Every Man a Tiger: The Gulf War Air Campaign sic-2

by Tom Clancy

  The AWACS picture was a composite taken from four or five RSAF/ USAF E-3 aircraft. This picture was augmented by U.S. Navy E-2 AWACS aircraft flying over the Navy ships, as well as by specially equipped ships, like the Aegis class, whose radars could be integrated into this picture. AWACS was also linked with the Rivet Joint Signals Intelligence Aircraft. Rivet Joint gave the AWACS controllers information about the ships that helped them more accurately identify them. An aircraft got a blue icon because it squawked on IFF (identification friend or foe) the mode and codes assigned them in the ATO. These told the AWACS who they were, the type, call sign, mission, target, time, tanker, and so on. It was our goal to make sure red returns got minimum flying time and whenever possible to terminate that status with extreme violence. For example, “splash two MiG-23s.”

  The other large TV box displayed intelligence information. ELINT data coming from a variety of sources was combined and displayed as symbols. For example, Scud launches observed by an infrared-equipped satellite and encoded into coordinates by Colorado Springs would be first displayed as a line on the map emanating from the Scud’s launch point. This was quickly followed by a fan shape showing the area it was capable of reaching. The whole thing looked like a broom, with the top of the handle being the launch point, and the bristles showing the area where the warhead might fall.

  To the right of the TV displays was a small movie screen used to show viewgraphs during shift change or special Intel briefings; and leaning up against the wall was the two-by-three-foot piece of cardboard listing all our airfields and the current weather at that base. (After the first night, we added a TV set tuned to CNN, so we could watch the war.)

  ★ When I came in at 0100, the TACC was quiet. What was there to say? You could only wait. It was going to be hell watching the war unfold without being in the cockpit.

  As I sat down, I was still kicking myself for failing to sleep when I had the chance. But I had not been totally stupid. I’d made sure to put on a clean uniform; it would be some time before I got a chance to shower and change. Still, the air in the TACC was sure to get rank from the coffee and cotton-mouth breath and nervous sweat. Yeah, I was neat and clean, but we all felt like hell.

  Those minutes waiting for the war to start, waiting for our plan to unfold, were the worst minutes of my life.

  We talked in low voices, as though we were afraid someone would notice us. At one point, Buster Glosson asked me, “How many aircraft are we going to lose before this is all over?”—a question that touched the heart of our collective anxiety.

  There had been a number of estimates, ranging from a hundred to three hundred-plus. I checked with my guts, then wrote “42” on a piece of paper, folded it, and passed it to Buster.

  My number turned out to be a good guess. But I had meant 42 USAF only, so I can’t take much credit for accuracy.

  Actual losses were USAF 14, USN 6, USMC 7, RSAF 2, RAF 7, Italy 1, and Kuwait 1, for a total of 38.

  Buster’s question hit us all where we were raw, because we were about to embark on actions that would take many lives. We would send our own friends and allies on missions from which they would never return. The death of friends and enemies alike hung over our heads.

  I knew how tough it was to climb the ladder into your jet and fly to where folks were doing their best to kill you, even as you tried your best to wreck their homeland. And yet, as tough as that was, as terrifying as that was, there is a real up-close personal involvement that justifies what you do. When you fly over an enemy target, and the red golf balls are streaming up, and the black mushrooms with orange centers burst all around you, and the SAM missiles streaking toward you once in a while quit moving (meaning, they are homing in on you), and you hear MiG calls in your headset (meaning that those hard-to-see supersonic jets are trying to launch a missile at your jet), when all of that is going on, you develop a personal relationship with the enemy. Then you don’t mind killing him; in fact, it seems like a good idea.

  No, that doesn’t justify killing the enemy, nor does it soften your concern about their attempts to kill you, but there is balance, there is some sort of justification for the horrible things you do. Sitting in the TACC, setting the killing in motion, you carry a lot more responsibility, a lot more feeling of dread. It was a burden I’d been carrying around since I’d signed the orders that would start all of this carnage in motion. It was the understanding that someday I would probably have to explain my actions to God, and there was no suitable explanation. When men are imperfect — and God knows we are — then there better be a forgiving God.

  Well, it was time to suck it up and go to work. And that’s just what we all did.

  ★ As we were waiting in the TACC, Mary Jo was eating dinner with her mother, who was visiting from Cresco, Iowa. Sean Cullivan, our aide, came in and announced, “Mrs. Horner, the war has started.” Like many others, she and her mother left the dinner table and went into the family room to watch television. Like many others, they stayed glued to the TV for the next six weeks, morning, noon, and night. The “CNN Effect” bloomed into full flower during this war. (Interestingly, CNN became a major source of intelligence for us in the TACC.)

  ★ The radar display showed our strikers creep, at 500 to 600 knots, toward their targets. As we watched, someone announced that CNN’s Bernard Shaw was reporting live from Baghdad that the guided missiles were beginning to land on their targets. In my office on the third floor was a television with a CNN hookup. Meanwhile, the critical F-117 strike against the telecommunications building in Baghdad that was the core of Iraqi command and control was about to occur. We called it the AT&T building. Bernie Shaw’s reports were relayed to the United States over Iraqi telephone commercial circuits that passed through this building.

  I asked Major Buck Rogers, one of the key Black Hole planners, to go upstairs and turn on my TV and let me know what happened.

  The critical bomb impact time over target was to occur at 0302. As the second hand of the big clock on the wall swept toward the designated TOT, I talked to Buck on the hot line that connected my position in the TACC to my office on the third floor. The success or failure of this one F-117 mission, this one bomb, would tell a lot about how our air campaign would fare. If Iraqi telecommunications were destroyed, the air superiority battle became manageable: blind the enemy air defense system, and isolate the elements from the brain, and it is no longer a “system” but individual weapons operating in the dark.

  Now we were hearing of the gunfire over Baghdad, intense and seemingly endless streams of bullets and missiles rising from atop every building and open area of the capital. I prayed for the F-117 pilots.

  And then, just as the second hand swept past the twelve on the clock, Buck reported, “CNN just went off the air.” That was it. The AT&T building had taken a mortal blow. The report of our success flew across the somber-quiet TACC, and as it did, all of us came out of our shells of silence. Everywhere there was backslapping and boisterous talk. We had gone from the pits of anxiety to the heights of self-confident self-congratulations. (To me it had been close to despair. Fighter pilots are control freaks. When we are not in control, we feel hopeless.) It was a wonderful moment.

  Yes, we had a long way to go before the ordeal would be over. But we were off to a good start.

  Report after report of mission success began to roll in. It was like putting a puzzle together; as the pieces came together, a picture began to take shape. Each target destroyed added to the picture we had been imagining.

  More important, all the aircraft, save a Navy F-18, on a suppression of enemy air defense mission, returned to their bases.

  It wasn’t all smooth that night: Some of our 160 tankers ran out of fuel for off-load, and thirsty fighters had to find someone else to give them jet fuel. And the base at Taif, just south of Mecca (home to the F-111 fleet, all airborne striking vital targets across Iraq), was closed due to dense fog.

  I was on the point of giving out commands, and then stopped. I n
eeded to have faith in the commanders, in the AWACS crews, and most of all in the aircrews in each fighter. They knew how to figure out what needed to be done and then do it. If I got involved that would only add to the confusion and create dependency. Sure, I’d stay on top of the situation, but I had to let others make the decisions I dearly wanted to make. I had to delegate to others, watch them wrestle with problems that my experience made easy for me, and then watch in amazement when they found solutions I never even considered.

  The air-to-air engagements were especially hard to stay out of.

  Think about it. You’re a pilot who loves the complex ballet of an aerial engagement. You’ve trained for thousands of hours. Every cell in your body knows how to detect the enemy, bring your aircraft and your flight’s aircraft into the fight, engage the enemy aircraft with your weapons, and herd your team safely out of the fight toward home or into another engagement.

  Now you are sitting in a room where a large display shows every aircraft in the battle (except F-117s). You see the friendly fighters going about their appointed rounds, delivering bombs or searching for Iraqi interceptors. All at once new blips appear, as a pair of Iraqi fighters scramble from their airfields. A microphone on the table in front of you connects you to AWACS and then to the fighters. You know almost as much as the AWACS knows. It would be so easy to pick up that microphone and direct, “Have Eagle flight kill the two fighters that just took off from Baland”—a fighter base in Iraq near Baghdad. All I had to do was say it, and it would be done. Even though it’s a no-brainer for the AWACS controller and the F-15 flight leader to handle it, yet I feel good. I even feel important. And we win.

  But no. I’m not going to do it the Soviet way, which is the Iraqi way, with the general sitting in a bunker somewhere and telling the pilot where to fly and when to shoot.

  The microphone stayed on the table. And Aim 7 missiles, illuminated by F-15 radar, homed in on the Iraqi fighters and blew them out of the sky. Pennzoil 63 and Citgo 65, Captains Kelk and Grater from the 33d Fighter Wing’s 58th Squadron, got kills on the opening night of the war, shooting down a MiG-29 and a Mirage F-1. As the Iraqi blips faded from the screen, the AWACS control team on my left called out, “Splash two,” to a cheering crowd.

  ★ The plan unfolding that first night had worked, and all of us were uplifted. In retrospect, I think all the folks at home were also uplifted in those early days, as the reports of success vastly outnumbered the painful reports of casualties or mission failures. After the war, people who do not understand or take time to study this part of the battle, thought it was easy, that we easily seized control over Iraq. I will admit our people made it look easy, but it wasn’t, not by any stretch of the imagination.

  Meanwhile, my immediate concern now was to keep our folks from losing their intensity.

  At the 0730 shift change, even as I congratulated those who were going off duty and brought the oncoming day shift up to speed, I admonished both shifts not to let up. We had a long, hard battle ahead, and they needed to remain grimly determined. “Our job now is to worry,” I told them. “Our job now is to work longer and harder than ever, to be disciplined, be hard-nosed. Do not let the Iraqis up off the floor. Kick the shit out of them.” Then I tried to put a smile on their faces with the inane blessing, “Have a good day.”

  And it was.

  ★ During the first twenty-four hours, we flew 2,775 sorties. We hit thirty-seven targets in the Baghdad area, of which most (about fifteen) were designed to sever communications used by the Iraqi military. The rest hit targets such as the electrical grid and the national headquarters of intelligence, the military, the secret police, and other leadership targets. We had about 200 sorties against airfields, 175 against Scud targets, 750 interdiction sorties against the Iraqi Army and its supplies, 436 CAP or defensive counter-air sorties, 652 offensive counter-air (these included the Wild Weasels and airfield attacks), and 432 tanker sorties. (The USMC called their AV-8 sorties close air support, but by definition that was impossible, since CAS takes place within the FSCL, and their sorties flew beyond the FSCL, which was the Saudi border.)

  Our biggest day was February 23, when we flew 3,254 sorties, one-third of which (995) were interdiction in the KTO. Overall, we flew 44,000 sorties against the Iraqi Army, 24,000 sorties to get and maintain control of the air and protect our forces from Iraqi air attack, 16,000 refueling sorties, and 5,000 electronics warfare and command-and-control sorties.

  The opening moments of the war demonstrated that we were able to get to our targets and destroy them and for the most part return safely. We had some air-to-air kills, and probably no losses to enemy fighters on our side. That boded well. Though I expected good results over time, I really didn’t expect such good results so soon. Even if we had lost two or three aircraft, I would have marked the opening night as a success.

  Still, I knew we were in for a long haul. We had trained for a fifteen-round fight, and I figured it would go the full fifteen — or, as I had told Secretary Cheney, six weeks. So I didn’t read too much into our early success.

  ★ Like a fool, I stayed in the TACC, fascinated by the unfolding events, and neglecting sleep. I had admonished all the others to rest so they could hold up under the long haul, but neglected to follow my own orders. I was operating on caffeine and adrenaline, the “breakfast of champions” for a fighter pilot.

  Meanwhile, the F-117s and F-111s were tearing Iraqi command and control to pieces. The strikes against key airfields and munitions production facilities were going as planned. The B-52s, A-10s, F-16s, Jaguars, FA-18s, and AV-8s were hard at work on the Iraqi Army deployed in the desert.

  When we bombed the Iraqi Army with B-52s, we were primarily using them for effect. And they had quite an effect. One POW was asked which aircraft he feared the most, and he said, “The B-52.” He was then asked to describe the experience. To which he replied, “I was never bombed by a B-52; but I visited a friend who had been, and I saw and heard what it was like, and so I feared the B-52 more than anything else.”

  After the war, another Iraqi was asked why he had surrendered so quickly. “It was the bombs,” he said, pointing to pictures of B-52s and A-10s. “It was the bombs.”

  Little did he realize that he had most likely survived because we had targeted those aircraft to minimize Iraqi deaths. We did that because it was the right thing to do, and because we wanted to exploit the already low morale of the Iraqi soldier in his unholy occupation of a Muslim neighbor. If I had wanted to kill Iraqi soldiers, we could have loaded the B-52 “buffs” with wall-to-wall antipersonnel munitions; and, today, unexploded submunitions (ready to detonate if disturbed) would probably have left Kuwait and southern Iraq uninhabitable.

  What we dropped were regular bombs. They made a lot of noise and tore up the desert for miles; and if one hit a bunker, the folks inside died. That couldn’t be called an accident, but if by some miracle we had hit no Iraqi soldiers, and they had all surrendered without fighting, I would not have been unhappy.

  ★ Before the middle of February, I actually paid little attention to the specifics of the war. I listened to all the BDA bullshit, but only to the extent that it told me what else needed to be done. I was trying not to rest on our laurels. Or, as Bill Creech told us, “Don’t read your own press clippings.” What was important was what was coming next. So I paid attention to what we had done only when it helped me with that. Each day we learned more about the Iraqis, and the thoughts about what that new information meant were my most important thoughts.

  You don’t really know about war until you engage in it against a specific enemy in a specific environment. Sure, you can make general assumptions that will in all likelihood hold up when the shooting starts, but you have to be careful about relying on these. It’s like preparing for a boxing match. You study previously demonstrated tendencies, strengths, and weaknesses, but when the bout starts, that has only a limited value. Now you are concerned with your opponent’s punches and openings. Strategies c
hange because of many factors, such as fatigue or injury, that can only be known during the fight.

  CONTROL OF THE AIR

  Air superiority is not a precise concept. And the process of gaining it is no less fuzzy. What do you mean by air superiority, and how do you know when you’ve got it? There is no handy chart that lets you plot the x- and y-axis and find where the two lines cross.

  What I wanted was to operate freely over Iraq and not lose too many aircraft. Okay, what does that mean? What is too many? I don’t know exactly, but I guess I will know if it is too many. Later in the war, too many A-10s targeted against the Republican Guards were getting shot up. Because they were suffering too many casualties, I ordered them to other targets. Were there any specific numbers involved in this decision? No. It was a gut call.

  Free operation over Iraq raises other issues. For starters, not every aircraft could be expected to go everywhere. Or if it could go everywhere, it might not do that all the time. The F-117s could go anywhere, but when the Iraqi Air Force was flying, they could only go at night. (Again, we wanted to fly the F-117s in conditions where they wouldn’t be seen.) The A-10s, on the other hand, were never sent to Baghdad, even after we controlled the air.

  In other words, control of the air is a complex issue, filled with variables.

  To take the question a step further, I considered that I had air superiority when I could do what I wanted to within the strengths and limitations of my force, and when I could hold the Iraqi targets at risk while employing all my air assets as appropriate. That meant, for example, that my strike aircraft did not have to jettison their payload due to Iraqi defenses such as fighter interceptors.

  I knew we would have aircraft losses throughout the war, but I wanted those losses to be the lowest possible until the ground war started. Then I expected the aircraft doing close air support would be taking greater risks, flying lower to identify the target or to get under the smoke and weather in order to support our engaged coalition ground forces.