A-10s over Kosovo (illustrations removed)

I got my standard large cup of coffee, and then Smokey and I sat down for our intel brief. Four months into the war, we had a pretty good picture of what was out there and where people had been lucky or unlucky. Intel briefed on an unlocated SA-6 somewhere in Kosovo and SAN-4s off the coast of Montenegro—as they had been the entire war. We were mainly interested in what had happened the day before. Who had been shot at? Where did they find targets? With this information we had the ability to make our plan of attack. Included in our mission planning materials was a list of about 50 targets (some days more, some days fewer). Our first job was to look at the list and guess which ones were valid and which were bogus: 20 tanks just outside of Prizren (most likely bogus), 200 infantry with vehicles (probably bogus). We decided on a handful of targets that looked promising and rank-ordered them. One interesting target, with imagery, was two tanks parked next to a tree line. The picture, from a British Harrier, looked too good to be true. We assumed they were decoys, but they were a possible dump target if it turned into a slow day. I briefed about 30 minutes on flight contracts and other required items, and then we were out the door to fly.

The mornings stopped being hectic when we finally got airborne. I hated waking up at 0400, but there is nothing better than taking off at sunrise and being the first flight into the area of operations (AO). We hit the tanker inbound, refueled, and made our way across the border. We were slotted as an air-strike control (aka AFAC) sortie working in the western half of Kosovo, using Swine 91 as our call sign. We were more like “killer scouts” running down through a suspected target list. We searched each set of coordinates with handheld binoculars for any sign of the Serbian military. While scrutinizing our third target, I struck gold.

Two artillery pieces were backed against a tree line overlooking the border town of Zur. Closer investigation revealed what looked like a deuce-and-a-half truck parked nearby with the cargo cover pulled off. Smokey didn’t have the target but was more than happy to provide cover while I rolled in with an IIR Maverick air-to-ground missile. I was unable to break out the artillery pieces due to poor thermal contrast, but the truck showed up beautifully in my cockpit picture. I locked on and hammered down on the pickle button. My Maverick came off like a freight train, but then just as suddenly it pointed vertical and went blitzing off towards some unknown, unsuspecting piece of dirt.

“Two come south, my Maverick just went ‘stupid,’” I warned. Things were bad enough; I certainly didn’t want Smokey in the same piece of sky as my missile. We watched and waited for what seemed an eternity. A thousand horrifying scenarios flashed through my brain in a matter of seconds. Maybe I would be on the next plane to the CAOC after all. Luckily the Maverick splashed down on the eastern bank of a river just to our north. Crisis averted!

Smokey wasn’t exactly sure where the target was, and by this time we were well north of it. No problem, I thought. I’ve got another missile, so I’ll set up for a pass from the north. I found the truck again and pickled off my second Maverick. This one came off the rail and did a direct nosedive underneath my aircraft. I had never had a Maverick missile go stupid on me before, and here I was at 10,000 feet praying that my second stupid missile of the day would not find an inappropriate impact point. Performing a classic posthole maneuver, this missile hit much quicker than the first, coming down in a field just outside a small village. I searched the area for any signs that something other than dirt had been disturbed and found nothing.

Since Smokey had seen where my nose had been pointed, he now attacked the target. I covered our flight while he rolled in with one of his Mavericks. Shack! We had now expended three Mavericks for one truck, not a very good ratio, but I was glad I had my lucky wingman with me (luck doesn’t always come in the form of targets). While Smokey was setting up for his Maverick pass, two Belgian F-16s checked in, with each aircraft carrying one Mk-84 2,000 lb bomb. I gave them our coordinates and cleared them into the area at high altitude. Once they were overhead, I marked the artillery pieces with three white phosphorous marking rockets. The Vipers could still not acquire the target. Since my third rocket had landed directly on the southern artillery piece, I finally got to say the only three words that a FAC in any war has ever wanted to say: “Hit my smoke!”