A-10s over Kosovo

by Christopher E. Haave Kimos

  I had mixed emotions about not going to Aviano and missing the action. I really wanted to be there, but since I was not a CSAR-qualified pilot, and that was our mission, I figured I would have little chance to participate. On the other hand, I was happy to finally have some time to spend with my wife, Christine, and our two children, Michael and Megan.

  On Sunday, 28 March, Maj Greg “V Neck” Vanderneck called me at home from squadron ops. He told me I was to pack and leave ASAP on a short trip to Headquarters USAFE at Ramstein AB, Germany. He said he couldn’t tell me much but that USAFE leadership wanted an 81st FS rep around to answer A-10 questions. I packed my A-3 bag for a three-day trip, an assumption I would soon regret; I then hit the road.

  At Ramstein I met with Lt Col Greg “Snoopy” Schulze. Only a few months before, he had been the commander of the 81st FS. Snoopy filled me in on the plan to use our Hogs as AFACs and strikers against the Serb forces in Kosovo. He further explained that he was going to be briefing this plan to Maj Gen William T. Hobbins, USAFE’s director of air and space operations, and Gen John Jumper, commander of USAFE and NATO’s Allied Air Forces Central Europe (AIRCENT). I would be expected to answer questions about tactics and capabilities. Snoopy was current and qualified in the Hog and could have easily fielded these questions. However, they also planned to be in Brussels the next morning to brief Gen Wesley Clark, USA, NATO’s SACEUR and commander of EUCOM. The USAFE leadership thought having a line pilot around would add credibility to the plan and their briefing. The trip to Brussels was subsequently scrubbed because of weather. I assumed that at some point the USAFE planners briefed General Clark over the phone.

  I returned to Spangdahlem, and the next day I went to squadron operations, where V Neck had another tasker for me. He said I was to take our last flyable jet to Aviano; that was my first indication the plan had been approved. Aviano had been crammed with jets, so there had to be a good reason for them to allow us to park another A-10 on the ramp. V Neck added that if I left soon, I might be able to catch a scheduled C-130 back to Spangdahlem that evening but cautioned that it might be an overnight trip. Fortunately, I still had my A-3 bag in the trunk of my car from my trip to Ramstein; I was airborne en route to Aviano an hour and a half later.

  It was a quick trip to Aviano. As soon as I arrived, I looked into the availability of transportation back to Spangdahlem and was told to expect a flight in two or three days. So I checked into the Hotel Antares and ran into Capt Buster Cherrey, who was scheduled to command one of the packages that Snoopy had briefed me on earlier. I was surprised at how quickly the CAOC (affectionately and accurately tagged CHAOS by those who have worked there) had put the plan into action. I guessed that our squadron leadership and weapons gurus had been working on it for a while.

  I ran into Maj Goldie Haun at the hotel bar. He was on his way back to his room but required little encouragement to stay and tell me what he could about the Vega 31 pickup. As he told me about the intensity and heroics of the rescue, I felt a great deal of pride to be a member of a squadron that had performed so well in the face of adversity.

  Before we left the bar, Goldie asked me if I was interested in staying at Aviano; the squadron was shorthanded and in need of AFAC-qualified pilots and top-three squadron supervisors. He said that if I was interested, the squadron commander could probably arrange an extension on my separation date.

  The next day I was plugged into the top-three spot on the schedule. There was no transportation to Spangdahlem, and the schedulers had already learned not to let anyone go home without being tasked. I decided to stay and talk to our commander, Lt Col Kimos Haave. He started work on getting my separation date extended, and I wished that I had packed for more than three days. What follows is my recollection of a few of the more memorable missions I flew during OAF.

  On 7 April I was scheduled to fly an AFAC mission as number two in a two-ship using the call sign Bear 11. Buster would be my flight lead and the mission commander (MC) for the entire KEZ package. I was looking forward to going up with him in hopes of getting some pointers from one of the best in the business. Our brief was scheduled for 0200, and it looked like it could be a long, wicked day; our mission was scheduled for three 45-minute periods in the AOR and four air refuelings, for a total mission time of about seven hours. The initial trip to the tanker would take an hour and 40 minutes.

  It sounded like a pretty simple mission: fly the airplane to the right country, find targets, and destroy them. In actuality it was much more demanding—particularly for the MC. Although I would expect Buster to say it was no big deal, I am quite sure that he was very busy for most of the mission.

  As the campaign progressed, the missions became more routine and the MC job a little easier. However, those early missions required diligent oversight by a very capable MC to ensure that the packages were effective and to minimize the chance of an allied loss. The MC had to fly his own airplane, be a good flight lead, and do the target search and AFAC thing while also being responsible for a myriad of other duties. Those duties included, but were not limited to, coordinating SEAD, CAP, and jammer coverage; deconflicting the airspace used by dozens of aircraft; and adjusting the plan in real time for any contingency. Even with perfectly clear communication, that would be a challenge. Throw in comm jamming, accents from 28 different languages, and failure of half of the aircraft’s Have Quick radios to work in the secure and antijam modes, and it starts to look like a very bad dream. Only MCs know the disappointment of locating a target in their binoculars and at the same time learning that the SEAD aircraft are bingo. They will be distracted for several valuable minutes to handle this problem—just one of many they will work during their vul period—while the target is escaping.

  Kosovo had been split in half to help deconflict friendly aircraft. We were working in the eastern half of the country and had been alternating vuls with Meegs Meger and his wingman, Johnny “CBU” Hamilton. I covered Buster as he searched for targets during the first vul period without much luck. We headed south, got some gas over Macedonia and Albania and headed back over Kosovo to continue our search for Serb military assets. Our efforts to find valid targets continued to be stymied by disciplined Serb ground forces. They were aware of our presence and were careful not to move on the ground and draw attention to themselves. The fact that we had to remain above 10,000 feet AGL during our search made finding Serb forces that much harder.

  During our second vul period, ABCCC personnel (using the call sign Bookshelf) passed the CAOC’s direction to find and identify a Straight Flush radar. They said it was located in a valley west of Pec, in the far western part of the country. A Straight Flush is the short-range acquisition and fire-control radar associated with the SA-6 Gainful SAM system. Our vulnerability to this system prompted the establishment of a policy that prohibited us from entering a region without SEAD. We found it ironic that now we were being directed to virtually fly over a suspected SA-6 site. Buster called to confirm that they really wanted our A-10s to locate a Straight Flush. When the answer came back “yes,” we spent some time searching over the mountainous region of western Kosovo, where tops were up to 8,700 feet above mean sea level (MSL). We searched from an altitude of 19,000 feet MSL to maintain our minimum altitude of 10,000 feet AGL, which made it even more difficult to locate targets on the valley floor—often more than 2,000 feet below the peaks.

  SA-6 Gainful (Photo courtesy of FAS)

  We searched for about 20 to 30 minutes and then told Bookshelf that we could not establish contact with the Straight Flush—we couldn’t see it, and it didn’t shoot at us. Since we had been briefed that the destruction of enemy air defenses was not our mission, I’m not sure that we would have been allowed to kill the SA-6 even if we had found it.

  It was while we were looking for the Straight Flush that I realized how much trust flight leads place in their wingmen during combat. Target search was a tricky thing. We had great binoculars, but using them meant having to fly left-handed and having a fi
eld of view limited to only what can be seen through the binoculars. I found it disconcerting to know that, when I was using those binos, I would probably not see a threat until it was too late. AFACs could concentrate on target search and not worry (too much) about threats if their wingmen diligently cleared for threats to the formation. Buster showed a great deal of faith in my ability to compensate for his vulnerability when he searched for that SA-6 with his binoculars over the mountains of western Kosovo. Most of my remaining OAF missions were flown over Kosovo as a flight-lead AFAC, and I relied on my wingmen to cover me. They never let me down, and I owe them my life.

  After nearly completing the last of our three planned vul periods in the KEZ, we got a call from Bookshelf on an “unsecure” radio announcing that the KEZ would be closing early for the day. We headed south for the tanker, curious about the reason for the early closure. As we rendezvoused with the tanker, the Bookshelf crew asked us to contact them on our secure radio. Buster went off frequency to talk to Bookshelf and left me to handle the tanker coordination. We had refueled, departed the tanker, and headed north by the time Buster filled me in on the plan.

  Serbian ground forces had been very disciplined, curtailing their movements when they knew we were overhead. Our intelligence people had determined that, as soon as we departed the AOR, they would resume their rampage across the country. Someone convinced the CAOC to run an unannounced KEZ vul period with the hope of catching the Serbs off guard. Buster had been off frequency to coordinate the unscheduled vul and to ensure we had all the necessary support: SEAD, tankers, and counterair (whose details no one had yet planned).

  We went back into the KEZ and found Meegs already working a target area with reports of medium AAA in the area. We offered to come in above them to provide some mutual support. But after another 20 minutes, I began to lose faith in this plan. I had been in the cockpit for about seven hours, my rear hurt, and I was out of water bottles and piddle packs. It was becoming a survival situation for me, and I hadn’t even been shot at yet. It’s a good thing we didn’t throw in the towel because our luck changed in a hurry.

  Buster’s radio call, as Meegs reminded us later, was “I got a whole schmit-load of movers!” Before he could finish the sentence, I picked up the convoy he was talking about—eight or so vehicles southbound on a dirt road. I could tell they were really hauling because, even from 16,000 feet, I could see the vehicles moving in three dimensions as they pounded through the terrain. I remember seeing the front end of one APC coming up and then crashing back down—spewing up dirt and dust. Buster quickly rolled in, locked up a vehicle with a Maverick, and fired.

  That one attack not only destroyed the vehicle it hit, but also furthered our efforts by splitting the convoy into north and south elements, providing a mark for other fighters. Splitting the convoy was important because it allowed us to attack three or four of the vehicles and to hand off the remaining ones to Meegs and his CBUs. Using a Maverick missile or a 500 lb Mk-82 bomb to mark a target was a technique we quickly embraced. These larger munitions had the potential to destroy a target element, their visual effects lasted longer, and they were easier to see from the extreme altitudes at which we worked. They had proven to be better marks than the more traditional, and much smaller, white-phosphorous rockets.

  Buster attacked the northern target element again with two Mk-82s. Before we had a chance to evaluate his damage, he found another convoy about a mile northeast of the first and attacked it by dropping his last two Mk-82s and strafing with his 30 mm cannon. Meegs was still working fighters on the southern element of the first convoy. A flight of two F-16CGs arrived to strike for Buster but missed with their first LGB attack and then lost sight of the target. Buster told me to hit the target with my Mk-82s and directed the F-16s to watch the target area for my bombs. I rolled in—north to south—and strung four bombs along the convoy. It was a good pass, and the bombs were effective as more than just a mark. Buster’s call as I came off target was, “Oh, that’s beautiful. Hit my wingman’s smoke.” The F-16s then ran a successful LGB attack and destroyed the southern-most vehicle before having to depart for fuel. We then attempted a couple of IIR Maverick passes but could not lock on to the targets because the many fires on the ground washed out the IR contrast. Even so, the convoy had been pretty well destroyed.

  APC destroyed by A-10 (USAF Photo)

  Buster and I worked south to look for more targets. Buster, again trusting my ability to cover him, looked through his binoculars and thought he saw some muzzle flashes on the ground. We were constantly getting jammed on at least one of our three radios—and occasionally on all of them. Other friendly aircraft were using one of our two partially clear radios, and Buster was transmitting on the remaining radio, trying to talk my eyes onto the target area, when I saw two groups of large, dark smoke clouds appear between our jets. I started to jink and called out the threat. As I finished my call, I could still hear Buster transmitting on the same frequency and realized that he had not heard my threat call. We had stepped on each other’s transmissions. That meant Buster and I were simultaneously transmitting to each other, and since a radio’s receiver is disabled during its transmissions, neither of us heard the other’s call. I again tried to alert him, but my warning was either jammed or stepped on. I don’t remember being too concerned about my own safety—probably because it looked as though they were shooting at him and not me. I do remember the incredible feeling of helplessness—watching my friend and flight lead getting shot at and not being able to communicate with him. I thought he was going to take a hit because the AAA airbursts looked huge compared to the size of his aircraft. I eventually got ahold of him and we beat feet out of the area.

  After we regrouped and headed back into the target area, I started to think about them shooting at me. Although I definitely felt some fear, I was hoping that they would shoot at us again so we could see where it came from and retaliate. Again—as Buster searched for targets—I saw more airbursts. We had returned at a little higher altitude than the first time, so the clouds of flak were now below us. I called the threat to Buster, and he searched for their position on the ground. While these gunners were apparently having no trouble finding us, we were having no luck finding them. Fortunately our high altitude and constant maneuvering kept them from being able to hit us.

  While we were in the area looking for the shooters, Buster found yet another convoy. We were too low on gas to set up an attack, so we headed for the tanker and passed that target off to another set of fighters. On the way out we heard Meegs call, “I think I took a hit.” During a rocket pass he had noticed AAA muzzle flashes, and then his caution panel lit up as he pulled off target. He quickly realized his aircraft was losing hydraulic fluid, and, even though he was able to stop the leak, he eventually lost one of his two hydraulic systems. On the ground, his crew chief determined that he had not taken a hit but had just suffered from a noncombat-related hydraulic failure. What a coincidence!

  On 14 May I was scheduled to fly a mission check ride with Capt Scrape Johnson. I would fly as an AFAC, work the eastern half of Kosovo, and use Snoopy 61 as our call sign. Scrape would evaluate me while flying my wing. I was pumped about the mission—the weather was great, and we had some good target information from our squadron intelligence. We were passed new target coordinates over the radio as we entered the AOR, and I commenced what I would now describe as a wild-goose chase. Such chases were not uncommon since targets passed in this fashion were considered high priority, and we were required to search for them. We learned from experience that these precise coordinates seldom resulted in actually finding a viable military target—I had much better luck just looking for targets in the main areas of interest. We, nevertheless, spent a good half hour plotting coordinates and searching those areas.

  I found a large tunnel south of Urosevac with fresh tank tracks leading to its entrance. I could just make something out at the opening but was unable to identify it with the binoculars because of the shad
ows. I set up for a Maverick pass, thinking I might be able to use the IR seeker to confirm that the object was a valid target. If so, I planned to launch the Maverick, destroy the target, and seal off the tunnel and all its equipment.

  Unfortunately, I was still unable to ID the object and began my slow climb back to altitude. While my Hog, with its grossly underpowered engines, strained to get me back to altitude, I rolled into an easy right turn and started using the binos to try to ID the object again. It was then that I heard Scrape’s excited voice call, “BREAK!”

  I had been flying with my knees; my left hand was on the throttles, and the binos were in my right. I was not in a good position to execute the break turn. I dropped the binos, rolled right, honked back on the stick, and put out a string of flares. As I checked six I saw the smoke trail of a SAM behind my aircraft. The smoke trail went all the way down to the ground and ended in a burned-out house on the north end of a small town. I felt as though I was looking down a 15,000-foot kite string. I was not at all happy with the guy flying the kite. I asked Scrape if he could tell exactly where the missile had come from, thinking that he was in a better position to attack, since he had more altitude and airspeed than I. He said, “No,” so I replied, “One will be in with the gun; Two cover.”

  Capt David “Beau” Easterling straps in for another sortie over the KEZ (USAF Photo by TSgt Blake Borsic)

  I checked my airspeed and altitude, and then cursed my engines for not having more thrust. I wanted to roll in right away and shoot, but I needed more altitude to minimize the chance of getting hit by another missile. I checked my gas and realized that this was going to be our only pass on this target before we had to head for the tanker. I set up for a 60-degree strafe pass and checked that the gun-ready light was on. As I rolled in, I thought about the gravity of this situation; I was looking death in the face. I put the pipper on the target and let fly with 150 rounds or so and started my recovery. I couldn’t tell for sure whether the rounds had hit their mark—but I didn’t receive any return fire.