Viper Pilot: A Memoir of Air Combat (33 page)

I’d survived another war.

I knew that, occasionally, in later years, paths would cross again, and those of us who knew the Elephant could talk about it. The combat bond is like no other, and there’s really no way to explain it. But for now, I knew, all was well. So, as an afternoon rain squall popped over the rolling green hills, I lay down in the cool grass, let the rain fall on my face, and smiled.

Endgame.

Epilogue

S
EVEN MONTHS AFTER THE
G
AMBLERS WENT HOME,
Saddam Hussein was pulled from a filthy spider hole on a farm outside Tikrit. It wasn’t even a mile from the SAM we killed on April 13, and when I heard the news, I wondered if he’d been there at the time and seen the action. His two barbaric sons and a grandson were killed that July, and Saddam followed them on December 30, 2006. Hung up by his scrawny neck until his eyes bulged, his bowels let go, and he died.

Winning that war was a foregone conclusion. When the American military is turned loose and allowed to fight, we prevail. Yet it would take eight more years before the last American combat troops came home. There were no more MiGs or SAMs to contend with, no Iraqi armor or set-piece battles; but it remained a war—and a particularly nasty one at that. Caught between vacillating peacetime leadership and ambiguous, shifting political goals, the U.S. forces still adapted, overcame, and rolled out of Iraq with their banners flying at the end of 2011.

As for the Weasels, the battle continues. While the Air Force shrinks under budget cuts, and as the tremendous cost of the F-22 and F-35 programs seek justification, there is a continuous push to combine missions. Think of it as a one-size-fits-all approach. Now don’t get me wrong, I believe single-mission aircraft are a ridiculous waste of resources. However, just as absurd is the notion that plinking away at map coordinates with smart munitions is Weaseling.

Then there’s the problem of mentality. With a decade of permissive skies over Afghanistan and Iraq, some flawed conclusions are being reached. The love affair with stand-off weapons and unmanned aerial vehicles are perfect examples. Once again, those who are too old or who were never good enough for combat continue to advocate the replacement of manned aircraft. These are the same guys who said we’d never strafe and we’d never drop bombs on SAM sites. But combat pilots know that as long as ground troops are fighting, they’ll need close air-support and Weasels.

Ask any infantryman.

I also know that UAVs, in their present form, would never survive in any threatening environment with MiGs or SAMs or Triple-A. When generals began insisting that fighters fly escort for the things, then we were at the edge of the abyss. We went over into the abyss when the Air Force made a noncombat officer the Chief of Staff.

Not too long ago, a Predator “pilot” tried to write himself up for an Air Medal —it didn’t happen, but a lot of fine fighter pilots threw up at the thought. What’s next? A Purple Heart for carpal tunnel syndrome?

Be that as it may, I’m not opposed to any solution that kills SAMs. Fixed sites are relatively easy. Naval bombardment, cruise missiles, or even Special Forces teams with satchel charges are all options for killing those types of SAMs. Wild Weaseling, to most of us, is a special mission done on the fly against unknown and unplanned mobile SAMs. Often reactive, it’s over very quickly. Too rapidly to be coordinated through the net-centric, space-based, convoluted virtual world promoted by cyber desk-jockeys. That doesn’t work, since the threat has killed and moved by that time. There will always be a critical need for an aggressive, lethal Wild Weasel right up front in the action. The point is, we won against Iraq because we were prepared to do battle with a superpower. I fervently hope we don’t train in the future to fight a lesser threat and get whacked by a well-armed China or Russia.

A
FTER OUR STOPOVER IN THE
A
ZORES, WE ARRIVED HOME AT
Shaw AFB in the late afternoon, and despite the fatigue of the flight, we joined together as four-ships to fly overhead in close formation. Pitching out, I remember looking down at the green fields of South Carolina and the crowd waiting for us on the flight line. I knew it was my last war, and I was content. I was happy to be alive and it was good to be home. Home is the best of things to a man in combat. More than just a safe haven, it symbolizes a place where good things happen. Where you don’t wake up drenched in sweat from a nightmare or roll into a ditch because mortars are falling on your head. Home is safe.

Weeks later, after the flags were put away and decorations received, we tried to reconnect as best we could. Of course, the lessons were put into briefings, all the numbers quantified and lectures presented, but nothing really changed. Pilots moved on to other assignments. Several became generals, some left for airline jobs, the National Guard, and some, like me, retired. I always wanted to try island living, so I went off to the Caribbean and bought a big sailboat. Several men who I thought would never get married now have wives and kids. Others, who had perfect families, seemed like they would never split up—and they did just that. At least two are now dead, killed in another war on another continent. Regardless of how my brothers ended up, they’re frozen in my memory as I last saw them, and in that sense, they’ll live forever.

The summer following the war, I met a middle-aged woman during a Fourth of July parade. Her son, a young Marine, had been killed in Nasiriyah on March 24, 2003. I could see her gamely trying to take some meaning away from the fireworks, the band, and all the uniforms. We quietly talked for a few minutes as the parade passed by, and I told her about that day as I’d seen it. I think she was grateful to see someone who had physically been nearby when her boy died. I don’t do platitudes and couldn’t attach significance to her loss, but I did tell her that the Iraqis lost that battle and that I’d made them bleed for her son. I don’t know if it was the right thing to say, but she smiled through her tears as she walked away.

I
T WAS TIME FOR THIS STORY
. N
O GRAND DESIGNS OR PHILOSOPHICAL FLUFF
—just an honest view of life and war from one fighter cockpit. The modern military would have you believe that everyone is a warrior. That everyone is out there fighting enemies, taking chances, and killing threats. But it’s just not so. The Air Force alone deployed about 65,000 people for the second Gulf War, and there were only 450 active, flying fighter pilots. That’s a 144:1 ratio of support personnel to shooters. Most military folks serve a vital purpose, and fighter pilots wouldn’t get far without them, but the vast majority are not fighting men. That’s simply the way it is. The Air Force, in particular, needs to remember that and keep labels like “warrior” in their proper place.

Fighter operations, and especially Hunter Killer missions, are not a series of logistical challenges. It’s a violent form of combat moving along at hundreds of feet per second with just fractions of moments to react or die. It’s also solitary. There may be other jets flying with you, but in the end, you’re alone. No armored fighting vehicles and no platoon of heavily armed buddies to watch your back. Most of my 151 combat missions were so deep into enemy territory I had no hope of rescue if I was to go down.

Combat is not the ultimate test, but it is one of them. Men have been tried this way since the dawn of time, and many have failed. There is no way to prepare for it. You can be trained to fight, to handle weapons and sophisticated equipment. You can be taught to survive, to resist interrogation, and to kill. But you never really
know
until you’re there. And in the end, you either have it or you don’t. If a man can’t cut it, then I believe he bears a terrible burden the rest of his days. Thankfully, this is a weight I won’t carry.

I made a difference. I could see the Hunter Killer version of the Viper way back in 1992. I
knew
it was right and I saw what was needed. Despite the skeptics, everything we pushed for eventually came to fruition. When F-16CJs are in the news today, and I see the pods and weapons slung under their wings, I grin. I helped make it happen, and no one can take that away.

I
LOVED BEING A FIGHTER PILOT, BUT EVENTUALLY YOU HAVE TO STOP
. Physically, anyway, if not mentally. I repaid the Air Force for the skills I’d been taught and the opportunities I’d been given. I paid back those who’d believed in me. I wanted to go out as I’d lived my career—on my own terms. And I did. Perhaps if the Air Force was made up of guys like MooMan, Kanga, and Storm’n, I would’ve stayed.

Perhaps not.

No one really ever comes back from war. Not all the way. Memories can be compartmentalized, put away in a dark place, and rarely, if ever, visited. Some men are better at this than others. I never killed a noncombatant or a child. Those whose lives I ended were trying to kill me, and they had their chance to do the same. At least we faced off like men and took our best shots. They missed, I didn’t.

Like many fighting men, I was comfortable in combat. Not that it’s a nice place to be, but I could deal with it. In a way quite unlike everyday life, it made sense, and I knew what I was doing. Combat is simple—you live or die. It’s life that’s complicated, and you either cross your own Rubicon and get to the other side someday or you do not.

After twenty years of tactical flying and several wars, it’s impossible not to have proud memories—and a few regrets. In the end, each man must decide for himself what to keep and what to let go. In my case, I’ll always be able to look at myself in the mirror and know that when it counted, I flew honorably with brave men.

I flew with the Wild Weasels.

Acknowledgments

N
O ONE WRITES A BOOK ALONE, AND THIS IS CERTAINLY NO EXCEPTION
. I need to especially acknowledge those who believed in me, taught me, and waited for me to grow up somewhat, to become the officer and fighter pilot in this book.

The story itself would never have been possible without the men, named and unnamed, who were part of this over the years; my brother fighter pilots who possess the extraordinary flying skills, courage, and aggressiveness that win wars. None of us would have gotten to the fight without the dedication and long-suffering professionalism of the support folks and aircraft maintainers who put us there. They have my lifelong thanks for handling the million details required to put fighter jets in the air. Special thanks to the 99 ABW/PA and the 57th FW Viper AMU, Nellis AFB, for their time and the loan of a jet for the ebook filming of
Viper Pilot.

Sincere appreciation goes to my agent, Jeff Herman, and everyone at William Morrow/HarperCollins who assisted with this effort. True professionals, they politely pushed, chopped, corrected, and ultimately brought this book to publication. This especially applies to my editor, Peter Hubbard, for his many insights, unfailing enthusiasm, and calm direction throughout this endeavor.

Glossary

ACC
: Air Combat Command. The major command containing all stateside fighter units.

ACT
: Air Combat Training. Generally, as one or two pairs against an unknown number of adversaries.

ANGELS
: Altitude in thousands of feet. Technically, only used for friendly aircraft.

AOR
: Area of Responsibility. Places like Iraq, Afghanistan, etc.

BFM
: Basic Fighter Maneuvers. 1 v. 1 dogfighting.

BINGO
: A preset amount of fuel that, when reached, results in mission termination. Influenced by weather, threats, availability of air refueling tankers etc. . . .

BLIND
: Lost visual on a friendly flight member.

BLOCK 50
: A type of F-16. Block designations are for different specific capabilities. Block 50 includes the HARM Targeting System pod and associated avionics.

BOARDS
: Slang for speed brakes.

BURNER
: Afterburner.

CBU
: Cluster Bomb Unit.

CEEJAY
: F-16CJ. Also a Block 50.

COMPANY GRADE OFFICER
: Junior officers. A second lieutenant, first lieutenant, or captain.

DEFENDING
: Technically, a defensive reaction against a SAM or anti-aircraft artillery. Usually accompanied by the type of threat, if known, and a direction for the maneuver.

EAGLE
: F-15C.

EOR
: End of Runway. This area is directly to the side of the runway and used for arming/de-arming.

EWO
: Electronic Warfare Officer. A specialist in signals analysis. Not a pilot.

FIELD-GRADE OFFICER
: A major, lieutenant colonel, and colonel.

FIGHTING WING
: A fluid, loose formation that puts a wingman on about a one-mile string behind his leader. Think of a water skier behind a boat.

FINGERTIP
: Close formation. Usually about three feet from wingtip to wingtip.

FOX ONE/TWO/THREE
: Air-to-air missile shots. “Fox One” is an older radar-guided AIM-7 Sparrow. “Fox Two” is a close-range, infrared Sidewinder, and “Fox Three” is the advanced medium-range air-to-air missile (AMRAAM).

FRAG
: Fragments from an explosion. Also a “fragmentary order”—a squadron’s piece of the larger air-tasking order detailing missions, targets, and weapons.

FWIC
: Fighter Weapons Instructor Course.

GRUNT
: Slang for an infantryman. Friendly ground forces.

HARM
: High Speed Anti Radiation Missile.

HOG
: Slang for A-10 Thunderbolt II.

HORNET
: Slang for the F/A-18 multi-role fighter.

HOTAS
: Hands On Throttle And Stick. Technology that permits the activation of weapons, aircraft systems, and cockpit displays from multifunction switches on the control stick and throttle.

HTS
: HARM Targeting System Pod.

HUD
: Heads Up Display. A transparent plastic rectangle mounted on the glare shield with superimposed flying symbology and weapon attack cues.

IFF
: Identification Friend or Foe. An electronic code that can be read by other friendly aircraft.

ILS
: Instrument Landing System.

KILLBOX
: A thirty-mile square piece of airspace. Given an alphanumeric identifier, killboxes are used for deconfliction between flights of fighters.

KLICK
: A “kilometer.” About one-sixth of a mile.

LANTIRN
: Low Altitude Navigation Targeting InfraRed Night. An older, specialized system used on Block 40 F-16s for low-level night-strike missions.

LOOSE DEUCE
: A wider, more flexible form of Fighting Wing. A two-mile string.

MAGNUM
: Warning call made to indicate a HARM firing.

MFD
: Multi Function Display.

MiG
: An abbreviation for
Mikoyan Gurevich,
a prominent Soviet/Russian aircraft manufacturer. Sometimes is generically applied to any enemy fighter.

MIKE
: Microphone. Also denotes “millimeter,” as in
twenty mike mike
(20-mm cannon). Can also mean “minutes.”

MIL POWER
: Full non-afterburning power.

NO JOY
: Lost visual. Should be used only for enemy aircraft. Often used in place of “blind.”

NVG
: Night-Vision Goggles.

PADLOCKED
: Brevity communication for “my eyes are locked and if I look away I’ll lose sight.”

PATCHWEARER
: Graduate of the USAF Fighter Weapons School. Also called “Target Arm.”

RIFLE
: Brevity comm for a Maverick missile shot. Used now for any guided munition.

ROE
: Rules of Engagement. Specific conditions that permit the use of deadly force.

ROUTE
: A wider, more relaxed version of fingertip formation.

RTB
: Return to Base.

RTU
: Replacement Training Unit.

RWR
: Radar Warning Receiver. Tells the pilot which radar system has locked him.

SHOE CLERK
: A rear-echelon type. Noncombat personnel.

SLAPSHOT
: A quick-reaction HARM shot along a line of bearing to a threat.

SMS
: Stores Management System. Onboard computer that accounts for all weapons ballistics and aiming symbology.

TACAN
: TACtical Air Navigation system. Provides bearing and range to a selected channel that can be located at a ground station or between other aircraft.

TALLY HO
: Visual sighting of an enemy aircraft. Sometimes used to indicate sighting any aircraft.

TARGET ARM
: A graduate of the USAF Fighter Weapons School. Also called a Patchwearer.

TD BOX
: Target Designator Box which is put around anything locked onto by the F-16 radar.

TOC
: Tactical Operations Center.

TOT
: Time Over Target.

UNIFORM
: UHF radio.

VICTOR
: VHF radio.

VIPER
: Slang for the F-16 multi-role fighter.

VISUAL
: Sighting of a friendly aircraft.

VUL
: Short for “Vulnerability” time. This is the fragged, or allotted, time that fighter is given in a target area.

WALKING THE DOG
: Streaming an activated towed decoy.

WILCO
: “Will Comply.” A military way of saying “I’ll do it!”

WSO
: Weapons System Officer who controlled the radar in older fighters, like the F-14 and F-4. Not a pilot.

ZAP
: A data-link.

ZIPPER
: Clicking the mike several times by way of an affirmative reply.