In honor of women’s history this month I am releasing the story I am calling Phantom Rescue: The True-Life Story of Coast Guard Aviation Rescue Swimmer Kelly Mogk-Larson It’s the early morning of January 3, 1989, and Air National Guard flight officer’s 2nd Lieutenant Michael G. Markstaller and 1st Lieutenant Mark A. Baker from the 123rd Fighter Interceptor Squadron, The Redhawk’s, begin their preflight inspection of the Vietnam era F4C Phantom 2 fighter jet they were assigned. They are one of two flights taking off for a routine military training mission. The smell of jet fuel is in the cold windy air as they fire up their F4 Phantoms. It’s a routine morning for the Air National Guard pilots from the Oregon National Guard. As part of their preflight briefing they are informed that the air temperature is near freezing, 33° Fahrenheit, or 0.5° Celsius, with high winds, 18 to 20 mph, or 29 to 32 kmh, with gusts up to 25 mph or 40 kmh, and a cloud deck at 15,000 feet, or 4500 meters, with a 100 foot, or 30 meter, ceiling for takeoff. As part of today’s flight operation, their training mission is combat flight maneuvers, or in aviation terminology, dog fighting. The flight was proceeding as expected. While conducting basic flight maneuvers, all conditions were normal, when suddenly, the engine failed at 18,000 feet. The pilot, 2nd Lieutenant Michael G. Markstaller, reported a catastrophic engine failure, specifically a compressor stall, followed by an unrecoverable fire and loss of control. In the F-4C, an engine fire at that altitude and air speed can quickly compromise the hydraulic lines, rendering the aircraft a "flying brick." The pilot, 2nd Lt. Michael G. Markstaller attempts to eject, but the ejection isn’t working. He calls out to his WSO (weapons officer), 1st Lt. Baker, who then pulls the ejection handle, initiating a dual sequence ejection, throwing them both violently into the air away from their aircraft. The force of the ejection, throwing 2nd Lieutenant Michael G. Markstaller out of the F4 phantom. As he exits the cockpit it breaks his right arm and breaks his left leg and he severely separates his shoulder. Then automatic chute deploys and sends 2nd Lieutenant Michael G. Markstaller with a jerk as the parachute deploys and he descends through the 15,000-foot cloud layer unable to see anything till he hits 100 feet where the cloud layer breaks and he splashes into the frigid 50° ocean. The survival rate at this temperature is very low. Their wingman in the second F4 confirms seeing two parachutes deploy but loses sight of the two aviators as they enter the cloud layer at 15,000 feet. This is the true-life story of Coast Guard, Aviation Survivalman, and Rescue Swimmer Kelly Mogk. Petty Officer Kelly Mogk later became known as Kelly Mogk-Larson. For this story, I’ll refer to her by her name at the time: Kelly Mogk. Petty Officer Kelly Mogk graduated from Aviation Rescue Swimmer program the same year I did, 1986. So even though she was a Coast Guard Aviation Rescue Swimmer, she graduated when the Coast Guard relied on the Navy’s Aviation Rescue Swimmer program in Pensacola Florida. This was back when it was the real deal, the instructors still put their hands on you. Training was life or death. We trained worst case scenarios. Some of the men with the biggest bravado quit just seeing what the training in the pool was like. There were two female candidates in my class, they were held to the exact brutal standards as the men. I could argue they may have had it harder as they attracted the attention of the instructors. Just like myself and other candidates, you are constantly told you are not good enough, you’ll never make it. And to some candidates that’s enough to get in their head and convince them to quit. But the thought of quitting was never a thought that crossed Mogk’s mind. She knew she was going to make it. In a public interview with LaGuardia-Kotite she was quoted as saying “What gave me my determination was everybody telling me I was going to fail.” You are in grueling conditions where you could lose your life. The attrition rate for Navy aviation rescue swimmers was and still is higher than for the Navy SEALs buds training. This was the same year we lost a swimmer candidate during training. This was the year they still did what was called “sharks and daisies” an exercise in water fighting maneuvers that was later banned. So, anybody who made it through this program back then was a true bad ass. This is the story of Petty Officer Kelly Mogk’s most documented rescue. Petty Officer Kelly Mogk embodies the Silent Service code of the Navy and Coast Guard Aviation Rescue Swimmer and that’s why I want to spread her story and awareness about this community. At the Astoria Oregon Coast Guard Air Station The call comes in. They immediately deployed two Alert status HH65 Dolphin rescue helicopters. The crew for both search and rescue helicopters scramble, grabbing their gear and getting to the alert helicopters. An “alert helo” is a helicopter that has had a pre-flight inspection completed and is on the tarmac in one of three alert statuses, 5-, 15-, or 30-minute alert status. In 5-minute alert, the engines are running, the crew is on board, but the helicopter’s rotor blades are not spinning. In 15-minute alert status the helo is on the tarmac ready to start and the crew is standing at the ready, or sitting, in the ready room, or also known as the flight briefing room. 15-minute alert is the most likely status of the crews when the call comes in. Petty Officer, Kelly Mogk grabs her SAR bag with her rubbers in it, her dry suit, her fins, her mask, her rescue harness and her SAR One survival vest. As she runs to the helo and once aboard the helicopter, Petty Officer Mogk has every possible scenario running through her head as she gathers the information while she’s also donning her gear. The rescue helo takes off and at 115 knots they begin the flight directly to the scene in the North Pacific Ocean about 100 miles off the coast of Portland Oregon. In route, rescue helicopter number one suffers a rescue hoist failure and is forced to return to base. This now makes the second helo with rescue swimmer, Kelly Mogk, at the ready, the primary rescue helicopter. Aboard the helicopter, the rescue swimmer only has minutes to prep while also donning the dry suit for these severe temperatures. Finally putting on her rescue fins and scooting to the cargo door entrance, the sound of the helicopter’s turbine engines and rotor, screaming in the swimmers unprotected ears as she waits and is ready for deployment. Rushing through the swimmer’s head is every possible scenario based on the information that came in over the ICS radio, Inflight Communication System, that could possibly be going on while they get on scene. The first crewman and swimmer stationed at the cargo door spot the first survivor it’s obvious they are tangled and under their parachute. The helicopter enters a rescue hover pattern. Kelly and the first crewman see the first survivor as they look out the cargo door and approach the survivor coming to a hover above him. The swimmer feels three firm taps on her shoulder, and the first crewman hollers “JUMP, JUMP, JUMP!” The swimmer makes one final look out the cargo door and below her to confirm she is not jumping onto any debris, then she jumps! The helo crew deployed the swimmer at 15 feet into 20-foot swells with waves capping at two to three feet. The frigid water sends the body into an automatic physiological response that you can’t help but your focus is on the rescue. You don’t take your eyes off the survivor as you approach and you’re assessing the situation. Petty Officer Mogk realizes the pilot is tangled in his parachute with his raft inflated. Her training kicks in. This is straight out of rescue swimmer school training; a pilot trapped in his parachute at risk of being drug underwater. She immediately goes into rescue procedures. She dives under the waves and below the survivor and at 120 pounds she holds this 200-pound man above her as she’s under the water holding her breath and detangling him from his parachute. This wasn’t an easy task. She struggled against these parachute lines, ripping and cutting them away from the broken body of Lieutenant Mark Stoller. When clearing a survivor from a collapsed parachute in the ocean is extremely dangerous for the survivor and the rescuer. The parachute is at risk of being filled with water and acting as a sea anchor pulling the survivor under the water or through the current. So, in this case the rescue swimmer dives under the parachute and the survivor, she grabbed the survivor from underneath the water by his flight suit. With one arm she grips his suit and harness along the length of his spine. She works from head to toe using her free arm and hand to sweep along the survivor’s body. She works to free the lines and the parachute from the survivor’s head, then arms, then legs. This requires coming up for air many times and holding your breath for over a minute each time. Sometimes for a couple minutes and longer as you keep sweeping the body freeing it from the entangled parachute. For 60 minutes she did this, struggling against the battering of waves and frigid water temperatures with hypothermia setting in. She must get him out of the water soon, but her hands are getting numb. She even takes her gloves off to help in detangling the parachute lines from the legs and body. She keeps working and keeps working. “At one point halfway through I reached over and squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. That was a good sign.” “I kept talking to him to let him know that someone was there.” The HH-65 Dolphin battles 20-foot swells. The rotor wash creates a blinding mist of saltwater. Below, ASM3 KELLY MOGK is a tiny speck of orange against a charcoal-gray ocean. After 60 mi
