A-10s over Kosovo

by Christopher E. Haave Kimos

  I salute the bravery of that night’s tanker crews. Unarmed and unafraid they brought us fuel well within the range of Serb MiGs. We completed the refueling without a hitch. Joe Bro’s refueling door worked fine, and within 20 minutes we were on our way. Unfortunately, things were not going so well for Buster.

  Buster had finished his coordination and had everyone ready for the pickup. Meegs had Moccasin in position and everything looked good except for one thing. The survivor, Vega 31, had not checked in on the radio, and it was now nearly 10 minutes after the time we expected him to reestablish contact. Moonbeam then relayed a message from our intelligence folks that the Serbs were claiming to have picked him up—not exactly the news we wanted to hear. It was time to start worrying. This was by far the low point on the emotional roller coaster that I had been riding all night. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity and listened. Every minute or so Buster called for Vega—no response.

  This couldn’t happen. We had worked too hard to lose him now. For over six months, we had trained over Bosnia, developing and refining our skills at CSAR in preparation for this moment. There was no way we are going to leave Vega to the Serbs.

  Just when I couldn’t take it anymore, Buster made another call, “Vega Three-One, Sandy Three-Zero.”

  In response was the weak but extremely calm reply, “Sandy Three-Zero, this is Vega Three-One.” The roller coaster was on its way back up.

  Buster’s next concern was the possibility that Vega 31 had been captured and the Serbs were now luring us into an ambush. Buster asked Vega another question from Vega’s ISOPREP card, and there was a pause.

  “If you do not authenticate, we’ll have to wait a little while.” Buster was trying to give Vega 31 the option of calling off the pickup. If Vega came back with the wrong answer, we would know the Serbs had him. Vega, however, quickly answered the question and told us it still looked good for the pickup.

  “All players, all players, execute, execute, execute.” This was the call we had been waiting for Buster to make all night. It was time to move the helos forward and get on with the pickup. Buster prepared Vega for exactly what he was to do when the helos approached.

  “Sandy, Vega Three-One, you want me to stay up?”

  “Affirm, affirm,” Buster replied. Vega was a bit confused about what was going on. He wanted to know if he should continue monitoring his radio or not. I considered this a good sign. If Vega didn’t have an idea of when we were planning the pickup, the Serbs should also have trouble figuring it out.

  Buster then called us: “Sandy Five-One and Five-Two, I want you to come in and anchor 10 miles southwest of objective and provide mutual support until Sandy Three-Zero, Three-One bingo.”

  “Copy, en route to 10 miles southwest objective now,” I answered. Joe Bro and I were holding on the border, and Buster wanted us to move forward and hold southwest of Vega. Buster and Slobee were running low on gas and would soon have to go searching for another tanker.

  “With your eyeball out and your raw up. Confirm your raw is up,” I transmitted to Joe Bro.

  He replied, “That is affirmative. Raw is up, chaff flare and pod is on.” Before we entered Serbia we double-checked our jet’s self-protection equipment. The radar warning receiver (RWR, pronounced raw), chaff, flares, and the ECM pod are the systems we would use to defeat any SAMs the Serbs might launch.

  “Sandy Three-Zero, SAM reported active BRA, north 10.” Magic was reporting that a nearby SAM was trying to track Buster and Slobee.

  “Five-One, Four-One and Four-Two are in trail on you. We’re about 700 pounds above bingo before tanker.” Meegs and Scrape, Sandy 41 flight, had joined in behind Joe Bro and me and were following us into the heart of Serbia. They had enough gas to hang around for another 15 minutes.

  “Five-One, Three-Zero; we’re going to have to bug out for gas. The signal is standard; confirm you have the information to give that signal.” Buster was flying on fumes and had to return to the tanker. He was making sure that I had all the info to get Vega to signal the helos at the right time.

  “OK, you got the helos up SAR bravo?” I hadn’t heard the helicopters on “bravo” frequency yet. I was trying to act like I was in charge now.

  “They’re coming up SAR bravo now.” Meegs interjected.

  “Sandy, Moccasin Six-Zero on PLS bravo.” The helos were finally up on the bravo frequency associated with the personnel-locator system.

  “Magic, Three-Zero is going to have to RTB for gas. Moccasin, Sandy Five-One now OSC.” Buster had finally turned west. He informed Magic that he was returning to base (RTB) due to low fuel. In reality, Buster was so low on fuel that he had to find a tanker or divert to Tuzla, Bosnia. He also informed Moccasin that I was the OSC.

  “Sandy Five-One, Moccasin is up—can you hear that on uniform?” I hadn’t responded to Moccasin’s first radio call. Meegs knew I had been having uniform-radio problems and was asking on victor to make sure I could hear him.

  “That’s affirmative, Five-Two is going to have to answer, I’m UHF receive only.” I responded to Meegs using victor. This is where it was going to get hard. Up until now, I had been able to make most of my radio calls on victor. Moccasin and Vega had only uniform radios, and I would have to relay the info through Joe Bro.

  “Two, One, Fox plain. I want you to call when you hear Moccasin call two miles out. That is when I want you to call the number.” I began briefing Joe Bro on when Vega should turn on his signal.

  “Let’s go secure.” Joe Bro transmitted; he wanted to talk on our Fox-Mike secure radio.

  “OK, have you got me secure?” I replied.

  “I’ve got you loud and clear. Confirm the number.” Joe Bro was on another frequency when Buster told Vega that he would use a number off Vega’s ISOPREP card as the sign for Vega to begin signaling the helos.

  “The number is three, how do you copy? Number three?” I asked. The response from Joe Bro was nothing but static.

  “One, Two, fox in the plain I’m not getting you secure now. We’re going to have to find some way to pass that because I don’t [have it].” Joe Bro was saying that the secure function on his radio had failed. I had to figure out how to get him the number three without compromising it on a nonsecure frequency.

  “Ok, I’ve got it. If I’m pulling supervisor what am I called?” One of my additional duties back at the squadron was pulling supervisor duty during flying operations. The Air Force calls this job “top three,” because, by regulation, only the top-three positions in the squadron are permitted to be supervisor.

  “OK, gotcha,” Joe Bro responded, indicating he understood.

  “OK,” I directed, “check Moccasin in on this freq.” We had not yet spoken to the helos, and I wanted to make sure they recognized Joe Bro’s voice and knew who the OSC was.

  “Moccasin, Sandy Five-Two, SAR bravo.”

  “Sandy, this is Moccasin. Go ahead, sir.”

  “OK. Like a two-mile out call.”

  “Moccasin copies, two miles out.”

  “Two, One. I want you to check in Vega. Make sure he is still there.” Now that we had coordinated with the helos, I realized that we hadn’t heard from Vega in quite a while. I wanted to make sure nothing had happened to him.

  “Vega, Sandy Five-Two.”

  “Sandy Five-Two, Vega Three-One.”

  “OK, got you loud and clear. Stand by for my number.” Everything was going great. Maybe this wouldn’t be that hard after all. Before I could even crack a smile, Moccasin broke in.

  “Climb! Climb! Climb!” Moccasin was flying low-level at night across unfamiliar enemy territory. Electrical lines suddenly appeared and one of the helos had directed they climb immediately to avoid them.

  Joe Bro broke in, “I’ve got a weird looking smoke trail to the west.” I looked to the west and saw it as well. Having never seen anything like that before, I assumed it was a SAM the Serbs had snuck in to the west of us.

  “Copy, we might have to fight our wa
y out.” Even as I was saying these words, the smoke trail continued overhead and into Belgrade. We had seen our first night HARM shot from the F-16CJs. Whew, that made me feel much better.

  “OK, Two is spike—Mud SAM 150.” Joe Bro informed me that his RWR showed him being tracked by a SAM.

  “One, same, … Five-One defending SAM south.” The SAM was tracking me now. I passed the information to Magic on victor. I hoped he would pass it to the F-16CJs on a separate frequency.

  Now we were in the hornets’ nest. We had made it to Vega’s position on the outskirts of Belgrade. The Serbs had been waiting for us to come in with the helos, and now our RWR showed that their SAMs were lighting us up. What was worse, the thunderstorm building over Belgrade was just south of our position. We would not be able to see any SAMs launched from that direction until they broke out of that weather and were right on top of us.

  “SAM active BAT 320/32.” Magic informed us that another SAM was active. It was just northeast of our position.

  “Sandy Five-One defending SAM east, 280/14 bull.” I was being tracked by the northeast SAM. I put out chaff, checked to see that my pod was working, and turned to put the new threat on my beam.

  “SAM BAT 195/25 now reported as active.” The Serbs were turning on their whole SAM belt for us.

  “Sandy Five-Two is defending SAM north.”

  “Sandy Five-One is Magnum SAM north.” Magnum was the call the F-16CJs used when they fired a HARM. I remembered hearing that, during the first three nights of the war, the Serbs had shut down their SAMs when they heard Magnum. I didn’t have any HARMs on board, but that didn’t prevent me from making the radio call.

  “One is naked.” I announced, to which Joe Bro added, “Two is naked.” Naked meant we were no longer being tracked. The SAMs had shut down almost instantaneously. We could then put our focus back on the helos. At least we knew that the Serbs were looking at us and, so far, they had not been able to see or track the helos at low altitude.

  “Two, let’s start heading west,” I transmitted to Joe Bro; I wanted to get a little more distance between us and the SAMs.

  “Sandy, Moccasin is two miles out.”

  “Vega, Sandy Five-Two, three.” Joe Bro called for the signal. We waited in silence for Moccasin to call visual with Vega.

  “Moccasin Six-Zero flight is overhead.” Moccasin had made it to Vega’s position but still couldn’t see him.

  “Five-One, Four-One, recommend you get Vega up if he sees the Moccasins.” Meegs made a good suggestion: Since Moccasin couldn’t see Vega, maybe Vega could see the helicopters and could help out.

  “Vega, Sandy Five-Two. Confirm you see the helos.”

  “I believe so,” Vega replied.

  “Give them a vector if you can,” Joe Bro added.

  “It looks like they need to come a bit right… confirm they have a light on?” Vega questioned and then said to Moccasin, “Need to come south.”

  “Copy, call when we’re overhead,” Moccasin answered.

  “Five-One, we’ve got to depart. We’re westbound. Be advised CJs working, observed HARM shot.” Meegs and Scrape had finally bingoed. They had stayed much longer than I had expected, so I knew they must have been riding on fumes.

  “Sandy, Sandy, Vega Three-One, do they have my strobe?” Vega was rightly concerned that the pickup was taking way too long.

  “At this time we’re looking for his strobe, we’ve got two small lights on the ground, but no strobe.”

  “Yeah, for Vega Three-One, that was a car; I thought it was you guys.” Vega misidentified the sound of a car nearby for that of the helicopters.

  “Moccasin copies. Are you up strobe, sir?”

  “That is affirmative,” Vega replied.

  “Hold it up in the air. Point it at the helicopter if you can.”

  “Roger, I’m not sure where you are now.”

  The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The helos had been circling around Vega’s position for over five minutes now. Not only was this risky to the helos and Vega, but also we would have to call off the search due to low fuel if we didn’t find him soon.

  “Stand by for Vega Three-One, I think my strobe is inop.”

  “Copy, have we flown over you yet?” Moccasin asked.

  “No, I think you are more north, northwest of me for a mile or two,” Vega replied.

  Meegs had continued to monitor the radio during his departure and suggested to me that Vega use his pen-gun flare. It shoots a signal flare up a couple of hundred feet. It was designed to penetrate the jungle canopy of Vietnam. However, it was also an overt signal that the Serbs would be able to see.

  “OK, we need you to get out a pen-gun flare.” Joe Bro passed on the suggestion.

  “Vega, if we’re this close, make an overt signal and we’ll get you,” Moccasin added in agreement.

  “How about a regular flare?” Vega said, when he came across an alternative while searching through his survival kit for his pen gun.

  “Moccasin Six-Zero, sounds good… and we’re good vis on Vega Three-One,” Moccasin said seeing the flare as soon as Vega set it off.

  “Vega and Moccasin, if you are tally each other, kill the flare.” Joe Bro wanted to make sure that the flare was put out as soon as possible.

  “We are bingo, bingo, bingo. Kill the flare,” Moccasin then transmitted. The meaning of that radio call puzzled us until we later found out that in the special operations community “bingo” means that the side gunner’s machine gun has reached the aft stop. In our fixed-wing world, bingo means you are out of gas.

  “Overhead, you visual me? For Vega Three-One, you got me?” Vega was concerned about the bingo call as well.

  “And Vega give them a vector if you need to,” Joe Bro suggested.

  “Yeah, they got me right just about overhead.”

  The SAMs had been quiet for the last 10 minutes but suddenly came back up. Joe Bro called being tracked by one to the south. He put out chaff and beamed the threat.

  “Sandy Five-One is Magnum that position.” I made the Magnum radio call again, hoping the Serb SAMs were listening and thinking I was shooting a HARM at them.

  “Sandy Five-Two is naked,” Joe Bro called. It worked again—the SAMs shut down, expecting a HARM to be heading their way.

  “Moccasin, say your status.” While reacting to the SAMs, we had lost track of the pickup.

  “We are outbound at this time… about 20 miles from good-guy land.” That was the best radio call I had ever heard in my life. Vega was aboard the helos, and they were headed back to Bosnia.

  “Sandy, you are being tracked with eyes by SAM,” Moonbeam transmitted, relaying some intel to us as we turned west.

  “Survivor authenticated, no injuries,” Moccasin called, informing us of Vega’s remarkably good physical condition.

  “All stations SAM launch.” This call from Magic jolted us back to reality. The Serbs, seeing us turn west, launched a SAM at Joe Bro and me. Fortunately, we were out of their range, and neither of us even saw the missile.

  Joe Bro and I continued west to the border, and then our waiting began. Moccasin’s flight to the border would take another 10 minutes, and it seemed forever before he called to let us know he had made it out.

  I relayed this information on victor by transmitting the most rewarding call I have ever made: “Miller time!”

  Joe Bro and I turned towards home. I calculated my gas and had just enough to make it back to Aviano. We landed at Aviano exhausted but extremely happy after our six-hour mission. I quickly shut down my A-10, got out to join the celebration on the ramp, and began hugging everyone I met. I had trained all my life for this moment, and I simply could not contain the joy that came from what we had just accomplished.

  Vega 31’s boots with caked-on Serbian mud (Photo courtesy of author)

  We eventually made it to the squadron and were trying to debrief when we heard that Vega had made it back to Aviano. We all piled into cars and drove onto the ra
mp where a C-130 had just parked. A large group clustered around Vega, hugging everyone in sight. I looked down at Vega’s boots and saw that they were still covered in Serbian mud. I reached down and scraped off a bit for a souvenir. Vega was then taken to the hospital to have his slightly burned hand treated.

  It was now morning, and most of us were starving. The bowling alley was the only place open for breakfast. Over pancakes and omelets, the six of us Sandys, along with Capt Rip Woodard and some of the F-16CJ pilots, reveled in our accomplishments. We couldn’t celebrate too long; we were in need of crew rest before another night of strikes. C’est la guerre.

  Rip Woodard (on ABCCC), Buster Cherrey, Slobee O’Brien, Goldie Haun, Joe Bro Brosious, Meegs Meger, and Scrape Johnson (not pictured) were the Sandys involved in the Vega 31 rescue (Photo courtesy of editors)

  Memorable Missions

  Capt Mike “Hook” Shenk

  I did not go with the 81st EFS in March of 1999 when it deployed to Aviano to participate in air operations over the former Yugoslavia. I was scheduled to separate from the active Air Force in April and by regulation could not be sent off station. I remained behind to help run what was left of the squadron at Spangdahlem and prepare for my upcoming separation. At that time I was a flight commander and had just completed my checkout as an AFAC.