“Fighter pilots make movies. Bomber pilots make history!”
Unknown Navy Attack Pilot
The aircraft and crews of CVW-1 were really earning their keep only when they were delivering ordinance onto targets of value ashore. This meant that the fifty F-14 Tomcats and F/A-18 Hornets aboard the GW were flying morning, noon, and night to hit as many high-value targets as possible. In particular, they would give special attention to enemy units and systems that could threaten the Marines of the 24th MEU (SOC) and the airborne troopers of the 82nd Airborne Division when they came into play in a few days. These included targets like mobile antiship missile sites along the coast (which could hit the amphibious ships of the Guam ARG), mobile SCUD ballistic-missile launchers, and SAM/AAA sites in the planned invasion area. Along with these high-value Koronan targets, there would be attacks on the fielded forces of the Koronan military in and around Kartuna. Because it is the air crews who fly the planes and drop the weapons who give naval airpower its worth, let’s take a closer look at how their dangerous job gets done on the GW.
If you want the best view of a carrier’s air operations, there is only one place to go: Primary Flight Control—or “Pri-Fly” as it is known. This is the domain of Commanders John Kindred (the Air Boss) and Carl June (the Mini Boss). Kindred and June are the lords and masters of the GW’s flight deck and the airspace around the ship. The Navy has for generations made it a practice to hand responsibility to highly qualified naval aviators for those jobs aboard carriers that relate directly to flying—jobs like catapult and landing signals officers (LSOs). These jobs have to be done right. People who do them properly are promoted. Those who don’t can look forward to new civilian careers. Of these jobs, the captain’s, of course, carries the greatest responsibility. However, right after the captain comes the Air and Mini Bosses. No other pair of individuals has so much influence on the core services (flying aircraft in support of Naval/Marine operations) the ship was designed to deliver. These two officers control virtually every aspect of the boat’s air operations, from the pace and number of missions flown to how the aircraft are parked and serviced. This means, practically, that when the ship is flying aircraft, there is no margin for error despite massive stress, a thankless work schedule, and very little sleep. Clearly you need special people to be Bosses.
Since a good long look at Pri-Fly seemed essential to the total experience of carrier operations, I asked to spend a day there with Kindred and June. After climbing the five ladders from my stateroom to the O-7 level of the island, I joined the crowded and busy team in Pri-Fly. Along the port side overlooking the flight deck are three chairs, much like Captain Rutheford’s chair on the bridge one level below. Here is where Kindred and June spend their days and nights. Soon after I entered, they very graciously invited me to sit in the center chair between them. It was an impressive view. On command from Commander Kindred, a chief petty officer behind me passed forward a steaming cup of coffee and the Air Tasking Order (ATO) Flow Sheet—or Air Plan for short—the document that explains and controls the day’s air operations. Printed double-sided on a single legal sheet of paper, it is the daily bible for the flight deck. On one side is a set of time lines, with a line for each squadron or air unit participating that day. These time lines are then broken down into individual “events,” each of which represents a particular planned launch/landing cycle on the flight deck. The flip side shows detailed notes about the flight schedule and the schedule of tanker aircraft, and is personally signed (they have to review it daily) by the GW’s Air, Strike, and Operations officers.
As I read the Air Plan, I was struck by the number of flight “events” on the schedule. All told, there were nine of them, which was normal for this phase of JTFEX 97-3, Commander June informed me. Because of the Navy’s recent effort to increase the number of daily air sorties, the two Air Department officers were trying to implement some of the lessons learned during the recent SURGEX by the Nimitz group. To support their SURGEX, Nimitz and CVW-9 had been heavily reinforced with additional air crews and deck personnel, allowing them to run over two hundred sorties a day. GW and CVW-1 had no such augmentation. Even so, there was still room for increasing the number of events and sorties over the fleet norms. More efficient use of personnel and resources (such as better organization of the hangar and flight deck crews) and enforced rest and eating periods between events had allowed Kindred and June to safely expand the five or six flight events of a “normal” day to as many ten or twelve. In this way, CVW-1 could easily run over 150 sorties a day for an indefinite period of time, should it be called upon to do so.
After taking in all that I could of the Air Plan, I lifted my head to watch as the two men took aboard a dozen or so aircraft from the day’s second air event. Included in this gaggle was CAG “Boomer” Stufflebeem flying a VMFA-251 Hornet, who bagged a perfect “OK-3” trap. Meanwhile, another strike was getting ready up forward to head out on the noon mission (Event-3), which would concentrate on hunting enemy SAMs and mobile missile batteries. Most of the aircraft for this mission were on the bow, and would have to taxi aft once the area around the deck angle was clear.
As soon as the last of the Event-2 aircraft were aboard, the Air Boss called for the LSOs to stand down for a while and the landing light system to be shut down (the longer it is lit, the sooner it will wear out). Moments later, Commander June pointed out several helicopters in holding patterns. There would be just enough time to bring them aboard before the next event, he explained. During a window of less than fifteen minutes, two SH-60’s from HS-11 and an SH-3 Sea King carrying VIPs from the Mount Whitney (LCC-20, the fleet command ship) arrived, and then were either parked, towed away, or flown off for the next event. Once the helicopters were taken care of, the flight deck went relatively quiet, while hundreds of people with colored jerseys swarmed about, doing their various jobs.
Up in Pri-Fly, the pace had hardly slackened. To my rear, the chiefs and representatives from the various CVW-1 squadrons were exchanging information and making sure that everyone was in sync. If anyone had a question, he would come forward and wait respectfully until Kindred or June took notice. After a short discussion, a decision would be made. As these continued, I turned my attention back to the flight deck, where—as always in my experience—I saw great energy and purpose, and no wasted movements, no unnecessary actions. It is the world’s most dangerous dance—a dance made even more risky in light of the necessity to run the deck crews until the late hours of the evening because of the expanded number of air events. But for now, Kindred and June were working hard to get Event-3 into the air.
As I watched, I was amused to see then that some things never change—and shouldn’t. In spite of the array of new computers and other available high-tech tools, Kindred and June still use many of the same tools and procedures that their predecessors in World War II might have used. For example, each man has a set of colored grease pencils to make notes on the thick windows in front of them to remind them about which aircraft are aloft and the state of their fuel.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“Some things computers and software will never improve on,” they explained. “Computers and electronics might fail; an explosion might put them out of action; but grease-pencil marks and paper hardcopies will work as long as they still exist. Perhaps not as well or as quickly, but they will always work.”
The busy flight deck of the USS George Washington (CVN-73), filled with CVW-1 aircraft during JTFEX 97-3.
JOHN D. GRESHAM
About 1150 hours, Commander Kindred picked up his headset and announced to the flight deck that it was time to start engines for the Event-3 launch cycle. Carefully, the aircraft handlers directed the air crews to taxi their aircraft aft for their launch from Catapults 3 and 4. Moments later, after everyone was in the proper place and Captain Rutheford had given his approval, Kindred gave the catapult officer permission to conduct the launch. Already overhead was the plane guard HH-60G from HS-11,
as well as a USAF KC-135 airborne tanker flying from Langley AFB (in the simulated country of Telari).
First off the GW’s deck were a pair of VS-32 S-3B Vikings configured as tankers, followed by a replacement VAW-123 E-2C Hawkeye AEW aircraft. These were followed by a quartet of VF-102 F-14’s, two configured with D/TARPS pods for the noon reconnaissance run, while the others had LANTIRN pods for laser bombing. Following the Tomcats was a VAQ-137 EA-6B Prowler loaded for Suppression of Enemy Air Defense (SEAD) operations. Last off were a dozen F/A-18 Hornets, with a variety of loads—from HARM missile and LGB simulators, to live iron bombs for training runs on a local range. This was a large launch, with almost two dozen aircraft involved. More than that would make the ninety-minute Air Event cycle impossible to sustain, and would actually reduce the total number of sorties that CVW-1 could generate per day. It also made optimum use of the flight deck space, which even on a ship the size of the GW is limited.
Once the Event-3 aircraft had launched (it only took about fifteen minutes), the angle was reset for recovery of the HS-11 HH-60G on plane guard duty and the launch of its replacement. After this, activities on the flight deck slowed down, and there was time for a few bites of sandwiches brought up from below by one of the chiefs. By 1300 hours (1 P.M.), the F/A-18’s were back in the landing pattern, preparing to come aboard. The relatively short range of the Hornets means that they normally operate within a single air event, while the Tomcats and other aircraft would come back at the completion of Event 4. For now, the deck aft was cleared, the arresting wires checked, and the landing light system turned on. The landing cycle took about fifteen minutes, after which the Hornets were rapidly taxied forward to the bow, where they could be refueled and rearmed to take part in other strikes later in the day. Also coming aboard was one of the three VRC-40 C-2 COD aircraft, bringing its load of mail, personnel, and spare parts from NAS Norfolk. It would return to Norfolk with a load of nonessential folks. The ship had been packed since sailing, but now as Labor Day weekend approached, the many VIPs, news media types, and technicians were finding reasons to head back to the beach.
As for me, it was time to leave the two Air Bosses to their grueling task. They had six more launch/recovery cycles ahead before they could grab some sleep and get ready for the first launch the following morning.
Saturday, August 30th, 1997
JTFEX 97-3—Day 13: There are reports that Allied forces are preparing to invade the occupied country of Kartuna to evict the Koronan military forces. At this time, Allied public affairs officers will only report that operations against the Koronan forces continue, with no new information on results.
While most of America was getting started on their Labor Day holiday weekend, the participants of JTFEX 97-3 were just beginning to hit high gear. Captain Bruce Van Velle’s mine-countermeasures force moved inshore to clear lanes for the amphibious units through Koronan minefields. This required that CVW-1 finish clearing out the last of the Koronan’s coastal antiship and SCUD missile sites before the vulnerable amphibious ships of the Guam ARG began to operate close to the Kartunan coastline (actually near Camp Lejeune, North Carolina). Meanwhile, a continuous, twenty-four-hour-a-day CAP had to be flown over the amphibious ships, to protect them and the Marines of the 24th MEU (SOC). In fact, the transition to the amphibious phase of operations meant that there was even more for everyone to do, and even less time to do it in.
Now, because I wanted to find out how the air campaign was actually going “over the beach,” I went to the one place where I knew I would hear the truth about such things—the pilot’s “Dirty Shirt” mess. Located up forward on the O-2 level, it is a less formal place than Wardroom 3. Also, because of its informality and its more “meat and potatoes” diet, most officers in fact prefer the “Dirty Shirt.” Here pilots can wear their flight suits to relax and catch a meal (hence the name). All the meals are served cafeteria-style, and are eaten on tables reserved for each squadron in the air wing. If you’re an outsider, you have to ask to join them. They rarely refuse. This day I had an old Navy favorite, “Sliders and Fries” (“Navy” for cheese-burgers and French fries), and a glass of cold milk with some VF-102 “Diamondbacks,” flying F-14B Upgrades.
This was an exciting time for the Diamondbacks, who had seen their community rise Phoenix-like from the ashes of their Cold-War interceptor mission to become one of the Navy’s preeminent strike and reconnaissance platforms. The addition of the AAQ-14 LANTIRN targeting pod and the new D/TARPS reconnaissance pod has changed the face of the Tomcat community, making them once again the kings of the air wings. You could see the pride in the faces of the young pilots, who are now certain of a mission in the CVWs of the 21st century. They will eventually be the first community to receive the new F/A-18E/F Super Hornet when it arrives in a few years, and the new pods will make the time waiting all the more pleasant. During JTFEX 97-3, they had been heavily tasked, flying some fifteen to twenty missions a day (they had fourteen F-14 airframes aboard)—heavy usage for Tomcats. And since their missions tended to last two to four times longer than those of the Hornets, due to their greater internal fuel load and range, the Tomcat crews were getting more flight hours than the Hornet drivers.
When I asked how things were going, the variety of answers reflected the great range of their activities during the previous two weeks. While they all agreed that the new sensor and targeting capabilities of the LANTIRN pod were terrific, they had to admit that they were still learning how to get everything out of it. In particular, the Navy version of the AAQ-14, which has a GPS/INS unit built in, has opened new targeting possibilities. On the down side, the new pod is currently unable to send images from the LANTIRN back to the carrier in the same near real-time manner as the D/TARPS pod. But this problem is being worked on, and will probably be solved by late 1998. As for the new D/TARPS pod, they had absolutely no reservations (except for their small numbers). The addition of the digital line scanner and near-real-time transmission capability for imagery has given theater commanders their first real ability to find and target mobile high-value targets like SCUD launchers. With only four D/TARPS-capable F-14’s per CVW, these are arguably the most valuable aircraft in the air wing.
When I asked about the current exercise, they all agreed that the Diamondbacks and their CVW-1 partners had done very well during JTFEX 97-3. The few air-to-air engagements during the exercise had been decidedly one-sided, with most ending in a hail of AIM-54 Phoenix and AIM-120 AMRAAM shots and the Koronan aircraft going down in flames. The reconnaissance missions had gone equally well, though the classified aspects of their tactics and equipment kept the air crews from discussing the results. The real smiles came when they talked about the bombing results with their LANTIRN pods and Paveway II and III LGBs. Thanks to their superior FLIRs, dedicated RIOs as operators, and excellent weapons, the Tomcats had become the scourge of the mobile targets ashore. Though there was a general feeling that Koronan SCUD and antiship missile launchers were probably dead by now, a few older Tomcat crew members who had flown in Desert Storm doubted this. They would go “SCUD hunting” one more time later that night, while others would hunt down Koronan artillery pieces, so they would be out of action before the Marine landing rumored for the following night.
At that point, it was time for me to move on. Deep fatigue was visible in the eyes of these men, and I wanted to intrude no more on their crew rest. All too soon, they would be climbing into their cockpits and heading into the night skies to once again hunt their “enemies.” Meanwhile, the USACOM staff had a few more tricks up their sleeves to keep things interesting. And as I stopped by the public affairs office, I learned from Joe Navritril that a contracted civilian Learjet, pretending to be a CNN camera aircraft, had simulated a kamikaze dive into one of the escort ships. The Kamikaze attack had been defeated by a short-range SAM shot, though only just barely.
Sunday, August 31st, 1997
JTFEX 97-3—Day 14: The rumors of an Allied invasion near the Kartunan capital city
of Temal continue, with reports of Allied Naval vessels beginning to conduct shore bombardments with gunfire. There is a feeling that the expected Allied invasion by coalition forces may be only a matter of days away.
This morning found everyone on GW busy getting things ready for the planned invasion. The actual time of the invasion was a secret to most people on the GW, including me. I assumed, like just about everyone else, that the Marines of the 24th MEU (SOC) would hit the Camp Lejeune beaches sometime around midnight of the following evening—a tactical time that had become more or less standard in the last few JTFEXs. Meanwhile, I wanted to head up to Flight Deck Control for a small ceremony that has been a tradition going back centuries. Today, Captain Groothousen, the GW’s XO, would leave the ship and officially hand over the job to Commander Chuck Smith, a fast-tracked flier from the S-3 Viking community. In a few months, Groothousen (“Groot” to his friends) would take over command of the Shreveport (LPD-12), over in the Guam ARG, which was the next step on the way to command of his own flattop. Around noon, the ship’s department heads met in the Flight Deck Control Room, where they said their final good-byes to “Groot.” After he headed across the flight deck to the waiting COD aircraft, the various department heads left the room and went back to their tasks; but I lagged behind to watch the activities.
Flight Deck Control, at the base of the island, monitors and controls the movement of aircraft, personnel, and equipment on the flight and hangar decks. On a pair of scale models of the flight and hangar decks, movable templates show the location of aircraft (with their wings folded) and equipment (such as tractors, firefighting trucks, etc.). Meanwhile, on the walls there are a series of transparent status boards, upon which are noted (in grease pencil) the side numbers of every aircraft aboard the flattop. You can see at a glance on these boards what every aircraft based aboard the ship is doing, how it is loaded, and who is flying it. The models and templates are moved by skilled aircraft handlers, who know just how much room you need to park a line of aircraft in the smallest possible space. Decades of experience have gone into the procedures that run the flight and hangar decks, and it is likely that they will continue for as long as Americans take aircraft to sea.
Carrier (1999) Page 40