by Tom Clancy
In any war, there were many time-sensitive targets, that is, targets we wanted to hit early—command-and-control nodes, Scud storage areas, airfields, and so on—all of which we wanted to close down quickly so we could hit our other targets more efficiently as assets (fighter-bombers) became available after turnaround. Therefore, it made sense to plan the opening moments of the war to include as many strikes as possible, as quickly as possible; and cruise missiles, though expensive, gave us the ability to hit many targets simultaneously.
In this war, cruise missiles were fired not only from B-52s but from battleships and submarines (thus showcasing the Navy). The Air Force’s B-52s and their cruise missiles were the first to take off and the first to fire a shot in anger (thus showcasing the Air Force’s emerging Global Reach Global Power doctrine). Ordnance from Army Apaches was the first to explode. And Air Force F-117s were the first to penetrate the airspace of Iraq. Lots of firsts for everybody.
Our tankers, AWACS, and fighters flying the air defense combat Air Patrols and training sorties had been flying near the Iraq border every day and night since August 6 (and the RSAF had been doing that alone before we got there). These flights had been carefully increased over the past weeks, so Iraqi radar operators looking across into Saudi Arabia would not be alarmed at the large numbers of radar returns. What they didn’t see were hundreds of aircraft, primarily tankers and bomb-laden fighters, orbiting farther back from the border at altitudes below the Iraqi radar’s line of sight over the horizon.
The first wave of these were deep-penetrating aircraft—F-111s, F-15Es, Tornadoes, F-16s, A-6s, and more F-117s. These had the range and large bomb loads needed to hit Iraqi command-and-control bunkers, Scud launch pads and storage areas, telecommunications and radio facilities, and airfields. They were complemented by F-15Cs, F-14s, and air defense Tornadoes, which would orbit above Iraqi airfields, waiting for Saddam’s Air Force to rise to the defense of its country.
Also prowling over Iraq were a host of vital support aircraft—EF-111s to electronically blind Iraqi radar, Wild Weasels and Navy A-7s, equipped with high-speed radiation missiles to physically blind surface-to-air missile radar, and Special Operations helicopters, waiting near Baghdad to conduct pickup of downed aircrew. Throughout the night and next day, RF-4, U-2, RF-5, and TARPS-configured Navy/Marine aircraft flew reconnaissance and provided battle damage assessment of our opening strikes.
Backing up all of this were countless KC-135, KC-10, KC-130, and A-6 refueling tankers orbiting ever closer to the Iraqi border as the first wave of fuel-thirsty fighters and bombers returned from deep inside Iraq.
While airpower was striking the heart of Iraq, its army in the KTO did not go unnoticed. Waves of B-52s from England, Spain, and Diego Garcia began an unceasing avalanche of flaming iron upon the Republican Guard and other Iraqi troops. The rising sun brought another form of terror, as deadly A-10s dove down with their Maverick missiles, 30mm guns and bombs on tanks, armored personnel carriers, trucks, artillery, supply depots, and air defense SAMs and AAA guns.
Worse was to come, from thousands of other aircraft—versatile F-16s, often quickly turned around at 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
Number of Fighter, Attack, and Bomber Aircraft
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 can hurt you.
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 Wisconsin, we were committed to war.
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 truly didn’t know.
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 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 needed 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.