KKMC airport, switching in moments from deep striker to hits on Iraqi Army targets minutes north of the border; F/A-18s from the Navy and Marine Corps; allied Jaguars, Mirages, A-4s, F-5s, and F-16s; and waves of bombers and fighters from Incirlik Air Base in Turkey.[59]
All of these aircraft were waiting for the moment they would start the massive rush across the border that would open the aerial pounding of Iraq, which would go on unabated for the next 1,000 hours. What you don’t know
Meanwhile, the first BGM-109 Tomahawk missiles were launched by Navy ships, aimed at vital targets in Baghdad, our first act that could not be recalled. When those missiles left their launch tubes and cells aboard the battleship
Even while the Tomahawks and F-117A Stealth fighters were streaming toward Baghdad, the first blow of the war was struck in Iraq’s western desert, as Task Force NORMANDY — a pair of Special Operations MH-53J PAVE LOW helicopters guiding a force of eight AH-64A Apache helicopter gunships — was approaching air defense early-warning radar sites near the Saudi border. The destruction of these sites would blow a hole in Iraqi’s radar “fence” and buy time for ingressing F-111Fs, F-15Es, and Tornado GR-1s tasked to strike air defense and Scud targets in central and western Iraq. The closer these aircraft came to their targets before the Iraqi air defense radars and ground observers alerted their defenses, the greater the odds they would hit their targets successfully and return home. A lot of folks were depending on those soldiers in their Apaches, as well as the Air Force airmen in the PAVE LOWs, whose elaborate navigation and targeting sensors were leading the Apaches through the dark night.
When the time came, the Apaches launched their Hellfire missiles, and moments later we had our fence hole.
Meanwhile, as the world would soon see on CNN, thousands of guns and surface-to-air guided missiles defended the Iraqi capital city. Airfields ringing the city bristled with some of the most modern air defense interceptors, their pilots eager to get their first kill. The entire network of defenses was tied together with the ultrasophisticated French-built KARI command-and-control system. Though we didn’t know it yet, KARI was about to commit hari-kari, by getting in the way of a bunch of grimly determined airmen.
We
How soon would our strikes silence the command and control? How soon would they spark terror in the gunners, SAM operators, and fighter pilots? How many golden BBs (wildly fired stray bullets) would strike our aircraft? How good were our F-117s? Sure, we had all the test data, all the exercise results, and all the theory; but this was the first time this revolutionary aircraft would play in a big game. (Their debut in Panama had been against undefended targets where the goal was to confuse some sleeping soldiers.) Well, the F-117 team had left the practice fields behind them. Tonight they would receive the air warfare equivalent of a Super Bowl kickoff. Not only did they have to penetrate those intense defenses, they had to hit their targets without fail, since all the rest of the crews behind them were depending on the F-117As to devastate the Iraqi air defenses. They had to hit the system’s eyes and brain — radars, command bunkers, communications sites — with never-before-demanded accuracy, and with no collateral damage.
? At 0100, when I joined our team in the front row of the TACC, almost everyone was there (except for those scheduled to come on the day shift at 0700), watching the growing numbers of radar returns displayed by the AWACS data link on the huge TV screens on the front wall.
One screen gave the AWACS picture. On it, lines showed the boundaries of Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Israel, Syria, Jordan, and Turkey, as well as the northern ends of the Red Sea and the Arabian Gulf. Baghdad was at the center, Riyadh just off the bottom edge of the screen, Incirlik, Turkey, just off the top, the Mediterranean Sea just off the left, and Tehran just off the right. On the screen were red, yellow, or greenish-blue icons. Red was the enemy, yellow unknown, and the others friendly. Beside each icon was a series of four numbers, indicating the track number given by AWACS to the blip they were receiving on their radar.
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
