guns.”
I pushed forward on the stick, nosed over slightly, and overlaid the gun symbology on the radar van. Suddenly I wasn’t flying an A-10 anymore. I was in a Jug or Spitfire, strafing steam locomotives in occupied France—that’s exactly what it felt like. I put my index finger on the trigger, and caught my breath slightly. In that one instant in time I thought to myself, “Oh my God, you’re about to long-range STRAFE a real live target!” I lined up my airplane to rip the now large van from one side to the other. All my training and long days of hard work had seemed to build to this one split second. The adrenaline, the ecstasy, the remorse, the fear, and the exaltation of everything in my life seemed encapsulated in the moment I pulled the trigger.
Now I’ve shot close to 100,000 rounds through the GAU-8 gun without any problem—except for this one particular time. The gun spun up, and the familiar rumbling of the aircraft accompanied it—but something was missing. A fraction of a second later I realized that no bullets were coming from the aircraft. This was accompanied shortly by a “gun unsafe” warning light in the cockpit. I pulled off target and, even with my finger off the trigger, the gun continued to rotate. My wingman and I yanked our jets hard to the left. We were low as hell and we both dropped flares like crazy. I then made one of the worst radio calls of my life: “One’s runaway gun.”
At that moment Dice, my then number-three man, descended below the weather. Seeing red streaks around my element’s aircraft, he called out that we were taking AAA. I then began to jink, while trying to “safe” my gun and talk Dice onto the target. Unfortunately, my erroneous “runaway gun” radio call had focused Dice’s concentration more on the nose of my aircraft and getting out of my way than looking for the target. At this point he radioed that it was only our flares and not AAA that he had seen. Needless to say, the attack had turned into a chocolate mess. All four aircraft were within spitting distance of the target, we were looking at each other, and nobody was clearing for any threats. I quickly gathered the four of us together and climbed above the weather.
My wingman was low, real low, on gas, so we climbed to the optimum altitude and slowed to the best airspeed to conserve our fuel and extend our range—we “skyhooked” back to Gioia. I left Dice as the on-scene commander because he had the best situational awareness from going below the weather and seeing where the target should be. Over the next 45 minutes, the remaining three two-ships (seven and eight had returned from the tanker) made three more attacks on the target. Two of them were prosecuted from a low-altitude run-in 100 feet above the water. Unfortunately, due to an inability to acquire the radar, they both were unsuccessful. During the climb out for their skyhook back to Gioia, Joe Bro was able to look through a break in the clouds to see where the van had been parked and noticed the dirt tracks it had left when it drove off.
When we got back, I told everyone about the sortie and the lack of results. “Flat Face mania” seemed to grip the squadron. Completely irrational, I had almost convinced Larry Card to hop in a jet, join on my wing, and go back with me to kill that radar right then and there. Everyone shared our disappointment.
The next day Scratch and Dirt went looking for the priority target. The now-familiar midlevel deck of clouds was again present and forced them to drop down through the clouds, which bottomed out at 4,000 feet. The Serbs, having finally decided to defend their radar, shot a manpads missile right between the two-ship of Hogs. Scratch and Dirt defeated the missile and climbed back through the clouds. When Scratch’s mission report made it to the bigwigs, the listed altitude of 4,000 feet raised more than a few eyebrows. Scratch, Dirt, and I were called into the squadron commander’s office that afternoon. Scratch and Dirt, along with Colonel Thompson, our group commander, had the pleasure of seeing the three-star about breaking the minimum altitudes described in his ROEs.
The trials and tribulations I faced while trying to attack the Flat Face radar taught me some very important lessons. I learned a great deal about the capability and limitations of weapons, tactics, and the effects of weather. I gained a new understanding of mission-essential tasking versus mission requirements. I came to appreciate the occasional discrepancy between tactical leadership and the “can do,” “type A” mentality of our typical attack pilot. Finally, I learned what air combat really is. It’s not just strategic bombing from 20,000 feet using munitions aided by Global Positioning System (GPS) and delivered against targets whose coordinates had been carefully measured. I now know what it’s like to belly up to the table, look the bad guy square in the eye, and be confident that I have the ability, the constitution, and the fortitude to shoot him.
Attack on Montenegro
My most memorable sortie had an unsuccessful ending. It started one day when our squadron was tasked to plan an attack on a radar site in the Yugoslav province of Montenegro. The target was a long-range search radar used to track inbound and outbound NATO aircraft. Allied forces had finally pinpointed its location and decided it was time for the radar to go.
I was working in the mission-planning cell (MPC) when short-notice attack orders came down. I would not be a member of the attack force. However, with the exception of the actual flight brief, I was involved with every other aspect of the planning, which called for a four-ship of A-10s to attack at night using CBU-87s, Mavericks, and 30 mm guns. They were to depart Gioia, flying the standard route to Kosovo, and try to employ some tactical deception. The daily operational routine was to fly to a tanker before going into Kosovo, and the Yugoslavs knew it. At about the halfway point, the four-ship made a rapid descent over the Adriatic Sea but kept talking to the NAEW as if they were still cruising at altitude and proceeding to the tanker. The NAEW crew members participated in our deception plan and continued talking and vectoring the imaginary Hogs towards the tanker, even though they were nowhere near the normal routes. This was all an attempt to confuse the Yugoslavs in case they were listening to our radio transmissions and throw them off in case they had not been able to track the A-10s on radar. Unfortunately, the weather was extremely bad, and they were not able to engage the target successfully.
Three days later I was flying on the wing of Capt Stu Stuewe on an AFAC sortie in Kosovo. After our two vul periods, we were returning home, and we flew very close to the radar site. We were at high altitude, but the clear weather allowed us look into the area where we expected the radar to be located. At this point, an otherwise routine sortie became interesting. Stu was one of the pilots involved in the first night attack against the radar. He still had the target map with him and, because I had been involved with the planning, I remembered the radar’s geographic area and its location in relation to the road that paralleled the coast. Stu immediately located the radar and began coordinating for an impromptu attack clearance. He was able to get approval for the three other returning Hog two-ships to support the attack. Just as Stu had been involved on the first attack, it happened that the other three flight leads had been part of that original four-ship. We had the original four players leading four wingmen with their additional firepower.
We were ready to go after taking about 15 minutes to organize the fighters and get approval for the attack. Our attack force of four two-ships started off in trail at medium altitude with about two miles of separation between the elements. We were trying to attack the radar site quickly, and only Stu had put his eyes on the target. I had seen the target area but had not been able to pull out the binoculars and positively ID its location. The plan was for Stu to hit the target with a Maverick, and then the others would queue off the smoke and flames to find it. My job was to cover for the two of us—looking around for any threats to the formation. As we descended, Stu tried to lock up the target with an IIR Maverick. Because of poor thermal contrast with the surrounding area, the seeker would not lock on to just the vehicle. I was flying with extended spacing off Stu’s right wing as we crossed over the coast, flew inland, and rapidly approached the target. My duty was to continuously look for threats to the formation by searching the arc from my right side, through the nose, and on towards my 10 o’clock position to keep Stu in sight. This constant search pattern never allowed me to look for the target. We were two to three miles from the target when Stu radioed that he was switching to guns because the Mav wouldn’t lock-on. I started to sense a ground rush now because I hadn’t flown this low since the war started. The adrenaline rush was almost unbearable. The flight
