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At Zulu p. As part of Operation Northern Watch , we were enforcing the zone, prepared to engage and destroy Iraqi aircraft operating north of the 36th parallel. After almost eight years, this was a routine and normally uneventful combat mission. A second later, that routine was shattered by our radar warning gear, announcing in strident tones that a missile guidance signal was radiating nearby. In the span of a heartbeat, Bat had the aircraft in a descending, 4G left-hand turn with the throttles parked as far forward as they would go, as I made the radio call announcing our callsign, condition, and location. The crew of Bud 02, northwest of Mosul, received the same tickle from their radar warning gear, missile guidance beams being notoriously non-directional. Fax, piloting Bud 02, made his radio call at the same time as I made mine — which one was heard over the radio depended on which aircraft was closer to you. It was almost just another day in the no-fly zone, but not quite. Operation Desert Fox , from December 16 to 19, had been ordered to punish the Iraqis for their noncompliance with the weapons inspection regimen imposed by United Nations Security Council Resolution Perversely, while cruise missiles pummeled targets in Iraq, those of us already charged with enforcing the northern no-fly zone were told to stand down. That meant that the Iraqis had been granted nearly two weeks to shuffle their northern air defenses without any observation by the photoreconnaissance aircraft attached to Combined Task Force Northern Watch. December 28th was our first day back in the zone after being grounded. We knew only where the air defenses used to be. An F pilot and one of the key architects of the air campaign plan in Desert Storm, then-Brig. Over the years, the task force had fallen into a passive posture. Despite the occasional downing of an Iraqi aircraft, ground-based defenses were left alone. The last time an Iraqi radar had been destroyed in the northern no-fly zone had occurred in , when a dedicated radar hunter, an F-4G Wild Weasel, rammed an antiradiation missile through a fire control radar. Even with occasional provocations by Iraqi air defenses, coalition aircraft generally withdrew in the face of hostile ground fire. A culture of risk aversion had crept in, which the Iraqis had years to observe. They fired and we left. If fired upon, we were authorized to respond immediately with lethal force. Figure 1: The northern no-fly zone on 28 December The red circle denotes the offending SA-3 engagement zone, watched over by the longer-range SA-2 in blue. The weather was barely good enough to fly, with cloud layers underneath us that obscured the ground in and north of Mosul. That left the rest of the force, especially the Fs, dipping our toes in the water, while the Strike Eagles used their powerful radars to examine known missile sites to see if anyone was home. In the meantime, we established our normal combat air patrols, radars looking south for Iraqi air activity. Northeast of Mosul, three Iraqi officers in a Russian-built control van for the SA-3 missile system watched their scopes for a pair of Strike Eagles penetrating their zone. As Coors 01 entered range, they brought up the missile guidance beam, necessary to guide missiles against targets acquired either with the radar, or more surreptitiously through a passive and therefore radar-silent television system. They certainly got our attention. In the early seconds, we only had a warning of a radar threat, without precise location data that would tell us where they were. Mosul was to our right. He guessed right — by the time the missiles blasted off their launch rails, we were nose down with the afterburners in full grunt, punching through the sound barrier in the opposite direction from the missile battery. I never saw the missiles launch, and the collection of non-standard, overly excited radio calls from unmolested aircraft were no help. Game on. Torch and Ice, flying off our wing in Coors 02, were unthreatened. Ice moved his LANTIRN low altitude navigation and targeting infrared for night targeting pod, which contains a telescopic thermal camera array, to focus on the cloud of dust that accompanied the missile launch. Light surface winds left the cloud floating in nearly still air, for all the world a giant, dark arrow pointing towards the offending missile battery figure 3. While Bat and I outran supersonic doom, our wingman located the missile battery and broadcast it over the radio. To further highlight themselves, the Iraqi operators launched a third missile four minutes later, pointed at where we had been. By then I had our targeting pod aimed at the missile site and saw the launch. SA-3s are fast. The image in the jet is not much better than the screen capture. In the top left is Mosul, with the village of Batnay at center right. The dark cloud near the crosshairs is the cloud from the third missile launch. Clouds in the foreground are, in fact, clouds. Technically, we were authorized immediate response under the new rules, but old habits die hard — and Cougar was already ahead of the game, making the request on satellite communications. Coors 02 had already designated the site, telling his computer where the target was. While this was not a preplanned strike, we were not totally winging it. Having the location numbered and programmed was a help. The th Fighter Squadron was also the right squadron for the job. The Panthers had also practiced an attack plan against active surface-to-air missile batteries, taking advantage of the fact that older, s-era batteries like this one could only engage one target at a time. While under separate callsigns, we behaved as if we were a flight of four, with Bat holding the flight lead position. At that time, the Panthers were a well-deployed and highly capable squadron, and the scheduling gods had dealt us a stacked deck of experienced aircrew. While technically very experienced, this was to be the first live combat drop for a number of us, including me. For the enforcement of the no-fly zone, FEs had six air-to-air missiles in three flavors. They were reliable, effective, and unpowered, meaning that they had less than half the range of the missile battery we were about to engage. This was like bringing a knife to a gunfight, except that there were many knives, and only one gunman. If one of us were engaged on the way in, the other three would have a clear run. Not a bit interested in a fair fight, we were bringing our friends along anyway. The high-speed antiradiation missile had proven itself brutally effective in the first Gulf War, riding radar beams down to their origin. We would need them, because while only one missile battery had fired, there were more with overlapping coverage. The FC Eagles maintained a high orbit. In the event that the SAMbush was accompanied by air action, the Eagles would keep hostile fighters off our backs. Devil 01 assembled the overall shot plan on the main frequency while individual flights talked it over on other, discrete frequencies. At z, Devil 01 announced the time over target, and execution began. Air Force photo. Ganging up on a target that can shoot back is not a simple endeavor. Timing is critical. Awareness of the time over target TOT is essential to coordinate effects. Just before z, we armed up and headed in for an estimated time over target six long minutes later. The run-in would last four minutes, starting with a long arcing turn to allow our radar to map the target. Bud flight split off. While we attacked from one direction, Dodger and Lazarus would lead their element from another, thereby coming in simultaneously from different points of the compass. The moment we turned in, Harley ripped off a HARM, programmed to lead us into the target, sniffing for radar emissions. Unnoticed by me at the time, Bat was weaving during the run-in, drawing a snake-like path punctuated with bursts of radar-confusing chaff. As the guy in the back, my attention was focused on a five-inch, medium-resolution green screen. They care only where the laser spot is, which meant that I had to find the target and put the crosshairs on it. Our LANTIRN pod, while a reasonably advanced thermal infra-red sensor for the time, was admirably capable of imaging buildings but was rarely sufficient to find and identify small targets. Pattern recognition was key, and the Iraqis had developed a pattern of setting up their missile sites. While roughly adhering to Soviet doctrine, they had their own style. Black dots on a light background can be enough. In the preflight brief, I had briefed each weapons system officer the backseater that in the event of an attack, the priorities were the radar, the control van, and the launchers. When in doubt, go for priority one. We had to kill either the radar or the control van on the first pass, or be subject to being shot from behind on the way out. Nobody outruns a missile at close range. Figure 4: The view from the front seat, or what it would have been if not for the clouds obscuring the ground north of the missile battery. Simulated view from Coors 01 at the beginning of the attack run. The flights smoked in at around four miles in altitude, just under supersonic speed. We planned on dropping both weapons on a single pass, to raise the probability of kill. I had confidence in the GBUs, despite the fact that we had exceeded their theoretical airspeed limits in our earlier dash. In theory, I had one eyeball for the image and one eye for the radar warning gear. The problem was that I had only one brain and its optical center was busy. This was exactly the challenge a well-executed suppression plan poses for the enemy. The operator must keep the radar off, or risk giving the missile a signal to home in on. With no target photo to reference, I flipped screens back and forth between the radar image and the targeting pod, matching the pattern spotted on the radar with the image in my scope. No missile. We were now 17 seconds from weapons release. Four seconds before weapons release, I selected my final aimpoint and re-designated, telling the ballistic computer where the ballistic aimpoint was. With the 32 seconds it takes the bomb to fall to the surface, my workload dropped precipitously. I had half a minute to guide the weapon in, which consists of keeping the crosshairs on the target and turning on the laser. The bomb would do the rest. Time enough to smoke a lucky, or quote Shakespeare, as the case may be. Wrong us, shall we not revenge. Ten seconds. At z, two GBUs turned the radar into hot and rapidly scattering debris, followed two seconds later by a pair of weapons from Bud 02 on the same aimpoint. Coors 02, in accordance with the brief, had targeted the control van I have no idea how he picked that out , with a release 17 seconds behind us. Bud 01, unable to positively identify a target, made the correct choice under pressure and kept their weapons. All four aircraft were across the target in seventeen seconds, which was marvelously well coordinated. After the weapons detonated and I called the impact, I missed everything else that happened to the missile battery afterwards, because my targeting job was done, and it was time to put another set of eyeballs outside to look for other folks doing their targeting job. Fortunately, there were none. Figure 5: The image right before impact. The radar is under the crosshairs, the control and generator vans down and to the left, and missile launchers at top center and center right. It was time to leave, and some of the aircraft were low on fuel anyway. As we crossed the Turkish border, I finally took my hands off the handgrips that control our sensors and screen displays, for the first time in 10 or 20 minutes. Freed from the immediate threat, it was only then clear to me via my shaking hands that I was still swimming in the adrenaline backlash. We had a minute flight back to Incirlik, where the news of the first airstrike by FEs in the northern no-fly zone was outracing us. There was some relieved humor in the de-arm area after landing, when the Turkish airman tasked with accounting for our weapons came out to check. Deptula, who had met each aircrew as they shut down engines, took copies of the combat tapes with him and briefed every maintainer, weapon builder, and intel specialist in the task force, to ensure that everybody understood the outcome of their work supporting combat operations. He also altered the rules of engagement again to make it clear that we did not need to ask him for permission to respond to an attack, and that individual flight leads could respond under their own authority. The lethal strikes did not stop because the Iraqis did not stop shooting. Airpower was the go-to option for both enforcing the no-fly zones and supplying the Kurdish refugees that made the northern zone necessary. It was an effective containment tool that would soon be turned to more tangible effect by dismantling the reconstituted Iraqi air defenses, one target at a time. Eventually, the guys flying in the southern no-fly zone realized we had something, and joined the effort — abandoning a purely defensive posture in favor of a reactive one. A targeted response to aggression evolved into a multiyear campaign that dismantled the Iraqi air defense system again , starting in By the time Operation Iraqi Freedom rolled around, the air campaign had been ongoing for four years, and the air defenses were essentially gone. As the 21st anniversary approaches, it is a telling reminder that the U. Air Force has been in continuous combat since , the longest combat commitment in U. That long stretch of continuous warfare has taken the toll on the force, but has also maintained a cadre of aviators with a wide range of combat experience. And sometimes, just sometimes, a major historical turn can hinge on just one small event. As an irregular warfare operations officer, Col. Pietrucha has two additional combat deployments in the company of US Army infantry, combat engineer, and military police units in Iraq and Afghanistan. The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Department of the Air Force or the US Government. Image: Lt. Air Force Photo by SSgt. Vince Parker. Mike Pietrucha. Become a Member. Sign Up For Our Newsletter.

Ordnance Soldiers Save 'Skunk Werks'

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Starting in , the 'Skunk Werks' was one of the first locations where Level II up-armor kits - more commonly known as 'hillbilly armor' - were installed on military vehicles. It's because of this historical significance that Mr. Richard Killblane, the transportation corps historian, plans to move the 'Skunk Werks' to the transportation museum at Fort Eustis, Va. Scott W. Berndt, support operations maintenance noncommissioned officer in charge, th Combat Sustainment Support Battalion. Berndt's former unit, the th Transportation Bn. Rowland, the current officer in charge of the 'Skunk Werks', said he did not believe Soldiers in his career field got a lot of the recognition they deserved; there was even talk of slowly phasing the job out of the Army altogether. Welders suddenly found themselves fabricating improvised armor for humvees, trucks and armored personnel carriers; cutting patterns out of Armox ballistic steel or sometimes even salvaged metal ; and figuring out the best way to protect Soldiers. The nd Army Field Support Brigade has since taken over the responsibility of up-armoring military vehicles. The 'Skunk Werks' returned to its primary mission as a simple welding shop, making everything from radio mounts to shelves to satellite dish brackets. A crew of handpicked Soldiers and Airmen were given a timed challenge to create a humvee hotrod, complete with custom-made and inch wheels. The show's crew added their signatures to the shop's walls, another reason why they're being preserved. Ironically, as Rowland pointed out, James's signature, which was written on the concrete portion of the wall, may not make it to the transportation museum with everything else. Only the temporary walls made out of wood will be torn down and moved, not any part of the permanent structure. Although no longer involved in the up-armor process, Rowland said his unit is still proud of being a part of the shop's legacy, and they strive to maintain that reputation by doing the best work they can. Preserving the 'Skunk Werks' is important, he said, because it's a piece of history. A different kind of history most people might not be aware of, he went on to say. In my eyes, that's what needs to be preserved. Jared L. Mauer, of Miami, Okla. While the shop was once well-known for up-armoring vehicles, nowadays the 'Skunk Photo Credit: U. The mechanics were challenged to create a unique humvee for the popular D

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