Imminent Threat

by William Robert Stanek

  “Crew, Before Engine Starting Checklist,” tweaked the pilot’s voice into my headset; and for a time, it was back to business.

  I listened to the checks, to the engines start one by one, and before I knew it, I heard the pilot’s voice advising, “Crew, we’re rollin’.”

  I started thinking about the Weasels, the Eagles, the Falcons, and all the other players we’d be supporting today. Today’s targets were especially important. We weren’t turning up the heat in that oven for nothing.

  I would have given anything to be in the back spotting when the packages came through although during the daylight you really couldn’t see much. The night was when the real light show began.

  I wasn’t feeling too keen. My sinuses were congested. I couldn’t get my ears to clear and the slow build-up of pain from changing pressures dulled my senses. The system wasn’t operational yet, and as I glanced at my watch I knew we were getting close to the combat zone. I started to worry.

  The Nav helped to confirm my fears a few minutes later. “MCC, Nav, fifteen minutes till we hit the zone. How’s the system look back there?”

  “Nav, MCC, it looks like the AMT is having some difficulties, but he hasn’t said anything yet.”

  Crow looked up from his position. He was clearly flustered. “MCC, AMT, this system is FUBBed. You wouldn’t believe all the gremlins I’ve found!” FUBBed meant fucked up beyond belief. “I’m going to have to take the system all the way down and back up again.”

  “Pull your dick out, AMT! We’re fifteen minutes to orbit. You got ten minutes!” admonished Tennessee Jim.

  Crow began to race around, powering down the system components.

  “Damn it all to hell,” muttered Jim as he tweaked Private. “MCS, MCC, get Phantom on the horn now! Have them give us everything they got. Get that list and pass the damn thing out.”

  Chris began his radio call to our buddies on Phantom. I was sitting Six. After tapping him on the shoulder and pointing, I got pen and paper ready to back him up.

  “Crew, MCC, don’t dick around when the system comes up, if it comes up. Get logged in and get ready to enter the list the MCS passes to you. Call them complete as soon as you’re finished. I’m not going to acknowledge the damn thing, so press on afterward.”

  We gave a quick thumbs up acknowledgment.

  Phantom was responding to our call now. I readied my pen, started writing down the list.

  “MCC, AMT, this thing is still FUBBed I’m going to have to take it down again. There’s no way I can do it in time.”

  “Four, MCC, unplug and help the AMT power back down. The rest of you get that damn list ready.”

  Popcorn unplugged from his position and raced back to the AMT’s position. I was worried now. We were supposed to be supporting the largest package to date and we couldn’t even get our system up. If we didn’t get Iraqi ground and air communication systems jammed by the time the packages began to ingress, there were going to be losses. Today they might not be only Iraqi.

  The pilot and MCC were faced with a dilemma. Worst-case scenario would be to call an abort for the majority of the inbound missions. In any situation we had to forewarn Gypsy of our problem. The package did have Ravens and Weasels, but they jammed radars.

  “MCC, AMT, I’m going to pull the controller and replace it.”

  “Do it. How long’s it going to take?”

  “At least five minutes.” I heard the AMT breathing into his mike. He’d gone up on Flight Crew Hot so he didn’t have to push the button anymore to tweak.

  “You got three. Get on it.”

  After confirming the list, I tore my piece of paper into four parts and handed them out. The MCS gave me the thumbs up. He was busy on radios with other things.

  “MCC, Nav, we’re seven minutes to orbit. How’s it looking back there?”

  “AMT, MCC, you got that in yet?”

  “Almost, give me a minute,” hissed the AMT into his headset. He was breathing heavier as he ran back to his position. He looked on, waiting for the thumbs up from Popcorn. Popcorn was ferociously tightening the bolts on the controller box.

  “System’s coming back up,” Crow advised, “let’s see how it goes this time.”

  “MCC, Pilot, we’re three minutes to orbit, we going to abort this thing or not? I got to tell Gypsy.”

  “AMT?” hissed the MCC. I didn’t realize until then that the MCC had gone Hot also.

  “MCC, Pilot?”

  “MCC, Pilot, hold one.”

  We waited at the ready. If the system came up, positions One through Four would start entering Phantom’s list. Mike and I sitting Seven and Six would start searching for other signals. The MCC and MCS would do everything they could to ensure that all the tracked signals were jammed as appropriate before the package ingressed.

  With only minutes to spare, it’d be a minor miracle if we could pull it off. I crossed my fingers. I think a lot of us were praying. Praying seemed to be something you did much more in combat than any other time. Looking back, I can see how strange it was to pray to God above for such things. In that moment it didn’t seem strange at all though.

  “MCC, Pilot, it’s now or never.”

  “AMT?” hissed the MCC.

  “She’s coming up! Prepare to log in, in five—four—”

  “Pilot, MCC, that’s a negative on that abort. We’re going to be green in a moment.”

  “Shit,” Crow hissed. “MCC, AMT, that didn’t do it. We’re going to have to try again.”

  “Stick a cork in it, AMT. Do whatever you got to do. You got two minutes.”

  “Hold on to that green light, Pilot. We’re still tits up.”

  Crow was pointing at a box strapped down in the equipment storage area while he started winding out screws. Popcorn scrambled over to get it.

  “What’s the word back there, MCC? MCC? We got a green light or not? MCC?”

  I looked left past Mike on Seven and saw Tennessee Jim staring at his blackened screen. He was up Hot, so he didn’t have to push a button to respond; all he had to do was talk. It was fairly clear from the expression on his face that he wasn’t responding just because he was stubborn.

  “We’re on orbit,” called out the Nav. “Five minutes till first wave ingress.” Bill had spoken up to calm Captain Sammy. Yes, we were on orbit, but we still had five precious minutes till package ingress began. The question was, was that enough time to get the system up and rolling?

  Crow sighed and slumped down into his seat. Popcorn raced back to position 4. “Cross your fingers!” tweaked Crow.

  A moment later I heard Crow sigh again. “MCC, she’s coming up.”

  We waited spellbound, fingers at our keyboards, ready to go as soon as we were cleared in.

  “MCC, AMT, clear to log in!”

  “You got that, Nav, the dick dance is over. We’re coming online in three mike!”

  “Crew, checking out the system. She looks good. Cleared in.”

  “MCS, Six, there’s no spotter back there,” I cautioned.

  “Two, MCC, clear to the rear.”

  “Roger, MCC,” responded Sparrow.

  “Seven, MCC, I want you to be our data signal coordinator. Six, MCC, you’re our voice signal coordinator. Your expertise will help you confirm signals faster. Crew, you got that?”

  We gave a crew thumbs up.

  “I’ll take your list,” Chris said over Private B. Sparrow gave it to him, and then raced to the rear. The seconds began to tick away as we worked on our assigned lists.

  “MCC, Six, checks complete.” I looked over to the MCS to see how he was progressing on Sparrow’s list while working radios. He was coordinating with Gypsy, so I pointed and took the first list from him.

  Mike called in next. “MCC, Seven, checks complete.”

  “MCC, Four, complete,” called out Popcorn.

  “MCC, Nav, is there a spotter in the window?”

  “MCC, One, complete,” said Tammy.

  “Three, MCC?”


  Ziggy was frozen in place. She keyed her mike but didn’t speak right away. After a long pause, she finally said, “Three, complete.”

  “MCC, MCS, and Six, complete.” I called out.

  We all knew the list Phantom had passed was just the tip of the iceberg. We still had to make sure we had the key Iraqi communications networks targeted. I turned to my spectrum analyzers first while the others went to the system signal list.

  As the data and voice experts, Mike and I became the coordination points for the time being. This helped speed up target confirmation. Positions One and Four passed potential targets to us as fast as they could. Position Three passed signals only sporadically. We worked to confirm the signals and pass them to the MCC.

  “MCC, Nav, we’ve reached our window.” The Nav’s words seemed to hang in our ears. The package was coming in. We were supposed to be in jam to support them. If we didn’t get the job done, the splashes today could be our own. We didn’t stop madly searching the environment for additional targets, but we did listen closely for Jim’s voice.

  He didn’t respond immediately. He was too busy pushing buttons. The wait was excruciating even though only a few seconds had passed.

  “Crew, we’re jammin’!” he called out, pushing in Hot and then keying his mike again, “The packages are ingressing now. Glory be, we did it!

  “Crew, MCC, good work! Now get ready to bust some ass. This day is just beginning and far from over! Stay on top of those signal changes and find me more!”

  “Pilot, Spotter, traffic low heading toward two o’clock. It’s the first wave, sir. Afterburners and all! They sure do look magnificent,” called out Sparrow.

  For a fleeting moment before I went back to madly searching the environment I saw those afterburners in my mind’s eye. My thoughts went to Katie in Germany. I knew she hated the loud roar of jet engines, but right then I imagined she’d think them as beautiful a sight as I did.

  Thursday, 24 January 1991

  Thursday morning. It seemed incredible that I’d been there seven days already. Later that day, I flew my seventh combat flight.

  It was 22:00 when I returned to the PME after the flight the day before. I was not sure how many more of those never-ending days I could handle. The word was that things would only get worse before they got any better.

  That day was fourteen hours of suspense and anxiety straight from the pits of hell. The flights were also strangely uplifting. There’s no greater reward than knowing you’re saving American lives.

  Things on base continued to move toward normalcy. On Tuesday I discovered the nearby commissary. It was supposed to have reopened already, but Monday had been a holiday. Guess some people still got holidays off even in a war zone. Since we were officially TDY, it was just as expensive to eat at the open mess as it was to eat at the AAFES concession stands. With bills piling up at home, I couldn’t afford either.

  Still, I was doing quite well living off a stack of canned goods—pork and beans, beanies and weenies, canned peaches, and, of course, fig newtons, the strawberry kind—that I carried back along with a case of water. Happy and I were going to split the cost of the water. There was water at the squadron, but we were only supposed to take it when we flew. I guess I could have drunk tap water, but I didn’t want to risk a case of the shits.

  I discovered the base gym that had been serving as a shelter was open. It had hot showers! Guess the “O’s” were hoping to keep this one to themselves for a day or so, because I caught old Captain Smily coming down the street with a towel in one hand and a shaving kit in the other. He told me where he’d been, but not very quickly.

  I took my first real shower in eight days. The water was cold because by the time I got there dozens of other guys had made the same discovery. I didn’t care. The shower felt good, cold or not.

  Gentleman Bob came through on his promise of a rec tent. It was definitely a piece of work. It was probably a six-man tent, no larger, with a plywood platform forming the base. The one thing it had, though, that we all wanted was a television. We definitely owed Gentleman Bob for coming through on his promise of a TV!

  The odd thing was that when I returned, the tent was deserted. I thought a bunch of guys would be watching CNN. No one was. I quickly found out why: we didn’t have a heater and the tent was freezing at night. Alone, I watched the news for a time and unwound.

  Today, we had a 13:00 alert. Good old Happy was flying with us, so now I wasn’t the only one leaving the PME.

  Ziggy was going back to duty driving. I don’t think we gave her a fair shake. I don’t think she gave herself a fair shake for that matter. I guess that’s life in a war zone. Not everyone was born to fly into combat.

  This not only applies to females but also to males. There are a number of people who simply prefer to keep both feet on the ground. Something about a fear of dying that, although I understand, I cannot accept as a viable excuse.

  In the early afternoon I was eating peaches from a can, my eyes glued to the news, when I heard the crew van pull up. It wasn’t 13:00 already, was it? I poked my head out of the tent flaps that had been unzipped to see Ziggy stepping out of the crew van. Her face was long, and she had deep bags under the eyes.

  “Hey, Ziggy, what’s up?” I called out in greeting.

  She looked up and smiled then opened the van’s back door. Four guys jumped up, clutching their A-bags and their masks with the newbie death grip. Jesus, did I look that scared the first day?

  Happy, who had been sitting next to me watching the news, stepped out to greet them. I was sure glad he did.

  We spent the next hour showing the new arrivals how to set up their cots and properly ready their chem gear. They were relentless with their questions, which we did our best to answer.

  It was 12:45 when we finally told them we had to get ready to fly. I was looking forward to getting to base ops. They’d promised us that we could make a five-minute morale call home. It would be my first phone call home to Katie. I still hadn’t got off a single letter that I had promised though three of them were stacked up beneath my cot. They weren’t much more than I love you and I miss you, but at least they were written.

  In the coming weeks, my letters would get longer and I’d tell Katie about Turkey, the weather, and what I’d been up to. Everything but that which was the most important: flying and the war. I’d always sum that up in one or two sentences.

  At 12:55 Ziggy returned to alert us. I was ready to go to base ops, so when she went back I went with her. She didn’t say much during the short van ride, but I could tell things were eating at her. I tried to make polite conversation, but she wasn’t in a conversational mood.

  At ops, I went to the command center first. Gentleman Bob and Major James were engrossed in a discussion of mission progression. Major James was my direct commander and Gentleman Bob’s second in command. He was one levelheaded individual. He put up with a lot of guff on a daily basis, plowing through it without hesitation. He was the action man and he got things done.

  I stayed only long enough to check the big board and to make sure no serious changes had taken place then headed down to the ops support room to make my phone call.

  “How do I make a morale call?” I asked Quincy, one of the ops support guys. He told me, and the next thing I knew, I was dialing. Suddenly, my heart was skipping faster than it had during yesterday’s flight.

  “Hello? Yes? Yes, I’d like to make a morale call to West Germany. Yes, I’ll hold.”

  When the operator asked, I gave her the number. Again she told me to wait.

  “I’m sorry, the number’s busy. You’ll have to try back later,” she told me a moment later. My heart sank.

  I moped around ops for about fifteen minutes. I checked Life Support and the read files in intel before I went back to try again.

  “Yes, operator, I’d like to make a morale call to West Germany. The number?” I gave the operator the number. “Yes, I’ll wait. Hello? Yes? Yes. Thank you. Ka
tie? Is that you?”

  My heart was pounding so fast, I had to sit down. I turned to look at Quincy who was still in the room. He didn’t get the hint right away that I wanted him to leave though he finally did leave.

  “How is everything at home? Did you get the car running? I miss you, too. I have an address for you so you can send me— Oh, the squadron already gave it to you.”

  We talked for five minutes. The operator cut in twice to remind us of how much time we had left, then to tell us the five minutes were up. The phone clicked and went dead before I got the chance to tell Katie I loved her more than anything else. I guessed she already knew, or at least I hoped she did.

  It was right then that I realized her birthday had been on the seventeenth and that in all the confusion, I hadn’t given her a card or even told her happy birthday. I felt like crying, but I didn’t. I just sat in that empty, quiet room for a long, long time afterward. I didn’t move from the chair or even look up. I stared at the floor and wondered when all this ended where it would leave Katie and me.

  The rest of the crew arrived at 14:00. After a host of briefings, we were ready to go. I sat solemnly in the back of the crew van and watched the road fall away behind us—watched my thoughts fall away.

  Friday, 25 January 1991

  At the start of my second week I was on my way to my eighth wartime flight in eight days at a little after 05:00. The missions were gradually getting longer and bolder as allied forces gained domination over Iraqi skies. I feared we were getting a little too bold, but only time would tell.

  Nearly 120,000 Turkish troops had amassed on the Turkish-Iraqi border after continued Iraqi threats. God help them if Saddam should choose to open up a second front.

  If the flight went well, I would be back at the PME shortly after midnight. We seemed to be settling into a routine of fly, sleep, watch CNN, fly, sleep, watch CNN. Gentleman Bob told us we shouldn’t expect a break any time soon. The plan was to turn up the heat on Iraq another notch.

  The new crew was surprisingly energetic and a lot of fun. Although we were losing Mike to the MPC, I looked forward to flying with Cowboy. There would be three of us leaving the PME together now.