A-10s over Kosovo (illustrations removed)

I knew there were some Navy F-14 AFACs working just west of us in Kosovo. Ten years ago, I would have laughed at the thought of the Navy using F-14 Tomcats as AFACs, but then—10 years ago—the A-10 was also headed for the boneyard. The Navy upgraded the F-14 when it was assigned the AFAC mission. The fighter had acquired a low-light-capable reconnaissance pod whose capability I now needed. I switched to the eastern-Kosovo working frequency, called the call sign fragged for that time slot, and got a quick response. They agreed to help when I asked if they had time to look at a target and learned that they were not having any luck finding targets where they were. I passed the target coordinates in a format they could use, and they were on the way.

None of our pilots had worked with the Navy F-14 AFACs before the war and were a bit leery of them the first few times they appeared in Kosovo. We soon discovered that while they did not have much experience with the AFAC mission, they weren’t bad. A few had yet to master the requisite skills, but most were doing fine—and some were quite good. I recognized the voice of one of their better AFACs in the jets headed our way. I deconflicted our flight paths, briefed him on the target below, and told him what I needed. The shadows now covered most of the valley floor. With this lighting I would normally head home—but this target was too good to pass up. From our orbit overhead, I was able to talk the Tomcat crew’s eyes onto the targets below. He confirmed that it looked like lots of troops and APCs but was also unsure of the few green vehicles. He decided to make a diving pass near the target to give their pod a closer look. I maneuvered my flight into a position to cover the F-14s as they made their run.

The Tomcats completed the pass and rather excitedly stated they had good pictures of the APCs and confirmed that the few green vehicles were also military. They said there appeared to be more troops in the gathering than first thought. We were running out of both daylight and fuel as I coordinated with the F-14 lead. My wingman and I would make three passes each and then leave the rest to them. He agreed, and they set up an orbit north of us. We made all of our attacks from the south because of some clouds that had entered the area. With the F-14 flight covering us, I reduced the usual attack spacing between my wingman and me. We coordinated our targets and each made two quick Maverick attacks on the APCs. On our third and final pass we each dropped our four 500 lb bombs, offsetting the impact points of our four-bomb sticks so we could cover as much of the area as possible. Anyone dumb enough not to have fled after our four Maverick attacks would not be pleased with the 500 pounders. They were set to explode 15 feet above the ground, and their blast and fragmentation kill mechanisms made them deadly weapons against troops and soft-skinned vehicles.

After our last pass we departed the area for home. The F-14 lead told us that, although our attacks had been right on target, there were still plenty left for his flight to attack. As we departed he was calling over the F/A-18 strikers he was supposed to work with so they could deliver even more ordnance to the area. It was too dark when we left for me to make a valid damage assessment, but I would come back in the next day or so. When I did I was amazed at what I saw. The Navy must have really worked that area over that night—it was a mess—pieces of military vehicles everywhere. I visited the area in the weeks that followed and could see where the Serbs had attempted to clean up the damage, but the ground still bore witness to the beating it had taken. I was puzzled: why, during combat, would anyone without air superiority gather so many troops together in daylight. In war, stupidity rarely fails to get its reward.

The Truck I Couldn’t Forget Capt Ron “Stu” Stuewe

I have several memories of my time in Kosovo. Most are good; some I would rather forget, but all of them are slowly losing their details with the passage of time. Still, one of my most vivid memories involves nothing more than a simple truck.

Maj John “Scratch” Regan, our 74th EFS commander, was on my wing. We had flown some rather effective sorties together during the preceding couple of days. On this particular occasion we had both dropped our bombs on some meager targets earlier in the mission. I say meager because we had direct hits with two tons of Mk-82s with limited secondaries. We were patrolling the western side of the province, just west of Dakovica (D-Town) when Scratch called over the FM radio that he saw a mover. Even during the waning period of OAF, we occasionally saw movers on the roads.