Both Buster and Chris were right. It was Chris’s job to get the word out. And it was Buster’s job as the fighter division commander to worry about the lives of his aircrews.

But the real blame was mine. I should have been more forceful about dispelling the Baghdad Billy myth right from the start. I should have seen that a crew would get so engrossed with defeating the apparently real threat that they succumbed to the ever-present killer, the ground. My failure meant two needless deaths and bitter tears for the families of the crew of Ratchet-75.

The message went out to knock off defensive reactions to Baghdad Billy.

The incident wasn’t a total loss. It inspired a song:

BALLAD OF THE F-111 JOCK BY MAJ. ROGER KRAPF

I’m an F-111 Jock, and I’m here to tell
of Baghdad Billy and his jet from hell.
We were well protected with Eagles in tight
but that didn’t stop the man with the light.
RJ and AWACS, they didn’t see,
as BAGHDAD BILLY snuck up on me.
Then I found a spotlight shining at my six
and my Whoozoo said, “HOOLLYY SHEEIT.”
I popped some chaff and I popped a flare
but the Iraqi bandit, he didn’t care.
I had tracers on my left, and tracers on my right,
with a load of bombs, I had to run from the fight.
I rolled my VARK over and took her down
into the darkness and finally lost the clown.
When I landed back at Taif and gave this rap,
CENTAF said I was full of crap.
I’m here to tell you the God’s own truth.
That Iraqi bandit, he ain’t no spoof.
You don’t have to worry, there is no way
you’ll see Baghdad Billy if you fly in the day.
But listen to me, son, for I am right.
Watch out for BILLY if you fly at night!!!

There were other—far less tragic—confusions and mix-ups.

On one occasion, an F-15 pilot from our base at Incirlik in Turkey was lined up on an Iraqi jet ready to squeeze the trigger, when an air-to-air missile flew in from the side, turned the corner behind the Iraqi, and blew the target out of the sky. Chalk up one for the 33d TFW from Tabuk. Not the least bothered, the Incirlik-based F-15 turned his attention to the Iraqi’s wingman and fired an AIM-7 radar-guided missile. It zeroed in on its target and exploded; but much to the amazement of our pilot, the Iraqi jet emerged serenely from the fireball. The intrepid American then fired a heat-seeking AIM-9, which again engulfed the Iraqi in a fireball; and again the Iraqi emerged and flew across the border into Iran. Our pilot may have been luckier than he thought, however. The Iraqi aircraft was either damaged or it ran out of fuel, and the pilot ejected shortly after escaping.

But more often the wins were clear-cut.