#helicopter crash

[thingstrumperssay]

Trump got rid of over 100 FAA safety personnel and there has already been a plane and helicopter crash. There has been fatalities.

It hasn't even been ten days yet and Trump has already killed people by getting rid of important policies.

[reality-detective]

New Development in the Helicopter Crash 👇

This gets more interesting 👇

Her social media has been scrubbed 👇

A White House aide for Biden 👇

Graduated with a Biology degree in 2019 from North Carolina Chapel Hill... Where the gain of function that created Covid started.

Let's löök at her parents 👇

REBECCA LOBACH was the DAUGHTER of DAVID LOBACH (Duke University Medicine; Elimu Informatics; HHS) and ELIZABETH LOBACH (New Regency).

DAVID FRANKLIN LOBACH

*DUKE UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF MEDICINE, Chief of Division Clinical Informatics, Associate Consulting Professor

*DUKE FAMILY MEDICINE PROGRAM, Endocrinology Consultant

*ELIMU INFORMATICS, VP of Health Informatics

*CDSiC PROJECT, Elimu Informatics (Co-Investigator)

💥NOTE 1: Duke University is run by Trustees Chairman and Mossad asset, Laurene Sperling, who is also the Chairman of Combined Jewish Philanthropies (CJP) and is married to Thermo Fisher (PCR TESTS) Lead Director, Scott Sperling. Thermo Fisher = Temasek (Singapore).

💥NOTE 2: Duke University School of Medicine is led by Dean, Nancy Andrews, who is the Chairman of Wellcome Burroughs (Wellcome/Farrar), who sits on the Board of Directors at Novartis and is a Senior Advisor to NIH Executive Leadership (Anthony Fauci).

💥NOTE 3: Duke Kunshan is a PARTNERSHIP between Duke University and Wuhan University and it officially opened its doors in 2013, which is the SAME YEAR that DAVID RUBENSTEIN (Duke Capital Partners, Carlyle Group, Booz Allen Hamilton, CFR, Brookings, etc.) became the CHAIRMAN of the DUKE UNIVERSITY BOARD OF TRUSTEES.

*Both David Rubenstein and Laurene Sperling are CURRENTLY on the ADVISORY BOARD of DUKE KUNSHAN UNIVERSITY in WUHAN, CHINA.

Duke University is arguably the MOST IMPLICATED SCHOOL IN AMERICA with regard to the COVID PANDEMIC CONSPIRACY and the CREATION & RELEASE of COVID… and COVERUP of COVID’S ORIGINS.

Her Mother 👇

ELIZABETH LEE LOBACH

NEW REGENCY PRODUCTIONS (Development), Writers’ Assistant, Office Assistant, Analyst & Script Editor

*TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX (Post-Production), Office Assistant, Research & Analysis.

💥NOTE: New Regency Productions was FOUNDED by ISRAELI SPY, ARNON MILCHAN, one of NETANYAHU’S CLOSEST OPERATIVES and ISRAEL’S MOST LEGENDARY SPIES. He was involved in helping ISRAEL STEAL AMERICAN NUCLEAR SECRETS several decades ago.

Moving on 👇

This is the man that founded the company where helicopter pilot, Rebecca Lobach’s mother works…

Nothing to see here 👇

Rebecca Lobach was still in ROTC training in 2018.

How is she flying government continuity missions in a Blackhawk in Washington DC 6 years later as a captain? And how did she afford a $520,000 house two years into the military? 👇

Rebecca Lobach, involved in DCA crash, served as a White House social aide under Biden.

She escorted Ralph Lauren through the White House when he was among those awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by former fake President Joe Biden. 👇

This is a screen grab from the FAA’s Airman registry which is available to the public it shows that Rebecca Marie Lobach did not currently hold an FAA medical which is required to have military certificates converted over to FAA certificates meaning she lost her medical…? 👇

Not sure what she ‘destroyed’.. but she doesn’t look fit to me! 👇

A statement from:

Art Halvorson @ArtHalv....

As a former military instructor, I'll tell you that Rebecca Lobach in NO WAY should have been the pilot in command on that flight.

500 hours in 5 years is Inconceivable! 👇

I think there’s more to this tragic incident than DEI hiring, but it was because of DEI policies that Rebecca was on board that helicopter and there are now 67 people dead. 🤔

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them —

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Dreaming of You (Heart and Soul)

A Bucktomy Soulmates fic

****

Buck was 12 years old when he first learned about soulmates. He was "dating" a girl the way middle school kids do when her friends began teasing about them being soulmates, asking if they dreamt about each other. Buck laughed along at the supposed joke, not really understanding the deeper meaning behind their words.

That night, he sought out Maddie, curiosity piqued. "What does all that soulmate stuff mean?"

Maddie considered her words carefully. "Well, not everyone has one. It's actually pretty rare. But some people have a connection so deep, they're essentially two halves of a whole. Their subconscious can even dream about their soulmate as a kind of internal compass, helping them find each other."

"Wow," Buck breathed, his mind spinning with the romantic possibilities. "Is Doug yours? Did you dream about him?"

A soft, uncertain smile crossed Maddie's face. "No, but I'm not sure I have a soulmate or if I even believe in the whole thing. Doug is a good, solid partner," she said, her tone practical.

Buck studied his sister's face, something in her dismissal not sitting quite right with him. He didn't believe Doug was the best she could do, but he couldn't articulate why. Instead, he just nodded, letting the concept of soulmates dance in his imagination.

He was 14 when he had the first dream. It was different than anything he'd ever experienced before. He woke up with a deep ache in his heart, a yearning that felt both foreign and impossibly familiar. The dream hadn't been vivid, just flashes really - a camouflage-colored backpack, snippets of harsh desert landscape, distant sounds of vehicles and wind.

But something about those images was unlike anything Buck had ever encountered in his dreams before. There was a a connection that went beyond mere snapshots. It was as if someone else's memories had temporarily become his own, leaving behind a sense of longing that he couldn't quite explain.

He lay in bed, heart racing, trying to hold onto the wisps of the dream as they began to fade. The camouflage backpack seemed to burn in his memory - a specific shade, a particular wear pattern. The desert scenes felt raw and unfiltered like a lived experience.

Buck didn't understand it, but he knew, deep in his bones, that this dream was different. This felt like a message, a connection to someone he hadn't yet met.

Continued on Ao3

[theredrenard]

(Long post ahead! Keep reading under the cut!)

‼️Warning for homophobia, toxic masculinity, mild alcohol abuse (mentioned like twice), and a single use of the F slur.

You’re 6 years old. You fall down the front steps and chip a tooth on the sidewalk below. Your mother holds you and dries your tears. Suck it up, your father says. Real men don’t cry.

You’re 8 years old. You fall off your bike and scrape your knee. You don’t cry, but it’s a near thing. Your mother patches you up while you sniffle pitifully. Tears make you weak, Thomas, your father says.

You’re 10 years old, and your mother has cancer. Your father is at work. You curl into your mother’s side in that uncomfortable hospital bed, and you cry and cry and cry.

You’re 12 years old at your mother’s funeral. You don’t cry. You can’t. She’s not here to hold you anymore, and your father would be so, so disappointed. She was always too soft on you, Tom, your father says as they lower her casket into the damp earth.

You’re 15 years old, and your father is a flurry of drunken rage because he found out you kissed another boy under the bleachers. You hide in your room, nursing a freshly-bruised black eye and fighting back tears. No son of mine is gonna be a fucking faggot, your father says.

You’re 17 years old when you forge your father’s signature, running away to join the army and never looking back. You don’t even want to be in the army, you just want to get away from him.

You’re 20 years old when you nearly get caught staring at another recruit. You shake it off and remind yourself that “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is still in effect. They can never know. If they know, it’ll ruin your life.

You’re 22 years old when your chopper goes down in a whirl of flames. You fight tooth and nail to get free of the wreckage, dragging yourself hand over hand through the sand, bleeding profusely from a nasty gash in your side as bullets whiz by overhead. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’re lucky you’re still breathing. You get honorably discharged and sent home. In the back of your mind, you hear your father. Weak, he says. You have no right to cry when half your crew is dead.

You’re 24 when you join the 118. You meet Captain Gerrard, and he reminds you eerily of your father. You can’t show any weakness. If you do, it’ll ruin your life.

You’re 26 years old when you meet Hen Wilson and she begs you to see her, to respect her and her place within the 118. You wish you could be like her. Out and proud, taking up space. You can’t. It’ll ruin your life.

You’re 29 years old when you decide you’re ready for the sky once more. The 118 is better under Captain Nash than it was before, but this place never felt like home. You’re not sure if anywhere really has.

You’re 35 years old working at Harbor Station when you get a call from an old friend. He needs your help, something about an air tanker and a block on fire? You owe him for saving your sorry ass, so you figure, why not? You’re not doing anything else with your life.

You’re 39 years old when you get another call from that same old friend. This time, he talks about a cruise ship and a hurricane. You had no idea this call would change your life.

You’re 39 years old when you meet Evan Buckley. Buck, the others call him, but not you. Never you. He’s Evan to you, and he’s everything. That thought scares you. This man, you worry, could completely upend your life. For better or worse, you don’t know yet.

You’re 39 years old when you kiss Evan Buckley and change his life. You realize you’re his first relationship with a man, and you pray that he realizes he can do better before you fall too far and things come crashing down.

You’re 39 years old when Evan gets that excited sparkle in his eyes, sitting across from you in his loft’s kitchen after six months of dating. Move in, he says. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a seed of panic blooms. You’ve heard this story before, and you remember how it ends. You’re his first, you can’t be his last.

You’re 39 years old when you walk away from the single greatest thing, greatest person, to have ever happened to you. You broke his heart and shattered your own in the process.

You go home. You ignore the texts from Hen, from Howie, from Eddie. You drink yourself sick, and you cry harder than you ever have before.

What’s a few tears matter now? You’ve already ruined your life.

[spacenoirdetective]

In an Alternate Universe Where Kamala Won

"Airplanes are vehicles people travel in. Airplanes...go in the air. Sometimes, airplanes...they crash. That means they go down and they are not up in the air. When people are not in the air, they cannot get to where the airplane goes. We want that not to happen." (five minutes of uncomfortable chuckling)

[typicalopposite]

It’s a full moon…

The insanity makes so much sense now!!

[quintessenceofdust88]

Ohhhh it’s so hard to choose—

🍼🍼🍼🍼 & 🚁🚁🚁🚁

(It wasn’t hard at all you’re doing my two of my favorite things!!!) 🤣🫶

HAHAHA and then you chose both, I love that! Thank you smmm for sending them and for the tag <3 Let's start with 20 sentences of Little Blobs for you:

“Hen, you don’t think I’m…” Buck can’t even say it; the possibility had never crossed his mind, and yet… It feels like his brain is short-circuiting as he revisits his latest symptoms in his mind. 

��Well, why not? You are a carrier, aren’t you? You told me that when you were debating if you could be a surrogate to your friends” She says, and Buck nods dumbly. “And, well, I know you and Tommy get… busy with each other very often.” “We…Well, yeah, but I take birth control” Buck says, frantically recalling the last few weeks in his mind and wondering if he could’ve forgotten to take the pill at some point. And then it dawns on him how frantic their wedding day had been, and yeah, he doesn’t remember taking it on that day. Or the day after. Or during their weekend honeymoon in San Diego (they had been… busy, as Hen would put it). “Oh, fuck, Hen, what if I’m pregnant?! I can’t be pregnant right now, it’s not the plan!” “Buckaroo, I don’t know what the plan is, but life doesn’t tend to care for it. Maybe you’re not; I’m just saying it’s a possibility and you should check it” Hen says placatingly. “If it’s positive, you and Tommy will figure it out; if it’s negative, you owe me 30 bucks for the tests”

--- And now for 20 sentences of CRASH!THAT!HELICOPTER! angst:

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty.  --- I hope you like it and have a wonderful week, my dear <3

[girlactionfigure]

[sidewalkscienceguy]

Today Trump signed a "Presidential Memorandum" that literally blames Obama and Biden for the plane and helicopter crash.

It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that the ATC guy was doing double the work he should have been because 8 days ago Trump fired the Aviation and Safety Committee and 4,000 other FAA and ATC staff, leaving Reagan International at half the staff they had been operating at a week before.

[h50europe]

9-1-1 - Black Hawk Down

(Helicopter crash, Angst)

It was supposed to be a routine flight. Tommy climbed into the cockpit of the UH-60M Black Hawk and immediately felt like he had never left. He put on his helmet, grabbed the checklist and started to run it. Tommy remembered his tours in Afghanistan and Iraq and how this beast had become one of his closest comrades. Beast, he chuckled. That was Evan's nickname for him. He owned it to their first night together, where Tommy surprised Evan with his stamina and some other tricks that had left the younger man craving for more and sending him into the stratosphere as he came hard while a multiple orgasm ripped through him.

Tommy bit his lower lip as his blood rushed south, reminding himself that he had a job to do and needed to focus. He flipped switches, checked the tanks, and meticulously followed the entire list. When he was done, he placed it in the co-pilot's seat and hit the start button. The twin General Electric T700-GE-701 turboshaft engines, each rated at 1,560 shaft horsepower, roared to life. The sound of the mighty blades was like music to Tommy's ears. He wished Evan could be with him, but he got a call about an hour ago and was ordered to the station. A fire at an industrial plant was threatening to get out of control. Dispatch had ordered all available engines to the scene. Tommy's only mission today was to fly the Black Hawk to Renegade airfield near Vegas. It should be a smooth flight. The weather forecast promised clear blue skies. A little turbulence was expected, but nothing troubling.

Tommy felt the familiar vibrations caused by the whirling rotor blades. Flying a Black Hawk was so different from the helicopters they used at LAFD Air Operations. Tommy radioed the tower and asked for a VFR departure: "Echo Lima Foxtrot, VFR departure east at or below 1,500 feet."

The tower replied: "Echo Lima Foxtrot, stay east of runway 10/28 at all times, east departure approved. You are cleared for takeoff from taxiway Bravo."

There was a static crackle, then a familiar voice came on and said, "Ground Control to Major Tom, have a save flight."

Tommy cackled, "I have no idea how you did that, Hen, but you rock."

"Copy that," she replied with a big smile on her face.

Hen was sitting in the tower next to one of the controllers. She had been training some of the employees in first aid today and had heard about Tommy and his Vegas trip. Grinning, she leaned back and watched him take off and then transition.

The estimated flight time was about 1.5 hours. Tommy felt relaxed and looked forward to the upcoming flight. He knew that flying over the desert could be challenging due to the absence of reference points and the constantly shifting sand caused by the wind. However, he was prepared to rely on his instruments to navigate through these conditions.

As the routine flight progressed, the atmosphere changed when the Black Hawk's responder signal was abruptly lost, and the helicopter vanished from the radar. Strangely, there was no distress call from Tommy. Meanwhile, Hen was packing her bags when she suddenly became aware of the chaos unfolding in the tower.

[fanonsupremecy]

🚁💥 Tommy Kinard helicopter crash that Evan Buckley has to respond to and Tommy's in critical condition and Evan confesses his dying love unto Tommy. "Don't you die on me damn it I love you too much" "I love you too" just before Tommy passes out and he's rushed to the hospital. 💥🚁 My Beloved... 🥺💕

[world-and-usa]

Fatalities confirmed as passenger plane collides with Army Black Hawk, source reports.

[scotianostra]

On November 6th 1996 disaster struck near Sumburgh airport when a Chinook Helicopter crashed into the North sea.

Forty seven people were on board the helicopter which was on a 130-mile flight from the Brent field, north east of Shetland, to Sumburgh airport.

Two men were rescued soon after the crash by a Coastguard helicopter which had taken off on a routine flight minutes before the helicopter went down. They came across the accident when spotting an oil slick below.

The Captain Pushp Vaid was one of the two survivors. On 10 November the cockpit voice recorder, the cockpit section of the fuselage, the rotors and rotor heads, and the gearboxes and associated control systems had been recovered. 44 of the 45 bodies were recovered. The accident was caused by the failure of a modified bevel ring gear in the forward transmission which allowed the twin rotors to collide when synchronisation was lost.

Captain Vaid was back in the cockpit six months after the tragedy but for the rest of his flying days, he took November 6th off.

The Chinooks were withdrawn from operations in the North Sea after the accident and sold to Columbia Helicopters for heavy lift operations.

The Sumburgh tragedy is the 7th deadliest accident of the oil and gas industry and the deadliest civilian helicopter crash on record.

The third pic is a memorial and is dedicated to those who lost their lives in five aircraft accidents, related to the offshore oil industry, all of which were based or operated from Sumburgh Airport on Shetland.

[bloodycoolfrye]

،خادم الرضا ع جان

Rest in peace🥹🖤

[tomorrowusa]

Pardon me for not shedding tears over the death of the misogynistic theocratic thug Ebrahim Raisi.

As a strong supporter of Ukraine, I note that Iran under Raisi has supplied Russia with Shahed drones which have murdered or maimed thousands of Ukrainians.

Of course Raisi, first and foremost, has repressed and killed countless Iranians over the span of his brutal career.

Iran’s hardline President Ebrahim Raisi — once seen as a potential successor to 85-year-old Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei — died after his helicopter crashed into trees in a mountainous northwestern region of the Islamic Republic on Sunday.  The Iranian branch of the Red Crescent humanitarian network said on Monday its search and rescue teams had reached the crash site and “found no signs of the helicopter’s occupants being alive.” The discovery of the burned-out wreckage of Raisi’s helicopter among blackened trees — with seemingly only the tail surviving the crash — followed hours of searches in the fog-bound mountain valleys of Dizmar forest near the border with Azerbaijan.  [ ... ] Raisi, 63, was a conservative cleric and former judiciary chief who was responsible for decades of vicious crackdowns against his own people’s aspirations for greater personal freedoms and democracy, arresting, torturing and executing tens of thousands of the Islamist regime’s opponents.  Educated in the seminary city of Qom and dubbed “the butcher,” he was alleged to have been involved in the execution of thousands of political prisoners in the late 1980s, according to Iran’s opposition. As judiciary chief, he was also directly responsible for the wave of arrests and executions that followed massive anti-regime protests in 2019-2020.  As president, he oversaw the iron-fisted repression of the “Women, Life, Freedom” movement that followed the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini. Tens of thousands were arrested, and the death toll is estimated at more than 500. 

Raisi was a way bad person – even by the standards of the ruling theocratic mafia in Iran.

As for the helicopter crash that killed Raisi, look to Iran's terrible air safety record.

Iran's poor aviation safety record

The cause of the helicopter crash is not yet known - but Iran has a poor air transport safety record. This is at least partly the result of decades of US sanctions, which have severely weakened its aerial fleet. President Raisi was on board a Bell 212 helicopter, state news agencies said. The model was made in the US and could not have been sold to Iran since the 1979 revolution. Previous ministers of defence and transport, as well as commanders of Iran’s ground and air armed forces, have died in plane or helicopter crashes. When reformers led Iran's government, they aimed to modernise the country's fleet of aircraft by negotiating a deal with the West that would see sanctions lifted in return for limiting Iran's sensitive nuclear activities and allowing in international inspectors However, these efforts stalled when President Donald Trump withdrew from the deal and reimposed sanctions. Reformers were subsequently opposed and mocked by hardliners, who insisted that Iran could rely on its domestic industries and foreign allies to improve aviation safety.

Iran has been devoting more attention to building killer drones than to maintaining its own aircraft. The helicopter crash is poetic justice of sorts.