. . . with the lights off

I’M standing in the rattling cockpit of the RNZAF Hercules ‘Shadow 01’, braced as ghostly green nighttime Blenheim Airport rushes toward us.

The 20-degree dive is like descending New Zealand’s steepest road, Dunedin’s Baldwin St, while strapped to a Mack truck.

But it’s OK, I’m using nightvision goggles, scoping the blacked-out runway.

The googles (NVGs), each worth tens of thousands, are helping Air Force crew work better in adverse night conditions.

Squadron head Wing Commander Andy Scott says the training exercises are designed to give crew training in situations such as making last-minute dives to avoid ground fire or coping with unlit, natural disaster hit airfields.

Security precautions mean Shadow 01’s crew can’t be named, but its six-strong team happily shows off their new goggles.

Throughout the 1000-odd km return flight to Woodbourne, near Blenheim, Shadow 01’s babyfaced captain slips in commentary – when he’s not lost in concentration.

Normal torchlight destroys night vision gear’s effectiveness so the aircrew wears tiny ‘‘finger lights’’, which dart over maps and switches as Blenheim Airport’s runway fills the NVG netherworld.

Each NVG’s retina-like sensors contain more than 6 million light receptors amplifying the tiniest shred of light.

While the flight deck crew keeps the aircraft on course, the cargo hold loadmasters practice spotting outside threats through the portholes.

The NVGs help spot the flare of missile launches and tracer gun fire arcing up.

Glances up at the engine exhaust through NVGs reveal white hot heat jetting from the Hercules’ four turboprop engines.

Back in the cockpit, Intercom chatter between pilot, co-pilot, navigator and flight engineer ramps up as another ride-along, a visiting American Air National Guard Hercules pilot from Reno, Nevada runs commentary.

"We’re descending four times as fast as a commercial airliner would.

"See that radar altimeter gauge? The navigator’s calling off altitude so we don’t go splat!" the American flier said.

A frantic tap and gesture from the American has me bracing my free hand on a cockpit seat.

We float onto the tarmac as savage braking cuts our landing to little over 300 metres, if not for his warning I’d be garnishing the cockpit dashboard.

Now that’s something 80’s kids never got flying commercial.