The 16th of January 1991, we received a scatter order. A scatter order for an aviation unit is a coordinated mission to send the aviation assets away from a fixed base to a site in the field where we could spread out and park at a position that the enemy had not determined was our base. We knew something was up, but as usual, we had no real idea of what is was. What we did know was grab out stuff, don't leave anything you cared about, get it into the helicopters we had been assigned and fly to our scatter site. With the scatter order given, things again had become intense similar to when we had first arrived in country in September. I’m pretty sure we’d been given a warning order (Essentially, a heads up that something is getting ready to happen) a day or two prior, so tensions were on the rise and the order to scatter was unsurprising. The scatter rendezvous site for Alpha Company, 7-101 Aviation, was just a map grid coordinate in the desert roughly 30 miles southwest of Dhahran. I knew the rest of the battalion was in our general vicinity, but not exactly where. I do know that 400 helicopters left the airfield that day and went to the desert.
The only significant item at the site was a small oasis on the west side. We landed all the helicopters in a very large circle with the nose of each aircraft pointed outward. This gave us a nominal defensive protection of having the door mounted machine guns pointing outward. No one was really excited about the idea of repelling an attack sitting in an aluminum air-frame with over 1000 gallons of JP5 (Jet Petroleum grade 5 aka Aviation Grade kerosene) on-board. Incoming bullets and fuel have a bad history.
We spent the afternoon setting up a command post in the center and establishing ground based radio communications with Brigade Headquarters. I sure someone in command knew where the rest of the Aviation Brigade scatter locations, but I, as a peon, didn’t know and really didn’t care. Previous military experience always predicated hope for the best, prepare for the worst and reality is usually somewhere in between those two parameters. We scouted the area and established a perimeter and we were ordered to keep out chemical protective masks at hand due to some Iraqi propaganda hinting at their plans for using nerve gas against the infidels (the coalition forces).
The only thing of real interest that afternoon occurred when a local Bedouin shepherd passed next to us with his herd of long haired sheep and goats. They were seen approaching by our forward observers and some idiot asked if we should shoot. With tensions high I was not surprised by that question, I was glad that no one shot first and asked questions later. I mentioned that I didn’t feel the sheep or the shepherd were a threat and we all agreed with that consensus. For those who haven’t encountered sheep and goats in the Saudi desert, I can affirm that they do stink.
After the break in the boredom with the local livestock, we set about deciding where to sleep and it was agreed that inside the helicopter was not going to be our sleeping quarters. While it was January, the daytime highs were in the 90s and lows in the high 50s and having a breeze was still a primary consideration. Sleeping under the stars was the consensus preferred choice. The desert sky at night was such a sight, I highly recommend it. Most people never live far enough from civilization and the associated light pollution to see what the night sky looks like when you are in total darkness. As a kid, I’d never really seen the Milky Way, so I never really understood it’s magnificence. We just laid there on our cots, looking at the stars and discussing what a beautiful sight we were beholding. We were all still riding an adrenaline rush can couldn't sleep, so we just laid there on our cots and talked about the sky. Then, not too long after midnight, January 17, 1991, something changed.
We began to notice some movement in the sky. It took a few minutes but we soon understood the significance. Coalition fighters, F15s, F16s, Tornados, Mirages, F18s and the like were forming up into flights of 4 aircraft and heading north. We’d lose track of them as they turned off their navigation lights (the red and green lights you see on the sides of all planes) as they entered the combat area. Wave after wave after wave of planes headed north.
Someone broke out a short-wave radio and tuned in the BBC. We’d already established that in OUR opinion; the BBC was giving the most accurate news (didn’t hurt they were the only news available at that time on short-wave radio either) and we started listening to what the BBC had to say. Like anyone who was glued to the news during Desert Storm, we were hanging on every word from the reports coming from Baghdad.
Two hours after we’d seen planes heading north, we started to observe them returning. Again, wave after wave of planes returning to base. We were pretty stoked at seeing them return and then we noticed one flight only had 3 planes. Outbound most had been flights of 4 and there were two or three that left in pairs, but no flights of three. The mood suddenly got a lot more somber as we hoped that the pilot of the missing plane was safe and uninjured. As the sorties recovered to base there were a couple more that were either missing a plane or had a plane that was obviously not in great flying condition (Trailing the others, not in close formation I’d assume in case they had to eject or such) and finally the sky was again just stars. We were in the middle of an active war. Sometime in that early morning we fell asleep and most of us were up at first light and we talked about what we saw and heard on the radio.
January 17, 1991 started out with us being witness to the might of the coalition air power, then it turned into another dreary, hot, boring day in the desert. We’d become accustomed to having a full-service base and now we were “back in the field” so even routine items became more difficult. Taking care of the call of nature was likely the least enjoyable items on my list of things I didn’t like about camping. Since this was a temporary site, there were no latrine facilities and you had to go find a place away from the bivouac area to take care of business. We all knew how to do all this, some of us just found having a real bathroom was a luxury we really enjoyed. Our meals were MREs (Meal, Ready to Eat) combat rations. Real food was the second thing you missed besides a real bathroom.
I can’t say that anything of any consequence happened the rest of the day except they had posted a duty roster for radio watch and someone from operations had gone from aircraft to aircraft passing the word. It was pretty much a given fact that we didn’t have much of a threat on the ground so no perimeter guards were posted. However, contact with Brigade and Battalion commands had to be maintained 24/7 so a radio watch was established. This meant that some fortunate people, like myself, had to get up from a sound sleep and go stand in a tent two hours at a time. Listening for any communication from brigade and responding to an occasional radio check which was just confirming someone was awake on each end of the radio links.
There I was, at 12 AM January 21, 1991, relieving the sleepy and bored person who had the shift ahead of me. I made my required radio check and started walking around just trying to stay awake. Boredom is likely the worst thing about military life. It seemed to follow you everywhere and of course just as soon as you thought nothing is ever going to change, some joker threw in a wild card and life got exciting. The Iraqis had been lobbing Scud missiles at Israel for weeks and we knew about the PATRIOT (Phased Array Tracking Radar to Intercept On Target) Missile defense systems in theater. On a mission to Dhahran, I’d seen a Patriot battery setup and I’d managed to talk to some of the officers there about the battery out of mutual interest, (I was curious about their stuff, they were curious about my chopper).
At 12:29 AM, I just happened to be looking in the general direction of Dhahran when I saw a white streak zoom off into the sky. There was an overcast layer of clouds at about 8,000 feet and the streak (A Patriot missile) climbed through it and there was a bright flash above the cloud layer when it intercepted a Scud. As I was figuring out in my sleep deprived daze what I’d just seen, a second missile launched. It was quickly followed by two more, all of which had gone in the same general direction slightly north of the city. The fifth one was the most interesting as it made a sweeping curve off to the west then turned up and to the north as it also raced above the clouds with the others. Five missiles and five flashes above the clouds was pretty definite to me that Scuds (2 I confirmed later) had been intercepted. At this point my biggest concern was how fast could that PATRIOT battery reload?
While I was taking this all in, I got a radio call from Brigade for us to put on our gas masks. I was incredulous. Nothing had occurred within miles of our position, there was no threat, and this guy was wanting me to have everyone wake up and put on a gas mask at 1 AM. Since there was no immediate threat even if those missiles had nerve gas in their debris, it would have taken hours for it to drift to our location. Luckily for me, before my sleep clouded mind had processed the order, the all clear was given by more informed sources and the order to mask was rescinded. That was the way I remember my first few days during operation Desert Storm. We were really in a war.
The only significant item at the site was a small oasis on the west side. We landed all the helicopters in a very large circle with the nose of each aircraft pointed outward. This gave us a nominal defensive protection of having the door mounted machine guns pointing outward. No one was really excited about the idea of repelling an attack sitting in an aluminum air-frame with over 1000 gallons of JP5 (Jet Petroleum grade 5 aka Aviation Grade kerosene) on-board. Incoming bullets and fuel have a bad history.
We spent the afternoon setting up a command post in the center and establishing ground based radio communications with Brigade Headquarters. I sure someone in command knew where the rest of the Aviation Brigade scatter locations, but I, as a peon, didn’t know and really didn’t care. Previous military experience always predicated hope for the best, prepare for the worst and reality is usually somewhere in between those two parameters. We scouted the area and established a perimeter and we were ordered to keep out chemical protective masks at hand due to some Iraqi propaganda hinting at their plans for using nerve gas against the infidels (the coalition forces).
The only thing of real interest that afternoon occurred when a local Bedouin shepherd passed next to us with his herd of long haired sheep and goats. They were seen approaching by our forward observers and some idiot asked if we should shoot. With tensions high I was not surprised by that question, I was glad that no one shot first and asked questions later. I mentioned that I didn’t feel the sheep or the shepherd were a threat and we all agreed with that consensus. For those who haven’t encountered sheep and goats in the Saudi desert, I can affirm that they do stink.
After the break in the boredom with the local livestock, we set about deciding where to sleep and it was agreed that inside the helicopter was not going to be our sleeping quarters. While it was January, the daytime highs were in the 90s and lows in the high 50s and having a breeze was still a primary consideration. Sleeping under the stars was the consensus preferred choice. The desert sky at night was such a sight, I highly recommend it. Most people never live far enough from civilization and the associated light pollution to see what the night sky looks like when you are in total darkness. As a kid, I’d never really seen the Milky Way, so I never really understood it’s magnificence. We just laid there on our cots, looking at the stars and discussing what a beautiful sight we were beholding. We were all still riding an adrenaline rush can couldn't sleep, so we just laid there on our cots and talked about the sky. Then, not too long after midnight, January 17, 1991, something changed.
We began to notice some movement in the sky. It took a few minutes but we soon understood the significance. Coalition fighters, F15s, F16s, Tornados, Mirages, F18s and the like were forming up into flights of 4 aircraft and heading north. We’d lose track of them as they turned off their navigation lights (the red and green lights you see on the sides of all planes) as they entered the combat area. Wave after wave after wave of planes headed north.
Someone broke out a short-wave radio and tuned in the BBC. We’d already established that in OUR opinion; the BBC was giving the most accurate news (didn’t hurt they were the only news available at that time on short-wave radio either) and we started listening to what the BBC had to say. Like anyone who was glued to the news during Desert Storm, we were hanging on every word from the reports coming from Baghdad.
Two hours after we’d seen planes heading north, we started to observe them returning. Again, wave after wave of planes returning to base. We were pretty stoked at seeing them return and then we noticed one flight only had 3 planes. Outbound most had been flights of 4 and there were two or three that left in pairs, but no flights of three. The mood suddenly got a lot more somber as we hoped that the pilot of the missing plane was safe and uninjured. As the sorties recovered to base there were a couple more that were either missing a plane or had a plane that was obviously not in great flying condition (Trailing the others, not in close formation I’d assume in case they had to eject or such) and finally the sky was again just stars. We were in the middle of an active war. Sometime in that early morning we fell asleep and most of us were up at first light and we talked about what we saw and heard on the radio.
January 17, 1991 started out with us being witness to the might of the coalition air power, then it turned into another dreary, hot, boring day in the desert. We’d become accustomed to having a full-service base and now we were “back in the field” so even routine items became more difficult. Taking care of the call of nature was likely the least enjoyable items on my list of things I didn’t like about camping. Since this was a temporary site, there were no latrine facilities and you had to go find a place away from the bivouac area to take care of business. We all knew how to do all this, some of us just found having a real bathroom was a luxury we really enjoyed. Our meals were MREs (Meal, Ready to Eat) combat rations. Real food was the second thing you missed besides a real bathroom.
I can’t say that anything of any consequence happened the rest of the day except they had posted a duty roster for radio watch and someone from operations had gone from aircraft to aircraft passing the word. It was pretty much a given fact that we didn’t have much of a threat on the ground so no perimeter guards were posted. However, contact with Brigade and Battalion commands had to be maintained 24/7 so a radio watch was established. This meant that some fortunate people, like myself, had to get up from a sound sleep and go stand in a tent two hours at a time. Listening for any communication from brigade and responding to an occasional radio check which was just confirming someone was awake on each end of the radio links.
There I was, at 12 AM January 21, 1991, relieving the sleepy and bored person who had the shift ahead of me. I made my required radio check and started walking around just trying to stay awake. Boredom is likely the worst thing about military life. It seemed to follow you everywhere and of course just as soon as you thought nothing is ever going to change, some joker threw in a wild card and life got exciting. The Iraqis had been lobbing Scud missiles at Israel for weeks and we knew about the PATRIOT (Phased Array Tracking Radar to Intercept On Target) Missile defense systems in theater. On a mission to Dhahran, I’d seen a Patriot battery setup and I’d managed to talk to some of the officers there about the battery out of mutual interest, (I was curious about their stuff, they were curious about my chopper).
At 12:29 AM, I just happened to be looking in the general direction of Dhahran when I saw a white streak zoom off into the sky. There was an overcast layer of clouds at about 8,000 feet and the streak (A Patriot missile) climbed through it and there was a bright flash above the cloud layer when it intercepted a Scud. As I was figuring out in my sleep deprived daze what I’d just seen, a second missile launched. It was quickly followed by two more, all of which had gone in the same general direction slightly north of the city. The fifth one was the most interesting as it made a sweeping curve off to the west then turned up and to the north as it also raced above the clouds with the others. Five missiles and five flashes above the clouds was pretty definite to me that Scuds (2 I confirmed later) had been intercepted. At this point my biggest concern was how fast could that PATRIOT battery reload?
While I was taking this all in, I got a radio call from Brigade for us to put on our gas masks. I was incredulous. Nothing had occurred within miles of our position, there was no threat, and this guy was wanting me to have everyone wake up and put on a gas mask at 1 AM. Since there was no immediate threat even if those missiles had nerve gas in their debris, it would have taken hours for it to drift to our location. Luckily for me, before my sleep clouded mind had processed the order, the all clear was given by more informed sources and the order to mask was rescinded. That was the way I remember my first few days during operation Desert Storm. We were really in a war.
No comments:
Post a Comment