An Apache pilot is sorta crash test dummy. It is common knowledge that the Apache helicopter is a “flying tank” that can take the hits and give hits back with its 30mm, 38 rockets or 8 Hellfire missiles. But what often goes unknown is that the front seater (gunner) often dies during a crash and impales their head into the dashboard of devices and TSU controls. It is an incentive to become a pilot in command and fly in the backseat where it is a little more safe…other than sitting atop a fuel cell.

Apache Adventures: The Crash Test Dummy Chronicles

In the world of military aviation, the Apache helicopter is often referred to as a “flying tank.” It’s a beast of a machine, boasting armor thicker than your great-grandma’s favorite casserole and enough firepower to make even the toughest bad guys reconsider their life choices. However, there’s one job in the Apache that no one really wants: the front seat gunner, also known as the “crash test dummy.”

Meet Lieutenant Mike “Crash” McGhee, an eager young Apache pilot who had just finished his training. He was pumped to finally get in the cockpit of an AH-64 Apache. The problem? He was stuck in the front seat, right next to the myriad of buttons, levers, and a dashboard that looked like a cross between a spaceship and a fancy coffee machine. The last thing Mike wanted was to become a human shish kebab when the helicopter inevitably hit something solid.

“Don’t worry, McGhee!” his flight instructor shouted as they prepared for takeoff. “Just remember: the Apache can take a hit. You’ll be fine!”

“Yeah, but what about me?” Mike thought, glancing nervously at the dashboard that seemed to be mocking him with its shiny, sharp edges. “If I crash, I’m basically a head-on collision with a Toyota!”

With a quick pep talk (or was it just a caffeine-induced frenzy?), Mike took to the skies, proudly wielding his 30mm cannon and an assortment of rockets like a kid with a new toy. But the moment they lifted off, the helicopter rattled and groaned like it was trying to shake him out.

“Hey, Pilot! You sure we’re not flying a jalopy?” Mike shouted over the noise, gripping the controls.

“Relax, McGhee! This baby is practically invincible!” the pilot replied, casually dodging a flock of birds as if they were merely traffic cones.

But the invincibility didn’t reassure Mike. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the only thing separating him from a very embarrassing, dashboard-related demise was a flimsy seatbelt and a whole lot of luck.

After a few loops and rolls that made Mike’s stomach question its life choices, they were cleared for a simulated attack run. “Let’s show ‘em what an Apache can do!” the pilot exclaimed, a wild grin plastered across his face.

“Yeah, let’s do that! Just, uh, try not to crash into anything, okay?” Mike squeaked, gripping the edge of his seat.

As they soared over the training grounds, the pilot locked onto a target on the ground, an oversized inflatable dummy dubbed “General Flop.” With a grin, the pilot pulled the trigger, and the cannon roared to life, sending a hail of 30mm rounds raining down.

“Take that, Flop!” he shouted, as if the inflatable had somehow offended him in the past.

But just as they were about to celebrate their airborne victory, the Apache suddenly shuddered. Alarms blared, and the cockpit lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Uh-oh,” the pilot said, and Mike could almost hear his stomach drop.

“What do you mean ‘uh-oh’?” Mike shrieked. “You’re the one flying this thing!”

With the grace of a ballerina in combat boots, the helicopter started to spiral. “I think I saw a target!” the pilot yelled, clearly more concerned with his aim than their impending doom.

“Yeah, I can see the target too! It’s right under us! And if you don’t pull up, I’m going to become a dashboard decoration!”

With a sudden yank, the pilot pulled up just in time, but not before they plummeted dangerously close to the ground, skimming over the training area like a confused ostrich. The helicopter bounced, and Mike felt himself slam into the controls.

“Great! Now I’m the crash test dummy!” he shouted, glancing at the pilot, who was laughing like a hyena.

As they leveled out, Mike’s heart raced, but his adrenaline was on fire. “You know, this whole ‘flying tank’ thing isn’t as glamorous as it sounds,” he panted.

“Just wait until you’re in the back seat! You’ll have all the fun with none of the crashing,” the pilot replied, barely containing his laughter.

After a wild ride filled with close calls and the occasional whoosh of air brushing against the dashboard, they finally returned to base. Mike stumbled out of the cockpit, his legs shaky and his hair sticking up in a way that made him look like he had just survived a tornado.

“Hey, McGhee!” a fellow pilot called out, chuckling. “How’s it feel to be the best-dressed crash test dummy in the fleet?”

“Just call me a warrior on a budget,” Mike grumbled, but a smile crept onto his face. Maybe being a gunner wasn’t all that bad. After all, he had a story that no one else could tell—he survived the chaos of an Apache, came out with all his limbs, and even managed to keep his head away from the dashboard. For now.

And as he looked at the pilot, who was still chuckling at his near-death experience, he realized that maybe, just maybe, being an Apache pilot wasn’t about avoiding crashes; it was about embracing the wild ride.

“Next time, I’m flying from the back,” he muttered, making a mental note to trade his front-row seat for a little more space between him and the dashboard. But then again, he’d probably miss the adventure. And who doesn’t love a good story about being the flying tank’s crash test dummy?

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