Every Man a Tiger: The Gulf War Air Campaign sic-2

by Tom Clancy

  From Michael Gordon’s New York Times teammate, Eric Schmidt, I learned you can trust the media. Schmidt has a dogged investigative streak. He finds out more about what’s going on than anyone I’ve ever met. But if the information he finds is truly classified — in order to protect lives or success in battle — you can depend on him to withhold it. Snow jobs will not work on Schmidt, so if you’re stupid, expect to read all about it under his byline. But if it truly needs to be protected, you can trust him. The same holds for 95 percent of the media, to whom integrity is job one.

  Fear of the media seems to go with the job description of soldier, sailor, or airman. Why? God only knows. When you think about it, if you can trust the press and the TV commentator to tell the truth, and I do, then it’s not the media we fear but the American people… a sad commentary on our military mind-set.

  Sometimes you… we… all of us do asinine things. If you are doing something stupid, pursuing a poor policy, or wasting taxpayers’ dollars, and the press or television paints you in an embarrassing light, that is probably a good thing. In the long run, the exposure, no matter how painful, is good for the military and the nation. If, on the other hand, you are getting the job done skillfully, pursuing a noble cause, or managing a military operation with efficiency (how rare that is!), then you have much to gain from media exposure. The American people are quite capable of judging good and bad for themselves.

  I guess the bottom line is we have little to fear if we trust the judgment of the folks who pay the bills.

  ON AND ON

  All the while, more units arrived daily, which meant that Horner and his staff would be neck deep sorting out additional difficulties, problems, and dilemmas, mostly about where to get more — more phones, more cars, more rooms, more food, more water, more everything.

  Horner usually met with Khaled daily, often several times a day, mostly to work on logistical support to cover the beddown on incoming units. He also talked to Schwarzkopf two or three times a day. Since the CINC still felt strongly about not putting troops in hotels, these conversations were often strained. Unfortunately, there was simply nothing else to do. In those early days, until tent cities could be erected for the Army, or pre-positioned shelters for the Air Force, there was no other place to put people. Since the Navy and the embarked Marines slept on their ships, this was less of a problem for them.

  Every night, Horner and his staff met with the Saudis to make sure everyone had the same intelligence view of the Iraqis and to sort out problems at the highest level. Then he and his people went over the day’s confusions and crises, after which they discussed how the various land, sea, and air forces were deployed and the amount of military power they could assemble if attacked.

  About 10:00 P.M., the rumors would start. On at least three nights, there was reliable information that the Iraqis had attacked. Horner kept cool and waited out each report, looking for corroborating intelligence. It never came.

  By 3:00 A.M., they’d have things pretty well nailed down for the night; and then it was off to bed for at least three hours of sleep.

  Then the whole drill began again.

  15 AUGUST 1990

  This is the way a typical day went for Chuck Horner during his time as CENTCOM Forward, as he reconstructs it:

  0520 I wake up at the sound of the first prayer call in the apartment I share with John Yeosock. It’s still dark outside. A few moments later, in the shower, I can smell the desert through the open bathroom window.

  0535 I eat breakfast with John Yeosock, Grr, my aide, and Major Fong, Yeosock’s aide. I have a fried-egg sandwich and orange juice from a can. Even before Fong fixes John’s breakfast, John is already through his first cigar of the day. We drink coffee in the living room and watch the evening news from the United States via the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service Satellite over the Mediterranean. There are no commercials, but there are spot announcements about how great it is to serve in Europe and enjoy the local culture.

  0600 I drive with Grr to the Ministry of Defense and Aviation five blocks south along Airport Boulevard.

  0620 We enter the rear of MODA, pass through a guard checkpoint before entering the garage, and park on the fourth floor of the parking garage in a reserved spot just to the right of the rear entrance. I have a Saudi security badge with my picture on it and all sorts of Arabic writing and stamps that lets me go anywhere in the MODA building. A similar one does the same for RSAF Headquarters. I don’t have any badges for U.S. areas, though, since the only place I would not be in a Saudi facility would be on the USMTM compound, where we have set up a SCIF (Special Category Intelligence Facility) with a guarded entry point, and they all know what I look like.

  0625 I enter Major General Don Kaufman’s suite of offices on the fourth floor of MODA, two halls down from Khaled’s office and four halls down from Hamad’s, which is in the front of the building. The night shift is still at work; the changeover to the day shift is at 0700. Meanwhile, the day shift (mostly USMTM NCOs who handle message traffic) is starting to come on duty (the message center is located on the USMTM compound where our apartment is located). Since Bill Rider has already moved to the RSAF headquarters, the only officers now in the suite are all U.S.: Kaufman, Yeosock, Grr, Fong, and me. John and I sit down in our separate offices to start through the read file — all the messages that came in that night, a stack of paper about two to five inches thick. I read them quickly, look at the top lines for who sent the message, who it was intended for (usually one or more addressees are listed), and the message subjects; and then I scan the message to take what I want from it. Many of the messages cover what is currently being airlifted from the States, but there is also much intelligence information about the Iraqi army in Kuwait. On those messages where I want action taken, I will write on the side of the message. Here’s an example:

  On a message from the Joint Communications Support Element in Tampa that’s addressed to their detachment in Riyadh (busy trying to plug U.S. comms into the MODA bunker, so CENTCOM Headquarters could talk secure to Washington), I might put something like this: “J-6, Make sure we can integrate with the Saudi secure comm. net. H.” Though my note is addressed to the CENTCOM J-6, a major general USAF communicator, it actually goes to his rep in the MODA, only days in-country and still trying to figure out what’s going on and what he should do. The point of my note is to inform him that we are going to operate as a coalition and that if he creates a U.S.-only comm system, that is a nonstarter.

  Later in the day, he appears in my office to rant and rave about how our systems are incompatible with the Saudis’ and so he can’t do what I asked; and even if he could, doing it would give foreign nationals access to our crypto gear… and on and on.

  “If you can’t find a solution,” I tell him, “then the Saudis will talk over unprotected circuits to their forces, and the Iraqis will be the foreign nationals who will have access to our secrets. So please get out of my office and figure how to rig it so we can talk secure (encrypted) to the Saudis and they can talk to their own units secure.”

  Dealing with messages will go on for an hour or so. But there will be interruptions when people stick their heads into the room to ask a question or to talk about some incident that occurred during the night they think I should be aware of (either because they want me to know they have things under control or because it will come up when Schwarzkopf calls or when I meet with the Saudis). I drink about four cups of coffee and eat some strange pastry from a local store. There is a cup to collect coffee and pastry money.

  0900 John, Don, and I go down to a small conference room for the morning stand-up with the rest of the CENTCOM and component representatives. In some cases, these are dual-hatted. So, for example, Grant Sharp represents both the CENTCOM J-5 Plans and the naval component (currently a Navy two-star on the La Salle, which is tied up in Bahrain, but will soon be a Navy three-star now en route to Riyadh and about to move the two-star out of his bunk aboard the La Salle). Tom Olsen, th
e acting Commander of CENTAF (until the CINC returns to the theater and I can go back to my old job), represents CENTAF. John Yeosock represents ARCENT, while Don Kaufman acts as the temporary CENTCOM chief of staff (and takes notes and directs actions that come out of the meeting).

  The meeting starts with an intelligence briefing, which updates the Iraqi deployment on the Saudi border, but may also include news items, such as events in Europe or the (not yet former) Soviet Union that relate to the crisis. There is a short weather briefing from the USAF briefer, who’s come down from the RSAF Headquarters with Tom Olsen. After these briefings, we go around the table and discuss matters that are of concern to all who are present, or that need to be resolved.

  It might come up, for example, that Dhahran is overrun with incoming troops, that the army people do not have anywhere to stay and are already triple hot-bunking it: three eight-hour sleep shifts per day for two people per shift, one on the bed and one on the floor under the bed; you swap every other day, meaning that six people can sleep per day per cot. There is also much talk about fouled-up deliveries — people at one place and their equipment at another (especially a problem with the army units).

  Later, John Yeosock goes over the ground defense for the day, and then Jim Crigger or Tom Olsen does the same for the air defense setup. This is followed by what-ifs regarding an attack by Iraq on Saudi Arabia, update plans for evacuation of civilians, where we would resist and with what, and so on. None of this is pretty early on; but it gets better every day as more planes and troops arrive.

  We break as soon as possible, so everyone can get back to work. (Long staff meetings are bad. They should start on time and we get them over with as soon as possible. They should take no longer than an hour, and thirty-five to forty minutes is better.)

  1000 I wander down the hall to Khaled’s office and have a cup of cappuccino with him. Among Arabs, you never jump into business, so at first we make small talk about unimportant things, such as how Americans are coping with the weather, or else he talks about Saudi history and old stories about the Kingdom. Eventually we get around to real issues, such as the new demands for support that the buildup of forces is making on the Saudi hosts. The buck stops with Khaled, and he listens carefully. I am careful not to make outlandish requests, and I tell him often that my need for a thousand telephone lines is not crazy, but in fact I will likely be coming back to him in a few days asking for a thousand more. This in a nation where the king has to approve installation of all international phone lines.

  We also talk about conversations I might have had with Schwarzkopf the previous night.

  Finally, if Khaled has any complaints, he brings them up and I make notes for Don Kaufman (sometimes Don accompanies me and makes the notes); we will take action on everything, no matter how small. We intend to be good guests, especially since the Saudis are bending over backward to be good hosts. Our meeting may last an hour.

  1100 I take the elevator to the first floor on my way to the underground bunker. On my way, I pass the mosque. If I do this during prayer time, the mosque will be full of military personnel, their shoes lining the hall and spilling out into the atrium. I walk quietly behind the prostrate worshipers and watch the imam on the stage leading them in prayer. On Friday he will give a sermon; and at all times the prayers and the Friday sermon are piped throughout the building, so those who cannot leave their workplace can still pray. Only the guards around the various guard posts are not prostrate.

  A separate elevator takes me down six stories into an underground two-story bunker. On the lowest floor, CENTCOM people are busy stringing comm wires, putting up maps and information boards on the walls, and working on plans. Grant Sharp already has set up an office and is working on a conference room for Schwarzkopf.

  Often I’ ll climb the stairs up to the floor above and stop by Yousef Madinee’s office to discuss command and control. Madinee is a Saudi Army two-star (and well thought of because of his heroic service during a previous crisis when Egypt’s Nasser involved his Army in a nasty revolution in Yemen). Since I must leave the door open for Schwarzkopf to do what he wants when he arrives later in the month, it is hard for me to come to any real agreements with Madinee. This is frustrating for both of us, but we make progress simply because we are discussing command relationships.

  After a while, I go back up to the USMTM suite.

  1145 I catch up on messages that have come while I was out, and I may have a visitor.

  A French delegation, for example, comes to call on the Saudi leadership. They stop first with, say, Prince Sultan. Sultan doesn’t see them but passes them to a deputy. Then they do see General Hamad, who listens to them closely and then dismisses them with warm handshakes and no information or decisions. Now frustrated, they stop by to see the American in charge, both as a courtesy call and because they are scared that they cannot get their forces into this war, and if they do they will come under U.S. command and control, which they don’t want. (Eventually it works out that French forces do come into the war, and under American command and control — but with allowances for French fears.) There is lots of cagey diplomatic talk, as they probe for concessions and try not to offer anything in return. As I listen, I resist the urge to stick in the needle about their NATO participation. That is, if they had been better allies in NATO, then we would not be having these “getting to know you” sessions in Riyadh. I play good guy without committing to anything but a warm welcome and assurances that their national sovereignty will be respected, and as a sovereign nation they will be equal partners… Of course, after the war they will want to be superior partners when it comes to selling military equipment to the Arab nations (to include Iraq).

  This all takes twenty to forty-five minutes, after which we part amicably. But by then they’ll know that even though they would have preferred to come in as the big brother to the Saudis, they will have to work with the Americans if they want in the game. It is hard to be the big brother when the three-hundred-pound Yankee is around and you weigh 120 pounds.

  Time for lunch.

  1230 Grr and I jump in the car and head back to the USMTM compound to eat at the club. Before the crisis, it used to serve maybe thirty people at lunchtime and had a good menu at reasonable prices, hamburger and fries with a diet Coke being a good choice. Now it serves two thousand people with a buffet [chow] line set up in the entrance, and you eat chili or spaghetti or beef stew off a paper plate and get a paper cup of Kool-Aid. There are not enough tables, and I’ve made sure there are no longer reserved tables for the general officers, as was the case before the crisis. All are equal and first come first serve, so you either stand holding your food until someone leaves, or you find a place to sit on the floor or in the small movie theater where the USMTM families used to go for entertainment. People are considerate and eat fast, and they give up their seats ASAP.

  Troops I run into at lunch ask me what is going on, and I pretend to know and give them the best update I can.

  1300 I go to my apartment, take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and lie down for a twenty-minute power nap. After I wake up, I change into my flight suit from desert fatigues. Grr is waiting downstairs. We head out to Riyadh Air Base five blocks to the north along Airport Boulevard to go flying.

  1345 We arrive at the jets, two F-16s parked together with the RSAF PC-9 trainer aircraft on the east ramp, about seven hundred yards from where our AWACS are parked. The jets are from Al Dhafra in the UAE; the crews come up to work a duty shift of a week in the TACC, and the pilots they replace will take the jets home after Grr and I get our flight in.

  1400 Grr and I take off for Dhahran AB in the eastern province. We check in with AWACS (the normal thing to do), and they provide air traffic control services for us. Though we may fly a low-level navigation mission, we’ll probably do Dissimilar Air Combat Tactics against F-15Cs. The mission will have been planned by Grr while I was at work that morning. After about an hour in the air, we land at Dhahran. We taxi up to the ramp wh
ere the 1st Wing has their jets parked, where we are met by Colonel John McBroom, the wing commander, who may have been in the flight we fought coming in.

  1515 After a short debriefing on the training flight, I get in a car with Boomer McBroom to go visit the troops.

  First we’ll meet with the maintenance troops. We’ll listen to their needs and answer their questions. Most of the time, these are about when are we going to go after “ him” (Saddam). Morale is always high, and while working conditions are tough, they keep the jets in commission at very high rates. What the hell, they don’t have anything else to do. It’s amazing how much time families, drinking, and sex take from our day. When you are without, you are much more productive and do not get into nearly as much trouble. Yet all of this, too, has its limits.

  1600 We have been out to the weapons-storage area, and then we visit the school where the USAF reserve nurses are being housed. This last includes walking through sleeping areas where several nurses are in various stages of undress. They seem unconcerned about that, but I am embarrassed; and I talk to them with averted eyes, wishing I had guts enough to glance at their bra-clad chests. It’s the shits when you have to be on public display and on your best behavior. Afterward, we stop by the mail room, since it is a hot spot, and I make sure they have all they need to move the huge amounts of mail out to the troops in a timely manner. Next, we stop by an RSAF Tornado squadron to meet with Brigadier General Turki, the base commander, and his wing commander, Brigadier General Mansour. We talk about their preparations for war and the ongoing Combat Air Patrols we are flying together in the air defense of the Kingdom role. After that, we pass through the integrated USAF and RSAF engine shop to see how our two maintenance forces are integrating and working together. Saudi NCOs and our men and women are working side by side there, but it seems to be working out… Even though some of our women are visibly female under their T-shirts, this seems to have pretty much the same effects on all the males, whether Islamic or south Georgian.