Every Man a Tiger: The Gulf War Air Campaign

by Tom Clancy

  In other words, space has become too big, too important, to be treated as a subset of air operations or of the Cold War.

  Airmen now face a difficult choice: either to define space as air operations at a higher altitude, or to develop doctrine that describes space operations in terms as different from air as air is from land or sea. For the time being, the Air Force has crafted a course of action that defines itself as an “air and space” force that could become the “space and air” force. But that may not be enough.

  Our space force is the servant to all our military services. The Army and Marine Corps rely more heavily on global positioning satellite information than do their comrades in the air or on the sea. The Navy requires satellite communications to coordinate the activities of their far-flung fleets. As a result, the land and sea forces are deeply concerned that they rely almost exclusively on the USAF to satisfy their space needs. The problem here is that the Air Force has its own needs (many of which have little to do with space), and these needs have to be funded. As long as each service is funded at an artificial rate almost equal to one-third of the defense budget, the Air Force will be hard-pressed to fill its core air responsibilities while growing its role in space.

  All of this means that our space force may need to become a military entity in its own right, equal and apart from our air, land, and maritime forces. At some point the nation must ask itself if we should artificially limit our space and air capabilities with the present budgeting methodology, when both are growing in importance to our defense strategy.

  CINCSPACE

  I have a particular interest in space because, after the war, from 1992 to my retirement in 1994, I was commander of the U.S. space forces.

  Space people are interesting. By that I mean that most of them don’t seem very much like most of us—not X-Files different, but definitely leaning toward strange.

  For one thing, you’d think space people would be the most flexible, daring, and future-oriented individuals you’re likely to meet. In fact, that is not usually the case. Most of them are incredibly cautious. Many bad things can go wrong in their world; and when they do, the results can be catastrophic. Even a little glitch can be a big problem when the glitch is 22,500 miles above the surface of the Earth. Each space launch is a unique event (just as it was forty years ago). Every time space folks put a satellite on tons of explosive fuel, their memories retain the scars of huge explosions on the launch pad or shortly after liftoff. We all saw the Challenger tragedy on our television sets.

  In other words, space folks are the most conservative group you will find. They make Swiss bankers look like druggy surfers. They agonize over every aspect of their trade. The design and construction of satellites can take many years. There are inevitable delays—often measured in years. Nothing is left to chance.

  Once the bird is in orbit and functioning, it is turned over to the satellite flyers, men and women who work in windowless rooms in front of flickering computer screens. They are backed up by the men and women stationed around the globe (usually at lonely, faraway locations such as island atolls and Arctic wastelands) who operate the radio net that communicates with the orbiting vehicles.

  In the control rooms, you’ll find computer geeks, people who are among the most highly trained, motivated, educated, disciplined, and competent professionals in our military.

  When you enter the room, you notice the hush. The hum of air conditioners is about the only sound present, until you begin to realize there’s also a click, click, click of computer keys. That’s the noise the space pilots make when they fly their vehicles.

  Occasionally, there’ll be an anomaly that the operator cannot fix—say, an overheating transmitter as the sun bakes the side of the bird facing its rays. The operator desperately tries to coax the bird to turn so more heat-dissipating material will protect the affected part, but to no avail. When the operator finally realizes he (or she) can’t resolve the anomaly on his (or her) own and turns to the supervisor on duty for help, they don’t yell “Help” or “Mayday” or “SOS”; they look up from their screens and wave their hand to beckon their leader to their station. The expert then quietly rises from his/ her own computer station, walks to the unhappy operator, and bends down to look at the flashing red numbers to which the operator is pointing on the computer screen. These are code for the problem occurring halfway around the world and thousands of miles out in space. The supervisor reaches over and moves the computer keyboard where he or she can tap the “backspace” key to clear the command column, then types in a series of numbers and letters to command the bird to take healing action. Both watch the numbers on the reporting display change as the action takes effect and the bird is saved. Then both go back to their normal work.

  The battle was fought without anyone speaking a word. Welcome to the silent world of space.

  Is it surprising that such people have made little impact on the guys with guns and bayonets, or that the warriors have had little understanding of how space can support their operations?

  When I arrived at SPACECOM, I very quickly found the reason for this. It was fear. The space people were afraid that the mean, ugly warriors would laugh at them for being geeks, and the warriors were afraid the space geeks would laugh at them for being stupid. I knew I had to do something.

  First, I accused the space people of doing “a war dance in their own tepees.” That is, they were busy creating systems to support military operations, but they were not out marketing their wares, for fear they’d get laughed at or rejected. Then I publicly announced that I was Geek Number One and that I was going to learn all I could about their black art. Since I had some experience getting shot at, I figured this was one geek the warriors would not reject. Then I started marketing the wares space could provide the warriors.

  At the same time, I made sure that the often hobby-shop efforts of the space people actually related to the needs of the folks pulling triggers in anger.

  Soon it became fun for everyone, as the warriors began to realize more and more the immense contributions space systems and products could make to their efforts; and the space geeks began to gain confidence, not only because of the excellence of their work, but because national heroes thought highly of them and their work.

  We are not there yet, but I long for the day when a space geek walks into a fighter pilot bar and announces, “You boys better get out of here. I’ve had a bad day flying my satellite, I intend to get drunk, and if that happens I may get mean and hurt one of you.” At that point, the space pilots will have earned their spurs. “Every man a tiger” applies to all the skies, those above the air included.

  These are some of the first things I learned as Geek Number One:

  To start with, keep in mind that when you enter space, nothing is there. That’s good if you want to fly without drag, or if you want to use a laser without the attenuation problems one gets in air, or if you want to see without clouds or dust getting in the way. But living and breathing don’t come as easily as down here.

  So why go there? Because you can do a lot of things you can’t do on Earth. Satellites offer a very convenient platform.

  How do satellites work?

  Imagine a big cannon. Shoot a projectile out of it at, say, a forty-five-degree angle; the projectile makes an arc and hits some distance away. Shoot the projectile with greater velocity; the projectile makes a longer arc and falls farther away. If you keep increasing the velocity, eventually the projectile falls completely around the Earth, and it has become a satellite. It is now in orbit.

  An infinite variety of orbits are possible, and various orbits have various useful purposes.

  For example, if you place a satellite at approximately 22,300 miles above the equator and set it in motion with a speed that matches the Earth’s rotation, then it just sits there (at least from the point of view of the Earth). Looked at from below, it’s stationary—or geosynchronous (GEO), to use the technical term—with a little less than half the world
in its field of view (the exceptions are the polar areas). That means it can receive line-of-sight signals from Earth and beam them back to a receiver located anywhere else in the world that is in its field of view. Hooking these two stations up would mean a lot of copper wire; plus, you can send transmissions to intermediate stations in between. Best of all, you can send the radio beam to another satellite, also hovering over the equator, and that one can send it to another. Either of these can send the message down to a station within its field of view. In that way, you can contact anyplace on Earth (except at its very top and very bottom).

  This orbit is best for communications satellites. It is also the home of our Cold War infrared satellites, such as the ones that detected the ballistic missiles launched at Riyadh or Israel.

  If you want your satellite to listen to radio broadcasts from some station on Earth—say, KRNT radio in Des Moines, Iowa—it turns out that GEO may not provide a view of an area you want covered. That means you want your satellite to be closer to the station. The problem is that a GEO orbit is the only place in which the satellite will stand still over the surface of the earth; and besides, since you don’t care to listen to ABC in Perth, Australia, on the other side of the world, you want your orbiting satellite to float over Des Moines and whiz by Perth. That means you’ll want to create an egg-shaped orbital path, with the Earth located at the bottom of the small part of the oval. In that way, your satellite will spend most of its time looking down on Iowa and very little time looking down on down-under. This kind of elliptical orbit is called a “Molniya” orbit (the word is Russian; I don’t know what it means).

  If you want to use a satellite to look closely at the surface of the earth, then you’ll want to fly it as close to it as you can get, because the closer you are, the better you can see things. So you put your satellite in as low an orbit as possible. The problem now is that if you get too low, you start scraping air, and your bird slows down and eventually falls to earth. This orbit is called Low Earth Orbit, or LEO (about 60 to 300 miles up).

  If you want to listen instead of look, then you might go higher, so your satellite has more of the Earth’s surface in its field of view. This is called Medium Earth Orbit, or MEO (anything between LEO and GEO). Hence, the space geeks talk about LEO and MEO, GEO and Molniya. And if you learn to say “anomaly” when something is screwing up, and “effemerius” when you mean speed, altitude, and heading, then you’re well on your way to becoming a true space cadet.

  ★ As CINCSPACE, I had three jobs.

  First, I was CINC NORAD. There, it was my responsibility to maintain the air sovereignty of the United States and Canada. Though watching over sovereignty involved keeping track of what flew over our nations from outside our borders, the real job was to evaluate the indications of a ballistic missile attack on the United States and Canada, in order to advise the President and the Prime Minister, so the President could order the nuclear response that would end the world. NORAD handled this warning and evaluation (rather than, say, CINCSTRAT, who would order the attack, should that come) to keep the evaluator separate from the trigger-puller. Of course, the biggest tip-off would have been the radar and IR satellite detection of an ICBM attack.

  Second, I was CINCSPACE. There, I commanded components from Army, Navy, and Air Force (of which Air Force Space Command was the largest).

  As CINCSPACE, I evaluated and influenced the space programs of the various services. I also validated the requirements documents used by the services to support the funding of their programs and made sure that the service programs coordinated with, and supported, the efforts of the sister services. I provided space services to the regional CINCS through the components. So, for example, I made sure the AFSPACE flyers of the comm satellites positioned their birds to support the needs of a CINC—say, the CINC Korea (technically, the commander combined forces Korea), who had a special need and had been authorized access to the satellite by the JCS and DISA (Defense Information Systems Agency, which handles long-haul communication and tries to make the services’ programs interoperable or joint). I worked with other space agencies, not the least of which was the National Reconnaissance Office (which is responsible for acquiring and operating space vehicles that provide national intelligence, and is headed by an Assistant Secretary of the Air Force). This made sure that the services’ interests were represented in the national community requirements documents. In the past, this had been a big problem, as the NRO mainly responded to the Cold War and did not like to get close to regional conflicts. Though that changed after Desert Storm, I still had problems with the CIA, who wanted the Cold War to remain, so they could do business as usual.

  Third, I commanded AFSPACE, the Air Force space component, by far the largest of the three service components working for CINCSPACE. My job there was to make sure operations went as planned and that satellites were maintained and controlled. I also operated ground stations around the world that collected intelligence, talked to satellites, tracked objects in space, launched satellites, or operated the bases that controlled civilian and NRO-launched satellites. I was additionally responsible for recovery of the space shuttle, should there be a problem. If launches or landings went as advertised, then NASA did the job. But if things went bad, then the job was mine. This is because I had the rescue helicopters and military crews capable of reaching and recovering survivors.

  As the commander of AFSPACE, I supervised the staff that built the requirements documents that led to new space systems. I managed the funds needed to operate the space networks, maintained the bases, and had a full staff, like any large component.

  And finally, I was responsible for the creation of a pair of institutions of which I remain particularly proud, Fourteenth Air Force and the Space Weapons Center.

  Fourteenth AF has assigned to it all the space assets of the USAF and serves as a space component in the event of war.

  Its assets include both launch complexes at Vandenburg AFB, California, and Patrick AFB at Cape Canaveral, Florida; Falcon AFB (now Schriever, named after General Bernard A. Schriever, who was the genius behind our development of ICBMs, as well as the engines we use to put satellites into orbit—Atlas, Titan, and Delta) east of Colorado Springs, where the actual flying of satellites is managed; and units around the world that make up the AFCN (Air Force Control Network).

  Until Fourteenth AF came into existence, there was no specific space component responsible for war-fighting. Space “products” were simply delivered haphazardly.72

  As I said earlier, the space folks didn’t know war, and the warriors did not know space. Therefore the spacers had capabilities that could help the troops with guns, but since they had no idea what the armed mob did, they could not tell them what they had to offer. On the other hand, the armed mob had no idea what was available. Keep in mind, as well, that most of space is highly classified, owing to its long association with the Cold War and national agencies. Is it surprising that the left hand hardly ever knew what the right hand was doing?

  The Space Warfare Center was set up to allow a group of people (half of whom were space warriors and half of whom were air warriors) to think about space war and to exercise space war in the same manner that the Fighter Weapons Center had done since the 1960s. They would then bring space to unified command exercises in Korea or the Middle East, or to service war games such as Blue Flag and Red Flag.

  My role at Space was to bring as much war-fighting awareness to the space people, to organize them to respond to the needs of people in combat or crisis management. I pushed for systems that would pay off in regional war and tried to kill everything that addressed only Cold War requirements, such as low data rate communications satellites (satellites that could withstand a nuclear burst in space and thus maintain CINCSTRAT’s command-and-control communications, so his airborne bombers could execute their missions).

  Most of all, I worked on the awareness, attitude, and motivation of the space people. In other words, lots of Bill Creech—Pride, Pr
oduct, Professionalism, Initiative.

  ★ I couldn’t close out any discussion of space without a discussion of space exploration. This may seem like a long way from Iraq and Desert Storm, but it’s all on the same continuum of what man can dream and achieve.

  People talk about space as the last frontier. It’s right that they should. Oh, there are people who oppose it, mostly among those who call themselves intellectuals and opinion makers. Their objections take two forms.

  First, these people want to see space free from human contamination. “Why subject humans to the intolerable risk of space travel, when robots do a better job?” True, space is not safe, but that’s not the point. The point is that men and women will go where men and women want to go.

  Second, they want to keep space free from the contamination of weapons. “Why not keep the contagion localized?” Their argument is stronger here, but they may as well try to keep their daughters virgins. Weapons are already in space. See above.

  In the sixteenth century, there were Europeans who argued against exploring and settling the new continents to the West. They are now forgotten.

  There seems to be enough water on Mars to support life—if not Martian life, then the earthly kind. Let’s go there. Let’s mine the asteroids. Let’s go to Titan and gaze meditatively at Saturn’s rings. And why stop there?

  As we fly beyond earthly bonds, let’s face it, we’re likely to get into fights. We’re contentious. Sure, there’s a possibility that sanity will prevail (and I pray that it will), but, humans being humans, don’t count on it.