Only MCs know the disappointment of locating a target in their binoculars and at the same time learning that the SEAD aircraft are bingo. They will be distracted for several valuable minutes to handle this problem—just one of many they will work during their vul period—while the target is escaping.
Kosovo had been split in half to help deconflict friendly aircraft. We were working in the eastern half of the country and had been alternating vuls with Meegs Meger and his wingman, Johnny “CBU” Hamilton. I covered Buster as he searched for targets during the first vul period without much luck. We headed south, got some gas over Macedonia and Albania and headed back over Kosovo to continue our search for Serb military assets. Our efforts to find valid targets continued to be stymied by disciplined Serb ground forces. They were aware of our presence and were careful not to move on the ground and draw attention to themselves. The fact that we had to remain above 10,000 feet AGL during our search made finding Serb forces that much harder.
During our second vul period, ABCCC personnel (using the call sign Bookshelf) passed the CAOC’s direction to find and identify a Straight Flush radar. They said it was located in a valley west of Pec, in the far western part of the country. A Straight Flush is the short-range acquisition and fire-control radar associated with the SA-6 Gainful SAM system. Our vulnerability to this system prompted the establishment of a policy that prohibited us from entering a region without SEAD. We found it ironic that now we were being directed to virtually fly over a suspected SA-6 site. Buster called to confirm that they really wanted our A-10s to locate a Straight Flush. When the answer came back “yes,” we spent some time searching over the mountainous region of western Kosovo, where tops were up to 8,700 feet above mean sea level (MSL). We searched from an altitude of 19,000 feet MSL to maintain our minimum altitude of 10,000 feet AGL, which made it even more difficult to locate targets on the valley floor—often more than 2,000 feet below the peaks.
We searched for about 20 to 30 minutes and then told Bookshelf that we could not establish contact with the Straight Flush—we couldn’t see it, and it didn’t shoot at us. Since we had been briefed that the destruction of enemy air defenses was not our mission, I’m not sure that we would have been allowed to kill the SA-6 even if we had found it.
It was while we were looking for the Straight Flush that I realized how much trust flight leads place in their wingmen during combat. Target search was a tricky thing. We had great binoculars, but using them meant having to fly left-handed and having a field of view limited to only what can be seen through the binoculars. I found it disconcerting to know that, when I was using those binos, I would probably not see a threat until it was too late. AFACs could concentrate on target search and not worry (too much) about threats if their wingmen diligently cleared for threats to the formation. Buster showed a great deal of faith in my ability to compensate for his vulnerability when he searched for that SA-6 with his binoculars over the mountains of western Kosovo. Most of my remaining OAF missions were flown over Kosovo as a flight-lead AFAC, and I relied on my wingmen to cover me. They never let me down, and I owe them my life.
After nearly completing the last of our three planned vul periods in the KEZ, we got a call from Bookshelf on an “unsecure” radio announcing that the KEZ would be closing early for the day. We headed south for the tanker, curious about the reason for the early closure. As we rendezvoused with the tanker, the Bookshelf crew asked us to contact them on our secure radio. Buster went off frequency to talk to Bookshelf and left me to handle the tanker coordination. We had refueled, departed the tanker, and headed north by the time Buster filled me in on the plan.
Serbian ground forces had been very disciplined, curtailing their movements when they knew we were overhead. Our intelligence people had determined that, as soon as we departed the AOR, they would resume their rampage across the country. Someone convinced the CAOC to run an unannounced KEZ vul period with the hope of catching the Serbs off guard. Buster had been off frequency to coordinate the unscheduled vul and to ensure we had all the necessary support: SEAD, tankers, and counterair (whose details no one had yet planned).
We went back into the KEZ and found Meegs already working a target area with reports of medium AAA in the area. We offered to come in above them to provide some mutual support. But after another 20 minutes, I began to lose faith in this plan. I had been in the cockpit for about seven hours, my rear hurt, and I was out of water bottles and piddle packs. It was becoming a survival situation for me, and I hadn’t even been shot at yet. It’s a good thing we didn’t throw in the towel because our luck changed in a hurry.
Buster’s radio call, as Meegs reminded us later, was “I got a whole schmit-load of movers!” Before he could finish the sentence, I picked up the convoy he was talking about—eight or so vehicles southbound on a dirt road. I could tell they were really hauling because, even from 16,000 feet, I could see the vehicles moving in three dimensions as they pounded through the terrain. I remember seeing the front end of one APC coming up and then crashing back down—spewing up dirt and dust. Buster quickly rolled in, locked up a vehicle with a Maverick, and fired.
That one attack not only destroyed the vehicle it hit, but also furthered our efforts by splitting the convoy into north and south elements, providing a mark for other fighters. Splitting the convoy was important because it allowed us to attack three or four of the vehicles and to hand off the remaining ones to Meegs and his CBUs. Using a Maverick missile or a 500 lb Mk-82 bomb to mark a target was a technique we quickly embraced. These larger munitions had the potential to destroy a target element, their visual effects lasted longer, and they were easier to see from the extreme altitudes at which we worked. They had proven to be better marks than the more traditional, and much smaller, white-phosphorous rockets.
Buster attacked the northern target element again with two Mk-82s. Before we had a chance to evaluate his damage, he found another convoy about a mile northeast of the first and attacked it by dropping his last two Mk-82s and strafing with his 30 mm cannon. Meegs was still working fighters on the southern element of the first convoy. A flight of two F-16CGs arrived to strike for Buster but missed with their first LGB attack and then lost sight of the target. Buster told me to hit the target with my Mk-82s and directed the F-16s to watch the target area for my bombs. I rolled in—north to south—and strung four bombs along the convoy. It was a good pass, and the bombs were effective as more than just a mark. Buster’s call as I came off target was, “Oh, that’s beautiful. Hit my wingman’s smoke.” The F-16s then ran a successful LGB attack and destroyed the southern-most vehicle before having to depart for fuel. We then attempted a couple of IIR Maverick passes but could not lock on to the targets because the many fires on the ground washed out the IR contrast. Even so, the convoy had been pretty well destroyed.
Buster and I worked south to look for more targets. Buster, again trusting my ability to cover him, looked through his binoculars and thought he saw some muzzle flashes on the ground. We were constantly getting jammed on at least one of our three radios—and occasionally on all of them. Other friendly aircraft were using one of our two partially clear radios, and Buster was transmitting on the remaining radio, trying to talk my eyes onto the target area, when I saw two groups of large, dark smoke clouds appear between our jets. I started to jink and called out the threat. As I finished my call, I could still hear Buster transmitting on the same frequency and realized that he had not heard my threat call. We had stepped on each other’s transmissions. That meant Buster and I were simultaneously transmitting to each other, and since a radio’s receiver is disabled during its transmissions, neither of us heard the other’s call. I again tried to alert him, but my warning was either jammed or stepped on. I don’t remember being too concerned about my own safety—probably because it looked as though they were shooting at him and not me. I do remember the incredible feeling of helplessness—watching my friend and flight lead getting shot at and not being able to communicate with him. I thought he was going to take a hit because the AAA airbursts looked huge compared to the size of his aircraft. I eventually got ahold of him and we beat feet out of the area.
After we regrouped and headed back into the target area, I started to think about them shooting at me. Although I definitely felt some fear, I was hoping that they would shoot at us again so we could see where it came from and retaliate. Again—as Buster searched for targets—I saw more airbursts. We had returned at a little higher altitude than the first time, so the clouds of flak were now below us. I called the threat to Buster, and he searched for their position on the ground. While these gunners were apparently having no trouble finding us, we were having no luck finding them. Fortunately our high altitude and constant maneuvering kept them from being able to hit us.
While we were in the area looking for the shooters, Buster found yet another convoy. We were too low on
