Over Afghanistan, Gantlets in the Sky [Sigh. WashPost misspells again--it's gauntlet] U.S. Pilots Are Tested by Complex and Sometimes Perilous Missions

By Steve Vogel Washington Post Staff Writer Monday, October 29, 2001; Page A01

ABOARD THE USS CARL VINSON -- Kabul had flashed by, and Cmdr. Morri "Moby" Leland rolled over the target area north of the city, looking for a Taliban bunker to destroy with his F/A-18 Hornet, a trusted fighter he had nicknamed War Admiral.

A U.S. operative on the ground below in Afghanistan had radioed Moby with landmarks directing him to an ammunition bunker along the Taliban front line. Moby was pretty sure he had it spotted, but asked the operative to shine a laser beam on the target. As the pilot raced in, War Admiral's laser spot tracker locked on the marked target.

Moby loosed one of the 1,000-pound laser-guided bombs under the jet's wing. It homed in on the laser spot and exploded in a flash of orange fire.

The operative on the ground radioed confirmation: "That's a shack," slang for a direct hit. Moby could see a satisfying string of secondary detonations from exploding ammunition. He then saw something else -- enemy fire coming his way. It was a good time to be leaving.

After three weeks of strikes, the air war as seen in Pentagon briefings can appear sterile and routine. But for the pilots launching strikes into Afghanistan from the deck of this carrier, the experience is of a complex and hazardous campaign that no one on the ship believes will be quick or easy.

Despite the U.S. establishment of air supremacy in the first days of the campaign and success in hitting Taliban and al Qaeda targets, the pilots are facing a number of challenges: targets that are hard to find, smart bombs that occasionally fall short or are misdirected, missions that stretch the range of jets and the endurance of pilots, complicated coordination of changing target lists with ground and air controllers, dangers from enemy missiles, and concern about killing civilians or U.S. troops on the ground.

Many of these elements were in play during the missions flown last Wednesday by a single squadron of F/A-18 Hornets aboard the Vinson. This account is based on extensive interviews before and after combat missions with pilots, some of whom asked that they be referred to by their call signs and not fully identified. Navy commanders allowed access to pilot briefings on the condition that classified information not be disclosed.

Strike Fighter Squadron 97, known as Team Warhawk, is one of four fighter squadrons in the Vinson's air wing. The squadron consists of 12 Hornets supported by a crew of more than 225, including aviators, ordnance handlers and technicians. Warhawk is the only squadron still using F/A-18 "Alpha" models, first-generation Hornets that are more than 15 years old and among the oldest fighter jets in the Navy.

"We're the redheaded stepchild of the air wing," a Warhawk pilot said. Yet they lead the ship in the number of hours aloft -- more than 1,000 in October.

All of the jets in the squadron carry the names of horses: racehorses, like War Admiral, the 1937 Triple Crown winner, or old war horses like Traveler, Gen. Robert E. Lee's mount.

There are a few war horses among the Warhawks. Cmdr. Charles "Sterno" Sternberg, the Warhawk commanding officer, is 39, and Moby, the squadron executive officer, is 40. Four other squadron pilots are experienced officers, including Beacon, 35, a Naval Academy graduate and test pilot gunning to be an astronaut.

But most are like Buzz, 29, a lanky lieutenant, thoughtful and soft-spoken, who grew up in the Washington area and is serving aboard a carrier for the first time. Ten of the 16 Warhawk pilots are "nuggets" -- pilots making their first cruise aboard a carrier.

Last Wednesday, Buzz and Beacon, dressed in green flight suits, sat in dark blue naugahyde seats in the pilot's ready room, a paper pumpkin and a witch on a broomstick dangling over their heads. As they sipped coffee, details of their mission flashed on a screen in front of them.

"We've been tasked to five areas of interest north of Kabul," said the pilot leading the brief, a lieutenant with the call sign Stroke. "We're going to be looking for armor out there. There's primarily Taliban in that area. If we get clearance, we'll go ahead."

A map of northern Afghanistan flashed on the screen, with five sectors -- "kill boxes" in aviator parlance -- outlined in red. Stroke hit the remote, changing the slide, and rattled through the brief: Radio frequencies. Tactical call signs. Refueling points. Rescue plans in case of being shot down.

Afterward, Beacon, a lieutenant commander, reviewed the mission further with Buzz, his wingman.

"You'll be flying high cover on me," he told Buzz, and he cautioned about enemy fire. "I'm not so much worried about it going in as I am leaving, since we've highlighted the fact we're there."

Beacon ended with a warning about civilian casualties. "If you've got one hair standing on the back of your neck, don't drop," he told Buzz. "It may feel good letting that bomb off, but it won't feel so good debriefing, finding out the bad news."

The pilots donned their G-suits and survival vests. Buzz packed a survival map in a leg flap and a 9mm pistol in his flight bag, in case he ended up on the ground in Afghanistan. Another pilot, Edge, reminded Buzz to pack two clips for the pistol: "Otherwise you're going to have to throw it at them," Edge said.

"We're all Type A personalities here," Beacon said. "Everybody doesn't want to believe that the worst can happen. But everyone knows in the back of their minds it's a possibility."

This is not a war of vengeance, pilots say. But it does feel personal. Beacon is a combat veteran, having launched strikes against Serb positions in Bosnia. "That was different though," said Beacon. "After watching the twin towers fall to the ground and kill 6,000 fellow Americans, and the Pentagon being hit, that's the icing on the cake. It's a whole different set of resolve here."

Three weeks before the Vinson set sail in July, Buzz got married. Now, the war is being fought on two fronts in his family. Buzz's wife, who is completing her medical studies, is working a rotation at a hospital that has treated anthrax victims.

A Change in Plans

On the steamy flight deck, Buzz climbed into his jet, named Black Jack for the riderless Army horse that accompanied John F. Kennedy's coffin.

It was like a sauna inside the cockpit, with the canopy closed and lengthy launch preparations underway. Flight deck crews hooked the jet to a catapult, and Buzz saluted, signaling he was ready. The catapult slung the Hornet forward at 150 mph, and he was aloft.

In the air he met up with Beacon, piloting Traveler, and together with two F-14 Tomcats that completed the "strike package," they flew north at 4:30 p.m. The sweat soaking Buzz's uniform quickly cooled as the jet climbed, and he fought off chills.

The jets reached land in less than half an hour. They followed designated routes over Pakistan, and then southern Afghanistan loomed below, desolate and extreme.

Once in Afghan airspace, all jets fall under the control of an AWACS aircraft. The surveillance plane, communicating with the air war operations center at Prince Sultan Air Base near Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, controls where the jets go and what they do.

"You've got everybody in the country talking through this guy," said Beacon. "He's got to prioritize what the most important information is, and who it needs to go to, and everyone else has to stand by."

Buzz and Beacon were just inside Afghanistan when the AWACS radioed with instructions to forget the Taliban tanks -- a better target had emerged.

"We've got some immediate tasking for you -- stand by," the controller said.

Beacon was not surprised. Of the 10 missions he had flown, only once had he gone to the target discussed during the brief. The controllers keep finding targets they like better.

"It's like you're driving across country and your wife decides she wants to eat at Denny's," Beacon said. "You pull up, you see the Denny's, Roger that, and then she sees McDonalds, and then she says, 'I want to go to McDonalds.' You just say, 'All right, Roger that.' You know fighting it is not going to be in your best interest."

Likewise, Moby, who had launched earlier in the afternoon on a separate mission, had been redirected. Everybody's brief was out the window.

"That increases the stress, whether you like it or not," said Moby. "If they give you a new location, you haven't had the luxury of doing that map study and photo study, and that makes it more difficult."

Now, with night fallen, Beacon and Buzz were directed to an area near the Taliban stronghold of Kandahar in southern Afghanistan, and told to monitor its status.

Hunting targets from high altitudes -- their precise flight level is classified -- can be difficult. Without reviewing satellite imagery beforehand, it can be risky. The day before, Beacon had refused to fire his weapons when controllers redirected him to follow the course of a road and bomb the compound it led to. To Beacon, it wasn't so obvious.

"Next to this compound was a little hamlet, and you can't decipher which one is which," he said. "I wasn't sure, so I didn't drop."

It was a good choice, Beacon said. The target turned out to be elsewhere.

On television sets aboard the Vinson, Buzz had seen the news clips showing civilians, including women and children, killed or terribly wounded by the bombing.

"I've watched CNN and I'm sure, this being a war, that there are innocent people being hurt, and I grieve for that," said Buzz. "I'm also sure that in the controlled environment the Taliban have created, they can inflate those claims wildly."

Unlike Bosnia and Iraq, Afghanistan has no integrated air defense network, only individual elements operating independently. On many missions, the pilots draw antiaircraft and sometimes shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles.

"You don't want to be the first pilot shot down by a missile," said Beacon. "Firsts are good, but that's not one of them."

Early in the campaign, some bombs were falling short, and others were not exploding. "The first few days, they weren't performing the way we would have liked," said Moby. Not all the fault lay with the weapons; pilot error was also responsible.

As the campaign has worn on, the number of errors has decreased, Moby said. No jets from the squadron are known to have caused civilian casualties, commanders said.

'Going on Reflex and Training'

On Wednesday, Moby led his redirected force of four Hornets and two Tomcats to the front line between the Taliban and the rebel Northern Alliance just north of Kabul.

A U.S. operative on the ground inside Afghanistan, known as a "forward air controller," directed the warplanes via radio and a laser used to "paint" targets.

"He talks to you on the radio and builds a picture for you of the battlefield," said Moby. "He will talk you onto which targets he wants struck, where they are, and what their array is."

The ground controller identified two nearby villages that were off-limits, out of concern for civilian casualties. Then he identified the targets: Taliban bunkers and heavily fortified positions holding ammunition and troops.

Dropping his bomb on the bunker took Moby close to the range of antiaircraft fire and missiles, and he began taking fire.

"It's pretty intense," said Moby. "At that point you're going on reflex and training. You don't have a choice. If you bottom out too low or too slow, they can shoot you. Thing is, you don't want to spend too much time down there."

Moby dropped War Admiral's flares, which put out a heat signature as a decoy for the missiles, and quickly climbed out of range. The other jets dropped their bombs and followed suit.

Mission accomplished.

There was no such luck for Beacon and Buzz and the two Tomcats monitoring the position near Kandahar. "They described a place and told us to find it and report any changes in its status," said Buzz. "We didn't have anything to report."

As they circled, one of the Tomcats developed an engine problem. Beacon accompanied the jet back to the ship, leaving Buzz and the second Tomcat to monitor the site.

For hours, Buzz watched the site through night-vision goggles. He and the Tomcat took turns going to an Air Force tanker for fuel. Buzz would refuel eight times during the course of the mission. At the target, all was quiet.

The AWACS controller finally told them to return to the ship.

Carrier missions over Afghanistan often last six hours or more, three times longer than Buzz had previously flown. By now -- his 6-foot-3-inch frame immobile for hours atop a hard ejection seat -- it was painful to be in the cockpit.

The toughest job still lay ahead: landing a jet on a carrier at night. Pilots do not worry so much about crashing: Every landing is graded, with the score posted on the ready room wall for their peers to see.

"In that last hour or so when you're flying back to the carrier, you're at your most exhausted," said Buzz. "You've already been to a hostile nation, you've concentrated the whole time, you've spent a lot of energy. Now you still have to produce equally intense amounts of concentration to land on the boat. But you're already sapped."

Approaching the carrier, Buzz popped peppermint candy into his mouth. Back in the Warhawks' ready room, Beacon and other pilots awaited Buzz's return. A few gathered idly around a television screen to watch a "gun camera" video showing the results of an earlier strike on a warehouse. "Kaboom!" a pilot said admiringly as the building went sky-high.

At 12:25 a.m., the deck directly over the ready room shook. A closed-circuit television showed Buzz's jet catching a wire and coming to rest on the deck. He had been in the air eight hours, a personal record.

After a classified debriefing, Buzz walked into the ready room. His body was hunched and stiff, and he was exhausted.

"I didn't drop," he told Beacon. "Four hours orbiting around the area of interest. I don't know what was so interesting about it."

There was no time to dwell on it. In a 36-hour period, Buzz would fly 15 hours. In less than 10 hours, he was scheduled to brief for the next combat mission.

-- Anonymous, October 28, 2001