Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

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forward to snack time. Sort of a reward for surviving. My fighter dropped through 7,000 feet, and I stole one more look at the ominous sky around me. The sandstorm was almost here. The front edge of it had rolled up from the southwest, obscuring everything in a tan haze. I’d split off my Number Three and Four aircraft and just kept my wingman orbiting above the target area. There was no need for both of us to be down here. “ROMAN . . . RO . . .” There was panic in the Forward Air Controller’s voice, and I fought back the nearly overwhelming urge to shove the nose forward and dive into the fight. I wouldn’t help them by getting myself killed. If I could see the ground, it would be different, but the dust made an immediate attack impossible. I keyed the mike and spoke clearly and unemotionally. I hoped a calm, confident voice would do them good, even if I hardly felt that way myself. Fighter pilots are great actors. “CHIEFTAIN . . . confirm no friendlies are on the road. Repeat . . . confirm no friendlies are on the road.” “Affirmative! Affirmative . . . all friendlies . . . road . . . west of the road . . .” I zippered in reply, and as the dust swallowed the jet, I called up my Air-to- Ground weapons display and selected one of the two AGM-65G infrared Maverick missiles slung beneath my wings. They were big. About 600 pounds each and able to precisely guide by tracking contrasts in the heat, or lack of heat, around a target. “Sonofabitch . . .” I was staring at my display, seeing what the Maverick saw, and it was crap. Completely washed out, like a TV station that had gone off the air in a cloud of brown static. Four thousand feet . . . and five miles to the target. Not much time. I quickly switched to the other missile. Same thing. “Bastard . . .” The blowing sand wasn’t helping, but it wouldn’t do this much damage, and I thumped the glare shield in frustration. I’d been so busy that I’d forgotten that the sun was going down. IR missiles worked fine at night, because they basically tracked contrasts, not a visual picture. But for a few hours on either side of sunset or sunrise, everything was the same temperature unless it was heated internally. Called diurnal crossover, it was unavoidable, and it nearly always destroyed the infrared picture. This was exactly why we used other weapons during those times. But the only other tool I had was my cannon. That meant getting very low and very close.
But men were dying. Our men. I strained forward against the ejection-seat harness and continued down. Three thousand feet. Four hundred eighty knots and descending. I was riveted to my radar altimeter, which gave me a digital readout of my actual height above the ground. A lifesaver at night or in bad weather. Like now. Maybe the dust will thin out lower down. I took a breath and ignored my thumping heart. It truly was hammering against my chest. No kidding. “ROMAN . . . ROMAN . . . the Rags have crossed the road . . . they’re . . . they’re . . . stand by!” “Rags” was politically incorrect shorthand for raghead. Meaning the Iraqi Army, in this case. I tried to lick my lips again but gave up. Pulling the throttle farther back, I fanned my speed brakes to slow the F-16 down as it passed 2,000 feet. There! I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Darker brown. Rocks and the ugly, stunted green bushes that dotted Iraq. Ground! Immediately staring forward through the HUD, I centered the steering cues toward the only position I’d been given. 3.3 miles. I quickly glanced at the Radar Warning Receiver. Happily, it was empty of any signals from radar-guided missiles or antiaircraft artillery. Of course, it wouldn’t pick up infrared missiles or the few hundred AK-47s down there, but I’d take what good news I could find. Leveling the fighter at a thousand feet, I closed the speed brakes and pushed the throttle enough to hold 400 knots. This gave me speed to maneuver without sucking down what little gas remained. “ROMAN . . . they . . . position . . . between the road and the hill . . .” The transmission was garbled and riddled with static. Hill What hill His radio was breaking up badly. Something else to blame on the approaching sandstorm. “ . . . anything on the road . . . repeat . . . kill anything on the road!” “ROMAN 75 copies.” So, nothing friendly was on the road, and I had a license to kill. And there it was. A winding gray ribbon running north to south. The edges were irregular and dust swirled over most of it as I angled in from the southeast. Cranking the jet over, I
Page 2 and 3: VIPER PILOT A MEMOIR OF AIR COMBAT
Page 4 and 5: Epigraph There are only two types o
Page 7 and 8: Author’s Note I WROTE THIS BOOK M
Page 9: Simple. Or not. The Second Gulf War
Page 13 and 14: I was now truly on my own. But my w
Page 15 and 16: “CHIEFTAIN . . . ROMAN 75 is off
Page 17 and 18: ground every aircraft on the contin
Page 19 and 20: missions, though puny by modern sta
Page 21 and 22: extract ourselves from Vietnam, and
Page 23 and 24: LESS THAN TWO WEEKS AFTER FOBAIR AN
Page 25 and 26: In November 1965, the first five Wi
Page 27 and 28: many cases, from lives lost. With t
Page 29 and 30: 2 Cold War and Hot Times “IF THE
Page 31 and 32: IT WORKED LIKE THIS. The first two
Page 33 and 34: loathed most FAIPs. So, Daddy Rabbi
Page 35 and 36: conjunction with some properly embe
Page 37 and 38: At least long enough for me to star
Page 39 and 40: We were taught the basics of our va
Page 41 and 42: Southeast Asia within the past twen
Page 43 and 44: typical Type-A FNG, I wanted to mak
Page 45 and 46: listen to a few seconds of the audi
Page 47 and 48: LEARNING THE STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESS
Page 49 and 50: search-and-rescue in the event a je
Page 51 and 52: I nodded, now an expert on all Span
Page 53 and 54: of passage and a tradition. So, dur
Page 55 and 56: eathing matched my heart rate as th
Page 57 and 58: Clouds of white-feathered brown dus
Page 59 and 60: Euphrates River was almost turquois
Page 61 and 62:
Suddenly a thin, pole-shaped object
Page 63 and 64:
firing solution and a visual on the
Page 65 and 66:
As I watched the jets spiral down a
Page 67 and 68:
ackup targets, weapons, and timing.
Page 69 and 70:
“I—” “C’mon boy . . . spi
Page 71 and 72:
clueless non-fighter type (male, th
Page 73 and 74:
pilot who spoke up was called “Li
Page 75 and 76:
“Well, he happens to be correct.
Page 77 and 78:
nice quarters had to go to the tran
Page 79 and 80:
extra flying time with no brief or
Page 81 and 82:
the flight controls working. Everyt
Page 83 and 84:
was still up, which was bad. Pullin
Page 85 and 86:
Mubarak was very definitely in powe
Page 87 and 88:
shaking their heads. I thought it w
Page 89 and 90:
around. In fact, there was a wrecke
Page 91 and 92:
disconnected. But he couldn’t get
Page 93 and 94:
family with brains—and weapons. I
Page 95 and 96:
“Sir” “Look at the fucking gr
Page 97 and 98:
5 Patchwearer FIGHTER SQUADRONS, LI
Page 99 and 100:
currencies, and upgrades, must also
Page 101 and 102:
Where the commander is the personal
Page 103 and 104:
weapons. In this case, barring a mi
Page 105 and 106:
The point is, as a Target Arm, you
Page 107 and 108:
6 Intermission SINCE I WAS ONE OF T
Page 109 and 110:
societies. Restrictions upon these
Page 111 and 112:
attlefield thinking, and they insti
Page 113 and 114:
until the building shook and I sudd
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one of the rooftop sentries could d
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any event, neither worked out very
Page 119 and 120:
looming when the Twin Towers came d
Page 121 and 122:
iver side . . . and the point of im
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face. Hijackers are cowards. In my
Page 125 and 126:
took off the next day for the bleak
Page 127 and 128:
Photo Section Undergraduate Pilot T
Page 129 and 130:
Inbound SCUD missile being destroye
Page 131 and 132:
Self-portrait during a surface-to-a
Page 133 and 134:
Beni Suef, Egypt, 1992. A shot of m
Page 135 and 136:
Baghdad reeling from Shock and Awe,
Page 137 and 138:
77th Fighter Squadron “Gamblers
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Like father, like son . . . Me and
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7 Shock and Awe March 19, 2003 0530
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wingman on a two-mile string, allow
Page 145 and 146:
Even as I watched, the fiery plume
Page 147 and 148:
could fly through the green world o
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problematic. And irrelevant. I coul
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17,000 feet, panting hard. The RWR
Page 153 and 154:
8 Sandstorm SOUTH OF NASIRIYAH, I P
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“Loud and clear, ROMAN . . . we
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“None of us have ever seen the bu
Page 159 and 160:
uneasiness poked up through my bell
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tell him my heading, altitude, airs
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“Ali Tower, ROMAN 75.” No reply
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There. I’d just created an instru
Page 167 and 168:
“Five copies.” “Seven copies.
Page 169 and 170:
There! White painted runway marking
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and burned bread—but it smelled h
Page 173 and 174:
particular day he happened to be to
Page 175 and 176:
no mass uprising of the people to t
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“WICKED 23, this is RAMROD.” Th
Page 179 and 180:
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the
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SAMs or big stuff, I couldn’t tel
Page 183 and 184:
own villages lined the banks and I
Page 185 and 186:
This went on for a few minutes whil
Page 187 and 188:
10 SAMbush April 6, 2003 1104 local
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and— “BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEE
Page 191 and 192:
ombs. These things are terrific Wea
Page 193 and 194:
the main canal and everything down
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SA-6s, so we’d give it a wide ber
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well, which rarely happens, when th
Page 199 and 200:
tracers cut through the sky. “ELI
Page 201 and 202:
on the way out.” I turned down th
Page 203 and 204:
the boy. He didn’t have any HARMs
Page 205 and 206:
I sent a data-link, turned hard to
Page 207 and 208:
11 ELI 33 April 7, 2003 1046 local
Page 209 and 210:
obviously tracking and others just
Page 211 and 212:
The second missile had disappeared,
Page 213 and 214:
clear of downtown. Sixty-one hundre
Page 215 and 216:
6.1 miles. I leaned back and center
Page 217 and 218:
the Gs that pressed me into the sea
Page 219 and 220:
His reply was instantaneous. “ELI
Page 221 and 222:
12 Endgame IT LOOKED LIKE A GIRAFFE
Page 223 and 224:
us, we accounted for seven tanks an
Page 225 and 226:
were two big runways that came toge
Page 227 and 228:
moments. When they did open up, the
Page 229 and 230:
morning Hunter Killer mission. We w
Page 231 and 232:
“Affirmative. Clear all friendlie
Page 233 and 234:
and stared down at the intersection
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eneath me, I stared across the pond
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as he hung in perfect formation off
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Epilogue SEVEN MONTHS AFTER THE GAM
Page 241 and 242:
July parade. Her son, a young Marin
Page 243 and 244:
Acknowledgments NO ONE WRITES A BOO
Page 245 and 246:
FOX ONE/TWO/THREE: Air-to-air missi
Page 247 and 248:
VUL: Short for “Vulnerability”
Page 249 and 250:
Map of Iraq
Page 251 and 252:
warriors in, 306 washing out of, 37
Page 253 and 254:
Basra (Iraq), 145, 179 Battle Damag
Page 255 and 256:
CONAN (Desert Storm call sign), 68,
Page 257 and 258:
Eisenhower, Dwight D., 155 electro-
Page 259 and 260:
F-117 jets, 179 FABLE (Iraq War cal
Page 261 and 262:
generation gaps, among pilots, 47-4
Page 263 and 264:
statue of, 285 U.S. attempts to kil
Page 265 and 266:
Jackson, Mike, 155 jamming in Deser
Page 267 and 268:
iefings about, 83 Desert Storm and,
Page 269 and 270:
offensive jamming pods, 18 Office o
Page 271 and 272:
Kosovo and, 155 low-altitude flying
Page 273 and 274:
Sheikh Isa Air Field (Bahrain), 193
Page 275 and 276:
U.S. invasion of Iraq as act of, 18
Page 277 and 278:
U.S. casualties in, 27 U.S. pullout
Page 279 and 280:
About the Author U.S. Air Force Lie
Page 281 and 282:
Copyright VIPER PILOT. Copyright ©
Page 283:
*For help along the way with acrony
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