141, had yet to go operational in sufficient numbers to help our mission. As a result, the tired C-141 by necessity flew onward in support of the president.
The 141s were noisy and slow, and the temperature inside was impossible to control. From your feet to your knees, you were numb with cold. From your knees on up, you were burning alive. Earplugs were necessary to avoid permanent hearing loss, although I did not escape that damage due to these and other loud noises, much to the annoyance of my wife, who has to yell at me in a noisy setting to be understood.
Another downside to the 141s was that they always broke, thankfully never in the air, but usually when you really needed to go somewhere in a hurry. It was more common than not for a replacement bird to be flown in from the closest base and the cars and people moved from the broken-down plane to the one that could still fly.
On one memorable landing, we hit the runway hard—very hard. The three armored vehicles were straining at their chains, and everyone was thinking about what would happen if one broke loose. Even though we had no window to look out of, it was obvious that we were going faster than the normal landing speed. The brakes were squealing, and we could smell them burning. Thankfully, we finally came to a stop, and the pilot turned off the runway onto the taxiway.
I spoke to the aircraft commander after we shut down, as the rear end of the plane was opened to disgorge the cars. He was happy to talk about what had happened, because he was obviously proud of having kept us from crashing. It seems we almost ran off the end of a runway while landing because the power bus that operated the flaps failed. With no flaps to help slow our airspeed during final approach, we landed at too high a speed. The talented young captain managed to get the mammoth airplane stopped just before going into the weeds.
There were other close calls as well, but no actual crashes of the 141 with Secret Service personnel or cars onboard. In spite of its mechanical glitches due to old age, only 22 of 285 were lost due to accidents during its entire service life, an incredible safety record for hours flown.
The routine to get the cars on the planes and into the air was standard. The day of the lift, several Secret Service personnel from PPD transportation section would meet at the main Secret Service vehicle garage, where all protection vehicles are stored and maintained. In the 1990s the facility was located at the Washington Navy Yard. The current state-of-the art facility is at a classified location, although Joan Lunden and her camel have been there.
All three vehicles—limousine, spare limousine, and follow-up—would depart the garage together en route to Andrews Air Force Base. Before leaving the garage, the checklist of items to be carried in each vehicle was verified, such as the proper number of Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns, radios, first aid kits, and so forth. After confirming that all equipment was in the vehicles, the package departed the garage and made its way to Andrews, where the cars were driven onto the plane.
The air force load master of the crew always did a perfect job of chaining the cars down securely, but it was the responsibility of the designated agent to drive the limo to ensure it was done correctly. It always was, and the checking of tie-downs by the agent was always a mere formality. The proper securing of the cars was absolutely critical. Should one come loose at anytime in the flight, especially during takeoff or landing, the monsters would crush people and cause damage, possibly causing the loss of the aircraft.
Fuel could not exceed one-half tank in the cars to be flown because of the sloshing about of the fuel during times of turbulence and the expansion of air inside the fuel tanks at altitude would cause spillage. Occasionally the level of fuel was incorrect, and those sitting too near would suffer nausea from the smell of gasoline fumes.
When the Secret Service was aboard their airplanes, the air force always went the extra mile to be as accommodating as possible. To ride in a C-141 Starlifter or even the newer C-5 Galaxy was uncomfortable at best for overseas flights lasting ten or more hours, and we always appreciated the courtesy and professionalism of the Military Airlift Command.
After takeoff, we would walk around the airplane and visit with each other, while those who discreetly brought their own beverages onboard would indulge in quiet moderation to help the sleep process. After tiring of yelling over the noise of the engines, we would return to our seats, which were either standard airline seating that could be put in or taken out on pallets depending on the mission or—God forbid—the dreaded nylon web sling seats that folded down from the longitudinal axis of the airplane. Eventually everyone would try to sleep for a while until arriving at the next location.
Sleep did not come easily going to our destinations but coming back to the United States, everyone always went out immediately. Going back to my marine days, I could always sleep anywhere, either sitting up or lying down. One did not lie down to sleep on the floor of a car plane, however—it could be fatal.
These airplanes were very cold close to the floor. There was virtually no insulation between the thin skin of the airplane and the subzero outside air temperature. Returning from one overseas trip, an agent lay down in the aisle to get some sleep. He did sleep, almost forever. While sleeping on the freezer-temperature floor, his body lost a great deal of heat, and he suffered hypothermia. He was discovered shivering uncontrollably, and the airplane had to land as soon as possible in order to get him to a hospital. Had the air force not done such a great job of getting the plane to an alternate landing field where the agent could receive immediate attention, he would not have survived.
A FLYING TREASURE SHIP
There were two major advantages to flying the car plane on overseas trips. One was that you did not have to bother with the annoying process of clearing foreign customs and immigration, as the American Embassy handled that formality. The other was that it provided the perfect means of getting all of your shopping items, no matter how bulky, back to the United States. Once you got your purchases back to the plane, the air force would load them all for you as long as nothing was alive, illegal, or potentially harmful to the plane, crew, and passengers.
Many places we visited around the world offered excellent shopping at great prices. In places such as Korea, the Philippines, and Europe, there were great deals on almost any item you could think of. In some countries, you could buy anything from machine guns to people. Of course, we stuck to things that would be legal to have in the United States. We were, after all, federal law enforcement officers who valued our great jobs. No one was going to risk losing that job trying to smuggle contraband back home.
On one trip, an agent brought home an entire brass bed. Another lugged home enough wine to keep him from going to the package store for quite some time. Most of us settled for smaller things we could carry on the plane or store in one of the cars transported o
n the plane. In CAT, we usually took our own Suburban on overseas trips. The vehicle would be loaded up with all types of great merchandise acquired while on the trip.
CAT always became instantly popular on such trips, as everyone wanted to use our truck to store their purchases. We were all in this together, so we usually allowed other agents the use of the truck, unless by team vote it was decided that for any number of reasons the person making the request should not be allowed to use it. The criteria included, first and foremost, whether the person was a CAT hater or CAT supporter. In a case where the supplicant was voted to be a CAT hater, he would be told that there was no room for his purchases. Once such a decision had been made, there was no possibility of reversing it other than by unanimous team vote.
On one such occasion after we rendered our opinion, a rebuffed agent became indignant, claiming that the truck did not belong to us but to the government, and that he could store his things in it if he wanted. We, in turn, reminded this young GS-7, who still had wet ink on his graduation diploma from agent school, that while the truck technically belonged to the government, it was assigned to CAT. He stormed away, mumbling something about CAT guys, and found storage for his items elsewhere.
Upon our return to Andrews Air Force Base we would clear customs with our purchases just like other international travelers, then head to our homes, where we would present our latest acquisitions to our significant others. The responses to some of these purchases did not always go as expected.
