This article pays tribute to the 24 paratroopers who passed away in the Green Ramp tragedy on March 23, 1994, at the former Pope Air Force Base
At around 300 feet above the ground, an F-16D and a C-130E collided in midair to start the disaster. The F-16 pilot tried to recover the aircraft after impact by using a full afterburner, but the plane started to break apart and spat debris onto the runway and the road that circled it. The two F-16 crew members ejected, but their craft proceeded to fly in an arc toward Green Ramp while still in full afterburner.
A large fireball was created when the F-16 wreckage collided with it and continued on a path that brought it right into the area where a group of 82nd Airborne Division paratroopers was standing and sitting. The fireball was caused when the F-16 wreckage punctured the fuel tanks of a C-141’s right wing.
According to The Fayetteville Observer, a fireball filled with debris that had a diameter of around 75 feet tore through the ready soldiers.
The vast majority of the soldiers missed the crash. But they did hear it.
The chaplain of the 525th Military Intelligence Brigade, Capt. Gerald K. Bebber, reported the jet’s high-pitched shriek at full throttle giving way to a deep resonating thud before the enormous explosion.
“I recognized the sound from my experience in battle in Desert Storm. As soon as I could think this, a great roaring rush of fire entered my sight above and to the left of the packing shed. It was at tree-top level, slanting down as it gushed into the mockup area at terrific speed… The flame came through the tops of the trees that stood in a small open area beside the pack shed. In the torrent of flame, I saw pieces of wreckage and machinery hurtling along. As the torrent rushed in I could hear cries of alarm, curses, and someone yelling “run” from the mock-ups. The fire blast crackled as it blasted in, and at its sides, it curled outward as it went forward. I was standing perhaps thirty feet beside the edge of the blast and could see eddies of the flame curling out toward me. I turned and ran from the flame, to just beyond the right end of the pack shed, where . . . I no longer felt the intense heat, so I stopped. To my left, out on the aircraft ramp, now in my line of sight, I could see a parked C-141 engulfed in flames. It was the left one of a pair of C-141s parked there.”
As the flames drew to Green Ramp, the paratroopers dispersed.
Some positioned themselves behind protective metal containers to brace themselves. Some went in the other direction. Others found safety. majority didn’t. Soldiers who fell to the ground and rolled out of the way of the flames fared better.
Those who attempted to run were either too slow, fell over machinery, or had nowhere to go. The soldiers who were fortunate enough to avoid harm helped the less fortunate.
The 159th Aviation Group’s chaplain, Capt. Jonathan C. Gibbs III, witnessed the enormous fireball burst through the Green Ramp’s many trees. He and the others ran for a berm and hid behind it.
A few seconds later, that “heard a loud ‘whoosh’ from the other side of the berm.” Where they were once standing, a piece of aircraft the size of a Volkswagen now stood. Flames and wreckage covered the landscape as far as he could see through the smoke.
Capt. Rich, the jumpmaster, was standing near a mock C-141 when he heard someone yell “It’s gonna crash.” He turned, but could only see an orange glow, surrounded by “smudgy black smoke.”
“Despite hearing the word run, for some reason I determined that my only chance of survival lay not in running but in finding something solid between myself and the oncoming fireball… I think one of the compelling factors in my decision to dive behind the mock door was an overwhelming understanding that there was no way in hell I could outrun the oncoming debris… I also remember … that whatever cover I found had to be within about 5 feet of where I was standing. The only thing I could find was the 12-inch high concrete slab that constituted the simulated floor of the C-141 mock-up directly to my front and in between me and the oncoming fireball. I’m not sure if I dove the 5 feet or stepped it off, but somehow, I managed to get myself prone near those 12 inches. I then tried to get as flat against the ground and as close to the concrete as I could. In fact, I would go so far as to admit that I had an overwhelming desire to burrow my way into the side of that slab.”
Rich thought he was going to die. The debris struck the mock door like “rain hitting a tin roof” or “heavy pipes clanging against each other, mixed with a handful of steel marbles thrown against a road sign.”
He compared the temperature to that of a microwave and the sound of the flames to that of a blowtorch. He expected to burst into flames. Rich’s backside was indeed on fire at the time, but he was unaware of it.
Rich rolled across the ground to extinguish the flames after he realized the fireball was gone. Nearby, another man was “burning like a human torch.”
“No matter how hard you patted you couldn’t get the fire out,” he said. A few feet away, another soldier was burning.
“The number of wounded was almost overwhelming. Everywhere there were groups gathered around the injured trying to help them. Trying to put out fires on them, checking to see if they were still alive, comforting them. Others were running around in half panic, half-dazed, looking for someone to help or something to do. Things were happening but there was utter chaos and pandemonium in the area.”
Another threat emerged once the fireball had passed over the paratroopers. In the sweltering heat, 20 mm chain gun rounds from the F-16 started to cook off.
Soldiers suddenly had to worry about bullets flying by since many of them were on fire. As some attempted to assist in putting out the flames engulfing their fellow soldiers, they accidentally set themselves on fire due to their exposure to jet fuel.
As the fireball went over Sgt. Gregory Cowper, a member of the 2nd Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, he started to roll on the ground. He was injured in the explosion, breaking his leg.
“Ammunition was going off. I couldn’t tell where it was. I looked to my left and there was a man on fire. I looked to my right and there was a man on fire.”
Over 100 people were hurt, and 23 men died. One severely burned paratrooper passed away more than nine months later, on January 3, 1995.
Before civilian first response vehicles arrived, the 55th Medical Group promptly despatched a large number of U.S. Army tactical ambulances with medical personnel to transport the injured to Womack Army Medical Center. These medical professionals were among the first to arrive and gave the injured people crucial assistance.
Photo by U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force