Baghdad or Bust (8 page)

    “Wouldn’t leave home without it,” I replied, “wouldn’t leave home without it.”

    I grabbed the van keys, and then the Lieutenant and I drove over to where the TAC guys were. We gave our badges to the armed sentries and they looked them over, asked for our military identification cards, and then waved us through. Neither the lieutenant nor I was sure how much we were to say to anyone about the mission, so we started out cautiously reviewing their current intelligence reports and read files. Then we turned to the Map—I outlined the orbit box with my finger.

    “Can I help you?” asked a woman clad in BDUs.

    I turned to the lieutenant, and he just sort of looked at me. I was sure they already knew about the mission since that was, in a sense, their job; but neither of us was sure of the level of distribution on this sort of thing. Finally, I admitted, “We’re flying a mission into Iraq tomorrow. We were just double-checking the current threat environment.”

    I saw a number of eyes rise from the planning table and heads turn. The lieutenant was wearing a BDU uniform also and so the not-so-subtle stares were directed at me in my flight suit. Mostly I think they were expecting to see bars on my shoulders, but I had no bars, and the blue-trimmed hat in my pocket somewhat gave me away as enlisted. Right then, I sure wished I was going on the mission, but when I had said we, I meant the unit.

    The woman I was speaking to had six stripes below her shoulders. She was a technical sergeant. She looked at my flight suit and then the clipped on badge. She knew I was enlisted too and suddenly she seemed more interested in me. “What you flying on?”

    “EC.”

    Her eyes lit up. “Show me where the orbit’ll be, and let me see if I can help you.”

    I outlined the orbit area on the map again, and she gave me a rundown of the immediate threats. While she talked, I took careful notes.

    “Good luck,” she later whispered after us.

    “Thanks,” I told her, “I think we’ll need it.”

    Afterward, we took another look at the intelligence logs. I took some more notes. The Lieutenant collected our unit’s classified dispatches from the distro pile. Then we departed.

    Back at ops, Major James was eagerly awaiting our return. We held the briefing in the intel room, going over the details with a fine-toothed comb. I had my list of notes, but as I began to explain the threat situation, I recounted it mostly from memory. I’d always had a knack for numbers.

    The Lieutenant and I were finishing up; I’d said my adieu and was just about to leave the room when Major James turned to me. “How’d you like to be on that mission tomorrow?”

    “You kidding?”

    “No. You’ve done a good job tonight; you deserve to be there more than anyone else. Besides, we could use an extra spotter.”

    I smiled and replied, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world; wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

    “Good, that’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Major James looked at his watch. “It’s 03:15; you’re in crew rest. Go back, get some sleep. It’ll be a long one tomorrow.”

I awoke to the sound of screaming voices and loud music. The room Cowboy, Chris and I shared was directly across from the day room, and the noise was coming from there. Sleepily, I stuck my head out the door, not even realizing I wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of jockey shorts. The room was crowded with crewers, guys and gals, and they were celebrating something.

    “What’s going on?” I asked a passerby.

    “Iraq said they’d withdraw from Kuwait!”

    “No shit?”

    “No shit.”

    I staggered back into the room and sat down. I stared into the mirror across from the bed. My eyes said I was still exhausted. And I was. I clicked on the TV, and then lay back on the bed. I listened to the news, waiting to hear what had actually transpired, and somewhere along the course, I fell asleep.

    I didn’t awake until hours later, and by that time, no one was celebrating anymore. The situation had changed. Iraq had attached so many conditions to the offer that it was little more than a cruel hoax. I quickly found that cynicism had replaced enthusiasm, but I had to push all this out of my mind and prepare for what was potentially the most dangerous mission to date.

    The alert came later than I had expected, and by the time Popcorn alerted me, I was pacing like a caged animal. I couldn’t tell anyone what I knew, so I had said nothing and stayed mostly in my room. I wasn’t surprised to find that the front-end had been alerted an hour before the mission crew or that Gentleman Bob would be flying the plane.

    Everything was smooth sailing until we entered intel for our preflight briefing. I watched faces full of life and color, faces that had been lit up with smiles, turn pale and then grow ashen. The small briefing room had been filled with voices, but now it was absolutely silent. An overwhelming measure of unknown had returned. The unknown that had been there that very first day and those first few flights. Here I held an advantage; I knew what we’d face out there, but I didn’t know exactly what to expect. You can never know exactly what to expect.

    Derrin gave the brief, but after he’d finished, I added a few notes. I had, after all, helped plan the mission, and I knew its every facet.

    As the AC, Gentleman Bob gave his brief next, and it wasn’t a normal preflight brief. “Gentlemen and Ladies, you heard the briefer; this is a combat flight into enemy territory, genuine O-1 time for those of you who care. I’m not going to kid you about the possible dangers; you just heard what we’re facing and what our mission is. I want everyone looking sharp and staying alert! If you feel drained or tired, this is not the time to be sleeping out there! Go see the med techs; they can give you something.

    “We’ll brief emergency procedures here and on the plane. If anything happens out there, I want you to be prepared for it. As Derrin here said, today’s the day to update your SAR cards if you haven’t. We’re going to review some stuff; and I don’t mean to upset anyone, but the danger is more real than ever. In case of emergency, you know the alarm bells for emergencies. Prepare for bailout is three short, followed by one long bell for execution. Crash landing is six short for preparations, and one long to brace for impact. In the event we have to ditch the aircraft, we will try our damnedest not to put the plane down in enemy territory, but in the event this happens, we basically have only two options. Look at the map and you’ll know what they are.

    “Again, I don’t anticipate this happening, but we need to be prepared, each and every one of us. You can’t count on your buddy, only on yourself out there. On the plane, review your checklist for emergency equipment destruction; know where you’re sitting and what your tasks are.

    “Our two spotters, who are they going to be?”

    Stopwatch pointed at Able and me.

    “I want crisp clear calls out there. You see something, anything, including ground fire, I want to know the position of it, and if it’s a threat.

    “And a friendly reminder about things you already know, but may have become lax in doing. Ensure you sanitize: that means combat wallets. You’re not going to need your credit cards out there. If you’ve got that shit back in your wallets, then pull your finger out of your ass; this thing’s a long way from over. You know what should be in your pockets and what shouldn’t be. Those unnecessary items could be used against you.

    “Do not, and I repeat, do not leave this room today without signing out blood chits and evasion maps. And .38s will be loaded today. I know some crews don’t load ‘em, but it’d be a good idea today. Check the chutes in your seat good; and if you’re at your position, I want you strapped in. That’s it, and remember, I want two hundred percent out there, not one hundred percent, because that’s not going to cut it! I’m counting on you, so don’t let me down!”

    Stopwatch gave his brief next. We took a closer than normal look at the packages we’d be supporting. Stopwatch was visibly tense but also excited. He kept repeating himself and he said several times, “All the way to Baghdad.”

    I noticed right then that he was definitely a different guy than the anal-retentive SOB that had left Germany. I just couldn’t help wondering if he’d changed for the better or for the worse.

    The mood in the crew lounge as we waited to go was extremely tense. Both Able and Tommy were surprisingly quiet.

    I was surprised when Steve sat down beside me. He was the mission crew supervisor, and he wasn’t much on casual conversation. “We’ve thought it over, and we want you in the seat.”

    I wasn’t quite sure who he meant by we, but I’d signed on to spot and that’s what I aimed to do. “No, I’d prefer a seat with a view. I don’t want to kick someone out of their seat. I’m not part of your crew.”

    “I don’t think anyone would mind,” countered Stopwatch, joining in.

    “No, I’m an extra. It wouldn’t be right.”

    “Well, maybe tomorrow then.”

    “Tomorrow?”

    “The word is that you’re flying with us until further notice.”

    “What about MPC?”

    “I guess they’ll have to be short or find someone to replace you.”

    I didn’t complain, and when I was riding out to the flight line later I smiled. This is what it was all about.

    This night, we had an unusually large crew, sixteen in all, and we clambered up into the belly of the Lady as quickly as possible. I strolled along the narrow aisle past position six, touching a hand to the headrest, to the rear bunk in the stark darkness. I fitted my chute, performed my checks, and was up on headset before the interior lights were raised to a cheerless white.

    I watched the others go about their checks and heard them check in one by one. They certainly didn’t seem a happy bunch, and Stopwatch already seemed to be riding them unnecessarily hard.

    “Three, you’re taking too damn long fitting that chute!” he complained. “Two and Four get the hell off Private if you’re going to chatter.”

    “MCS, MCC, checks complete yet?”

    “Crew, you know by now that after you complete checks I want you strapped in and facing forward. Gloves on, ready to go. Checks complete, MCC.

    “Three, get in your seat!”

    Rollin, who’d just pulled the chocks, rolled his eyes as he passed me.

    I stretched out on the bunk and listened to the engines wind up. Gentleman Bob checked forward and reverse thrust, and then the Lady began the crawl to the hold line where we’d wait for Tower’s final takeoff clearance.

    “Cleared for takeoff, EC-130,” called out Tower Control at last.

    “Roger that, Tower,” confirmed Gentleman Bob.

    As we began to roll along the runway building up speed, I thought about what was ahead. I started rationalizing and downplaying the situation. What was there to worry about? We’d surely have ample support out there. Gypsy would be providing the air picture and threat calls. Phantom would be there. The Combat Air Patrol team was, as always, top notch. We’d have a two-ship of dedicated HVAA CAP, and four other F-15s would form the MiG Sweep and Alpha CAP.

    As we leveled out, I readied the NVG and checked them out. Stopwatch was screaming at Three again, and I tried to tune him out as I stared out the window.

    “Is Stopwatch always like this?” I asked Able as he joined me.

    “Usually, but you should see some of the stuff that goes on. Three is asking for it. Watch her; you’ll see what I mean.” He spoke aloud over the roar of the engines as I had.

    “Where is she?”

    “Up in the cockpit. Probably batting her eyelashes at the AC. She’s a prick tease; just stay away from her.”

    I looked up into the cabin. The lights were combat red. Stopwatch was clearing everyone into the system.

    Able tapped me on the shoulder. “He’s really not that bad anymore. A lot mellower than when we first got here.”

    Able and I began our vigil out the windows.

    “Crew, attention to brief!” called out Gentleman Bob, “We’re going to review emergency procedures one more time, but I’ll make it quick.”

    I keyed into my headset as Bob ran through the spiel, and soon the snowcapped mountains were below us.

    A short while later, Beebop’s voice tweaked into my headset. “MCC, Nav, ten minutes till we enter the sensitive area.”

    “Roger, Nav, we’re green back here so far. You set in Gypsy’s squawk?”

    “You’re good to go.”

    “Roger.”

    “MCS, MCC, see if you can raise Gypsy.”

    “MCC, already trying.”

    “Spotters, Pilot, look alive back there!”

    I didn’t hear Steve calling Gypsy, so I double-checked my switches.

    “MCC, MCS, Gypsy’s having some minor problems; they say they’ll be cleared up in a few.”

    “Roger, you got Phantom yet?”

    “Phantom’s not up.”

    “When they coming up?”

    “Check the plan; they aren’t.”

    “Shit, MCS, you’re right; there it is right in front of me. Sorry.”

    I glanced at my watch. Five minutes remaining before we entered the sensitive area.

    “MCC, Pilot, how’s the picture look?”

    “Pilot, we’re green, and Gypsy’s up. First packages should arrive on schedule.”

    There was a slight pause. “MCC, Pilot, do we have the go-ahead?”

    “We have the green light!”

    “Roger, MCC.”

    The radios began to fill with chatter. It was clear the anxiety level had just doubled again.

    “Nav, Pilot, ETA to border cross?”

    “Five mike.”

    “Spotters, you see anything back there, remember, I want to hear about it.”

    I pressed the NVG closer to my face.

    “Remember, crew, we’re vulnerable out here. And goddammit, I want nothing less than two-hundred percent when the packages start to ingress!”

    I heard Steve calling Gypsy again. “The zone is clear!”