Chapters (25)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Introduction
- I - Into the Wild Blue
- Chapter 1 - Every Man a Tiger
- Chapter 2 - The Big Lie
- Chapter 3 - The Vision of Bill Creech
- II - Shield in the Sky
- Chapter 4 - Mission to Jeddah
- Chapter 5 - CENTCOM Forward
- Chapter 6 - Planning the Storm
- Chapter 7 - Band of Brothers and Sisters
- III - The Thousand-Hour War
- Chapter 8 - Storm!
- Chapter 9 - Hits and Misses
- Chapter 10 - Lost and Found
- Chapter 11 - Punch and Counterpunch
- Chapter 12 - A Day in the War
- Chapter 13 - The Ten Percent War
- Chapter 14 - Shock and Awe
- Chapter 15 - Building Coalitions
- Chapter 16 - Beyond Iraqi Freedom
- Acknowledgements
- BIBLIOGRAPHY
- INDEX
We had a problem. Our most effective tank killer was being shot up at an alarming rate. In fact, before February 15, we had lost only one A-10 (on February 2 to an IR SAM), while suffering a little over twenty-five other aircraft shot down. Still, before February 15, the large number of battle-damaged A-10s was wearing on my mind. Thirty or forty had been hit, yet had survived and limped home for repairs—a tribute to their rugged design and safety features. But a lot of hits was a lot of hits. Too many hits.
On the fifteenth, when I walked into the TACC, I learned that two A-10s were down and three damaged, with one of these losing much of its tail. The airplanes were too valuable in a variety of roles, from Scud-hunting to close air support, to have them grounded by battle damage. There was a strong possibility that the Iraqis would run me out of airplanes before they ran out of SAMs.
With a heavy heart, I told the battle staff we were going to pull the A-10s back and use them only against the Iraqi divisions near the border. The Republican Guard and other armored divisions being held in reserve would now be off-limits to the A-10s, until later in the war, when the Iraqis had run out of heat-seeking missiles. Though I was worried that my decision would sting the egos of the Warthog drivers (a fate they sure didn’t deserve, since they were excelling at everything they’d been tasked to do), I just couldn’t stand by and watch them take hits and now losses.
But Dave Sawyer wrote me the next day, the sixteenth, and (without really meaning to) relieved my worries. “Your guidance to limit A-10s to southern areas is appropriate and timely,” he wrote. (That’s military for “Thank you, boss. We were being given more than our share of pain and suffering.”) He went on to relate the specific procedures he and Sandy Sharpe had worked out:
“We have prohibited daytime strafe for the present, except in true close air support, search and rescue, or troops in contact situations. With the OA-10 forward air control spotters, flight leads using binoculars, or a high (relative) speed recce pass in the 4-7,000 foot range, we should be able to determine worthwhile armor targets, then stand off and kill them with Mavericks. We’ll save the gun (and our aircraft) for the ground offensive. The OA-10s and our two night A-10 squadrons have yet to receive battle damage. There’s safety in altitude and darkness. When the ground war starts, we’ ll strafe up a storm and get in as close as we need to to get the job done. No A-10 pilot should ever have to buy a drink at any Army bar in the future. Until G day, request you task A-10s only in air interdiction kill boxes you’ve now limited us to. If you need us to go to deeper AI targets, we plan to impose a 10,000-foot above-the-ground minimum altitude there, and employ only free-fall ordnance and Mavericks. We’ll promptly exit any AI area in which we get an IR or radar SAM launch.”