Every Man a Tiger: The Gulf War Air Campaign

by Tom Clancy

  He walked over to his staff car, threw his G suit in the backseat, and drove to his office in the headquarters Ninth Air Force/CENTAF building just two blocks away.

  Horner’s secretary, Jean Barrineau, was waiting at the door of the outer office. A tall, slender, middle-aged woman with light brown hair who looked younger than her years, Jean was the Ninth Air Force Commander’s brain. She ruled his schedule, yet she wielded her power lightly. Most of the time a visitor would find her with a twinkling face, her eyes shining with amusement, and a little-girl smile, as though she was playing some private joke on her boss—which she often did.

  Today there were no tricks and no smiles. She was worried and all business. “General Schwarzkopf wants you to call him,” she said, “secure.”

  He blew past her into the office.

  The office was institutional but pleasant, with the inevitable government-issue big mahogany desk at one end and a small seating area at the other. The walls held the collection of “I love me” plaques and pictures a man accumulated in the military as he went from base to base. On one wall was a large painting of an F-15 with Horner’s name painted on the canopy rail—a gift from the 2d Squadron at Tyndall AFB in Florida, where he’d served from 1983 to ’85. On the coffee table in the seating area was a copy of the Holy Bible and the Holy Koran; the Bible came from the base chapel, the Koran from a friend in Saudi Arabia. Both were in English. Around the room on various end tables and bookcases were the odds and ends he had gathered while traveling around the world. A gold-colored dagger was a gift from the AWACS crews in Riyadh, a bronze block paperweight commemorated his time in TAC Headquarters as the deputy for Plans and Programs, and there were fighter squadron plaques from the Ninth Air Force units with whom Horner had flown training sorties during base visits. To the right of the back wall was a door that led to the toilet and washstand he shared with his deputy, Major General Tom Olsen. A large, computerlike telephone was located on a credenza under the office’s rear window, directly behind the desk. It shared the space with a few books of the trade, including his F-16 Pilots Handbook and a copy of the United States Military Code of Justice. The phone looked like a computer, because in fact it was a computer, designed to scramble conversations, and it featured thirty or more hotline buttons that connected with locations in the building and around the world.

  Horner sat down behind his desk and punched the top right red switch hotline button; it was marked “CINCCENT.” Schwarzkopf ’s Master Chief answered after the first ring; she said the General would be on the line right away. A moment later, the gruff yet friendly voice of H. Norman Schwarzkopf came on the line. “Chuck, can you come down to MacDill?”

  This wasn’t a request. It was simply a civilized way to say, “Lieutenant General Horner, this is General Schwarzkopf. Get your ass in my office as soon as possible.”

  “Yes sir,” Horner answered, in his best subservient military voice, then added, “Can you tell me what this is all about?”

  General Schwarzkopf confided that he was flying up to Washington the next morning to brief the President on the situation in Kuwait, and about the options the President could consider should the Iraqi Army continue its advance into Saudi Arabia—a possibility that was worrying the President just then.

  “I’ll be right there,” Horner responded quickly.

  When he told Jean he’d be off for MacDill, she said that she had already called TAC Headquarters at Langley AFB, and told General Russ’s secretary that he’d miss the accident brief. He smiled and headed out to his F-16. It was then about one o’clock. They’d be in Tampa about two.

  It was Horner’s time to lead the flight, and in the best of all possible worlds, he would have put together a low-level transit to Tampa; but they didn’t have time to plan that. It was first things first; a potential air war got priority over training and fun.

  The trip itself was a blur. His head was a swarm of thoughts and plans—deployment concepts, numbers of sorties, bombs, enemy fighters, data from a dozen exercises, hundreds of briefings, endless hours of planning over the past three years for a threat from the north. Yet he was in no way anxious. He knew he was ready, well trained, and well supported by a dedicated staff of men and women. Some of them, in fact, had been at Shaw AFB back in the early eighties when the then CENTAF Commander Larry Welch (later the Air Force Chief of Staff) had formed the first Air Force component of the Rapid Deployment Joint Task Force, before RDJTF had become CENTCOM about 1982.

  The RDJTF had come about when U.S. political leaders realized that the industrial world’s primary oil supply was located in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods on the globe, and that America’s allies there did not have sufficient population to create a military force capable of protecting it. The RDJTF concept had been to create a hard-hitting strike force of Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force units capable of deploying halfway around the world on a moment’s notice; hence the terms “Rapid Deployment” and “Joint.” Unfortunately, when it had first started, it had been neither very rapid nor very joint. In the intervening years, successive leaders had honed the deployment skills of their units, and practiced fighting as an integrated team in numerous joint exercises in the California deserts.

  Thus, Horner’s Ninth Air Force team had been preparing to go to war in the Middle East for the past decade. Endless hours had been dedicated to intelligence workups of the region and its people. The operations and logistics staffs had fought many paper wars, using computers to evaluate their plans, strategies, and tactics. Now all that work, all that study, and all that planning was to be put to the test.

  ★ H. Norman Schwarzkopf was a big man, with an unusually large head and broad face—so broad that someone seemed to have stuck his small nose on as an afterthought. He was not simply big, he was imposing. When he was in a room, he was the room’s focus; he didn’t leave much oxygen for anyone else. When you worked for him, it wasn’t hard to fall into awe of him. He thrived on confrontation. His temper was famously quick and violent, and he was notorious for verbally hanging, drawing, and quartering those who didn’t reach his standards. The term for that was “CINC abuse.”

  The term would be used often in the coming months . . . but not by Chuck Horner. In the short ten months he and Schwarzkopf had served together, the two generals had forged a very different kind of relationship. For Horner, Schwarzkopf was not the screaming, tantrum-throwing prima donna others feared. He knew, first of all, that the CINC was very intelligent and amazingly softhearted, and, for him, Schwarzkopf ’s confrontational style of leadership was a plus. Horner also thrived on confrontation. If working for him was like an air-to-air battle, that was no problem. Horner was a fighter jock. That kind of competition was a joy. Horner always worked hard to enter engagements with the CINC prepared for any maneuvers he might throw at him; and as a result, their relationship was cordial and warm. Schwarzkopf had even learned to tolerate occasional jabs from Horner’s sometimes wild sense of humor.

  On this day, however, there would be no humor.

  When Horner walked into Schwarzkopf ’s office, he saw that the General looked very tired. The CINC didn’t waste any time: When he briefed the President and the cabinet the next morning (August 4) at Camp David, he said, he had a pretty good idea of the options the U.S. ground forces could employ to halt any Iraqi advance into Saudi Arabia, thanks to Internal Look, and he was confident he could give a clear, solid briefing to the President. But about the “Air” part of the briefing, he was much less secure.

  If the Iraqis decided to move south into Saudi Arabia, the CENTCOM ground component was the XVIIIth Airborne Corps, which could be on the scene relatively speedily, some of it in days. Iraqi options were limited. Since the terrain became more and more difficult the farther west one got from the Gulf coast, and since the Israelis were in the extreme west watching any military moves in their direction, any Iraqi attack would probably come down the east coast. This was also where the oil was and most of the significant Saudi
population centers, such as Jubail and Dhahran. If Riyadh was an Iraqi goal, they would probably come south and then turn right toward the capital. It was clear to Schwarzkopf what divisions he’d need and where they needed to go to stop such an attack.

  Air, however, was another matter. Horner was aware that Schwarzkopf had no significant knowledge of that component, much less experience with it. The proper use of an air force was not then part of his mental equipment. Horner was also aware—though the CINC never said it explicitly—that Schwarzkopf was less than confident his planning staff would be able to prepare an air briefing for him that he could happily take to the President. That’s why he wanted Chuck Horner at MacDill. After he’d explained to Horner that Air Force Major General Burt Moore’s J-3 (CENTCOM Operations) shop was working the briefings, he asked if Horner could go down to the command center and give them some assistance. Moore was the chief reason Schwarzkopf was worried about his planning staff.

  Moore had only recently taken over the CENTCOM J-3 slot after four years as the Air Force congressional liaison in Washington—hardly the best preparation for planning and operations. Not only was he new to the job and yet to prove himself, but he lacked both experience in the theater and current knowledge of airpower. Almost as bad: he was an Air Force officer, a segment of humanity that the CINC instinctively disliked and distrusted. “With Schwarzkopf,” Horner reflects, “you had to out-tough him to be accepted. Once he’d concluded that you were smart, tough, and loyal, then he would accept you. If he didn’t accept you and you were an Air Force officer, you were double dead meat.” Schwarzkopf didn’t accept Burt Moore.

  Moments later, Horner was out of the serene yet intense office of the CINC, and into the noisy chaos of the CENTCOM command center. Burt Moore was under the gun, and a raft of Air Force, Army, and Marine lieutenant colonels and colonels were crowded into a small conference room, all of them very much on edge, building briefing slides to present to the CINC at the 1700 (5:00 P.M. EDT) conference. The urgency of their efforts was heightened by their fear of provoking a Schwarzkopf rage.

  As soon as he walked into the conference room, Horner sensed that such an event was a very real possibility. Everyone there was more than a little confused and demoralized. Their efforts lacked order and focus, and they seemed to be missing essential details, such as basing, logistics, and sortie rates.

  For their part, Moore and his people were neither delighted to see Horner nor eager to listen to his thoughts and suggestions—which he understood. Ordinarily it would have peeved him to be told to get out of their hair when he was sure he could help them, but they had obviously been working the problem for days, and they didn’t need some outsider sticking his nose into their business. If they were going to be ripped apart by the CINC, at least it should be as the result of their own efforts, and not because of some unwanted advice from the Air Force component of the command. He was also well aware that rank had little importance among fighter pilots. He let the matter drop. If they needed his help, they would call him.

  There was a spare office up on the second floor. If he liked, they told him, he could wait up there. He sighed, and retired to the solitude of the bare-bones office on the second floor.

  It was now 3:00 P.M. He decided he might as well not waste his time, so as he sat, he pondered: What would I tell the President of the United States if I were General Schwarzkopf?

  He’d tell him how much military force he could deploy; what types of units, how fast, where they would be based, and how they would be supported. They’d be broad summaries clearly based on intensive examination of thousands of details. Next, he’d show what amount of military coercive force this air armada could generate. Again, the summaries would capture the strength of modern airpower without boring the listener with the particulars. Here, too, the President would know these statements were supported by a thorough review of nuts-and-bolts detail. Finally he’d conclude with employment concepts—a strategy for employment of airpower to bring the invasion to a halt in preparation for an offensive air campaign that would throw the invading army out of Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, seize control of the air, interdict Iraqi fuel, munitions, food, and water, as well as command and control, and provide close support to the outnumbered ground forces. All of this would be enough to the point to let the President know that he, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, U.S. Army, had his act together and was ready, capable, and in charge.

  More specifically, Horner thought, Schwarzkopf would want to protect our own forces, so he’d want to put up a defensive air CAP—Combat Air Patrol—with AWACS, so he could keep the Iraqi Air Force from attacking us. This would also allow our forces maneuver space, and protect the cities and oil facilities. Once that was done, he’d worry about the Iraqi ground thrust. Where our ground forces were engaged, he’d provide air support. But the real aim of air in this situation would be to defeat the enemy’s ability to sustain the attack, so he’d go after supply depots and lines of supply. That would likely mean he’d have to give up some ground in the opening battle, but as the enemy’s supply routes became longer, the Iraqis would become increasingly vulnerable to air attack. In time we’d cause the attack to dry up, while forcing their ground forces into a posture that our ground forces could handle. Meanwhile, we would conduct operations against their infrastructure and their nation that would punish them for initiating the attack. How? By hitting specific targets with a specific number of sorties. In order to do it, we’d provide such and such a force, to be based here and here . . .

  In order to fill in the blanks, Horner spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone to Shaw AFB, getting information from his Director of Operations, Colonel Jim Crigger, and his Director of Logistics, Colonel Bill Rider. Crigger looked up for him the sortie rates they’d used during the Internal Look exercises, as well as historical aircraft loss rates, readiness states of various fighter and bomber units, deployment schedules, and beddown locations—locations where units would have fuel, food, ammunition, housing, and everything they needed to function. Rider provided endless streams of data on munitions availability, spare parts, fuel supplies, and the beddown capacity of various bases—all the supporting factors that spelled the difference between victory and defeat.

  ★ Above all, Horner wanted to avoid the misconceptions that got tossed around all too easily in discussions of air planning and air operations—that there were such things as distinct “strategic” and “tactical” airpower. He knew that if they got bogged down in such distinctions, then the whole operation could be a disaster. He explains:

  The use of the words “strategic” and “tactical” are a heritage from previous wars, where in general strategic attack was directed at an enemy’s heartland, and tactical operations were directed at his military forces in the field or at sea. More recently, “strategic” has come to mean nuclear strikes against the Soviet Union, or other powerful enemies, and “tactical” all other forms of air warfare.

  Meanwhile, the less lofty terms, “offensive” and “defensive,” have long been associated with counter-air operations. Defensive sorties were ground alert, airborne alert, or scrambles launched against enemy aircraft attacking your territory or forces. Offensive sorties attacked enemy forces, usually over enemy territory or controlled seas.

  I understand offensive and defensive; they have to do with where and when and situation. I don’t understand tactical or strategic. The words have now become meaningless and dysfunctional. In fact, in modern military speech, they are more often used to divide people and frustrate efforts than to illuminate and facilitate. People use them loosely who don’t know what they are talking about. So, for example, a B-52 is called a “strategic bomber.” A strategic bomber? Then why was it doing close air support in the Gulf, a “tactical” operation?

  In reality, the person most likely to call a B-52 a strategic bomber will be an airman from SAC headquarters trying to keep control of an asset he is responsible for in terms of organizing, training, and equipping. If th
at asset is engaged in non-nuclear operations and deployed to a theater other than CINCSAC’s, it’s an asset potentially lost to SAC. It’s all thought of as a zero-sum game.

  There is also a service-biased crowd that like to think of the USAF as made up of strategic or tactical elements—that is, either elements that attack the enemy heartland (as the Eighth Air Force did over Germany in World War II—the real Air Force) or tactical elements that are essentially mobile artillery for the army, and therefore not really Air Force. I call such people airheaded airmen. They don’t realize that air can and will do whatever is necessary to get the job done. In fact, the real Air Force does not define the job as either “strategic” or “tactical.” The job flows down from the President and the Unified Command. As an airman, my job is to tell the President and the Unified Commander what air can do to get that job done, either on its own or by supporting other forces.

  This last explains in part why Goldwater-Nichols has had such a deep and far-reaching effect on our military. It is an effort to stomp out the desire of each service to think it is the end-all, and the others are around just to support them. Thus, in the traditional Navy view of the world, it’s “We like you all, but we are busy out here alone in the middle of the deep blue, so don’t bother to write except to send tankers and AWACS overhead.” The Air Force has those who see airpower as the only solution to all problems, but they want the Army to defend their bases and the Navy to make sure the JP-4 fuel tanker ships get to port. The Marines are most “ joint” of all; they need the Navy to get them there, they can’t survive without the Air Force’s lift and heavy support (they don’t have enough jets), and the Army is responsible for designing and acquiring their equipment. So the way they keep their bias alive is to make sure they always fight alone on some island somewhere without ever integrating into a larger picture.