Courtesy Photo | Chief Warrant Officer Ben Bower, a pilot with 1st Squadron, 17th Cavalry, Combat...... read more read more
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CAMP RAMADI, Iraq — Montana has always supplied more than its share of its sons and daughters to carry weapons into war for its country. Perennially in the top ten for per-capita recruitment, no other state has watched more of its citizens make the ultimate sacrifice for Operation Iraqi Freedom but one (Vermont).
Montanans understand freedom and liberty—they exist as ores in the unbelted land and the cold clear streams and the fenceless skies. Montana is also a state of hunters, many of whom learned in early youth about firearms.
"Before I could really walk, my dad would throw me on his back and we'd go 'hunting,'" said Chief Warrant Officer Ben Bower, aviation tactical-operations officer for the 82nd Airborne's Devil Brigade of paratroopers currently deployed in Al Anbar province, Iraq. "I'd scare away everything, but he'd always make time to take us kids with him."
Bower's first rifle, a Winchester lever-action .25-35, was, in a way, like the armaments on the Bell OH-58 "Kiowa" scout helicopters that he pilots. There were bigger guns and faster guns, but for quick firing from small bodies in tight places, the .25-35 was a lovely piece of equipment. Like their father, Bud, Ben and his sister, Carmella, took their first deer with that rifle.
Bud was a hunting guide in the Bob Marshall Wilderness back in the early 1970s, later moving into construction. He would pack up the family, drive east over the Continental Divide to hunt Montana's "Big Sandy" for a week. "We'd hunt deer at dusk and dawn, and chase antelope in the afternoon. We'd have just a blast," Bower said. In his teen years, father and son would hunt in the mountains for elk.
Like many Montana boys, Bower loved hunting and guns, but it was never about the guns. "I can't just stay in the valleys all the time. I have to be in the high country," he said. Lust to see over the next ridgeline took him briefly into the Navy and around the world, and eventually to his other passion, flying. That led him to the Army.
"The Kiowa is the most down and dirty airframe that the Army has," said Bower of the two man helicopter he flies. "You're the lowest and slowest, in the dirt with the guys on the ground. The crusty old infantry guys just love Kiowa pilots because we're the only guys who get low enough to shoot bad guys from the door with our M-4s."
"In the Apache, you're flying in a bathtub of armor. In the Kiowa, you're flying a soda can to a gunfight. It's scary but you have your speed and agility," he says.
Bower initially learned to fly airplanes in his hometown of Kalispell, Mont., from a well known backcountry pilot. The Army taught him to fly helicopters.
"There's nothing right about a helicopter flying, but it's a beautiful thing because you can do so much with it," said Bower.
Back home, it is hunting season. Dad emailed about a recent hunt for whitetails. At Camp Ramadi, Bower notices a silhouette in a field that looks oddly like a deer and resists the urge to range-find it with his weapon's scope. Then he remembers he's not carrying a rifle this deployment, only a 9mm pistol.
The Montanan is part of an Army unit recently retooled to enable Iraqis to fight and win their own peace. It is called an advise and assist brigade, and his unit, the legendary "Devils in Baggy Pants," the 1st Brigade, 82nd Airborne Division Advise and Assist Brigade, is the first of its kind to stand up in Iraq. In August 2009, 3,500 paratroopers began to flow into Al Anbar province, home to some of the most vicious fighting of the Iraq war. His post is on the edge of the provincial capital, Ramadi, former stronghold of Al Qaeda in Iraq.
Bower's job this go round is to advise his command on the use of combat helicopters. It's a planner's job that draws well on his experience as a seasoned pilot and accomplished outdoorsman, always providing for contingencies in spades.
"But if you're an adrenalin junky — and many Montanans are — flying a desk really sucks," he said.
Flying an Army combat helicopter, however...
During Bower's last deployment in 2007, much of Iraq was still in turmoil.
"We had just arrived at forward operating base Diamondback near Mosul in northern Iraq, and I was flying on the outskirts of the city when I saw two boys that looked like brothers playing in a yard. I waved. The boy in front was angry and began throwing rocks, but his brother behind him was smiling and waving. When the boy in front saw that, he turned around and began throwing rocks at his brother. That was Iraq back then."
As part of 1st Squadron, 17th Cavalry, Bower and his companion pilots flew hundreds of dangerous scout and reconnaissance missions in and around Mosul over a 12-month tour.
"As a hunter, he was well prepared for combat," Bower said. "If you think like a deer, you'll be very successful. It's the way I was raised, close to the land."
"The aircraft is very loud, so you're always thinking about your noise signature. You're always using the art of deception. It's like hunting as part of a team. You've got somebody down in the creek bushwhacking and guys on the ridge sides waiting for the deer to come out."
On Christmas Day 2006, a couple of Kiowas flew into a bad part of town to support ground troops and were ambushed. One pilot was shot in the arm, and one helicopter was shot up so bad it had to be sent back to the States to be completely rebuilt.
Bower took the place of the wounded pilot. A few nights later, he and his "hunting buddy," Chief Warrant Officer Cody Pearson, were hunting along a road for insurgent mortar crews when Bower noticed flickers of light below his wingman's bird. In a land of unstable electricity, it was a common sight at night.
"All of the sudden, I could hear and see red tracers envelope his aircraft," said Bower.
"I'm taking fire!" called Pearson over the radio.
Several hundred feet above, Bower nosed over for attack as Pearson took evasive action. Bower was about to light up a courtyard with 2.75-inch air-to-ground rockets, when Pearson called again. His Kiowa was low on oil pressure.
Disappointed, Bower broke off the attack to escort Pearson back to the base, a standard procedure, but he made note of the surrounding landscape — something he learned to do hunting in the hills of Montana — in case they were able to return.
Suddenly, Pearson called back. The helicopter was okay, likely momentarily thrown out of equilibrium by his sharp maneuvering.
Bower wheeled his Kiowa Warrior around. "Aerobatic flight is prohibited by the Army," he said, "but I put my aircraft right up to the limits of what I was allowed to do."
More deadly red lights flickered up from the house. From an altitude of 700 feet, he attacked. He dove and fired seven rockets. They smoked into the courtyard and bloomed in brilliant flashes of light. Pearson followed him with more shots. The muzzle flashes ceased.
Today, inside the blast walls of Camp Ramadi, Bower sees a donkey tied to a building. It reminds him of growing up outside of Eureka, Mont., and of Shortcake, his pet. Neighbors knew Shortcake as the giant donkey with the ghoulish brow, who chased cars with the dogs, ears pinned back and braying. Five year old Bower would climb the donkey by grabbing its ears, walking up to the face and sliding down its neck.
Here on the edge of the Syrian Desert, the donkey brings him dreams of hunting camps packed in on Shortcake's back to some remote mountain paradise, and campfires with old friends, where lies are swapped for the 100th time. On his computer, the chief has a folder with pictures, some of Montana and some of hunting, and others of his wife, son and daughter.
Beyond this deployment, perhaps there will be a day with his kids and the old lever-action .25-35 chasing bucks out on the Big Sandy. It will have to be soon before the "last best place" looks like California, still nice, but a different place. The economic development is bittersweet.
He brushes the ubiquitous Iraqi sand from his aviator's fatigues, from his ears, neck and brow.
One last story — this one about combat night landings on the Syrian border — the "dustouts" from his rotor wash not that different from blizzards back home, making night so black that even night-vision goggles didn't help...
Big Sandy, indeed.
| Date Taken: | 10.24.2009 |
| Date Posted: | 10.24.2009 05:51 |
| Story ID: | 40612 |
| Location: | RAMADI, IQ |
| Web Views: | 850 |
| Downloads: | 686 |
This work, Montana Kiowa pilot calls on hunting past, by SGT Mike MacLeod, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
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