The trials and tribulations I faced while trying to attack the Flat Face radar taught me some very important lessons. I learned a great deal about the capability and limitations of weapons, tactics, and the effects of weather. I gained a new understanding of mission-essential tasking versus mission requirements. I came to appreciate the occasional discrepancy between tactical leadership and the “can do,” “type A” mentality of our typical attack pilot. Finally, I learned what air combat really is. It’s not just strategic bombing from 20,000 feet using munitions aided by Global Positioning System (GPS) and delivered against targets whose coordinates had been carefully measured. I now know what it’s like to belly up to the table, look the bad guy square in the eye, and be confident that I have the ability, the constitution, and the fortitude to shoot him.
Attack on Montenegro
1st Lt Johnny “CBU” Hamilton
My most memorable sortie had an unsuccessful ending. It started one day when our squadron was tasked to plan an attack on a radar site in the Yugoslav province of Montenegro. The target was a long-range search radar used to track inbound and outbound NATO aircraft. Allied forces had finally pinpointed its location and decided it was time for the radar to go.
I was working in the mission-planning cell (MPC) when short-notice attack orders came down. I would not be a member of the attack force. However, with the exception of the actual flight brief, I was involved with every other aspect of the planning, which called for a four-ship of A-10s to attack at night using CBU-87s, Mavericks, and 30 mm guns. They were to depart Gioia, flying the standard route to Kosovo, and try to employ some tactical deception. The daily operational routine was to fly to a tanker before going into Kosovo, and the Yugoslavs knew it. At about the halfway point, the four-ship made a rapid descent over the Adriatic Sea but kept talking to the NAEW as if they were still cruising at altitude and proceeding to the tanker. The NAEW crew members participated in our deception plan and continued talking and vectoring the imaginary Hogs towards the tanker, even though they were nowhere near the normal routes. This was all an attempt to confuse the Yugoslavs in case they were listening to our radio transmissions and throw them off in case they had not been able to track the A-10s on radar. Unfortunately, the weather was extremely bad, and they were not able to engage the target successfully.
Three days later I was flying on the wing of Capt Stu Stuewe on an AFAC sortie in Kosovo. After our two vul periods, we were returning home, and we flew very close to the radar site. We were at high altitude, but the clear weather allowed us look into the area where we expected the radar to be located. At this point, an otherwise routine sortie became interesting. Stu was one of the pilots involved in the first night attack against the radar. He still had the target map with him and, because I had been involved with the planning, I remembered the radar’s geographic area and its location in relation to the road that paralleled the coast. Stu immediately located the radar and began coordinating for an impromptu attack clearance. He was able to get approval for the three other returning Hog two-ships to support the attack. Just as Stu had been involved on the first attack, it happened that the other three flight leads had been part of that original four-ship. We had the original four players leading four wingmen with their additional firepower.
We were ready to go after taking about 15 minutes to organize the fighters and get approval for the attack. Our attack force of four two-ships started off in trail at medium altitude with about two miles of separation between the elements. We were trying to attack the radar site quickly, and only Stu had put his eyes on the target. I had seen the target area but had not been able to pull out the binoculars and positively ID its location. The plan was for Stu to hit the target with a Maverick, and then the others would queue off the smoke and flames to find it. My job was to cover for the two of us—looking around for any threats to the formation. As we descended, Stu tried to lock up the target with an IIR Maverick. Because of poor thermal contrast with the surrounding area, the seeker would not lock on to just the vehicle. I was flying with extended spacing off Stu’s right wing as we crossed over the coast, flew inland, and rapidly approached the target. My duty was to continuously look for threats to the formation by searching the arc from my right side, through the nose, and on towards my 10 o’clock position to keep Stu in sight. This constant search pattern never allowed me to look for the target. We were two to three miles from the target when Stu radioed that he was switching to guns because the Mav wouldn’t lock-on. I started to sense a ground rush now because I hadn’t flown this low since the war started. The adrenaline rush was almost unbearable. The flight pressed in. Stu steadied his crosshairs and pulled the trigger. “Runaway gun! One’s runaway gun!” is all we heard on the radio. The Gatling gun on Stu’s jet had malfunctioned. It had spun up but fired no bullets.
He immediately pulled up and banked hard to the left, egressing over the water. As I heard this I looked out front, curious about the call and expecting to see the gun firing uncontrollably, but in the heat and excitement of the moment, Stu made an incorrect call.
As I looked out in front of Stu’s jet, I saw a group of vehicles off the side of the road, and then I saw Stew aggressively turn towards the sea. Since my job was to cover for the flight, I also turned west and egressed with flares. We were both jinking over the water now at less than 1,000 feet AGL. I looked back over my shoulder at the target for any threat reaction. There were no missiles or gun flashes, but I could see the second two-ship running towards the target.
Unfortunately, they never got eyes on the radar, so they aborted their pass. The same thing happened to the remaining two-ships. Because Stu’s jet malfunctioned and I was low on fuel, we were not able to reattack the target. The other Hogs were able to loiter for a little longer but never acquired the radar.
I often wonder if I should have hit those vehicles I saw at the last minute. I could have called “contact” and requested clearance to fire. This would have at least marked the target for the remaining Hogs. My job, however, was to clear. With Stu egressing, who would clear for me if I focused on the target? Still, I wish I could have killed that thing!
The Hogs did kill the radar on a subsequent sortie. Capt Joe Bro Brosious finally got it—he strafed it until it wasn’t anymore! This was just one more example of the variety of missions the A-10 can fly. Even though it was designed to provide CAS for the Army, it has repeatedly been used successfully in other roles. Hogs have attacked and destroyed radar sites and communication facilities, and have suppressed enemy air defenses—an ability we demonstrated against SA-6 sites in Kosovo. These missions make the Warthog such an exciting plane to fly—I wouldn’t trade it for anything!
A Monkey and a Giraffe
Capt Joe S. “Joe Bro” Brosious
“Do you need me to drive?” I yelled from the backseat. I continued, “If you kill us going to work today, I will make sure that you never fly again.” I was a scheduler, so this was a credible threat.
In retrospect, the drive to work was the most dangerous thing we did on a daily basis during OAF. The Italians had a knack for turning two lanes of traffic into three, and, depending on which of us was driving, things could get pretty sporty. It was around 0500 when I was rudely awakened by the stunt driving of the lieutenant behind the wheel. The drive to the squadron was the last quiet moment I could expect to have when flying a morning sortie. Everyone was usually too tired (or too tense) to talk, and the ride left a lot of time for reflection—or sleeping, as the case had been that morning. Now we at least had something to keep us all awake, and we spent the rest of our commute expressing displeasure with our young chauffeur’s driving abilities. A person normally develops a very thick skin working in a fighter squadron. The ability of a pilot to give someone grief for stupid remarks or actions is almost as highly respected by the pilot’s fellow aviators as is his ability to fly the plane. Indeed, it has truly been raised to an art form—a by-product of putting 30 type-A personalities together in the same workplace. It helped take our minds off the three million other things we were supposed to get accomplished during the day besides flying.