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Although he had flown combat sorties from Turkey during the now-defunct Operation Northern Watch, Dennis said "this was my first big conflict."
In support of Operation Southern Watch, then the migration to Operation Iraqi Freedom sorties, Dennis said the 14th piled up more than 3,700 hours while flying more than 700 sorties. On the opening night of the air war March 21, he led the squadron in the skies over Baghdad.
"We were over Baghdad the first night and every night after that," he said.
The Samurai were the first nonstealth aircraft to fly over the Iraqi capital and fired the air campaign’s first HARM missile.
During the air war’s first three days, the squadron’s "Wild Weasels" flew the suppression of enemy air defenses, its key mission, using AGM-88 high-speed, anti-radiation missiles that destroyed Iraqi air defenses.
"We killed surface-to-air missile systems before the Army got to Baghdad," he said.
The air war´s next phase gave the 14th pilots their first opportunity to employ their "smart" weapons.
But it wasn´t a cakewalk.
"It was quite a show that first night," Dennis said. "They threw a lot up at us, but it was the capstone of my career … something pretty awesome."
Dennis said he wasn´t surprised the air war ended so quickly.
"I knew what the plan was, and it was a sound plan," he said.
He said Misawa pilots had the advantage of flying over there for 10 years during Northern and Southern Watch deployments.
"It was the best combined arms fight I’ve ever seen," Dennis said, referring to the swift air campaign. "The Air Force brought a huge asymmetrical part to the fight."

"It was an intense and exciting time for us," said Lt. Col. Scott "Zot" Dennis, an 18-year Air Force veteran who led the Samurai to the region in early December for a now-defunct Operation Southern Watch rotation. Dennis relinquished command of the squadron Thursday and is headed for the Air War College.
According to Dennis, the main mission for Misawa´s flyers was SEAD — suppression of enemy air defenses. That involved lobbing high-speed anti-radiation missiles at Iraqi radars foolish enough to "paint" American or British coalition aircraft flying over the desert south of the 33rd parallel.
"Besides enforcing no-fly zones, our big push was preparation of the battlefield, gathering intelligence and reconnaissance," he said.
As more American and coalition forces poured into the region, Dennis said, the operations tempo surged.
"Southern Watch´s 12-hour days migrated into 24-hour operations well before the fight started," he said.
Southern Watch dissolved the night of March 21 as the first attack on Baghdad was executed in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Dennis led the squadron over Baghdad that night.
"Our first task was to effectively suppress the enemy air defenses," Dennis said. "The numerous high-speed anti-radiation missiles, or HARMs, fired at Baghdad kept the Iraqis from mounting any serious defensive effort."
His biggest concern during that first mission: "Not doing something stupid."
Dennis said leading a four-ship F-16 formation gave him "double-sword anxiety."
"I was concerned with bringing everybody home that night — not doing something stupid and messing up," he said. "Nobody wanted to let the team down by getting hit with a SAM [surface-to-air missile]."
[…]
Dennis was somewhat "surprised" the Iraqis seemed to abandon any idea of launching aircraft into skies filled with hundreds of coalition aircraft.
"I didn´t understand the complete rationale," he said. "I thought they would try to inflict as much damage on us as possible, but that didn´t happen."
[…]
Before Misawa fliers fell off the April 18 air tasking order that scheduled aircraft into enemy skies daily, the Samurai delivered the entire inventory of weapons carried by the F-16.
Dennis said it was gratifying to watch his pilots make decisions that could have grave implications.
"They made life-and-death decisions when they had to navigate threats, and all our training came to fruition when it came time to execution our mission," he said. "It was impressive to watch them."

When not flying combat missions, Fowler, 42, was director of operations for the 14th Expeditionary Fighter Squadron at Prince Sultan Air Base, Saudi Arabia, from Dec. 2, 2002, to April 15, 2003. He oversaw the generation of combat sorties, designating pilots for missions based on their skills and leadership ability.
The squadron "flew every possible suppression and attack mission in support of operations on the ground in Iraq," reads his medal citation. "In all cases, his pilots performed with the utmost flight discipline and left with a perfect record of no collateral damage and no fratricide."

On March 26, Lyons was tasked with destroying two surface-to-surface ballistic missile systems, located north of Baghdad and capable of carrying weapons of mass destruction, according to his medal citation. Since the targets were in a residential area, Lyons was instructed to start the run south of Baghdad to reduce risk of collateral damage.
The flying route put him "within lethal range of over 40 surface-to-air missile systems and countless antiaircraft artillery batteries," his medal citation reads.
"We had seen the Triple A before," the pilot said, referring to anti-aircraft artillery from the ground, "but never as bad as we had seen that day. We had several explosions within about 1,000 feet of the airplane.
"That’s close enough to get your attention."

On the third night of combat, May was among four F-16s providing escort for F-18 and F-14 strike aircraft hitting targets in Baghdad.
During the mission, the Misawa F-16 pilots received a "time-sensitive tasking" to drop bombs on a surface-to-air missile site.
"It was the first time our squadron had carried bombs during this war," May said.
May piloted one of two fighters that went in to drop the bombs while the other two provided escort, she said.
The mission was intense.
Poor visibility forced the pilots to fly at a low altitude. Through night vision goggles, May could see gunfire and tracers on the ground, she said. Immediately after dropping munitions, the pilot leading the formation reported a missile was tracking him; he ditched his fuel tanks to avert a strike.
"It was a no-kidding close call," May said.

Plourde flew on a similar mission. He and Capt. Kris Padilla, also an F-16 pilot with the squadron, were supporting aircraft that were striking targets over Baghdad when Plourde was ordered to take out a surface-to-surface missile system in downtown Baghdad.
With Padilla as his wing man, Plourde dropped two bombs on the target while avoiding collateral damage in the heavily populated area.
"We train every day to the worst possible case," Plourde said, "so when that happens in real life, we’re ready for it. The training takes over."
When Plourde heard he would receive the medal, he said, "The first thing I thought of was Capt. Padilla. Even though it went to me, I’m not the only one."

"You were too busy to be scared, you didn´t have time to think about it," recalls Capt. Jason "Nails" Plourde of air combat patrols over Baghdad.
Plourde, who has amassed 1,400 flying hours in his eight-year career, said he was more concerned with making sure high-speed anti-radiation, or HARM, missiles he fired from his F-16CJ found their intended targets.
[…]
Plourde said while he got to fire HARMs, he never had the chance to employ bombs on targets.
"Our Army moved so fast, it was luck of the draw if you got to drop bombs depending on your missions," he said. "We´d rather hold onto them rather than drop them on the good guys."
Plourde lauded the work of Misawa maintenance crews, who helped keep planes in the air.
"They always had our aircraft ready, and after the hostilities kicked off, our maintainers would help fix F-16s with other units," he added.

Tittel earned his cross for a March 28 mission flown near Baghdad.
After flying in support of Navy F/A-18 Hornets that were attacking targets southeast of Baghdad, he continued orbiting south of the Iraq fighter base Al Taqqadum to monitor a dense concentration of enemy surface-to-air missile batteries, according to his medal citation. Without warning, three surface-to-air missiles were fired in his direction. After requesting and receiving permission, he bombed and destroyed the missile battery.
Tittel, 31, credits his wing man that day, the 14th Fighter Squadron´s Capt. Paul Steinport, who was firing missiles in support of a strike package "when we got fired on by the [surface-to-air missile] system," he said. "He was the guy that was playing ball at that time, but I was the guy that had bombs on the jet, so I got to destroy the target."

Mann, who was away from Misawa this week on temporary duty and could not be interviewed, supported a 28-aircraft strike package and launched four missiles to defend aircraft over Baghdad, according to base officials.

For Maj. Ken Ekman, fascination came from watching the arrival of a host of different aircraft that made up the burgeoning air wing.
"We had home-court advantage, having been there for three months," said Ekman, who has 1,500 flight hours in his 12-year career. "I helped these new guys to become familiar with things they needed to know."
After the war took on its increased tempo, Ekman said, Misawa airplanes were loaded with a mix of munitions.
"I could tell how quickly things were progressing because of the munitions loaded on the airplanes."
Because Iraq launched virtually no aircraft, airspace grew steadily safer.
"The Baghdad we feared so long, while not friendly territory, wasn´t as dangerous as it had been," he said.

By the end of his Operation Iraqi Freedom deployment, 1st Lt. Ben "Beav" Price had more combat flying hours than peacetime flying hours.
With 160 flight hours when his deployment began in December, he came home in April with 350 hours.
"Being one of the youngest guys over there, it was a good experience for me," said the 25-year-old pilot.
[…]
Price said he flew the whole war at night, seeing the Iraqi landscape through night-vision goggles. He had just two weeks after arriving in the theater to become familiar with the devices.
"The good thing about goggles is you see everything," he said. "The bad thing is you see everything" — including SAMs and anti-aircraft artillery that Price said "you can see from 100 miles away."
[…]
Just two months out of initial upgrade pilot training, Price now considers himself a seasoned combat veteran.
"It´s experience many of my peers don´t have," he said. "I wouldn´t have missed it for anything."

According to the citations accompanying the awards, Capt. Ulmer was flying as an F-16CJ flight lead tasked with suppressing air defenses. The F-16s were providing escort for U.S. Navy F/A-18 and F-14 strike aircraft. "Due to extremely bad weather conditions, Captain Ulmer was forced to fly well below his normal tactical altitude, at great personal risk," the citation state. After braving intense enemy fire, in the form of anti-aircraft artillery and surface-to-air missile threats, while successfully providing protection to the strike aircraft, his flight was re-tasked to destroy a surface-to-air missile radar that was covering Southeastern Baghdad. Once again flying through bad weather conditions and incredibly heavy anti-aircraft artillery and surface-to-air missile threats, the captain personally destroyed the (SAM) radar site. During the attack, he was forced to defend himself against enemy fire and had to jettison his external fuel tanks in order to speed his exit from the area.

Only two days later, Captain Ulmer was again a flight lead, this time as part of a destruction-of-enemy-air defenses package. Once again, he and his flight braved intense enemy fire in what was one of the densest concentrations of anti-aircraft artillery and surface-to-air missile sites in the country, according to the citation. Following his first successful attack run and after receiving large amounts of enemy fire, the captain organized another attack run to ensure the flight destroyed all the assigned targets. The flight destroyed all four targets with their four bombs. Despite having to react defensively to several surface-to-air missile engagements, Captain Ulmer and his flight successfully destroyed two surface-to-air missile sites and two surface-to-surface missile sights, helping clear the way for coalition forces.

"Captain Ulmer was vital to the 14th Fighter Squadron´s success during Operation Iraqi Freedom," said Lt. Col. Scott Dennis, former 14th FS commander. "He did everything, from designing the tactics we used to building the theater´s DEAD/SEAD mission planning cell, to leading attacks over downtown Baghdad. Few made as large an impact."

"The bravery and skill displayed from our squadron fliers was incredible, especially at night and in challenging weather conditions," said Captain Ulmer. "The first 9 to 10 days over Baghdad were challenging, but the F-16CJ did a lot of good work to help clear the way."

Another First
Our unit had the proud distinction of performing some key events in the OIF air campaign, including SEAD lead for the first package to Baghdad on A-day and the first nonstealth aircraft over Baghdad on 21 March. We also fired the first HARM of the war.

Versatility
The nature of the OIF air campaign changed quickly as the war progressed. We adjusted what we did, and what we carried, on the F-16CJ. We carried HARMs, CBU-103, GBU-31, and AGM-65D/G/H in a three-week period. Most of us had never seen, much less carried, live WCMDs or JDAMs. The 14th Fighter Squadron OIF ledger attests to this versatility, as we employed nearly seventy HARMs, about eighty CBU-103s, more than twenty JDAMs, about ten AGM-65s, and nearly 2,000 bullets.

More Versatility
My first combat sortie in a Block 50 started with night SEAD in the vicinity of Baghdad and ended in a daytime delivery of CBU-103 against Medina Division artillery while doing CAS in support of V Corps near Karbala.

My First HARM Shot
We got real-time tasked in EOR. I'd be taking two PET shots in support of some Hornets going downtown. The weather was clear above about 14,000 feet, but billowing clouds of sand had been ravaging the AOR and the troops on the ground. The sandstorm didn't stop the bombs from dropping and provided a sanctuary for us, since the Iraqi air defenses couldn't track us visually.
We pushed the mission up ten minutes and I shacked my first PET. The HARM left the jet like a friggin' freight train. I knew what to expect visually, based on the video I had seen from earlier missions, so I was primed for the shot. The delay between pickle and launch was very noticeable, easily 1.4 seconds. As soon as it left the rail, the entire jet shook from the rocket launch. I checked hard to the left to prevent the intake from sucking down the rocket blast, and I was engulfed in the rocket's roar. The Viper is a very quiet and smooth-flying jet. The HARM's launch defied both of those norms—it was incredible.

Life Near The Front
Al Jaber is a completely different world, definitely more of a war zone. Everyone walks around in their Kevlar and carries chem gear. About once a day they go Alarm Red. We experienced that firsthand about three hours after we diverted to the base. The sirens wailed and everyone ran for cover as they donned their gear. We had none, much to our chagrin, and it felt pretty awkward experiencing my first real-world Scud attack without the gear we train with. Fortunately the alert lasted about four minutes. We bedded down for the night. At about 0230, waves of jets launched for CAS sorties. The launch was motivating in spite of losing a little sleep as a result.

Into Baghdad
A beautiful day over Iraq, but a painful sortie as we waited for a tasking that never came until the last half-hour we were in the container. It sucks having a two-ship of bomb droppers orbit around Baghdad, waiting for tasking, when the ground forces are parked in the outskirts of the city. I'm sure they could use some airborne artillery support. The good news is that the bombs we finally did drop were on the main road leading into Baghdad International Airport. Recent reports say that we control the airport now and will be using it as a staging point for the siege. We paved the way for them.
Rhino did a visual JDAM delivery and shacked the road. I rolled in and employed on the same spot with my WCMDs. It was a great pass as far as the parameters go. It was really awesome seeing the cluster bombs pepper the target area.

Final HARM Shot
I unexpectedly shot the squadron's final HARM of the air war today: a PET against a SAM site being struck by our No. 3 jet piloted by Lt. Col. Dennis. The shot was the sportiest I've yet to take. I was typing in coordinates and setting up the shot while flying a fluid route position off of my wingman, multitasking between the weapons employment, staying visual, and not hitting him. It was a great shot under challenging conditions, and a surprise tasking since I wasn't expecting to fly today with the early sandstorm. I wasn't expecting to shoot a HARM since the ROE has become so much more restrictive.
It was a challenging sortie in many more ways as well. The weather over Iraq was horrendous everywhere, so we were continually challenged flying our formation. Additionally, we employed as a three-ship—my second three-ship in as many sorties. And finally, the sortie took place later in the day, so we RTB'd at night. I witnessed the sun set and a breathtaking number of stars rise on the way back.

MIG Strafe
Despite being fragged as the HARM truck for the four-ship, I got to roll in and gun a MiG-23 Flogger today after my wingman's passes shacked the target. The defunct jet, as brown as the dirt surrounding it, was parked across a canal and only about 100 meters from a small town. Fortunately, we had a clear attack axis that helped prevent any buildings or people being hit inadvertently. I made two very solid passes and ran the bullets right though the target. After my first attack and safe escape, I looked over my shoulder and saw the bullets hit and explode almost like a cluster bomb. It was very cool.

Young Guns
I led a four-ship of F-16CJs in support of a mixed package of nearly twenty-eight aircraft hitting targets in and around Baghdad on the third night of the air campaign. The other three guys in my flight were relatively young. Numbers Three and Four were brand-new two-ship flight leads, and my wingman was a young lieutenant just months out of RTU. Accomplishing the mission was obviously the first priority, but getting all three of my wingmen back home safe was a close second.
While flying around some fairly active shooting, we reformed the flight while troubleshooting my wingman's fuel malfunction. Number Three took a PET shot, so I then had him take my wingman home. I took Number Four onto my wing. We had now lost all our reactive HARMs, since we had just enough HARMs to cover our planned PET shots. Soon after I rejoined with my new wingman, he began defending for two missiles launched under his wing. The remainder of the sortie was spent trying to reestablish some semblance of a SEAD cap while trying to take on-time PET shots and defending again for SA-2 missile guidance indications on our radar warning receivers. We got all our missiles off on time, but we definitely earned our pay that night. I felt incredibly satisfied as we flew home in the dark of night without HARMs.
I couldn't have been prouder of the guys I flew with and how three relatively young Viper pilots had handled themselves like seasoned warriors that night. I was also glad I was flying an F-16. I remember watching the CNN coverage from the first Gulf War when I was in high school and wondering what the pilots must have felt like flying around all the shooting over Baghdad that CNN was showing. I didn't wonder anymore.

14th First
We went out as a four-ship DEAD mission on the fourth night of the air war. The weather was so cloudy that we had to drop down to a lower altitude over eastern Baghdad to support Hornet strikers. The shooting was the worst I saw during the first week. Being so low made the ground fire seem even more intense. Triple-A and ballistic SAMs were flying all around and above us. The Hornets did not mention that they were safe. Assuming they still needed support, we stayed down there getting shot at for an extra ten minutes. We then got tasked to take out an SA-3 radar in southern Baghdad near an SA-6 site.
The two wingmen in our flight took PET shots to support us as the other lead and I descended into the weather to drop. Triple-A was thick and blowing up all around us. I followed him down the chute by about two miles and saw him light his afterburner and punch his tanks off as he came off target. I pickled my bombs and followed him up in full grunt. I looked over my shoulder for explosions. When I finally looked forward once I got above the clouds, I was thirty degrees nose high at about 38,000 feet and about 200 knots. Not smart. I guess I should have considered punching my tanks, too. The four of us thought that was probably the coolest thing we'd done at the time. We were the first members of the 14th Fighter Squadron to ever drop ordnance in combat.

Spelling CAS
After my wingman, Capt. Eric "Bodhi" Puels, and I were released from our TST duties, we found a ground FAC who needed airborne assistance to destroy a target situated behind a tall
ridgeline during the battle for Kirkuk. Army artillery was having little luck. So, we jumped in line behind a pair of F-18s and started to search for the target. The Navy pilots thought they had the target nailed, so they dropped their ordnance after getting clearance from the FAC. The FAC appreciated their efforts, but it wasn't the target he really wanted. So, we circled the wagons. The FAC did a good job of talking our eyes onto the target. Bodhi was carrying only HARMs, so he supported me as I dropped my JDAM in a visual attack on an Iraqi compound containing trucks and an unknown number of troops. The bombs went through the pipper. As I performed my safe escape maneuver, the FAC said, "Perfect! Secondaries! Lots of secondaries! You made our day." I felt pretty good about my contribution at that point. We didn't know how to spell CAS before OIF. But once the war started, we performed flawlessly.

DEADing A SAM Site
We were a two-ship of Vipers packing two CBU-103s and two HARMs. My wingman, Capt. Paul "Buzz" Steinport, had the HARMs. I lugged the bombs. Our two-ship was providing SEAD support to a couple of F-16CJs from our sister squadron, the 77th EFS, as they charged across downtown Baghdad from north to south. Buzz and I orbited on the southwest side of town. This was the first week of the war, and no Army units were close to our position. Buzz had just fired one of his HARMs at a SAM sight in downtown Baghdad. I ordered a left turn, so we could monitor the area without driving into the middle of the town. We had just made the turn when I noticed a SAM heading skyward about five miles off my left wing. I could see the booster separating from the missile as it continued up and over our two-ship. It looked like it was headed for the moon. Almost immediately, a second missile was fired and appeared to be heading our way. We watched the missile as it slowly started to lose its guidance and arced back toward the ground.
The morning was very clear. Next to a large gravel pit, we could see the exact area where the missiles had been launched from. I turned toward the site and attempted to mark the exact coordinates, but they fired a third SAM. We had to turn away from the site momentarily until we were sure this last missile was not guiding on us. By this time we were fairly close to the site, so I decided to fly over the top of it to get its exact position and to try to spot the launchers and supporting equipment on the ground. I didn't want to get shot at again, but I really wanted a chance to prosecute these guys before they could pack up and move. I saw several launchers and a vehicle parked exactly where the missiles had come from. While Buzz covered me with his last HARM at the ready, I passed the site's coordinates to the AWACS to make sure no friendly troops were in the area and to get permission to attack the site. After monitoring the area for about ten minutes, I finally got the "all clear" from AWACS. I immediately called that I was rolling in hot. As I went down the chute, I set my TD container right in the middle of the launchers and equipment and pressed the pickle button. I heard two thunks as the bombs came off the jet. I started a climb away from the target and watched over my shoulder as the bombs eliminated the entire site. It was a great day to fly, and everything worked out well. Buzz and I left the area to get gas and support more players later that day.

The Longest Minute
I was on a DEAD mission when AWACS called and said they had an emergency need for CAS. An Army unit was pinned by enemy fire in Baghdad. I had the only Viper armed with JDAMs in our four-ship and that was the weapon they were looking for. The troops-in-contact situation made me more than a little uncomfortable when I found the Army unit was less than 1,000 meters from the target building. The ground FAC did an outstanding job of passing the required data and had to stop several times during transmission to take cover from incoming fire. Finally, the coordination portion was complete and I received clearance to drop. I said a prayer as I released both JDAMs. The time of fall was fifty-nine seconds. I will never forget those seconds. Terrible scenarios raced through my mind, but finally, the FAC's voice erupted over the radio, "Great bombs, one! Great bombs! The building is gone and the battle is over. Thanks for the work." The feeling of relief was indescribable. The worst thing I could imagine in the world would have been to hurt one of those heroes on the ground. The JDAMs functioned flawlessly.

No Fame, Glory
The greatest thing about OIF was getting to live and work in a fighter squadron with such great people. My memories of most of the sorties I flew will fade, but I'll never forget the people I shared those experiences with. Flying fighter aircraft isn't about fame and glory. It's about taking care of your best friend flying the jet right next to you.

Day In The Life Of An F-16CJ Intel Troop
My day starts off at 0530 when I get up to shower and shave. I get dressed in the bathroom so I don't wake my roommates. I leave and head to the chow hall thirty minutes later for a little breakfast. I then get on a bus bound for Ops Town no later than 0630, ensuring my early show before my shift starts so I can get the previous guy out the door and heading home.
My shift officially starts at 0800, at which time I make my way out to the DDF for the day and start reading on the current war situation. Just about the time I know what's going on in the war, the pilots start making their way into the DDF for their final Intel step brief. I brief them on the current situation with any important updates that need to be mentioned and issue them their Intel-related survival equipment. From this point on, a steady stream of pilots step for their missions and another stream is returning from their missions. I debrief those returning. They tell me what they shot or dropped, who and what shot at them, any SAM or triple-A threat indications they received, and enemy tactics they observed. I type up a mission report and send it to HHQ where all the information is analyzed and disseminated throughout all the squadrons. A full debrief takes about two hours. Four or five debriefs can take up the majority of the day.
Between debriefs and steps, someone brings me lunch. At 1930 my shift replacement shows up. I catch a bus back to Coalition Complex between 2000 and 2100. I grab a quick dinner-to-go from the chow hall and take it back to my room. I eat dinner, take a shower, and get ready for bed. The next day, I do it all over again.

Task prioritization during combat operations: wingmen experiences during OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM

Kris Towd Padilla

"Samurai 2 and 4, your priorities today are to stay visual, fly the correct formation, and--only after you've got those two things doped--monitor your sensors (e.g., radar and HARM Attack Display)."

Wingmen throughout the Air Force--regardless of experience level--hear these priorities every time they fly. They are first learned during the formation phases of SUPT, reinforced at IFF, and emphasized at our RTUs and first fighter squadrons where wingmen train to employ the most advanced aircraft and tactics, first in training and then in combat. In combat, however, CINC Objectives, Rules of Engagement and Special Instructions replace "Training Rules" and training-isms; and the combat environment's dynamic and volatile nature test these priorities every mission. Regardless of the operations, basic airmanship and wingmen priorities remain the same, and perhaps achieve greater significance as the mission demands and complexity increases. This article's purpose is to demonstrate the importance of correct task prioritization, exemplified by wingmen stories from OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM (OIF). All of these examples illustrate times where correctly prioritizing basic tasks culminated in successful missions.

The contributors' identities and mission specifics have been sanitized to protect their identities and the sensitive nature of the material.

My Biggest Lesson Learned (Caesar, F-16):

Stay Visual: Wingmen never want to go blind on their flight leads, especially during combat where they entrust their lives to him, and vice versa. Although getting shot at by AAA and SAMs wasn't appealing, going blind was much more troubling. The one time I lost sight of my flight lead was over Baghdad, and even though this only lasted about 20 seconds, it felt like an eternity.

Nighttime Mixed Element Ops (Bodhi, F-16):

Our flight, a two-ship, got tasked to Combat Air Patrol (CAP) southwest of Baghdad, sanitizing the area against all surface-to-air threats for three vulnerability periods (VULs), and putting our bombs to good use when tasked. Since I was the only High Speed Anti-Radiation Missile (HARM) carrier in the flight (my flight lead carried cluster bombs), my primary job not only involved suppressing all surface-to-air threats for the strike packages entering Baghdad, but protecting our flight as well. We pushed into Iraq for the first VUL and the weather was not cooperating, forcing us to descend to lower altitude and well within range of many lethal low-altitude threats. As we entered our Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses (SEAD) CAP, our flight immediately got targeted and engaged by Iraqi fire control radars and AAA. We defended immediately, thereby spoiling their target solutions; but flying formation and sanitizing the area for the strikers and our flight while maneuvering with high-Gs, at night on NVGs, below a lit cloud deck, and at low altitude, proved to be the most challenging flying I've ever done. After a grueling first VUL, we refueled and returned for the second VUL. We found a workable layer between the cloud decks, allowing us to sanitize the area at higher altitude, thereby mitigating some of the surface-to-air threats and weather issues. We performed Close Air Support during the third VUL in addition to area SEAD. It was a grueling mission with a lot of tactical elements complicated by difficult weather.

Defense In Depth (Ox, F-15):

We were in the center Offensive Counter Air CAP on Night Two or Three of the war. There was some weather between ten and twenty thousand, but it wasn't that bad. AWACS provided an overwhelming amount of surveillance track information, one of which indicated an "unknown" status, i.e., "bogey." Seconds later, AWACS committed us to intercept and visually identify the bogey (at night below the weather, a tactic we train). The bogey tracked east towards Baghdad at about 7000 feet. At the same time, two additional Eagles from the west CAP committed, resulting in four Eagles racing towards the same piece of sky with low SA.

We were still about 20 miles away when the west Eagles reached the bogey, and, though we weren't on their frequency, AWACS was talking to both of us. The next thing AWACS queried was, "Confirm FOX II there?" I was convinced that a friendly just got shot at. Fortunately, the flight lead from the other formation replied, "Negative" and I felt relieved. Even though it was still early in the war and my fangs were out, I was pretty convinced none of the Iraqis would be flying in this war. Nonetheless, I realized this was probably our one chance to get an air-to-air kill in the war, so I couldn't believe it when my flight lead directed us to turn away from the fight. After talking to him after we landed, however, I realized it was a great decision. We had very little SA and there was already another flight of Eagles intercepting the bogey to get an ID. This decision was more tactically sound, giving us better SA on the bogey by preserving range so as not to stick our noses into a merge where we conflicted with other friendly aircraft or--even worse--got shot. We didn't get to take a shot that night, but my flight lead made great tactical decisions while I supported him as number two.

NVGs, Weather, Fuel Problem, And Iraqi Bullets--A Wicked Combo (Beaver, F-16):

I flew my first OIF sortie on Night Three of the war. As we entered our SEAD CAP just west of Baghdad, I started having problems with my fuel management system when my fuel gauges went to zero. I troubleshot the fuel problem while flying formation off my flight lead, and there were missiles and AAA all over the place. I knew I had plenty of gas, but my reservoirs both read zero--very disconcerting. In the midst of all this, I was supposed to take a Pre-Emptive (PET) HARM shot. I called unable and my flight lead reallocated the shot to No. 3 while I kept working the fuel problem. I RTB'd with a chase aircraft after the VUL.

My second sortie the next night was equally challenging, if not more so. I was No. 2 in a four-ship supporting a package of Hornets and Tomcats going downtown. The weather was solid from 15,000 to 31,000 feet, so we patrolled at 14,000 even though it appeared we were still in the weather. It took every ounce of concentration I had just to fly formation and stay visual. At one point, I was spatially disoriented and felt like I had a vector towards my flight lead. So, I set my lift vector away from him and pulled, but I couldn't tell you if I was pulling up, down, or sideways. I recovered on the round dials after that. It was actually a relief when I called "Attacking" for my PET shot because flight lead started flying formation off of me, giving me a little bit of a break and the opportunity to re-cage my gyros!

The Mission Isn't Over Until You've Landed (Oscar, F-16):

It was our second sortie for the night and the sky was starting to glow with the sunrise. These conditions complicated our RTB because it was not bright enough to fly visually and too bright to fly with the NVGs. I was relieved when we established radar trail so I could raise the goggles and follow the three radar contacts.

We initiated a descent and switched over to the approach control, but nobody answered. After some frequency hopping, we found approach and lead requested vectors for a four-ship, ILS trail. The controller directed us to split into two elements and assigned different frequencies to each element. However, our controller left our frequency as well and we again played the frequency hopping game. After reestablishing contact, the controller gave us vectors and a descent into a sandstorm. With two miles visibility I wasn't too worried leaving the FAF; but as I got closer to the field, the visibility diminished with the low lighting, blowing dust, and sky being the same color as the surrounding desert. Now the problem was figuring out which of the tan strips in front of me was actually the runway I was supposed to land on. At about one mile out, I found the taxiway that changed into a runway at the beginning of the war, did an aggressive correction, and landed. It wasn't pretty, but I was on the ground. I was surprised that after two combat sorties, the most dangerous part of the night was battling the radar pattern and landing at dawn.

"MAGNUM" From Fingertip (Towd, F-16):

I unexpectedly shot our squadron's 69th and final HARM during one of our last daytime OIF sorties. It was a PET shot against a SAM site in the vicinity of an early warning radar targeted by our No. 3, and it was the sportiest shot I took the entire war. Not only were we employing non-standard tactics as a three-ship instead of our fragged four-ship (No. 4 fell out for maintenance), but we were IMC at 30,000 feet with only about 1000 feet of in-flight visibility, no discernible horizon, and unable to find clear airspace in our assigned area of responsibility (conditions prevalent throughout the course of the war in which we had never trained to employ). So, I was typing in coordinates and setting up the shot while flying a fluid fingertip to route position off of my flight lead, multi-tasking between the weapons employment, staying visual, and not hitting him! One minute prior to the shot, I radioed "Samurai 2's primed PET Alpha"--still in fingertip, monitoring the shot, while still prioritizing deconfliction with my flight lead. As the time to take the shot arrived, I floated to visual limits (about 500 feet), lobster-eyeing my flight lead while QC-ing the shot. Within about 14 seconds, I hammered down, radioed "Samurai 2, Magnum SAM, Timeout 1+14," and repositioned to fingertip. It was a valid and accurate shot under challenging conditions to say the least. We certainly don't train to fly in those conditions or take shots like that, but our proficiency with the basics--"blocking and tackling," as our OIF Squadron Commander called them--enabled us to quickly adapt to the challenging conditions and employ lethally and safely.

Conclusion:

Although these examples are from wingmen flying fighters, the basic principles are universally applicable and illustrate some important points.

(1) First, there is a very good possibility that our combat operations in the next conflict will differ significantly from the way we train. For example, we continually operated in IMC throughout OIF--even at night with NVGs--a medium we do not train in because of the inherent risk. I don't expect the training restriction to change, leading me to the next, most relevant point.

(2) Prioritizing basic airmanship and tasks--such as staying visual and flying the correct formation before working sensors--achieves greater significance during the fog and friction of war. Getting shot at certainly changes the dynamic of a mission already complicated by weather and other mission elements; so, it's incumbent upon all of us to be the best "wingmen" and not further complicate matters by failing to accomplish basic tasks and possibly create another hazard to the mission.

So, never forget the importance of the basic tasks, because they may be the only constants during an otherwise chaotic combat mission.

CAPT KRIS "TOWD" PADILLA

35 FW

Misawa AB, Japan

COPYRIGHT 2005 U.S. Air Force, Safety Agency
COPYRIGHT 2005 Gale Group

CDR John "Germ" Geragotelis, US Navy, is commanding officer of the VAQ-131 "Lancers," an electronic-attack squadron of EA-6B Prowlers based at NAS Whidbey Island, WA, that is part of Carrier Air Group Two assigned to the USS Constellation (CV-64). In addition to Operation Iraqi Freedom, CDR Geragotelis has flown combat missions in conjunction with Operations Southern Watch over Iraq and Deny Flight and Deliberate Force over Bosnia.

The first A-Day (Air Day) strike of Operation Iraqi Freedom, on the long night of March 21, had elements of the routine to it, but weird things come to mind while sitting on a catapult at night. There's no doubt in a Tailhooker's mind that if something goes wrong during that stroke, he is merely along for the ride.

I tossed and turned for five hours, then at 15:45, it was time to get out of the rack. The brief would be for the most important event of my career, the opening strike of the "Shock and Awe" campaign in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF). If I smirk at the term shock and awe, it's because an Air Force guy coined it, said it was an essential "kick off" tactic for any war. As you know, the ground campaign preceded the air campaign by two days, proving once again that you should never use yesterday's tactics to fight tomorrow's war. After a quick bowl of oatmeal, I head to the Ready Room to check on our aircraft status and make sure everything is still on track for the big night.

Background for non-military readers: We get most of our information from TV, same as you. When the ground war started, we got the word that A-Day would be two days later. It just so happened that Commander CVW-2, my air wing, was given the overall lead for the first A-Day strike (commander of CVW-2 is called CAG, a hold over from the days when it was a carrier air group vice air wing). As all of you who have jobs know, stuff rolls downhill. So I took charge of the entire suppression effort. That's the Prowler specialty -- keeping the enemy's air defenses, their surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) and radar, from targeting our strike aircraft. Our first wave had about 80 aircraft directly involved. That's huge. To provide protection, we planned for EA-6Bs from five different squadrons (three from aircraft carriers and two shore-based), lots of anti-radiation missiles from Navy and Air Force jets, and lots of stand-off weapons deployed from outside the SAM engagement ranges. Of course, the plan looked great on paper, but no one knew how Iraq would counter. War is like a football game -- lots of reacting, improvising, and changing on the fly. The pre-game planning was done. We were ready to go.

16:45:00: CAG starts the brief right on time even though the admiral hasn't arrived. Our shoe admiral is fighting a different war. He is charged with defending over 100 Coalition ships in the Arabian Gulf. That keeps him busy. He arrives late and sits beside me in the front row. CAG's brief has evolved into more of a pep talk. He's longwinded, but I somehow manage to keep paying attention. There are some bigwig reporters in the room.

18:00: It's time to walk. I sense that my crews are a little concerned. I'm flying with Creepy, Jersey, and Donny. We've trained long and hard, worked up since June, and yet no one knows exactly what will happen. I have a very competent squadron, so I'm not worried. I tell the SDO to can the REO Speedwagon and put on the old stand-by, AC/DC -- oh yeah!

18:20: I salute my plane captain (PC) and preflight my jet. Realize it is pitch dark out, so even with my state-of-the-art, government-issue D-cell flashlight, I can't see much. The flight deck is a hazardous place, especially at night. My jet is parked so close to the round-down (the back edge of the carrier) that I dare not even walk under the tail for fear of slipping over the side. How embarrassing would that be? "First casualty of war: Clumsy Navy pilot falls off USS Constellation, lost at sea, CNN footage at 11." So I carefully climb into my jet and wait.

18:35: Exactly 40 minutes prior to launch, I hear the loudspeakers blare the mantra that brings kinship to every past and present Tailhooker. It is more of a prayer than a warning. "On the flight deck, aircrews are manning for the Event 1, Case 3 launch [Case 3 means night or bad weather -- unrestricted climb off the catapult]. Time for all unnecessary personnel to leave the flight deck. Those remaining get in complete and proper flight deck uniform, helmets on and buckled, goggles down, sleeves rolled down. Check one last time for chocks and chains and loose gear about the deck. Check your clothing and pockets for FOD. Now start all the go birds. Start 'em up!"

I close the canopies and light off the engines. At night, the PC and I communicate via light signals. My eyes haven't fully adjusted, so I see only his wands. After checking our systems, we are ready to go. The yellow shirt (yellow wands at night) signals our taxi. The ambient light from the superstructure aids in judging motion, but it is still very treacherous, moving a 27-ton aircraft around without any perception of depth or speed. I move slowly at night, especially since the non-skid has worn off from five months of flight ops. It's not unusual to slide about ten feet before stopping. I follow the director's wands to Cat 4. The Prowlers will launch first tonight; the mighty Lancers will kick-off Operation Iraqi Freedom for the Constellation Battle Group.

19:10: Weird things come to mind while sitting on a catapult at night. Very few things frighten me. Of course, I'm not counting those loser boyfriends my daughters dated, but luckily just the sight of a groomed, employed father scared them off. Perhaps helpless is a better description of how I feel, even after 300 night cat shots. There's no doubt in a Tailhooker's mind that if something goes wrong during that stroke -- engine failure, generator failure, gyro failure, etc., or worse yet, a catapult malfunction -- he is merely along for the ride. Most daytime catapult emergencies would be child's play for us Navy flyboys. But at night, if my copilot God doesn't grab the stick, our skill probably won't be sufficient to fly away from the water.

19:14:25: The director's yellow wands signal "take tension" to the catapult officer, and I feel the tug of the shuttle on my launch bar. I smoothly advance to full power and hear the roar of my two engines. "There's one, two, three good wipe-outs, oil and hydraulics in band, RPM, EGT, fuel flow in limits. Ready? [Consent by silence from my three ECMOs] Lights are on!"

I signal my launch by turning on the exterior lights, "touching the deck" as I watch the Shooter dip his wand down to signal our shot. "Here we go," I say just prior to bracing.

There's nothing outside, so I fixate on my attitude indicator and grunt "good shot" as we get slung into black. I can tell a good shot, because my head and torso are pressed into my seat so hard that I can't lean forward. It's the most comforting uncomfortable feeling in the world. "We're climbing," I call after I rotate the aircraft, still staring at my instruments.

In fact, there's no reason to look outside until I am well above 2,000 feet high. That's also when I start to breathe again.

19:20: Northwest bound with wingman in tow. We have an appointment with a tanker about 250 miles away. I can see tons of aircraft while driving up the "ocean parkway" (the name given to the route we take to Iraq). A few years ago, I would have been able to see only some stars and oil platforms. But now, we all fly on night-vision devices (NVDs). We call them goggles. Don't believe the movies; it is nothing like seeing in the day, and goggles don't work through clouds either. Everything appears greenish. Light sources can be seen for miles. They are sensitive enough to pick up headlights, campfires, etc. from miles away. I can see other aircraft from over fifty miles. On a moonlit night, it's easy to make out ground features, such as fields, roads, rivers, etc.

20:15: We arrive at our exit to the tanker track. There are planes all over the place. That's the downside with goggles: you can see everything. It used to be nice not knowing what was out there -- the old "ignorance is bliss" thing. Anyway, rendezvousing on the tanker is usually the most dangerous part of the mission. There is high potential to collide with someone else, because lots of planes are arriving from different altitudes and directions. It gets real sporty when the weather is bad, but tonight is clear. I locate our tanker, avoid a few planes, and join up on the portside, number four in line for gas.

20:35: Finally, my turn behind the KC-10. I "smoothly" make a last-minute full cross-controlled rudder slam to get the fueling probe into the basket. That's my trademark. Not only does it impress the guy/gal watching in the tanker, but it also wakes up my three ECMOs. Just kidding, of course. Tonight they are wide-awake, and all our radar- and communications-jamming systems are checked and readied. "Fill 'er up." Yeah, that's what I say. Pretty corny, huh? 10,000 pounds of JP later we are topped off and on our way north -- next stop Baghdad.

21:15: Somewhere just south of Baghdad. There are scattered clouds below us, but I can clearly see the capital. I can see bright Tomahawk cruise-missile explosions all throughout the city. To the right and left, I can see trails, like Roman candles, streaking toward Baghdad. I cannot see the aircraft launching the missiles, because at night we turn our lights off. We go "midnight" so the enemy can't optically target us from below. Although I cannot see any of the friendly aircraft, I know where they are. We originated from all over the world, from afloat and from land, travelling hundreds of miles, some thousands. We culminate as one tremendously lethal strike force -- on time, on target, on Baghdad. Fox News shows bombs exploding randomly for hours, and it may appear to be a free-for-all, similar to a "food fight." But there is very little randomness in the military. In fact, the larger the strike, the more precise. As I watch six bottle rockets (anti-radiation missiles) fired from two Hornets 10 miles to my right, and as I see the Tomcats above me tapping burner to accelerate at the ingress point, I know our execution is on time. I also know there is no evil empire on this earth that can defeat our awesome Jedi forces. All is good and right.

There's still plenty of work left for my crew and I as we watch streams and streams of anti-aircraft artillery (AAA) rising from downtown and suburbia. We see numerous SAMs being launched. None will guide because ten venerable Prowlers are obliterating all enemy radar with a relentless storm of 'trons. But it is still unnerving, especially when we see a salvo of SAMs launched near us. My heart stops beating until we determine that nothing is tracking us. Seconds later Creepy calls, "Break left," directing me to turn the plane as hard as aerodynamically possible. Seems as if a barrage of AAA was exploding outside our starboard canopy. For over one-half hour we jammed, dodging fountains of AAA and sporadic SAMs, watching explosions decorate Baghdad like mosquitoes flickering into a bug zapper, protecting Coalition brethren from all over the globe. It seemed like only minutes.

22:20: There's not a lot of cockpit chatter on the way home. Of course, the radios have been squawking non-stop all night. The hundreds of planes airborne tended to make our controllers very chatty. I fly quiet. The satisfaction of surviving is enough to keep us comfortable as we head out to sea. Feet wet, I remove my goggles to regain 100% night vision, because I need all the help I can get on night traps. If I were only in the Air Force, aside from not knowing my parents, I would have no problems, just a simple landing on a two-mile-long runway. After de-goggling, all I see is black. Tonight there is no Commander's moon, as the JOs call it. In fact, it's darker than fresh cow dung on a moonless prairie night, darker than a dead witch's hat, darker than a black hole, darker than the backside of the moon -- not my lines, but you get the point. It's damn dark.

22:56:00: "503 commencing, altimeter 2-9-8-7," calls Donny, as we push downhill out of the marshal stack.

I ease our rate of descent as we pass through 5,000 feet. I don't want to add my name to that sad list of navy pilots who started their approach too soon and flew right into the water. Believe me, it's not a far stretch. There's nothing to see outside except black, so I padlock on the instruments. I level off at 1,200 feet. Jersey asks, "Hey, Germ, do you have your cheaters on?"

I guess he was sleeping when I announced that 20 minutes ago. After my laser surgery, I could see 20-15 in both eyes, but it's been three years, so I need cheaters (glasses) to see 20-20. Around the boat, vanity is not a welcome sidekick.

They've done studies on stress and found that night carrier landings increase a pilot's heart rate more than any other flight task. No! (Your tax dollars at work.) You think it would be cake after eighteen years, but in truth it was easier when I was young and fearless. At least now I am smart enough to know I'm not great, so I don't believe the seat of my pants (it will kill you at night), and I listen to paddles, the landing-signal officer (LSO) who watches and "waves" us aboard.

I am only ten miles behind the boat, but Donny doesn't see it. After lowering the flaps and landing gear, we slow down to 136 knots (about 150 mph). I drive into three miles and begin my descent. Donny says, "I got the boat. We're lined up a little left."

"Thanks, Donny. Let me know when we hit centerline."

Donny can look out the windscreen at the laser line-up lights, as well as the carrier droplights, which depict centerline. I have to "stay inside" on the instruments. Every night carrier approach is like landing with near-zero visibility, because there is no horizon, no approach lighting, and no frame of reference. Try turning off all the lights, then staring at a small point source. It will start to move, or does it? Or are you? That's why I stay inside on the instrument approach needles until just prior to touchdown.

"503, on glide slope, on course, three-quarter mile, call the ball," says the approach controller.
In case you were expecting the "Maverick has a ball" quote from Top Gun: "503, Prowler Ball, 6.8" is the correct call as Donny states our side number, aircraft type, Ball (meaning he sees a source light, or "meatball," on the glide-slope lens), and fuel state (6.8 thousand pounds). I stay inside on the needles but start peeking outside. When I can't stand it anymore, I look outside and tell my crew, "I've got a Ball, three down and locked."

I'm looking at a postage stamp with blinking centerline lights. I work my butt off to stay on speed, line up, and glide slope. I hear paddles click the mike, and before he even asks for "a little power," I've already jumped on the throttles. Now I'm too high and fast -- better than low and slow, but still not pretty. I squeak off some power until I see the ball starting to settle lower. Experience tells me I'm over the ramp. I don't spot the deck, much. (Spotting the deck means looking at the landing area instead of scanning meatball. Spotting the deck leads to ramp strikes. Those are bad and deadly. The night carrier landing is actually a surprise if done correctly. The pilot flies by scan until the plane crashes into the deck.) I add some power to break my descent, accepting a slightly low ball so I don't bolter. The jet touches down. I go to full power while simultaneously getting thrown forward into my harness straps. In seconds we come to a stop and get tugged back by the wire. I quickly turn off the lights and raise the flaps and hook. As we taxi out of the landing area, I finally take a full breath and tell my crew, "Good job, guys."

Knowing we did a good job is all the gratitude any of us need.

23:30: After post-flighting for battle damage and thanking our fine sailors, I make my way downstairs. Smiling ear to ear, I get stopped by a group of reporters in the P-way. If you saw the clips, you know it's true.

"What was the scariest part of the flight?"

"My landing."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm hungry. I've been waiting all night to grab a slider."

A slider is a hamburger, and it's tradition to eat a slider after a tough night trap.

00:55: "Double cheeseburger?" I ask at the kitchen counter.

There's a powerful energy throughout the ship. No one is watching the perpetually re-run ship movies, just news channels, and everything is going well. We will be launching and recovering planes until this afternoon: 18 straight hours of flight ops, and we'll get up and do it again and again. No planes shot down yet. That's what I care about. Slider and freedom fries on plate, I take my seat. Smiling, messy haired, red mask-faced, sweaty-collared pilots are enjoying lunch. The wardroom is bustling with combat accounts, wristwatches being shot down in all directions. Old folks like myself take it all in, while big-eyed twenty-somethings struggle to contain themselves. This is what carrier aviation, the Tailhook Navy, is all about. It is a night to remember but not a night to dwell on. "Hit the sack Donny. We're on again tomorrow."

"Aye, aye, skipper. Good night."

Footnote: One Long Night in March took place on the 21st. On April 17, the day I wrote this, we transited the Straits of Hormuz, leaving the Arabian Gulf behind. In cruises of the past 12 years, many carriers slipped out of these straits, happier with the fact they were departing than with the job they accomplished. I am here to tell you, this is not the case with us.

In the middle of the night on March 19, two days before the "Shock and Awe" air campaign even started, the VAQ-131 Lancers launched on short notice to support a Presidential-ordered strike deep into Baghdad.

On March 21, the Lancers were the first CVW-2 jets to launch off the USS Constellation for the opening air campaign of OIF. The Lancers flew 90 sorties in less than four weeks support of OIF. No enemy radar-guided missiles targeted coalition aircraft.

CVW-2 strike aircraft (F/A-18s and F-14s) flew over 1,600 sorties, dropping over 775,000 pounds of ordnance, destroying nearly 800 targets in less than four weeks of support of OIF. No collateral damage was attributed to CVW-2.


CDR Geragotelis was also kind enough to provide a declassified after-action report of "A-Day," reprinted below with jargon intact [definitions added].

ATO O, 21 March 2003 (A-Day) Package OBS

Per CFACC [Combined Forces Air Component Commander] direction, A-Day opening strike Package OBS Mission Commander (CVW-2) was also placed in charge of coordinating Package OCS due to the proximity of target time and location in the Super MEZ [Missile-Engagement Zone]. As SEAD [Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses] Commander for OBS, VAQ-131 (2 EA-6Bs, Callsign Owl 08 and 01) seized the opportunity to coordinate the SEAD efforts of Packages OCS and ODS/OES (follow-on strikes to targets north of Baghdad). Together, the coordinated SEAD assets from Packages OBS, OCS, and ODS/OES synergistically yielded a sanctuary for over 60 strike assets, 31 from OBS including 13 "stealth" and 6 conventional aircraft which flew directly over downtown Baghdad.

As SEAD Commander, Owl 08/01 coordinated stationing of 10 EA-6Bs (3xOBS, 3xOCS, 2xODS, 2xOES) and Package OBS ARM [anti-radiation missile] support from 4 F-16CJs, 2 F/A-18Cs, and 4 [UK Tornado] GR-4s including 32 Pre-emptive ARM shots and 6 retained for Reactive targeting. Owl 08/01 also deconflicted standoff weapon employment (stationing and frequency) of 2 F/A-18C (2 SLAM-ER), 8 F-15E (16 AGM-130) and 6 F/A-18C (18 JSOW) employment, and helped deconflict TOTs [Time On/Over Target] for all 28 OBS strikers, originating from 5 different locales including bases as far away as Whiteman AFB [Air Force Base]. OWL08/01 ensured proper jamming alignment for ingress and egress routes of 13 stealth and 6 conventional strikers on deep penetration missions over Baghdad. To ensure best possible accuracy of JDAM, Owl 08/01 devised the early destruction of Iraq's premier long-range ATC [air-traffic control] radar (LP-23) with a SLAM-ER, in order to alleviate the requirement for Band 6 jamming after its successful takedown.

After TLAM initial wave (TOT 1800-1810Z) Owl 08 and 01 were on station from TOT 1815-1845Z jamming in support of not only the 13 stealth and 6 conventional aircraft (OBS) which penetrated the heart of the Baghdad Super MEZ, but also protecting over 30 aircraft employing stand-off weapons, ARM and direct munitions in vicinity of Baghdad and Al Taqaddam. Concurrently, 8 other EA-6Bs surrounded Baghdad, in accordance with the overall SEAD plan, to completely obliterate Iraq's extensive array of EW and cueing radar, throughout the entire frequency spectrum.

At the time of A-Day, Iraq possessed over 70 radar SAMs, the majority of which were unlocated inside and outside the Super MEZ. Due to jamming and ARM, none of these SAMS were able to lock-on and guide on a coalition aircraft.

While on station within 30NM of Baghdad (FL260), Owl 08 and 01 were surrounded by AAA [antiaircraft artillery] for over 30 minutes and in numerous cases, had to maneuver to defend/avoid artillery bursts. On several locations, ballistic SAM launches were observed in the area. No strike/support aircraft except for stealth and conventional strikers with targets in Baghdad, were stationed longer or nearer to Iraqi air defenses (AAA, rockets, SAMS) than Owl 08/01 and the other EA-6Bs. Each aircraft held station until all strike/support aircraft (OBS and OCS) were safely clear of any threats.

Since Operation DESERT STORM in 1991, there has never been a "Shock and Awe" first strike that compares to the large-scale magnitude of Operation IRAQI FREEDOM A-day on the evening of 21 March 2003. The awesome responsibility of expertly planning and aggressively executing the takedown of the Baghdad Super MEZ was flawlessly orchestrated by Owl 08 and 01.

JDAM: Joint Direct Attack Munition
JSOW: Joint Stand Off Weapon
SLAM-ER: Standoff Land-Attack Missile-Extended Response
TLAM: Tomahawk Land Attack Missile

July 2003

posted by Michael Puttre, November 11, 2005

Current source link:
http://edefense.blogspot.com/2005_11_06 ... chive.html

Capt. Scott "Pole" Vogt, USMC, is a pilot with VMAQ-2 "Death Jesters," part of the 2nd Marine Air Wing, based at MCAS Cherry Point, NC. He graduated from the US Naval Academy in 1994.

March 31 started off the same as the last five days, briefs at midnight and a dawn launch for a morning of cruising around Iraq like a roving biker gang. However, this day was destined to be different.

I signed the Aircraft Discrepancy Book, accepting responsibility for the plane after I was satisfied that it was safe for flight. We walked around the corner from Maintenance and down an alley to VMAQ-2 "Death Jesters" Flight Equipment to pick up our 9mm pistols and get dressed in our survival equipment and ejection harnesses. We then proceeded back to Maintenance Control to catch a ride with the maintainers down to our aircraft, Jester 02. The plane was parked about three-fourths of a mile from the squadron maintenance spaces and hanger area, sheltered under a steel and tapeline structure to protect it from the relentless sun of the Saudi desert. On the way, we passed rows of aircraft: KC-10, KC-135, and British VC-10 tankers; E-3C AWACS; and F-16CJs; all parked on acres and acres of concrete. There were nearly a hundred Coalition aircraft parked at the desert air base that morning, but even more empty spaces were awaiting the return of all the jets flying over Iraq.

It was March 31, 2003. We'd been having a good run of luck with the day CFLCC [Combined Forces Land Component Commander] support missions, and on the previous flight, my crew actually got to shoot our High Speed Anti-Radiation Missile (HARM) at Iraqi surface-to-air missile (SAM) radars in support of strikers going "Downtown." So we were upbeat. No, actually, we were totally pumped-up.

When we got out to the aircraft, we conducted our preflight of the jet, looking at the overall condition of the aircraft and making sure all of the panels and pieces were in the proper places. Donk was riding shotgun up front with me. I was a recent graduate from Marine Weapons and Tactics Squadron (MAWTS) 1's Weapons and Tactics Instructor (WTI) course, the Marine Corps' version of Top Gun. The two backseaters, Eddie and Dude, took a good look at the jamming pods and our HARM, making sure they were in proper working order. We started the aircraft and got all of the systems up and running in our usual 10 minutes but ended up having to wait to taxi until our inertial-navigation system completed its alignment.

We then taxied to arm up the stores, check stray voltage to the HARM, and arm the missile. Once complete, Donk called for takeoff, and we got lined up on the runway. Cleared, with the throttles at full military power, we began our roll. At 150 knots, I gently pulled back on the stick, and we were off for an uneventful trip down the "Parkway," a special airspace created for aircraft transiting to and from Iraq from our airbases throughout the region. Upon reaching Iraq, we proceeded to our KC-10 Extender, the US Air Force version of the McDonnell Douglas DC-10, a flying gas station, and topped off our fuel tanks, so we would have plenty of on-station time to support strikers delivering their ordnance in and around Baghdad.

At this point in the war, the Baghdad area was a SAM haven with numerous systems in and around the city. We were there to provide our umbrella of electromagnetic protection through our jamming pods and, if need be, with our HARM. We got off the tanker and proceeded to our assigned "Kill Box," talking to the Marine Corps Direct Air Support Center (DASC), as well as the Offensive Counter Air (OCA) on the Airborne Warning and Control aircraft, or AWACS. We let them know we were up "as fragged" (which means we had everything we were scheduled to have). With three jamming pods, a HARM, and a full tank of gas, we were ready to jump in the fight.

As we were coming off the pre-mission tanker, a B-1B, Gash 61, was getting some final coordination instructions and targets. Aboard Gash 61 was another foursome: Gladiator, Flick, Bulldog, and Funk. The B-1B Lancer, affectionately called "the Bone" by its aircrew, uses speed and low altitude to evade surface-to-air missiles. With a length of 147 feet and a wingspan of 136 feet, the Bone is big. Painted black to make it less visible at night, it was very visible during the day. It was approaching 11 o'clock in the am, and the clear skies over Iraq under a bright sun would make the big Bone very easy to spot by anyone looking.

Gash 61 was looking for suppression-of-enemy-air-defenses (SEAD) support. This would consist of an EA-6B Prowler and two sections of F-16CJs, which took the place of the F-4G Wild Weasels after their retirement in the early 1990s. Gash 61 was tasked with dropping some of their bombs on airfields northwest of Baghdad: Al Toqadum, Al Samara, and Balad Southeast. They were going to re-crater the runways in order to prevent the Iraqi air force from getting any of its aircraft airborne.

We coordinated all that we needed to know, and we went into executing the strike. Shank 66 (that's us) quickly pressed north to cover the ingress with jammers, and we were ready with a reactive HARM in case the two CJs taking pre-emptive shots weren't enough. With rapid communications with Shank 64, another Prowler, we coordinated additional jamming support for the B-1's egress to the south. We turned nose on and got the jammers radiating against the known threat systems in the area. The F-16s took two HARM shots against the target area in hopes that the enemy would radiate their missile systems, which would be a fatal mistake. The B-1 dropped down and did a low-level ingress, dropped its payload, and came off the target attack supersonic, climbing back to its assigned altitude. From our vantage point, we could see the bombs hitting their mark. In fact, Donk was able to snap a few photos. With two Prowlers jamming and two CJs shooting HARMs, Gash 61 was able to prosecute all targets unmolested by Iraqi air defenses. We then proceeded to a lake just west of Baghdad and orbited for a few minutes, listening with our on-board system, trying to see if the Iraqis were radiating any of their radar systems.

We then pressed to the tanker for more fuel, while Gash 61 was on the radio looking for more tasking for his remaining ordnance. Twenty minutes later, we checked back on station. Gash 61 was working final coordination to attack a Republican Guard unit located southeast of Baghdad that was threatening the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force (1MEF). The B-1 was running low on fuel and would not be able to ingress and egress from the target at high speed. But 1MEF's situation would not permit an aerial refueling without putting the marines on the ground in more danger. The attack on the Republican Guard required Gash 61 to go into the "Super-MEZ" around Baghdad, which consisted of more than fifty strategic SAM systems and more than 200 anti-aircraft artillery sites. Unable to use its advantage of speed and low altitude because of fuel concerns, the Bone was going to need all the support it could get. We were the only support available for the Bone and its precious remaining cargo of seven 2,000-lb. Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAMs) and one 5,000-lb. bunker buster.

The Prowler, almost 60 feet long and 53 feet wide, is also no small airplane itself. It does not have the maneuverability of a F-16 and is limited to speeds well short of supersonic. Without speed and maneuverability, the Prowler stays safe from SAMs by knowing where they are and staying at the outer limits of their ranges. The B-1 would be a sitting duck flying at low speed and high altitude during its target attack; we would be its only protection.

"Hey, AWACS, this is Gash 61. I got some tasking. I am going to need about 40K of gas post strike. Will I be able to get it?"

AWACS replied, "Gash 61, I don't think we have 40K extra."

"How 'bout 30?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Okay, buddy, you do that. I want to get some support to the Marines!"

With a good chance for getting enough gas after the strike to make it home, Gash 61 was ready to go:

"Shank 66, Gash 61," Gladiator radioed. "We're at Bull 110 for 80, heading 315. If you can get a visual and work it like that, it'd be great, fella."

We used BULL, a common reference point, to let other folks know where we were. Like telling someone you're 50 miles south of Chicago on I-55 heading north. I pointed the jet to the east to join up with the B-1. We would stay close to him until all the bombs were dropped, keeping him as close to the jamming energy as possible and hoping that neither one of us would get shot down. So a big black airplane with a sky-pig of a Prowler on its wing would fly into the heart of the Super-MEZ.

The Iraqi air defenses, by this point in the war, had lost much of its integration. Coalition strikes had destroyed much of the cable that linked sites together, making it hard for the enemy to talk to one another and pass targeting information. But individual systems were still out there, and they had the capability of finding targets. It was still the middle of the day, and no amount of jamming could take away the ability to look through binoculars and see a big gray airplane and a bigger black one on their way to deliver bombs.

At 50 miles from the target, I got sight of the mighty Bone, and we joined on its right side in a tight combat spread: side by side, 27,000 feet above the ground, with less than a half mile between us. At 35 miles from the threat, I called "MAGNUM" (brevity code for HARM shot). With a squeeze of the trigger, we felt the kick of the missile leaving the aircraft, and off the missile went, leaving a thick white smoke trail as it proceeded down range. The missile went straight ahead toward its target. Smoke filled the air in front of the jet, momentarily blocking our view and filling the cockpit with sulfur-smelling fumes. Picking up speed, the missile looked for radar signals from any SA-2s and SA-3s that might looking for an easy kill. "Take that, bitch!" exclaimed Flick inside the B-1.

The Iraqis manning the missiles would certainly see us now; the only question was if they would risk being hit by that HARM in order to shoot at us. The HARM is a good missile, designed to home in on radar signals. It reaches speeds in excess of three times the speed of sound, and its warhead is designed to rip through radar antennas, rendering them useless. But it needs a signal to lock onto. The enemy knows that if he doesn't turn on his radar, a HARM probably won't hit him. On the other hand, he also won't be able to hit anybody either. Without radar to guide the SAM, it's lost and completely inaccurate. We were hoping that the threat of a HARM would discourage the Iraqis from firing at us.

I then maneuvered the Prowler back, aft, and high of the Bone, placing it in the umbrella of jamming coverage (along with Gladiator, Flick, Bulldog, and Funk). There were indications of a SA-2 attempting to lock onto Gash 61 as it prepared to release its devastating payload into the heart of the Iraqi Republican Guard's Medina Division. A few miles from the target, the bomb-bay doors of the mighty Bone opened, and a string of hate and discontent was on its way to the Iraqis threatening the US Marines of 1 MEF.

Our HARM had 30 seconds remaining in its flight, and I needed to get the sky-pig out of SAM range before the Iraqis started shooting at us. The threat of HARM and our jamming had kept the air-defense missiles on the ground. But with the Republican Guard in danger of attack, some Iraqi might get brave enough to start shooting. I stood the Prowler on its left wing and started to turn around. This gave the Iraqi SA-2 trying to lock on to Gash 61 and us an opportunity to fire a guided shot. Gash 61 broke right, dispensed chaff, and called, "Defending."

Donk immediately signaled for "wings level." Still in the turn toward the south and away from the threat, I pulled harder and dispensed chaff myself. After Donk's second "wings-level" command, I fought every instinct of self-preservation and rolled out. The jammers were slightly more effective with the aircraft flying straight and level. We were way inside the missile's effective range, and there was no way we were going to outrun it. We needed every possible packet of jammer energy we could get in order for us or the B-1 to have a chance.

As Donk looked over his shoulder, he saw a smoke trail headed up toward our aircraft. Leading the trail of smoke was the flaming telephone pole. The SA-2 missile is over 30 feet long and flies at four times the speed of sound. Its warhead, consisting of over 400 pounds of high explosives, can kill anything within 200 feet when it explodes. We were both in trouble. Gladiator called a warning over the radio, and I replied: "Wings level. Jammers on."

After years of training, my voice disguised any nervousness and fear. These emotions were tucked way in the back. With a missile coming at you, there's one chance, and you don't get any more quarters.

Gladiator was executing his SAM evasive maneuvers. I, on the other hand, was holding a straight and level course, as vulnerable as a metal duck at the shotgun sharpshooter booth at a county fair. I twisted my head left and right, looking for the smoke trails of more missiles. Iraqis never fired just one. It was always two or three or six. I could have sworn I saw more strings of smoke starting from the ground: multiple hands of doom reaching for us. "Where's the missile? Where are the other ones?" I pleaded over the ICS [internal communication system].

Every head was turning back and forth, necks craning and eyes straining as we all searched for the missile we couldn't see yet, the one that would hurt - but just for a second. My patience flying the big fat target profile was running out. The little voice in my head was telling me, "Break right! Dispense chaff. Break left! Dispense chaff."

But the one missile that was definitely tracking was starting to turn more towards the Bone. And protecting the B-1 and its crew was more important at that moment than fighting the other missiles that may or may not have been tracking us. There was no "life flashing before our eyes"; no thoughts of wives or children; or what we could've, should've, or would've done in life. The only thing the eight of us in the two jets were thinking of was how to get out of the trouble we were in.

Donk looked down at the HARM page of the tactical computer. Our HARM was still airborne. "Five seconds to impact," his amazingly calm voice stated over the ICS.

Hopefully by now it was homing in on the Iraqi missile site that had dared to shoot at us. At the computed HARM time of impact, the Iraqi missile stopped tracking. It wobbled, then stuttered, and proceeded to go straight up. The HARM had found its target and detonated with precision. Hundreds of metal cubes hurtled out of the warhead, perforating the enemy radar dish and rendering it useless. In all likelihood, the fragments penetrated into the control van beneath the radar dish, where the thin metal walls' jacketing foam insulation would be barely a speed bump before reaching the two Iraqi radar operators, their heads down to the scopes.
Inside the B-1, Gladiator and his crew saw the missiles go away harmlessly. They rolled out, and Bulldog said, "****** clowns, they better bring it better than that."

Gash 61 also reported that its radar-warning receiver had ceased picking up indications of enemy emissions. I banked hard in the direction of the B-1, keeping it under the umbrella. I dispensed more chaff and looked for more missiles. Nobody was shooting at us now.

The target, more than 10 miles behind us now, would be receiving its JDAMs and bunker buster. The crew of Gash 61, with their accurate weaponry, had created a circle of death and destruction 1,200 yards in diameter. Tearing into the sides of tanks, trucks, tents, and equipment, the steel fragments would devastate the Iraqis. The hastily built bunker to house the Division's headquarters was receiving special attention: a 5,000-lb. bunker buster, guided by a GPS-assisted inertial-navigation system. Falling from more than four miles above the Earth, the bunker buster has the kinetic energy of a Burlington-Northern freight train. In an instant, the Medina Division's command and control had been killed, burned, and buried.

The Republican Guard paid dearly that day, and so did a SA-2 battery. Later that night, CNN would report that the Medina division of the Republican guard had been decimated. I was glad there would not also be a story of a B-1 or an EA-6B shot down over Iraq.

September 2003

posted by Michael Puttre, November 11, 2005