Every Man a Tiger: The Gulf War Air Campaign

by Tom Clancy

  Even though our backgrounds are vastly different, we have a real and very deep friendship. It’s hard to find words to describe it. In many ways, I guess, I look up to him much like an older brother. He is always courteous, always thoughtful, yet sometimes he is wary of Americans, especially of our willingness to move mountains no matter who lives in their shadow. He is thoughtful, where I am anxious to get going. He weighs risks, where I look for opportunities. He thinks about consequences, where I don’t often give a damn.

  I can tell you this. With Westerners, I have friends—good friends—people I like to sit and talk with, people I like to fly with and drink with; but they are just that, friends. When an Arab allows you to be his friend, your heart leaps against your breastbone and you feel a rush of joy. This is not corny; it’s true. I guess we in the West give our friendship so freely that it has little value. An Arab gives his friendship so warily that once you are accepted, you realize how deeply you have to appreciate it. I am poor at describing this, but good at feeling it.

  ★ 1800 I’m back in my office, boning up for the coming staff meetings, shift change, and the follies at MODA with Schwarzkopf. After that I read the “Read File” (even though George Gitchell and Tom Olsen have taken care of all the routine stuff that I would normally have to bother with in peacetime). I also read the Army and Navy messages, so I know what they are thinking and are worried about. I can read very quickly; I go through a three-inch-thick folder in twenty minutes.

  Then it’s time to write Mary Jo, which I do in about ten minutes. Not much I can tell her, except how much I truly miss her and that I will be a much better husband when I come home (this will last about a month).

  By 1855, I’m finished with the paperwork and have had some private time to sit and think. Do not discount the value of calm private reflection as you prepare for a frenzied evening of meetings and Iraqi tricks.

  ★ 1900 I’m back in the TACC and all are assembled for the changeover meeting. We start on time. (It’s important to start meetings promptly. That way, people will make every effort to be on time; and anyhow, it’s the polite thing to do.)

  Except that the briefers are different, this changeover is not much different from the one in the morning. This time, the Intel people discuss the Iraqi transportation system and which bridges we should strike. The BCE briefs the Army situation. Not much there except for complaints from a corps commander that we are not hitting his nominated targets and therefore he will lose the war. YGBSM.68 Chris Christon gives his spiel, and there is more discussion with the national leaders around the table. I end the meeting with as much guidance as I feel safe to give. Most of it is very general, as I am looking for what they think, not what I think. I want people offering up their own insights, not guessing at mine, and then offering that up as their own.

  The day shift clears out by 2000, and the night shift moves into action; Reavy and Harr get spun up; Crigger and Volmer get ready to take off. Joe Bob Phillips has his tactics team formed and around the map table behind my chair. They are talking about what-ifs we may face tonight, primarily Scuds.

  ★ 2030 I meet Buster upstairs by the front door. He is always running late, getting the master target list built and ready for the evening briefing at MODA. And as always, he comes racing up the stairs, with maybe Tolin or Deptula chasing after him with last-minute bits of information.

  Now the second most important meeting of the day occurs. I sit in the front of the car with my driver, and Buster sits in the back with his notes and charts. As we drive to MODA, we plan the strategy for the meeting. The goal is to get through it with our air campaign intact and the CINC pleased—knowing that he will change the Army-nominated targets all around. We do not wish to incur his withering temper (which we’ve managed to avoid since the war started). Though we are not trying to be cunning or manipulative, there is no reason not to make a successful sales pitch. Buster is a master at thinking on his feet, and I reserve for myself the role of peacemaker. E.g., the CINC questions some assumption or decision of Buster’s, and I jump in with, “You’re exactly right; we will take a closer look at it, and I will let you know.” We even plant a few questionable items in the briefing so other items look more acceptable. In some ways, we have it tough, because we are the only game in town. When the land forces start doing something besides moving west and talking about getting ready, then sitting in this meeting will be pure joy. We’ll be home free, knowing we’d done our job as advertised, and they will be subject to the CINC’s judgment that they are screwing up.

  We arrive at MODA in time for Buster to rush downstairs to set up his charts, and I drop by to talk with some of the CENTCOM staff—sometimes with Bob Johnston, the harried chief of staff; sometimes with Cal Waller, who is full of himself; sometimes with Brigadier General Jack Leide, CENTCOM J-2 (Intelligence), who is really helping us; sometimes with the RSAF chief in the C3IC, Colonel Ayed Al-Jeaid, who is my conduit into Khaled and one of the sharpest men I have ever worked with.

  Five minutes before nine, I wander into what the CINC calls the war room. It’s a conference room with maps and telephones that holds about twelve people at a table in front. For the CENTCOM staff and key onlookers, there are built-in tables, raised up amphitheater-style about the sides and back of the room. I sit to the left of the CINC. Usually Sir Peter de la Billiere or Bob Johnston is to my left, and then Stan Arthur’s and Walt Boomer’s representatives. On my right beyond Schwarzkopf are Cal Waller, John Yeosock, and the Frenchman, Lieutenant General Michel Roquejeoffre, with his interpreter kneeling at his side. Buster Glosson sits in the back.

  The CINC usually strides in on time. He may be in a good mood. He may be in a foul mood. For me it is not important what mood he is in. My job is to sell him another day of airpower the day after tomorrow, and that is what I am focused on. After the CINC sits down, the rest of us take our seats, and the usual briefings follow.

  Often Jack Leide takes some hits. His job is to provide estimates of what is going on in Baghdad. But since no one knows that for sure, his opinions are always open to criticism—especially when these differ from the CINC’s reading of the tea leaves. Moreover, the CINC often wants answers that are simply not available. So when he asks, and Jack can’t answer (nobody could, except the enemy), he gets a needle from Schwarzkopf (who thinks that will make Jack work harder—an impossibility, as he is working as hard as he can). Despite the needles, he is bulletproof and barely flinches when he’s roared at. The man has style.

  There also may be briefings about such things as how the Army is doing on its march to the west. Interesting, but not very important to me. I make sure I say nothing, but look intelligent, interested, and respectful. A J-3 staffer briefs the air war, and does a pretty good job at it. He should, since my people gave him everything he is briefing and made sure he didn’t say the wrong things or otherwise light a fuse under the CINC. (The good thing about his temper: people listen when you tell them how to avoid it, and they are grateful. Of course, the bad thing about it is that most will not tell him anything substantial. Why get chewed out when you’ll all be going home in a couple of months? Best to hang in there silent.) I avoid his temper because it might force him to make a bad decision that I would have to live with or somehow get changed. This is serious business—but then, it should be, and we are big boys.

  Finally, Buster gets up and briefs the forthcoming air campaign. This goes well, because that is the way it should go. A lot of thought and effort have gone into our planning and presentation. If either Buster or I sense we are heading toward a possible train wreck, we avoid it by softening the briefing.

  Toward the end, we come to the KTO targeting. At this point, Buster takes out a notebook; we know we are going to get new guidance. Without any bluster (other than to ask who was the dumb SOB who nominated these targets, at which John Yeosock winces), the CINC turns to a map on his right and points to the Iraqi divisions he wants struck. Not a problem, as they are all in the same general locale, and the fl
yers are going to strike what is hot anyway, based on Killer Scouts, Joint STARS, or newer intelligence.

  The meeting finishes with a swing around the table, to give each of the top commanders a chance to speak. And then Schwarzkopf does some schmoozing with the foreign officers—a reinforcing-the-Coalition sort of thing.

  If I need to discuss anything with him, I will ask for time in his office after the meeting. If it is a small matter, we take care of it in quiet whispers right there. This drives the staff crazy, because they want in on what I am telling him; but I have learned never to talk to him in front of anyone, as it forces him to agree, or worse, disagree. Once it is public, you have great difficulty walking the cat back.

  After the meeting breaks up, Buster often stays behind to work with the CENTCOM staffers. He has spies in place there gathering information that will concern tomorrow night’s presentation. This is serious business, and we take it seriously.

  ★ 2230 Back in the TACC. Deptula is already working the changes from the CENTCOM meeting. He probably had them reworked before the meeting took place, as we have become good at anticipating the CINC, and feed in those decisions we want changed, so the ones we don’t want changed will not suffer.

  Now it’s fun time. The Iraqis are on the move, relocating their vehicles, scaring the Army strung out along Tapline Road, or shooting Scuds. The place heats up.

  Event One: Joint STARS reports a small column of twenty armored vehicles moving in the vicinity of Jabar airfield in south central Kuwait. Solution: divert a flight of IR Maverick A-10s. They work with Joint STARS, find the column, and hit the lead and tail vehicle. Once these are ablaze, the column is halted, and F/A-18s, F-16s, and more A-10s finish off the survivors.

  Event Two: We get reports that the Iraqis are attacking in the vicinity of Listening Post 11.

  “Intel, what do you have?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No signals?”

  “No.”

  “AWACS, do you see anything [such as helicopters]?”

  “No.”

  Twenty minutes of “What the hell is going on?” follow, until we realize that it is some of our troops who went sightseeing into Kuwait to check out the wire and mine fields and decided to come home another way (which is code for they got scared and lost, but managed to find a way out).

  Event Three: Intel shows a Scud en route to western launch boxes. “Get F-15Es on that.”

  They attack four large vehicles with 500-pound bombs and CBUs, and the targets blaze in the night sky. It all probably means that four Jordanian families have lost their fuel-truck-driving fathers on the highway between Baghdad and Amman. Sorry, but they need to stay off the road. It’s dangerous out there.

  Event Four: AWACS calls out that an Iraqi helicopter is in the west near the Saudi border and headed west. Two F-15Cs call tally and are cleared to fire by AWACS, since there is no friendly traffic fragged for that area.

  Reavy is skeptical, because the Iraqis have pretty much shown good sense about where and when they fly. Thinking it is probably a Special Ops mission, he calls the Special Ops liaison and tells him to get his ass into the TACC (Special Ops had a little private room of their own just outside the TACC).

  When the guy comes out, he says the helicopters are not his, and they can die as far as he cares.

  Mike Reavy still thinks something is wrong here and tells the major to get his ass back into his secret room to check.

  He comes out minutes later, pale as a ghost. They are Special Ops choppers, inbound to a drop zone.

  Event Five: The young lady on my left has stopped reading her romance novel and announces a Scud attack in a very loud but controlled voice. The room stirs, but holds off a response. I pick up the master attack list and look at the clock: 1235. Then I scan the TOT listings. Sure enough, there is a flight of three B-52s dropping on the Tawalkana Republican Guard. At 1236, there they are on the AWACS display.

  Fifty seconds later, the same young lady in the same very loud but controlled voice announces, “Disregard the Scud alert. False alarm.” (The DSP IR satellites had seen the intense heat across the earth made by a string of bombs and duly reported it to the ground station in Colorado. However, when the watts per steradian did not match the Scud profile loaded into the computer, the event was reported as an “anomaly,” which is space-geek talk for “hell if I know.”)

  In between events, I read my mail, lots of it, and I love it all—from Mary Jo, from friends, from people I’ve never met and probably never will. It is a lifesaver for all of us and a great source of energy.

  ★ It is now 0200 in the morning, and Tom is fully in charge. Things have quieted down, and I am very, very tired. I’ve already fallen asleep twice in my chair, but this is not an uncommon sight when things are slowing down and you have someone next to you who can fill in if needed. It’s not like guard duty.

  It’s time to haul my tail upstairs, put on the pistola and bulletproof vest, and head back out through the wall, talking calmly to all the guard posts en route. I do not want to get killed in this war.

  The apartment is dark, but I don’t bother to turn on the lights or hang up my uniform. I just place it over the chair and crash into the bed. Fortunately, there will be a clean bed and fresh underwear, thanks to the house boy, Chris from Sri Lanka. He is never there when I come and go, but he always picks up after me and keeps the laundry clean and ready.

  I will change fatigues in the morning, so I’ll get up a little earlier than usual. But then, since John is not sleeping here tonight, at least the phone won’t be ringing. I am asleep in seconds.

  13

  The Ten Percent War

  IN February 1991, during the waning moments of the war, a debate went on in the White House about choosing a moment to cease hostilities. As Colin Powell reports in his autobiography, the debate ended when John Sununu suggested 0500 on February 28. That way the “war” would have lasted a hundred hours and could be plausibly named “The Hundred-Hour War.” And so it came about. It was a brilliant idea. The name had PR pizzazz.

  There was only one problem: the war did not last one hundred hours. The duration of the war—from mid-January to the end of February—was closer to a thousand hours. Sununu and the others in the White House were thinking of the ground war, of course—an easy misconception, but maddening to Coalition airmen, who bore such a large part of the burden of winning this war. To them, the ground effort was not a Hundred-Hour War, it was a Ten Percent War.

  This is not to say that the ground war was a waste or unnecessary—far from it—and as January turned into February, and February wore on, Coalition air devoted an ever-greater portion of their effort to preparing for it. The ground invasion of Kuwait was to come soon, everyone knew, but when? When was G day?

  The decision to start the ground war was based on the answers to three questions:1. Were the Iraqis beaten down enough to allow Coalition ground forces to attack with a minimum of casualties?

  2. Would the weather be favorable enough to allow air support?

  3. Were Coalition troops trained and logistically ready, and at their assigned starting-out locations?

  We’ll look at the answers to these questions over the course of this chapter.

  BEATING DOWN THE IRAQIS

  The answer to question one depended on three factors. First: battlefield preparation. How successful was Coalition airpower in reducing Iraqi armor and artillery? Second: The choice of which Iraqi units to hit, how hard, and when. (These two issues were related, but they were kept separate at CENTCOM and CENTAF, because of the understandable interest of Coalition ground units in the condition of the Iraqi units they themselves would be facing.) Third: PSYOPS. How successful were Coalition psychological-warfare efforts in undermining the morale of Iraqi ground forces? An army that has no taste to fight is an army that is beaten—even if they are equipped with state-of-the-art equipment in pristine shape.

  ★ Though air attacks had hurt Iraqi forces in the KTO before the beg
inning of February, the Iraqis were still a reasonably effective fighting force. February ruined them. The following summary is based on a Chris Christon report from February 10, 1991.

  In his view, initial attacks—primarily directed against the air defense system, Scud sites, infrastructure, leadership, and weapons research, development, and production facilities—had had no major impact on the Iraqi Army. Commanders and their staffs had proved very flexible in handling the difficulties that Coalition air attacks had imposed on their operations. For example, when air attacks cut telephone lines, the Iraqis used message carriers on motorcycles. When air disrupted their command-and-control networks (as part of the destruction of the centralized air defense system), the Iraqis developed work-arounds; and their command-and-control network remained effective, secure, and capable of supporting major military operations.

  On the front lines, they had adjusted their routines around the timing of air attacks, and for the first part of the war, the Iraqi Army found sanctuary at night. They were able to do this because the most capable Coalition systems for night attack—F-117s, F-111s, and LANTIRN-equipped F-15Es and F-16s—were tied up chasing Scuds or hitting fixed targets outside the KTO, which left the job of hitting the Iraqi Army at night mostly to A-10s, A-6s, and B-52s hitting area targets.

  All this changed in February, when most of the air effort was devoted to shaping the battlefield. For example, of the 986 bombing sorties scheduled for February 11, 933 of them were tasked to that mission. And here is how shaping-the-battlefield sorties were allocated by corps during the period from February 10 through February 12:

  Sample Sortie Allocations69 (in percents)