destruya
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Joined: 6/19/2006
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I was pretty jazzed about this scenario from the onset considering it sounded interesting.
I was a bit perturbed to see that prior to the alpha strike roughly half my air assets were earmarked for "ferry" status. A few seconds on "Q Mode" (my term for pause) fixed this, but it seemed somewhat unrealistic.
First assets in the air were the Eagles, which I set in a "line of death" out of the range of the SA-2/SA-6 sites. Following relatively close behind was the sole TR-1 Dragon Lady craft (which I personally codenamed "Bait"), which I set on a continuous repeating line directly over the SAM sites at maximum altitude for accurate BDA. The E-3 was third aloft, followed by the EC-135...the latter of which didn't exactly contribute much as he circled around the Sentry about 75-100nm from the aforementioned "line-o-death" courtesy of the Eagles.
I was concerned about the Warthogs having sufficient fuel to make it to the EW/SAM targets, so I decided to transit them to the Eagle's base for more direct basing (a stupid move that came out to help in the end). Next up were the two ready Wild Weasels, which proved somewhat difficult to vector around the large threat zones in the scenario.
The TR-1 made its first turn into its overflight line - I was a little concerned considering there was intel of SA-2s amongst Saddam's border defenses complimented with SA-6s. The latter I didn't have to worry about, but the Guidelines took down Rudy Anderson in '62, so I felt a pretty good amount of pity for the pilot.
Strangely enough, none of the SAMs took a potshot - at the TR-1 (that I knew of at the time) OR the Eagles. Probably waiting for authorization - ol' Saddam didn't want to light up an F-15 or TR-1 with half of the US Army and Marines on his doorstep. For all he knew, we were just posturing and photographing his EW sites.
By the time the TR-1 hit EW3, the Iraqi Air Force started getting antsy - a flight of Mirages vectored in on the TR-1 on full burners at 12000m. Not thinking the game would be intelligent enough diplomacy-wise to try a "crowding" tactic on a plane operating at Angels 66, I vectored the second Eagle flight to intercept. The TR-1 declared the Mirage hostile, meaning it was locked (I later found out the Mirages tried using both cannon AND AAMs to take out the TR-1 - to no avail).
Taking this as an effective fire deposit, the Eagles toggled master arm and the first Sparrow III left its rails. The pilot must've gotten a bit antsy knowing he'd just fired the first shot of Desert Storm, since the missile went momentarily dead seven seconds after launch. One of his flight must've reminded him, since the missile came back to life and easily reacquired the Mirage, impacting the Mirage head-on. Whether it was a malfunctioning RWR or idiotic bravery, the Mirage pilot never flinched.
From personal knowledge, however, I knew Saddam had Mig-25s and 29s - the former of which would prove MORE than a match for my poor TR-1 pilot at 66,000 feet. Thankfully, the Sentry was able to gather speed data from each potential interceptor, and there was nary an 1800+ km/h hit.
The two Wild Weasels were bitching profusely on the secure channel about having to fly 250 miles out of the way because of "that goddamned threat zone" as they hit the incursion point and turned north towards their targets as three more Mirages proved no match for the Eagles.
The Weasels turned on final towards their predesignated targets. One crew, obviously relative nuggets to the real-life SAM busting game, got a little trigger happy, launching three precious HARMs against a single SA-6 site, something which would draw the ire of Gen. Horner later, as this "goshdarn motherfriggin' foulup" [sanitized for AAR] almost caused the op to not be completed by the preassigned time of 0530 Zulu. To the pilot's credit, he DID send EW5 up in flames, at the cost of three very pricey missiles. His fourth and final went rogue and failed to impact EW6. Evidently he was still a bit shaken from his RIO's chatter, as he strayed into the threat zone directly under EW6, lighting up his cockpit like a Christmas tree. To compound issues, he had a Mirage vectoring on his position. I attempted to order him to intercept (as he was packing twin Sparrows and Sidewinders), but the game refused to take any inputs from the Phantom inside the zone. Deciding he'd probably lock up in a dogfight, I ordered him home.
The other Weasel crew proved far more adept at their job, sending twin HARMs at EW4 and 6, putting a hurt on both targets, but not knocking them completely out of action. This was bad - both available dedicated SEAD elements were tits up on HARMs, and the TR-1 reported no destruction on either site. It was nearing 0430 Zulu, a little more than an hour before the deadline set by Horner. It looked like I wasn't going to get that fourth star.
Then it occurred to me - I DID have assets in the air - the Warthogs, still in transit to the Eagles' base. Through a harrowing single-ship reassignment process, I vectored all twelve planes towards the remaining EW sites. The pilots, more than happy to get some trigger time, turned so quickly from their boring ferry runs I'm sure they stressed their airframes. A few comments later glommed from the flight data recorders had some...interesting things to say about they should've gone in before the "Worthless Weasels," but nonetheless, it was their show now.
Meanwhile, elements of Eagle Flight One had already made themselves known farther north inside Iraq. The flight got rack-happy encountering a flight of Mig-29s, sending two out of three total down in flames but emptying the racks of all but two of the Eagles, and I wasn't about to order those pilots to take on front-line fighters with short-range missiles, even IF the pilots weren't of the highest caliber. Most of these guys were lucky to have even had practice against a towed target, let alone a sentient pilot in a fourth-generation fighter.
A good thing, too - since the remaining Mig-29 pilot, a little perturbed that two of his buddies just went up Roman Candle-style, launched what appeared to be his entire arsenal of AA-10s at the remaining two Eagles at full reheat, closing the distance between the two flights. Any jovial moods from the "Mirage Turkey Shoot" at the border dissolved as one of the Eagles exploded as the other evaded the missile (in the same time causing his last Sparrow to go dead).
The remaining pilot, still working off the speed from the initial dash to intercept and the shock of losing a squadmate, stupidly overshot the Fulcrum, curving in too close for a rear-aspect Sidewinder engagement (and missing his chance at a front-aspect shot looking for indications of a chute from his wingman). He wasn't about to give up that easy (or sacrifice a perfect offensive position to get a Mike shot off) as he took at straighter stance and let his M61 speak for him, raking the Fulcrum with three full bursts of 20mm. With his Sparrows gone, I ordered him back to base, but he seemed insistent about something - he was a mere 8nm from the Fulcrum's base, and he'd detected no spikes from the base itself (nice SIGINT for later). Against stern warnings, he said if he died we could take the cost of his plane out of his pension check, setting a direct course for the base's 80k gallon fuel farm. Goddamned fighter jocks.
Whilst screaming a few things that should make analyzing his data recorder interesting, he emptied his remaining HE rounds into the largest tank he could see amongst the clutter, sending the entire farm up in a worth-of-Dante style fireball and assuring him not only a few aerial kill silohuettes for his nose, but a nice ground-kill one as well - a nice story for the O-Club. Oil or no oil, it was going to be a while before that airbase was going to be able to reliably service aircraft again. The explosion was so bright the TR-1 pilot - now on his harrowing FOURTH line over the SAMs reported he saw the flash. The Eagle pilot's already put a requisition in for a copy of the gun camera footage.
The Warthogs, almost burning out every blade in their turbines, approached firing position, bolstered by the remaining flight of Eagles watching their backs, rolled in hot onto their targets and EW2, 3, and 4 (the stubborn one) went up in a ball of flame. The Maverick-equipped Warthog vectored onto EW1 wasn't as lucky. Evidently the crews, a little perturbed they hadn't heard from Central Command (probably thanks to the F-117s and "special" Tomahawks launched hours before), decided they didn't need authorization as the ordinance lit up the early morning sky in the directions of their sister stations, and greeted their would-be Warthog assassin with a hot Gainful sandwich that not even the titanium bathtub could absorb the shock from. The engagement proved an eye-for-an-eye, however, as the pilot's Mavericks turned the site into a large hole in the sand a few seconds after he bought it. The missile had barely been in flight for seven seconds when it went frag a few feet in front of the Warthog. The pilot barely had time to curse based on what little we recovered. It seems Iraq's SA-6s weren't leftovers from the last war.
It was 0540 Zulu. I was sure I was Section 8...but just as I was about to start writing my resume for contracting jobs, I get a call from Gen. Horner congratulating me on my "excellent work." Turns out the crews of the B-52s had taken a little too long after their Diego Garcia "pitstop" (never mix Tagalog cuisine with long transit flights from Guam/Andersen) and bumped up the strike by ten minutes. Evidently Horner's runner got lost.
Pulled it off...by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin with only two losses...three if you count the flightsuit of the TR-1 pilot - turns out the Iraqis HAD been trying to use him as target practice, the Guidelines just never properly acquired him. The Eagle pilot on his egress back to base picked up the emergency transponder beacon of his downed squadmate on his way back, which was forwarded to a "Bedouin tribe" who just so happened to be British and looking for SCUDs in the western extremities of the country. Upon reflection the only thing he regretted was losing the plane and eating the Brits' "nasty-ass rations."
< Message edited by destruya -- 6/22/2006 8:55:56 AM >
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