Baghdad or Bust (9 page)

    “Pilot, Nav, one mike till border crossing.”

    “This is it, crew!”

    I spotted a thin trail of light spreading upward. It gradually grew thicker, and then I saw aerial explosions. The enemy gunners must’ve heard our engines. “Pilot, Spotter, AAA coming up, ten o’clock.”

    “Roger, Spotter, got it.”

    “Pilot, Nav, border crossing in five—four—three—two—one!”

    “Crew, we’re headed in-country!” announced Gentleman Bob, and right then, the pucker factor jumped off the scale.

    “Pilot, Spotter, AAA bursts from two-thirty,” cried out Able.

    “Roger, Spotter.”

    The heavy trail of anti-aircraft artillery I was monitoring became more dominant as we approached. In a slow trickle, other sites joined in. I saw trails of fire rising into the sky in a long line in front of us.

    Gypsy was having problems again, and temporarily they couldn’t provide us with support again. Things didn’t look good. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought about this. We had dedicated CAP, but without Gypsy directing them.

    Briefly, I thought about the package we were supporting. The radar jammers would roll in at about the time we kicked in our jammers, and then the first wave would begin to roll in. Three groups would be going in long, all the way to Baghdad. Many others were part of a contingent headed to Kirkuk. A few others were part of a deception. The players this night were Strike Eagles, Fighting Falcons, the Buffs, F-111, F-117, and many others.

    While some of them would be in-country an hour or less, we’d have to hang over enemy territory for the next five hours. It’d be a living hell. I knew the gang in the back-end was busily working the environment, but so were Able and I in our own way. “Pilot, Spotter, AAA ten o’clock. Not a factor yet.”

    “Roger, Spotter. I’ve got it.”

    I pushed in the Privates, so I didn’t have the clutter of voices from the mission crew calling in targets.

    “Crew, we’ve reached the orbit area; we’ll be turned onto orbit facing left in thirty seconds. Stations, environment is left. Co, watch the AAA in the forward edge of the box. We’ll have to tighten the orbit a bit to stay clear.”

    “Roger that, Pilot. I’ve got my eye on it.”

    “First wave ingress in one mike,” hissed Beebop.

    “MCC, Pilot, what’s the status on Gypsy?”

    “They’re still having difficulties. They say they’ll be up, and it’s too late to back out now. The packages are headed in.”

    “Crew, we’re going into jam!”

    “Pilot, Spotter.”

    “I see it—that’s the infamous wall. It’s safe to say they know we’re here now.”

    As I watched, the hornet’s nest began to stir. Where I’d seen a thin line of AAA before, I now saw what appeared to be endless stretches of it forming a virtual wall. With the arrival of nightfall, I knew the enemy ground forces out there had been expecting strikes, but they hadn’t known when or if they would come. Even with our presence, they still didn’t know for sure. It was part of the guessing game, only we guessed better than they did.

    Some gunners fired immediately and incessantly as they had in previous days as soon as we switched on our jammers, but they couldn’t waste ammo forever. That was part of the game, too; if you knew where the enemy was, you could avoid or target him with ease. In the end, with communications cut, only the sound of jet engines or the sight of blasts would give our forces away.

    In the fourth week of the war, the enemy was probably running desperately low on ammo, especially in the hard-to-supply areas. Taking out bridges, supply depots, railheads, and other such targets was an ongoing effort. The more they wasted, the less they had when it really counted.

    It looked as if I could reach out and touch the fiery bursts in front of us, or worse yet, that they could reach out and touch us. I knew they were firing blind and without critical communications; still, I’d never seen the air literally alive with artillery before. And so close, God so close, I could almost touch it.

    “Pilot, Spotter, traffic low moving toward three o’clock.”

    “Roger, Spotter.”

    “Pilot, MCC, I’ve got bad news. Gypsy’s bugging out, and they’re bent. They’ve advised that we do the same, head home.”

    I gulped for air. I knew Gypsy was having trouble, but I didn’t think they’d be going home. I recalled what had happened the last time we’d lost their support. Only this time, they were leaving us alone and over enemy territory. “We can’t leave now. The packages are in-bound. Who’s going to support them? This mission is too important!” I screamed on Interphone without thinking.

    “Thank you, Spotter, I’m with you, but I need to hear the general consensus. Either we’re together in this, or we pull out now. You know the dangers, crew; if we turn around now, someone in that package is as good as dead. Yet if we hang around without support, it could just as well be us. We have dedicated CAP, but they can only do so much. Gypsy advised we head home; the final say is ours.”

    An unsettling silence followed. We made a crisp combat turn, and my face pressed tight against cold plexiglass briefly. As we leveled out, I no longer faced the terrible line, but I still looked out over enemy territory. Enemy jets could come at us from any side they wanted. I made sure I watched with a hawk’s eye, turning from high to low, left to right. Suddenly I saw the white hot glow of multiple afterburners. “Pilot, Spotter, two four-ship formations mid-level headed in. One’s moving toward two, the other to four.”

    I keyed into radios, and one by one, I heard the calls to the MCC. “I vote we stay.” “I’m with two.” “Me too.” “We’re here to do a job, aren’t we?” “Give us your best shot, Saddam.” “I say we stay.”

    “You know my vote, MCC,” I called out.

    “Let’s give ‘em hell!” I finally heard Gentleman Bob reply.

    Able flagged me down with a thumbs up, which I returned. I was suddenly proud of the crew I had had some serious reservations about. The shit had hit the fan, and they were willing to stick it out.

    The mission was far from over. We had dozens of fighters racing in country and dozens more ready to come in. Buffs laden with heavy bombs would soon be over target. I hugged the plexiglass again as we swung around hard and fast; for a moment, I’d stared straight down at the ground and at artillery bursts not far off. As we leveled out, I saw small clusters of explosions—at first small and then growing exponentially as secondary explosions followed. The first group had surely reached Kirkuk and had started their run.

    “Pilot, Spotter, traffic low, moving toward three, looks like two groups inbound.”

    The fighters raced in. I saw a ground flash then an unusually large explosion. The Iraqis had just launched a SAM. An instant later, I saw another flash and then another. I was sure glad they were firing blindly. The AAA started up heavy again as this new wave came in. I saw the wall form again, up close and personal. God, it was frightening.

    We turned again. The wings leveled just in time for me to see another group marshaling to head in. I counted them off on Interphone as they went in.

    Able called out more explosions at two and three o’clock.

    My heart raced faster and faster; for surely if the Iraqis were going to launch aircraft at us, this was the time. I glanced at my watch. It was after midnight; a new day had arrived, and we still had hours of hanging over enemy territory to look forward to. Able’s voice was hissing into my headset describing the myriad of explosions he saw as orange-red fireballs shooting from the ground into the heavens. Another group had found their targets.

    The wing dipped sixty degrees; to me it looked like ninety as I stared downward. I saw a trace of afterburners, low and screaming, headed our way. “Pilot, Spotter, two possibly one, headed outbound direct at three o’clock.”

    A terrible moment of not knowing passed. I was confident this was the first group returning, but until they were identified no one could be sure.

    “Pilot, Spotter, they’re coming up mid-level.”

    “Roger, Spotter.” Bob paused, unkeyed his mike then re-keyed it. “Nav, Pilot, get someone on radios with Paladin Leader now! Does he see that group coming outbound or not? I don’t hear a damn thing!”

    “Paladin Leader, Paladin Leader, this is Shadow, do you read? We have outbound traffic. We do not show first package egress at this time. Over.”

    I waited to hear a response, but none came. I hugged the window closer and braced myself as Gentleman Bob turned the Lady sharply, ninety degrees. “Crew, this is the copilot; we’re following emergency evasive maneuvers at this time. Seats forward, safety harnesses in the locked positions. Brace yourselves, and wait for those alarm bells. In case of bailout, the rear paratroops doors remain the primary exit.”

    The first alarm bell sounded. Right then, most of us prepared to kiss our asses goodbye. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot the Lady could do to outpace a jet fighter. One missile, and we’d be so much debris.

    The heartbeats that followed were filled with frenzy. I remember finding my parachute, putting it on and waiting. It’s frightening to record the passage of time to the pace of your breaths: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Or to the pace of excited heartbeats.

    We keyed to our headsets, waiting for what seemed a lifetime, our thoughts spinning out of control, waiting for someone to say something, anything. Or to hear another alarm bell. We dreaded the sounding of the next alarm bell, but we would have welcomed it to end the silence.

    I stared out at the horizon and a night sky filled with artillery bursts and distant explosions. Looking, always vigilantly looking, my head turning, craning in every direction possible. I gripped the night vision goggles so tightly that my hands ached with a dull sting that went almost unnoticed.

    Where those approaching fighters were, I had no idea now. The Lady was twisting and turning; it was all I could do to keep upright and attempt to stare out the window. Behind me, Able wasn’t having much luck either.

    “Spotters, status on those unidentified?” screamed Bob on Hot.

    I wish I knew, I wanted to reply. “I lost visual,” I said. Able said much the same thing.

    At the same time, we all heard it, a weak carrier coming out over Paladin’s channel. “Shadow, this is Paladin Leader, the area is clear, repeat clear. Are you going to follow through with the mission abort? Repeat, are you aborting the mission?”

    “Paladin, Shadow, what’s the status on our CAP?”

    “You’ve got a two-ship dedicated screaming over your heads right now. Two more went inbound for intercept. Paladin-2 and -1 are pedaling off to gas up.”

    “Negative on that abort. We’re coming around.”

    I stopped listening to what Paladin Leader said after that and returned my attention to the window. It was hard to believe that barely a minute had elapsed from threat call to now.

    “Crew, Pilot, we’ll be environment right in thirty seconds!”

    “Confirm, environment right,” said Stopwatch.

    The Lady turned. “Crew, environment is right.”

    “Roger,” said Stopwatch. “Crew, we’re in jam!” As I watched, fighters started pouring out, and I counted them two by two. Sixteen F-16s in all. They had started to come out low, then they soared upward, eventually racing past a hundred feet above us. What a rush! I could hear their engines scream. The final two-ship raced over us, upside down. I caught a glimpse of a pilot giving us the thumbs up.

    I saw it then, a massive fireball forming in front of us. And then another, and another. Northern Baghdad had never looked so close. Buffs were pounding the hell out of the place. They were not alone in this endeavor. Several fighter groups had gone deep; and a moment later, I started to see fiery flashes that told me they were also over target.

    I knew if they were just now coming in over Baghdad, the mission was only half over. I never wished so hard for anything in my life as I did right then for Gypsy’s return. But Gypsy wasn’t coming back.

Rain greeted us as we departed ops and somewhere within the murk a new day had already arrived. The big board had said that we’d have another late evening Go tonight, so we were all eager to return to our rooms and get some sleep. The mission had been exceptionally long and trying. My eyes felt like two round saucers still attached to a pair of night-vision goggles.

    The line after us was a double Go, but with inclement weather moving in and getting thicker by the minute the mission would be cancelled for sure.

    After pulling the shades tight, I crawled into bed and attempted sleep. But I couldn’t sleep right away. It wasn’t that I wasn’t tired, but that I was over tired and still wound up.

    Every time I closed my eyes, in the pink haze on the back of my eyelids I saw it: the anti-aircraft artillery fire, the explosions, all of it. My mind was like those afterburners I’d seen racing in and screaming out except I couldn’t find the switch to flick them off.

    It wasn’t until many tortured hours later that I finally did find sleep. I remember waking up and trembling. The room was cold and dark though it was early afternoon. I went to the window and peered out into the gloom. The room was empty; I was alone. The sky was overcast and an uncomforting deluge was drenching the land and splashing up against the window as it was beaten by strong winds.

    Even as I looked out at the rain hammering the land, kicking up dark mud and pounding against the window, I saw it: unrelenting flashes of AAA, explosions, jets passing by, and not far off, aerial bursts. In the back of my mind, I heard screams, terrible, horror-filled screams. Screams that until now I had blocked completely from my mind. Screams I’d heard all too often. Screams that numbed my mind and sent shivers up and down my spine. Screams that left me staring into the darkness in the dead of night. Screams of the damned and the dying coming from a keyed microphone. We heard it all—that was part of the job—it had taken last night to stir it all up.