CHAPTER 12

BATTLE DAMAGE ASSESSMENT – BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

Those nuclear weapons alluded to in the last-but-one chapter became history, as far as Tornado was concerned, as the political face of Europe changed. The Berlin Wall came down, while the Warsaw Pact and the Soviet Union collapsed. Perhaps it could be said that the West’s implacable deterrent posture had contributed to all this, and if that is so then the Tornado force certainly played its part.

In 1986, nuclear readiness was relaxed from fifteen minutes to twelve hours – effectively putting an end to QRA, while the WE177 weapons were removed from Brüggen in 1998. It cannot be said that many Tornado crews mourned their passing.

But if politicians and public were expecting a more peaceful world and, perhaps more to the point, a peace dividend, they would be disappointed. The Gulf Conflict had signalled the start of a series of conflagrations around the world, in which the Tornado force would become heavily and continually involved.

The majority of contributors to this book joined a Royal Air Force configured for deterrent operations. Although they acknowledged that going to war was always a possibility, it was not a high expectation. So how would they react when the call came? Gordon Niven, whom I met briefly when at TWCU and see now socially, gives us an insight.

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WING COMMANDER GORDON NIVEN (RETD)

In August 1998 I took up my new posting as a flight commander on 31 Squadron at RAF Brüggen. This would be my last flying tour, as on its completion I would disappear into the myriad ground tours essential to keep the RAF in the sky. I had previously served at Brüggen during Gulf War One, being dispatched early on to Bahrain on Operation Desert Shield; this was the precursor to the better-known Desert Storm. The RAF had operated a strict three-month rotation policy in the Gulf, so in early January 1991, despite live ops being imminent, off we went back to Germany, being replaced by Laarbruch crews who had only just set foot in the Gulf. One of the most experienced Tornado teams in theatre was on its way home without firing a shot – quite astonishing. The senior RAF officer in theatre is reported to have later commented that it might not have been the best decision he had ever made.

So, while remaining on standby to reinforce any of the Gulf detachments if required, we ended up watching the whole shooting match on TV. At the end of the war, those who had taken part assured us that we had had the best deal. Maybe so, but it was still hard to bear; those four crews from our team were now the only experienced squadron members not tested in combat. We even had some of the ‘Gulf veterans’ returning to complete their official work-up prior to being formally declared combat ready to NATO at the start of their first operational tours!

I don’t believe anyone joins the RAF with a burning desire to drop bombs or shoot down aeroplanes. Without exception, we joined through a love of aviation and the challenge of military flying in particular. However, having trained through the quiet years of the Cold War period it was only natural to want to know whether one had what it takes. Post-Gulf War One I flew many surveillance missions over Iraq. Still an operational theatre, it had the potential for escalation into conflict – tense enough, but not hostile at the time.

But as a bomber navigator I felt that my flying career was somehow incomplete, as I had not yet been put to the ultimate test. So now I was back at Brüggen with some 2,000 hours fast jet under my belt, with the prospect of maybe another 500 during this, my last tour, before flying a desk for the remainder of my career – not having fired a shot. For the Cold War warriors this had been the norm. But with the numerous ops which had popped up post-Gulf, the combat experience of many of my juniors was quite impressive. Would I see some of it before I hung up my flying boots for good? And if so, where?

An early 31 Squadron GR4 (later standard aircraft have grey nose cones) launches from Brüggen during 1999’s Kosovo campaign.

So now it was 1999 and international pressure was building towards intervention in the Balkans. Serbia was demonstrating a predilection for ethnic cleansing, this time against the ethnic Albanian population in Kosovo. SACEUR was directed by NATO to mount operations aimed at forcing the Serbs to cease their aggression. And so, on 24 March, an air campaign began, commanded by 5 ATAF from Naples. It was known to NATO as Operation Allied Force, the British element being Op Engadine. The bulk of the RAF attack contribution would come from Brüggen. By this time there were three operational Tornado GR1 squadrons on the base, numbers IX, 14 and 31 – 17 Squadron being in the process of disbanding prior to re-equipping with Typhoons. 14 Squadron was tasked as the lead, with each squadron contributing sufficient crews to fly two six-ships. A pool of eighteen aircraft and associated engineers was assembled from across the Wing. The aim was to have six aircraft plus spares available each night.

The aircraft fit was a TIALD (thermal imaging and laser designator) pod plus a BOZ dispenser and a Skyshadow pod, two AIM-9L Sidewinders and two 2,250-litre fuel tanks. Our attack weaponry would be either Paveway II or Paveway III laser-guided bombs; the dumb bombs of Gulf War One were gone for good. PWII was a standard 1,000-lb bomb with a laser guidance kit and tail fin. But its control and guidance (the bang-bang system) was very crude in that the vanes would deflect fully in one direction until the detected laser spot shot through the centre of the reticule, whereupon they would deflect fully the other way – ad infinitum. The resulting roller-coaster ride was very wasteful of energy, which significantly reduced release range and impact angle. PWIII, on the other hand, was a 2,000-lb bomb with a proportional guidance system. This significantly increased the range from which release could be achieved, provided a wide range of impact profiles and, significantly, increased the energy remaining at impact. Sorted? Not quite; other factors would still affect our ability to prosecute attacks – as we were about to find out.

Three VC10 refuelling tankers were deployed to Brüggen from Brize Norton for the duration of the campaign, and a typical mission would see the VC10s, then the Tornados, launch into German skies just before midnight. A pair of Tornados would shadow each tanker through France and out over the Mediterranean, with refuelling commencing prior to the Italian coast. Once over the Adriatic the VC10s would orbit while awaiting our return.

My first mission was conducted in clear skies. No moon, so completely dark, but not a cloud in sight from Brüggen to Kosovo and back. Our target was a buried fuel depot, our weapon PWIII. My first night nerves proved to be unnecessary as we encountered no resistance whatsoever, no AAA, no SAMs, no fighters. Nothing! However, the mission was almost a complete failure, with no weapons on target from four drops. The first lesson was unfolding, with the Wing’s other missions producing the same result. Disappointed and relieved in equal measure, and six or so hours after taking off, we eased our way down through the dawn sky to be met by an anxious station commander. Apart from the all-important attack, all had gone like clockwork.

PWIII had only recently been brought into service, and its wide range of employment options was still being evaluated by the weapons instructors. It now appeared that the release parameters in the Tornado computer were inaccurate. The Wing’s lack of success was reflected embarrassingly in a tabloid cartoon, where two crusty old pilots propped up the bar, medals spread across their chests. One was pointing out a medal pinned to his knee saying, “I got this one for Kosovo”. Harsh, but fair, and the weapon was temporarily removed from our inventory pending further investigation. I was still to have my combat success.

During debrief of the first night’s work the question was raised as to how we would cope if we encountered heavy weather en route, and we didn’t have to wait long to find out. Our next target was a radio station on a mountain top – as straightforward as it gets. Shortly after take-off, though, the weather began to deteriorate. Rather than the expected loose formation with our VC10, we had to fly tight to maintain visual contact. Try to imagine driving in very thick fog, your only frame of reference the side of an articulated lorry – and doing it for three hours, with the addition of heavy turbulence. So now the articulated lorry also appears to be on a roller coaster, randomly rising and falling.

As we approached the refuelling bracket the tanker hoses were trailed from the two wing pods. Now, in addition to the tanker’s oscillations, we had to contend with a very angry, gyrating fifty-foot python – our refuelling hose and basket. Red lights turned to green, clear to refuel – gulp, you must be joking! During AAR, the man-in-front is not supposed to look at the basket into which he is aiming to insert the probe. He adopts a set position using various references in his field of view. Any small adjustments of position prior to moving forward are ‘recommended’ by the man-in-back: “up a smidge”, “right a tad”, and so on. My man-in-front, Stu Oakes, selected the position, but what with the turbulence and the gyrations of the python it was impossible to adopt anything other than a best guess. Providing any meaningful assistance was impossible, and making contact with the basket was completely in the lap of the gods. We missed; we missed again. Refuelling should have been completed over the sea, but time wore on and the Italian coast was looming. If the turbulence was bad here, what would it be like over the mountains? Eventually we made contact, as had the lead, Simon ‘Gilbert’ Hulme, on the other wing hose. But it was horrendous, easily the worst conditions I had ever flown in.

A GR1, equipped with a TIALD pod, refuels from a VC10 en route to Kosovo.

Not normally short of cracking the odd witticism whilst airborne, I tried to think of something appropriate to say to take the tension out of things. However, I recognised that this was one time when I should keep shtum and let boy wonder ‘do some of that pilot s**t’. Eventually though, I felt we needed to get clear of the tanker. Stu replied that all he was trying to do was avoid hitting it. Looking to my right, it appeared that Gilbert was doing the very same thing. Impact with the tanker would almost certainly have necessitated us ‘stepping over the side’ and enduring a very uncertain parachute decent. It would also, probably, have resulted in the total loss of the tanker crew – no Martin Baker option for them, poor sods. In the end nature took a hand and both Tornados were unceremoniously dumped off their respective hoses, with no damage done apart from to our nerves and remaining heart beats. We had survived the pummelling, and more importantly had taken on enough fuel to allow us to continue the mission.

In all my 2,000 hours plus in the back seat of Her Majesty’s finest, that night’s events stand head and shoulders above any other in highlighting my utmost respect for the ‘two-winged master race’. A huge hats off to Stu and the other pilots that night. Even though I was doing my man-in-the-back bit it was they, the pilots, who were keeping the whole situation under control; just business as usual!

Thankfully, the weather cleared over the Adriatic, so we reformed into our two three-ship trail and headed off into bad-lands. We made ready for the attack: weapon package selected (two PWII); height channel updated to correct for us flying flight levels on 1,013 millibars; check the laser code being fired matched the one set on the weapons; Skyshadow and BOZ set. We also updated the navigation kit as best we could; from height it was possible to mark radar significant features but not with any great accuracy (plus or minus a few hundred feet at best). Had we been in GR4s (we were in the process of converting), which came with leather seats, alloy wheels and GPS as standard, we’d have been all right, but there were no such luxuries on the GR1. In the interim we had a £70 GPS strapped with Velcro to the top of one of the two shades of green TV displays. At an appropriate moment, the man-in-back would simultaneously select ‘fix’ on the aircraft system and ‘freeze’ on the GPS. The position was entered onto the TV tab and an error was displayed which, if sensible, was accepted to update the aircraft position. As Heath Robinson as you like, but effective – and in the best innovative traditions of the RAF.

So fix/attack, stab, TIALD uncaged, let’s find that target and get the job done. But nothing happened. Reselect – a few flashes on the screen, but still nothing. In an electric aeroplane, if you have a system fault you can generally recycle back through ‘off’. Fix/attack, stab, uncage, a few more flashes, maybe a vague view of the ground, maybe not. It was the same across the formation as we all reported “no drop”. Not a single TIALD operational, no weapons released. Three-and-a-half-hours flying through the worst weather most of us had ever experienced, only to be denied by a system that was never designed to be flown at altitude, never mind in icing conditions.

And worst of all, we knew the homeward weather we were to experience again. How we had refuelled on the way south without any major incident is beyond me. I think, to a man, we would have diverted rather than repeat the trauma of that outbound leg. Thankfully though, we were able to take on enough fuel for our return while still over the Adriatic before re-entering the maelstrom of the weather front, and we arrived back on the ground after almost seven hours.

It had become the norm to meet the VC10 crews in the bar for breakfast after an op. This time they undoubtedly knew it had been hairy, but I think they could tell from our drawn faces it was probably much worse than they had imagined. Astonishingly, the guys who had flown in Gulf War One said it had been like that on most nights! But still – two trips, no targets destroyed, no combat mission completed. The biggest threat I had faced to date was not enemy action but the weather.

Conducting an air campaign from home base is not something the RAF has done often in its history. Maybe the only other times since the Second World War were the Suez campaign from Akrotiri and Malta, or insurgent ops in the Far East/Middle East. However, we had soon settled into a set routine: plan night one, fly night two, squadron duties and routine training days three and four, a couple of days off in between. In an attempt to retain some normality, the mess continued with its social calendar. And so there you would be, quaffing a jar of German beer and troughing on bratwurst and chips, with the sound of the night’s wave getting airborne. Quite surreal! On those occasions, I would spare a thought for the crews as I headed home from the mess; they would be preparing to engage their targets.

Family life, too, was a little unusual. To permit educational stability while parents were posted around the bazaars, my two eldest were, like many others, at boarding school; as it happened, they were with us for the Easter holidays. With them being away for a large portion of the year, we always made the most of our time together. So it was quite odd to plan and fly a combat mission, then set off with the family to a theme park, or cycle round the station on our way to the pool or bowling alley. After one sortie I joined the family on an early morning riding lesson. Our instructor chivvied me, saying I was riding as if I had been up all night. If only she’d known.

During my earlier deployment to Bahrain on Operation Desert Shield my eldest had been about six years old and, when asked where daddy was, he’d replied ‘at the golf’. If only! Now, in his teens, he was well able to comprehend what was going on. Along with a few other families, my wife would take our children through the trees at the edge of the married patch in order to watch dad get airborne. Thus they were able to relate to the news on the TV. Having asked him recently, as I write, his only real recollection of the period was that I seemed to sleep a lot.

The Serbs were proud and determined people, and they weren’t taking this lying down. Over the course of the campaign it is estimated they fired around 700 SAMs, albeit, in the main, unguided. They managed to down a few aircraft, including a US stealth fighter, the F-117. They also launched every serviceable aircraft they had, almost all of which were summarily dispatched by US fighters. They had a formidable array of AAA, mostly deployed around Belgrade. Over the common radio frequency we heard a number of US missions aborting owing to the ferocity of the defences around their targets. But for us, to date, nothing. Phew!

Our target for mission three was a factory complex in the middle of a town in southern Kosovo, and we routed through the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. Well, there was no point in exposing ourselves to risk unnecessarily. Our attack run was down a convenient stretch of land running from the open country to the target in the town centre. We would fly south of the target and box round to the left, ending up on our attack heading roughly south-west. Minimising collateral damage to non-combatant civilians and facilities was always first priority, and this routing gave me the opportunity to sneak a look at the target as we headed east – and there it glowed, right under my TIALD cursor. All looked good and so it transpired; two PWII right through the roof. Relief – I felt I’d finally lost my combat cherry! The RTB was as quiet as the way out; all in all it was rather a strange experience to have delivered 2,000 lbs of death and destruction with no reaction from the ground.

In that respect, I’d read a couple of accounts from guys who had flown in Gulf War One. One or two of them had commented on how emotional the experience had been. What, I’d thought; shedding a tear? Really? Well, on this occasion, after the customary debrief and viewing and validation of the TIALD video, I chose to return home to the family. Not the bar for ‘breakfast’ that day. My wife could sense something was different. I arrived home quietly, made myself a coffee, and retired alone to the back garden. I sat there for quite some time reflecting on what had just transpired. Tears maybe; moist eyes certainly. It was quite an unexpected reaction. Whatever else was going on down on the ground, they were still human beings. There can’t be many other professions on the planet where ‘proving you can do the job’ results in devastation for your opponents.

Six-hour-plus sorties were excessive for what we were achieving, and much work was going on behind the scenes to find a shorter route; in due course it came. Head east out of Brüggen, through the former East Germany, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, south through Hungary and so into Serbia. The plus side was that it shortened the overall mission length by two to three hours; the down side was that it pointed us straight at Belgrade. It’s fair to say that my one sortie in the vicinity of Belgrade exposed me to the most spectacular firework display I will ever witness, with AAA tracer everywhere. SAMs as well, possibly, but so far I didn’t see any too close to us. (Stu did later refer to me as ‘Blind Pew’ when he was dined off the squadron – not quite sure why!) We lined up in trail, the target a storage site. Soon, our leader was calling ‘chaff/flare’, the action call for defensive measures to be deployed. Then ‘tanks’! Again an action call in response to a severe and imminent threat – for the man-in-back to jettison the almost-full fuel tanks and bomb load, shedding a great deal of weight and permitting greater manoeuvre. They were only a few minutes ahead of us, but were getting all the attention; to be honest, I was quite happy with that. You could hear the tension in Gilbert’s voice as he made the calls.

Hey, ho. A good look out around us before going heads-in for our attack. We did have number three behind us, whose job was to watch our tail. It was more of a psychological boost, as quite how they would spot a missile heading our way in the gloom is anyone’s guess. So we pressed on. Again I had a very good mark on the target, followed by weapon release and ‘splash’. Exactly what was stored in those buildings was not known to us. However, there was an almighty explosion, and a fireball that blanked my screen for a time, then a pall of smoke and flame rising rapidly into the air; job done. Time to head home – pronto. As a result of our leader’s experience the three-ship behind us chose not to press on with their attack. We weren’t in a fight to the death for the freedom of the West, after all, so there was little point in taking excessive risks. The decision was not challenged, but that choice will always be a fine line to walk.

In May the Wing deployed to Corsica in an effort to shorten sortie lengths further. Only two six-ships would go, so I elected to remain behind to get the squadron back onto a normal footing. This phase saw the ALARM (air-launched anti-radiation missile) being deployed in anger for the first time. Neither the missile nor the Tornado was configured in any way remotely close to the capability of the USAF F-16 SEAD units. However, on a number of attacks, SAM radars were observed to cease transmitting at the expected ALARM impact time. PWIII also reappeared, and was used to great effect against underground and hardened facilities. Shortly after the deployment, Milosevic capitulated and his forces withdrew from Kosovo. It must be noted though that, as Serb armoured units left Kosovo, newsreels showed a force almost unscathed, with high morale and ready for a fight. Had a ground war been required it would have been a stiff test for NATO.

It had been quite an experience for us on a variety of levels. Whatever the military value of the targets we hit, the ‘war’ had been won. Conducting the campaign as a Wing reflected HQ’s desire to spread the workload, but it had the effect of stinting the campaign from an individual viewpoint. I’m sure 14 Squadron could have completed the task with a minimum of augmentation, but I’m nevertheless glad that things had been done as they had been. Although I only flew six sorties over a six-week period, I now had the combat experience I had so long felt the need of. Not for the glory of battle, nor any feeling of supremacy or power, but just for the simple human desire to see if I was up to the task. You just have to trust that your political masters had done their homework.

Two footnotes are worthy of mention. My final tour in the RAF was with NATO in Naples. One of my duties was overseeing the conduct of air ops over the Balkans, and part of that involved coordination with the director of Serbian air traffic control. On my first visit to Belgrade, the director proudly took me for a tour of the city and seemed to take great delight in showing me the bombed-out TV station and the ill-fated Chinese Embassy. Not the actions of a cowed and submissive adversary or someone ashamed of his country’s actions. I didn’t enlighten him about my flying history – but then he was no fool, either.

Finally, just prior to retiring, I embarked on a one-week course to obtain my sailing ticket at the services’ centre in Gosport, during which I spent a week floating up and down the Solent calling into the various ports and pubs; marvellous, even though it was November. Over the course of the week our joint-service crew inevitably regaled each other with our recent experiences. The army type mentioned that he had led the first NATO troops across the border from the FYROM into Kosovo and on up to Pristina airport (not Captain James Blunt I hasten to add). He commented that he could see the effects of the bombing campaign all around. There was one scene in particular that had stuck in his mind. It was a small town in the south of the country, untouched by war bar for a factory right in its centre. He said it was amazing to witness; the factory had been totally destroyed without any buildings around it being damaged. I mentioned the name of a town – and it was one and the same. He was even more amazed when I said that it was my sortie that had been responsible. So I got a very satisfactory battle damage assessment – a little late but still very welcome indeed!