I swallowed a lump in my throat. Jim continued, “Our mission in all this is to keep the Iraqi forces confused by jamming as many of their command and control, air defense, and other communications as we can find to ensure that our fighters have a clear way in and out. This means jamming enemy SAM, AAA, and other ground comms almost exclusively.”
Jim paused, spit into his cup, and put down the pointer. “Our crew will be the primary crew. We’ll stay on orbit throughout the entire engagement. Captain Willie’s crew has what I’d call the quarterback fake. They’ll go out an hour before us and set up on orbit with all the usual array of support aircraft, the full CAP and everything.
“We’ll take off an hour after they do and while they pedal as fast as they can to the forward edge, we’ll cut throttles and go in slow and low. Once our crew is set up on a low orbit, Captain Willie’s crew will cut their jammers and drop way back. Afterward, they’ll provide support only if necessary.
“At the appropriate time, we’ll pop up and go to work slamming and jamming. The job only we do best!” Jim smiled. “If all goes according to plan, we’ll lose no planes to enemy AAA nor to SAMs. And no Iraqi planes will escape to Iran.”
Jim paused to catch his breath. My face was aglow with enthusiasm. “Today will be our longest combat mission to date. More than nine hours from wheels up to wheels down, a very long time to be airborne over any combat zone.”
Right then I was thankful that I had a fair amount of sleep and that I had packed two cans of beanies and weenies.
“Needless to say, Captain Willie and I need everyone at their best out there today. Now unless Captain Willie has anything to add, this briefing is concluded.”
There were a lot of anxious faces and a lot of anxious conversation as we waited for the appointed hour. CNN was playing loud in the background. Gentleman Bob and Major James were both present, looking on, though neither gave a pep speech that day.
I had almost expected to see Captain Willie’s crew outfitted in their dusters, but it seemed none of them had the hats with them. Soon I watched them go and then settled in for another hour of waiting.
The hour passed slowly. Then, survival vests on and .38s strapped at our sides, we headed to the waiting van. I couldn’t wait to get airborne. In the back of my mind, I saw a strike force sweeping in over Baghdad, a wing of F-16s with afterburners full aglow screaming across the skies.
The taxi call seemed to come belatedly as we were pushing a sluggish time schedule. Gloves on, headset on, seat facing forward, I waited for the AC to say, “Crew, we’re rolling!”
Happy had his Walkman all ready to rock and roll, and though it wasn’t playing, I could already hear Martha screaming, “There’s nowhere to run.”
Each of us had our red or blue bandannas fitted around our heads. Although the intent of it was to keep our heads warm, since with fresh and short haircuts the cold air at altitude had an especially biting sting to it, we started a new crew tradition.
We proceeded through the checklists slowly. Taxi and takeoff also went slowly. Afterward Martha was finally screaming as we climbed out of five thousand feet. Crow had brought in an oldies’ tape and so for a short time we tuned into ship’s PA.
Happy and Cowboy began playing solo air guitar. When Tammy and Sparrow joined in, Tennessee Jim looked up from his keyboard and smiled that silly Tennessee smile of his. He didn’t say anything. It was all in good fun and it relieved a lot of stress.
Chris did a secure radio check with Shadow-1. We were Shadow-2 today. Afterward he contacted Gypsy.
Crow had the system up and running with surprising swiftness. We were logged in and ready to go to work well ahead of schedule. By now, Captain Willie’s crew was set up and working the environment, going at it as if everything was the same as it always was. Periodically they kept us updated, passing us lists to ensure that when we popped up from our low orbit we were good to go.
They were jamming as if there were no tomorrow. Their reports said AAA sites were lit up and pulverizing empty sky. The Iraqis were expecting the package ingress we weren’t going to give them.
It pleased me to know that the AAA sites were wasting precious bullets. I could only think back to a darkened night when I’d witnessed through a pair of NVG just how awesome that firepower was. 100mm artillery could really rip through the sky. The Iraqis had a whole array of anti-aircraft artillery in their arsenal, ranging from 23mm to 130mm. The SAMs that they were more and more often firing blindly when they spotted anything ranged from handheld Stingers to mobile systems that could instantly prove deadly without our jam support.
I glanced at my watch as the mission compartment became ominously silent. The interior lights turned red. The crew entrance portal was blacked out. All we had to do was wait for the go-ahead which would come from Gypsy if all were going according to plan.
The passage of time reverted from the ticking by of minutes to the agonizing passing of seconds. The radios were fairly quiet for the amount of traffic poised to strike. The only thing I could do as I waited was maintain a mental image in my mind of the progress of the packages. Ravens and Weasels were lining up, getting ready to blind enemy radars. Shadow-1 was preparing to withdraw. We were getting ready to pop up and jam Iraqi communications. The mood in the back grew more tense by the second.
“MCC, Nav, ten-minute warning,” tweaked Bill on Private.
Tennessee Jim relayed what we had all heard. It only made time seem to slow down even more.
I glanced at my watch every few seconds while I stared at my terminal.
Unexpectedly, all displays blacked out. I heard Crow scream, “Shit, not now,” as the system crashed. We had six minutes to go.
Suddenly I could hear both Jim and Crow breathing into their microphones. “Get on it!” hollered Jim, going up Hot at the same time Crow did.
I flashed four fingers at Chris, which was what Shadow-1 had just relayed. Four minutes till they left orbit.
“Status back there?” called out the Nav, “We going to be ready to go or not?”
“We’re in reboot. Give me one more minute,” Crow returned.
“Don’t dick around setting back up. As soon as Crow says go, GO! And I don’t want to hear anything but position and go when you’re set up, you got it, crew? Clear to work as soon as you’re ready,” Jim cried out. “AMT? AMT, this thing up or not?”
Three was in the rear window spotting, and he was already calling out distant traffic marshalling. A short pause ensued. Everyone in the mission crew paused to hear Crow’s response. “She’s green, just a gremlin is all, better now than before.”
“Save it. Nav, MCC, green light.”
Chris was on radios to Shadow-1 as the front-end contacted Gypsy. Shadow-1 was pulling off orbit, seemingly turning for home. They reported AAA units had stopped their endless barrage, which was good. The fighters at the head of the wave would hit the AAA and SAM units that had set up in the open for the apparent ingress that had not come and were hopefully busily reloading ammo or preparing to move out. They would be easily knocked out before they realized what had occurred.
The green light came. We popped up just as Shadow-1 hit the back of their box. We came up jamming. Happy reported seeing explosions. The first package was headed in, in wave after endless wave. I couldn’t help wondering about the strike force headed for Baghdad. Whether they were airborne yet I didn’t know. I was working too feverishly at my terminal to calculate times.
Gypsy called out an air advisory. Captain Sammy took us into an evasive maneuver. We didn’t know if anything was close enough to reach out and splash us but that had been the advisory. We weren’t going to wait around to find out.
Captain Sammy dropped the nose hard. We dropped like a rock. My heart jumped into my throat. Minutes later, we climbed, leveled out, still jamming.
The first hour clicked by seemingly in a single heartbeat. It seemed I was only taking my second breath when the first part of the package began to egress. Happy, in t
he back window, was calling out groups of traffic coming out low and fast. At the same time, Chris was on radios to Shadow-1.
An emotional moment came as Gypsy reported that the entire package had safely egressed and were headed for base. For a time, the frenzy slowed, but we had to keep the Iraqi forces below thinking they were going to get hit again at any moment. We kept working.
At Jim’s advice, Shadow-1 got back into the game, taking up a position in the forward half of our box. They’d turn a short orbit on one end. We’d turn a short orbit on the other. Both crews were periodically going in and out of jam. The Iraqi forces below were taking the bait.
When the AAA gunners couldn’t see with their radars or couldn’t communicate—most of the time—they kept on rattling off ammo. I didn’t blame them. I’d be scared to death if I knew I was going to die, for our fighters would surely find the ones who had escaped the first onslaught during the next package ingress.
There was a definite sense of unity and performance as we waited. Gypsy reported the targets had been hit as planned and the skies were clear. We rejoiced.
I sucked at my water bottle during the brief lapse, cracked open one of the cans of beanies and weenies, wolfing it down in less than thirty seconds. Afterward, I was pumped up and ready to go again.
We cut our jamming ten minutes prior to the wave of Ravens and Weasels coming in, bringing it up and down again in two-minute intervals. The enemy AAA sites were still playing along with us nicely. They didn’t understand the game, but we did—we had the rulebook. Our job was to tire them out, waste their ammo, and more.
We got the green light just as the initial wave swept inward and cut our jam. The Ravens and Weasels were on top of the enemy units, striking before the enemy knew what hit them. As the Ravens and Weasels did so, we went back to work. Far out in the Iraqi desert, the assault began. Part of the package would re-strike the nuclear R&D facility, while three other groups lashed out at key northern airfields.
Sweat had been pouring from my brow for a long while now and there were dark bands of moisture under my arms. While I was enjoying every terrifying minute, I never forgot for a moment that the same AAA and SAM sites we were jamming could reach out and pluck us from the sky in one swift and deadly instant.
For me, being on orbit was akin to riding a giant roller coaster that never stopped. It whipped around and around, around and around, up and down, up and down. When the ride was finally over, it left me emotionally and physically drained.
The second package was putting the ground forces below us through an hour of hell while the strike force swept toward Baghdad. The ride was almost over.
The initial wave was heading home. Soon others would follow, and then so would we. I was shaking with excitement, anticipation and anguish. We were at the top of the tallest hill on the ride. I was staring down the long inevitable fall. Once I started to fall, racing downward with my heart in my throat, I’d hit the bottom. The ride would finally stop. It would all be over.
I heard the AC relay the red light. I held my breath, waiting for Gypsy to say the package had come out clean. Happy called out the egress, groups of traffic low and fast.
Still holding my breath, I waited. Radios tweaked. I keyed in. “The last wave has safely egressed and is headed for base.”
I released the breath and it came out in an elated rush. We’d done our job. The aircraft were safely on their way. The strike force was coming in over Baghdad. In the back of my mind I saw that wing of Fighting Falcons knocking Iraqi jets from the skies.
When we touched down, wheels slapping the runway, I was never so happy to find the ride was at an end. It was early evening when we returned to the barracks. By all accounts we should have been utterly exhausted, but we weren’t. We’d promised Tennessee Jim that we’d come over for crew beers but weren’t really sure we’d make it that far. First thing I needed was a shower, so I made the three-block trek to the base gym.
The showers were always crowded. Today, especially so. A group of soldiers had come in from the field. The floors were covered with bright Turkish mud; the showers were flooded because the drains were plugging up. I sloshed my way into the showers through cold, dirty water and found that there was still hot water. I must’ve stayed in that water for ten minutes—well, at least it seemed like ten minutes.
Afterward I went back to the PME to see if Cowboy and Happy were going to go over to Tennessee Jim’s. There was a ruckus coming from the rec tent when I returned and that’s where I found them. They were whooping it up with Captain Willie’s crew. Charlotte had even come down from billeting, bringing her roommate Sandy with her—Sandy was on one of the other crews.
As soon as I came in, Captain Willie handed me a beer then hollered, “Close the tent flap! It’s cold out there.”
With me, there were now fifteen people crowded into a six-man tent, which still had no heater, so I did seal the tent’s flaps to keep in the heat.
Charlotte started a round of the name game. The first name that popped into her mind happened to be the singer of the song playing in the background. Joe Walsh was singing, “Rocky Mountain Way.”
“First names,” she called out. Then turning to Cowboy she said, “Joe Walsh.”
“Andrew Johnson,” Cowboy replied.
Happy to his left had five seconds to think of a last name that began with ‘A’. “Hank Aaron.”
“Aretha Franklin,” Bobby shouted out.
“Drink!” we shouted, “First names, not last names.”
Bobby guzzled down his beer.
“Last names,” Cosmo said starting the next round. “Al Stewart.”
“Sam Perkins,” said Captain Willie, another big sports fan.
“Sam Perkins?” PBJ to his right asked. Another rule of the game was that someone else had to recognize the name. The name couldn’t be fictitious and it couldn’t be a person anyone knew. In this case, Cowboy backed up Captain Willie, “NBA, Orlando.”
“Peter Frampton,” quickly voiced PBJ.
“Frank Sinatra,” I said.
Sandy paused for a moment, “Scarlet O’Hara.”
“Judges?” Happy shouted.
We gave her a thumbs down. “Drink, drink,” we chanted, and Sandy bottomed out her beer. Happy gladly handed her a fresh one.
Thomas began a new round with last names and as the chain lasted around the whole room, we all drank. Now the name game played in moderation was fun, but when played to ever-changing crew-dog rules, it was even more fun.
The tent was finally getting warm or we were all getting a little drunk. We opened up the tent and annexed the picnic table.
We played at least a dozen more rounds of the name game, burning through a small stack of cassettes as we did so.
Around 21:00, things started to wind down. Both crews had a 10:00 alert in the morning and unfortunately, the twelve-hour crew rest rule said it was time to start thinking about breaking up the party.
Just when things should have been winding down, though, things began winding up. Sandy, feeling a sudden lack of inhibition jumped up on the picnic table and started dancing, Happy and Cowboy followed. The day had been stressful and we were sure relieving a good portion of the stress.
We were also blocking from our minds thoughts of tomorrow’s impending flight. We had returned to base ops to find that two crews were waiting to launch and both crews were again flying the next line. Just when we had returned from our longest mission to date, we found out that tomorrow’s line would stretch to ten full hours. Ten hours of flight time meant a minimum of a sixteen-hour day if things went exactly according to plan. Things never go exactly according to plan.
We whooped and hollered the way crew dogs do. At 21:59, the stereo quieted and the alcohol was put away. There was too much on the line if we couldn’t perform our duties tomorrow. We also knew tomorrow’s mission was of obvious importance though we’d have to wait for pre-brief to find out exactly why.
The festivities carried on for anothe
r hour though we slowly edged back into the tent. We never did make it to Tennessee Jim’s quarters that evening, but we did have a lot of fun.
Tuesday, 29 January 1991
“Gentlemen and ladies,” began Gentleman Bob, looking about the room the way he always did when giving in important speech. “Today’s mission is a two-crew Go as you already know. Intel, the ACs and mission controllers have already briefed you on targets, so you understand the import of this mission.
“The game plan is again different from yesterday’s. The ultimate success of the mission is in our hands. We have to do our job the best we possibly can to ensure that the packages get in and out safely.” He demonstrated this graphically with his pointer.
“The mission will be a very long one. I know that as we near the third week of the war most of you are worn out from the seemingly relentless onslaught of fly-fly-fly. Stick with me through this one and I guarantee things will start to even out.
“Again, let me remind you the med techs are here. If you need something to make you stay awake, they can give you something. I don’t want anyone falling asleep in their seats! Also, if anyone is feeling especially under the weather, this is the time to speak up. Anyone?”
Gentleman Bob paused to look about the room and take a sip of coffee. “Good. Now let’s go get them!”
Already two crew vans were waiting. After gathering our gear from the hall, twenty-two crew dogs poured out of base ops with determination in our steps. The Eng and the AMT for both crews were already at the planes.
Captain Willie’s crew piled into the first van. I noticed just then that they had a different copilot. Lieutenant Faber must have been switched out to MPC. Emily, their new Co, looked rather peaked; today was surely her first flight. There was always that look of uncertainty in people’s eyes as they went out on their first combat flight. Emily had it plastered across her face as if it were written in indelible ink.
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