“Two, let’s start heading west,” I transmitted to Joe Bro; I wanted to get a little more distance between us and the SAMs.
“Sandy, Moccasin is two miles out.”
“Vega, Sandy Five-Two, three.” Joe Bro called for the signal. We waited in silence for Moccasin to call visual with Vega.
“Moccasin Six-Zero flight is overhead.” Moccasin had made it to Vega’s position but still couldn’t see him.
“Five-One, Four-One, recommend you get Vega up if he sees the Moccasins.” Meegs made a good suggestion: Since Moccasin couldn’t see Vega, maybe Vega could see the helicopters and could help out.
“Vega, Sandy Five-Two. Confirm you see the helos.”
“I believe so,” Vega replied.
“Give them a vector if you can,” Joe Bro added.
“It looks like they need to come a bit right… confirm they have a light on?” Vega questioned and then said to Moccasin, “Need to come south.”
“Copy, call when we’re overhead,” Moccasin answered.
“Five-One, we’ve got to depart. We’re westbound. Be advised CJs working, observed HARM shot.” Meegs and Scrape had finally bingoed. They had stayed much longer than I had expected, so I knew they must have been riding on fumes.
“Sandy, Sandy, Vega Three-One, do they have my strobe?” Vega was rightly concerned that the pickup was taking way too long.
“At this time we’re looking for his strobe, we’ve got two small lights on the ground, but no strobe.”
“Yeah, for Vega Three-One, that was a car; I thought it was you guys.” Vega misidentified the sound of a car nearby for that of the helicopters.
“Moccasin copies. Are you up strobe, sir?”
“That is affirmative,” Vega replied.
“Hold it up in the air. Point it at the helicopter if you can.”
“Roger, I’m not sure where you are now.”
The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The helos had been circling around Vega’s position for over five minutes now. Not only was this risky to the helos and Vega, but also we would have to call off the search due to low fuel if we didn’t find him soon.
“Stand by for Vega Three-One, I think my strobe is inop.”
“Copy, have we flown over you yet?” Moccasin asked.
“No, I think you are more north, northwest of me for a mile or two,” Vega replied.
Meegs had continued to monitor the radio during his departure and suggested to me that Vega use his pen-gun flare. It shoots a signal flare up a couple of hundred feet. It was designed to penetrate the jungle canopy of Vietnam. However, it was also an overt signal that the Serbs would be able to see.
“OK, we need you to get out a pen-gun flare.” Joe Bro passed on the suggestion.
“Vega, if we’re this close, make an overt signal and we’ll get you,” Moccasin added in agreement.
“How about a regular flare?” Vega said, when he came across an alternative while searching through his survival kit for his pen gun.
“Moccasin Six-Zero, sounds good… and we’re good vis on Vega Three-One,” Moccasin said seeing the flare as soon as Vega set it off.
“Vega and Moccasin, if you are tally each other, kill the flare.” Joe Bro wanted to make sure that the flare was put out as soon as possible.
“We are bingo, bingo, bingo. Kill the flare,” Moccasin then transmitted. The meaning of that radio call puzzled us until we later found out that in the special operations community “bingo” means that the side gunner’s machine gun has reached the aft stop. In our fixed-wing world, bingo means you are out of gas.
“Overhead, you visual me? For Vega Three-One, you got me?” Vega was concerned about the bingo call as well.
“And Vega give them a vector if you need to,” Joe Bro suggested.
“Yeah, they got me right just about overhead.”
The SAMs had been quiet for the last 10 minutes but suddenly came back up. Joe Bro called being tracked by one to the south. He put out chaff and beamed the threat.
“Sandy Five-One is Magnum that position.” I made the Magnum radio call again, hoping the Serb SAMs were listening and thinking I was shooting a HARM at them.
“Sandy Five-Two is naked,” Joe Bro called. It worked again—the SAMs shut down, expecting a HARM to be heading their way.
“Moccasin, say your status.” While reacting to the SAMs, we had lost track of the pickup.
“We are outbound at this time… about 20 miles from good-guy land.” That was the best radio call I had ever heard in my life. Vega was aboard the helos, and they were headed back to Bosnia.
“Sandy, you are being tracked with eyes by SAM,” Moonbeam transmitted, relaying some intel to us as we turned west.
“Survivor authenticated, no injuries,” Moccasin called, informing us of Vega’s remarkably good physical condition.
“All stations SAM launch.” This call from Magic jolted us back to reality. The Serbs, seeing us turn west, launched a SAM at Joe Bro and me. Fortunately, we were out of their range, and neither of us even saw the missile.
Joe Bro and I continued west to the border, and then our waiting began. Moccasin’s flight to the border would take another 10 minutes, and it seemed forever before he called to let us know he had made it out.
I relayed this information on victor by transmitting the most rewarding call I have ever made: “Miller time!”
Joe Bro and I turned towards home. I calculated my gas and had just enough to make it back to Aviano. We landed at Aviano exhausted but extremely happy after our six-hour mission. I quickly shut down my A-10, got out to join the celebration on the ramp, and began hugging everyone I met. I had trained all my life for this moment, and I simply could not contain the joy that came from what we had just accomplished.
We eventually made it to the squadron and were trying to debrief when we heard that Vega had made it back to Aviano. We all piled into cars and drove onto the ramp where a C-130 had just parked. A large group clustered around Vega, hugging everyone in sight. I looked down at Vega’s boots and saw that they were still covered in Serbian mud. I reached down and scraped off a bit for a souvenir. Vega was then taken to the hospital to have his slightly burned hand treated.
It was now morning, and most of us were starving. The bowling alley was the only place open for breakfast. Over pancakes and omelets, the six of us Sandys, along with Capt Rip Woodard and some of the F-16CJ pilots, reveled in our accomplishments. We couldn’t celebrate too long; we were in need of crew rest before another night of strikes. C’est la guerre.
Memorable Missions
Capt Mike “Hook” Shenk
I did not go with the 81st EFS in March of 1999 when it deployed to Aviano to participate in air operations over the former Yugoslavia. I was scheduled to separate from the active Air Force in April and by regulation could not be sent off station. I remained behind to help run what was left of the squadron at Spangdahlem and prepare for my upcoming separation. At that time I was a flight commander and had just completed my checkout as an AFAC.
I had mixed emotions about not going to Aviano and missing the action. I really wanted to be there, but since I was not a CSAR-qualified pilot, and that was our mission, I figured I would have little chance to participate. On the other hand, I was happy to finally have some time to spend with my wife, Christine, and our two children, Michael and Megan.