CHAPTER 14

THE IRAQ WAR – ‘GULF WAR TWO’

I was a Cold War warrior and left the RAF, after thirty-two years service, with no campaign medals. I never expected any and never got any. But we’ve already seen that things became different as the Cold War thawed. Suddenly, conflicts seemed to be occurring thick and fast.

Paddy Teakle was one who also joined up under the old assumptions and who, quite probably, never imagined actually having to go to war. And yet it happened for him – three times (thus far) during his service. He finished up with a chest full of medals – from the Falklands, from Gulf War One, and, most notably, from the Iraq War. In this last he was awarded the DSO for his work in command of the Tornado Wing which contributed most significantly to an efficient and rapid conclusion to the military action. He is currently the deputy commander of the NATO AEW&C force, and I regularly see him socially; it’s good to hear from him now.

I acknowledge, by the way, that many have questioned political aspects of the Iraq War – or ‘Gulf War Two’ as it came to be known – but I hope readers will forgive if we steer clear of that controversy. The military are ordered by the politicians to do their duty, and we shall concentrate on how the Tornado force carried out these orders.

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AIR COMMODORE PADDY TEAKLE

A wise philosopher once said that we are all products of our own history. Now, I am no philosopher but I do recognise that my values, beliefs and actions are shaped by my past experiences – good and bad – and by the experiences of others. So as I lead you through the events of spring 2003 I will occasionally refer back to earlier periods and episodes in my career that help explain why I took a particular decision or chose to pursue a particular course of action.

Like every contributor to this book I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have served on the Tornado force. My association was both long and deep, and I watched it grow and develop over the years into, arguably, the most successful force of the modern era – certainly from a British perspective. But that was not always the case. In the mid-1980s when I was posted to RAF Laarbruch in Germany, a posting that was to be the first of many flying the aircraft from mainland Europe, I think most of us recognised that, in the pecking order of aircraft types, Tornado was some way off the top.

Life was good, though. We worked hard and played even harder; all eyes were to the east and we spent long hours preparing for the war that never came. But that changed in 1990 when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. Suddenly we were campaigning, and there is no doubt in my mind that the aircraft came of age in Gulf War One. It was a seminal moment and, from that day onwards, we were committed to, and dominated by, real rather than potential operations.

With that short backdrop, I’ll move the story some years down the line. In September 2001 I had the enormous privilege of moving 31 Squadron from its home for many years, RAF Brüggen, to its new base at RAF Marham. This repatriation was conducted with little fanfare and largely passed unnoticed, but it was a special moment in history as, from that day onwards, the RAF would no longer have any of its fast-jet squadrons permanently based overseas. Marham could not have been more welcoming and we quickly settled into our new surroundings, alongside our great rivals IX(B) Squadron and across the airfield from II(AC) and XIII Squadrons. Our new location was on the unhardened side of the station, which meant that we operated from a flight line rather than from HASs.

Throughout the preceding couple of years, poor aircraft availability had meant that the Tornado force had found it very difficult to hit its flying hours target. In January 2002, I introduced a new management practice, and from that moment onwards things turned round. Morale was great – the aircrew were getting all the flying they needed and the ground crew were justifiably proud of their aircraft generation statistics, which were the best across the entire force. Incentivisation was the key. If we hit the weekly target on a Thursday, we would not fly on a Friday unless there was a particularly important tasking. Therefore weekend working became the exception rather than the norm. The troops would select their incentive; they could have a stand-down day, a sports day or something similar; it was up to them. What they chose says more about them than my words ever could. On each and every occasion they chose, without dissention or hesitation, training days. So we went from strength to strength, consolidating at every turn. My ground crew were the jewel in the squadron’s crown and I loved them for it.

From mid-2002 onwards we focused on our upcoming operational deployment as part of Operation Resinate, the Iraq air policing mission. The deployment was to be my last hurrah, as I was due to hand over command upon my return. In early January 2003 we deployed to Ali al Salem in Kuwait for what we all expected would be nothing more than a routine three-month policing mission. We were well prepared and enthusiastic, particularly as we would be using the RAPTOR long-range reconnaissance pod for the first time operationally. Of course, we were aware of increasing tensions regarding Iraqi weapons of mass destruction, but could not, at that time, foresee the events which would unfold.

Deploying a squadron on operations is one of the most rewarding experiences for a squadron commander and brings a tangible focus to the entire unit. But we had recently had a change of key engineering personnel, and my ground crew were taking a little time to adjust to the new style. I was naturally keen to ensure that our new-found ability to hit aircraft generation targets at home transferred across into the operational theatre, and when they inherited a ‘bag-of-bits’ from the outgoing squadron I knew that they would have their work cut out. But they were not giving up their reputation as the best engineers in the force without a fight – and the fleet was restored to tip-top state in double-quick time.

Op Resinate sorties were historically pretty benign affairs, primarily consisting of the reconnaissance of a number of points – and although we generally flew with LGBs, kinetic events were something of a rarity. After a local area and procedures familiarisation sortie, my young pilot and I flew our first operational sortie. Now, I had always believed in the importance of selecting a squadron’s crew combinations, not purely on competence and qualification but also on personality. I’d always found it a fascinating exercise in human nature, and I particularly looked forward to meetings where my flight commanders and I would thrash this out. I still remember the meeting where we built our crew partnerships for this deployment, when I’d been paired with the squadron’s most junior pilot. Not because he needed special oversight but because my experience was seen to balance his relative inexperience.

It turned out to be an inspired pairing; we’d thoroughly enjoyed flying together during the work-up and had quickly become a crew to be reckoned with. Now on our first op, we had prepared ourselves comprehensively for a pairs reconnaissance mission. So it was something of a surprise when, shortly after getting airborne and whilst still in Kuwaiti airspace, we received a call from AWACS tasking us to attack an Iraqi air defence facility in response to earlier surface-to-air fire. So a mere ten minutes after crossing the Iraqi border on the first operational mission of his life, young Pete Beilby found himself dropping two laser-guided Paveway II bombs onto an Iraqi air defence bunker. Talk about a baptism of fire!

It was soon clear to me that things were beginning to hot up in political and diplomatic circles. The infamous ‘intelligence dossier’ was placed before Parliament on 3 February and efforts began in the UN to secure a new security council resolution authorising the use of force in response to Saddam Hussein’s defiance of the arms inspection regime. The Americans had invited the UK the previous summer to join them in planning for possible action; a UK national contingent commander and a UK air component commander had been appointed in the autumn. Now, in the second week of February, both came to theatre and, at the same time, additional aircraft and personnel began to arrive at Ali al Salem. As we entered March it was patently obvious that the UK would be a major part of the coalition brought together in response to Saddam Hussein’s refusal to comply with existing UN resolutions. But whether it would actually come to that, and the potential timing for any action, remained unknown.

My squadron was due to be replaced by another at the end of March, and HQ 1 Group and RAF Marham’s station commander still considered that to be the preferred option. I can only surmise that, with no firm date for the start of, and no idea of the duration of, any offensive action, they believed that extending us in theatre beyond the planned three months would be detrimental to morale. That geographically detached viewpoint made absolutely no military sense at all, while pulling us out just as things were getting interesting would have been a massive kick in the teeth to us all.

I knew that I would have limited success in arguing my case with those in the UK, so I would have to convince the UK air component commander (who as luck would have it was also AOC 1 Group) that his best option would be to extend us in theatre indefinitely. My argument was simple: not only did we have the most up-to-date and comprehensive operational knowledge of the theatre but we were also the most current and accomplished operators of RAPTOR – a unique, long-range reconnaissance capability that would be crucial to gaining and retaining operational situational awareness. I knew my case was strong, and Air Vice-Marshal Torpy accepted it completely – and all thoughts of withdrawing the squadron evaporated. As an aside, and to show what a close-run thing it was, I learned many years later that Marham’s station commander was only prevented from coming out to Ali al Salem to order us home because the aircraft that he was due to travel on broke down at Brize Norton.

Throughout March more aircraft and personnel arrived; Ali al Salem was growing, and elements of five Tornado units were soon in place. These were numbers II(AC), IX(B), XIII, 31 and 617 Squadrons, the first four from Marham. The Lossiemouth Wing was setting up a second detachment at Al Udeid in Qatar, although 617’s Storm Shadow team was to remain with us in Kuwait.

With a mixed team and with two other squadron commanders now in residence, it was vital that we formalised the command and control arrangement to avoid anarchy. I therefore approached the UK air commander for direction and guidance. Clearly, as the resident squadron commander I had control of the Op Resinate mission, but how did he want to play Operation Telic, the combat phase? Once again the cards fell kindly for me, and so it was that I was appointed the primus inter pares of the three squadron commanders at Ali al Salem. Although this established some degree of authority, it fell short of formal command status.

I pondered my options. I discounted the ‘lead squadron’ idea, having experienced how divisive it had proved to be at one of the deployed bases during Gulf War One. An adversarial relationship had been created which, even at the time, I could see was unhealthy. So I was determined to seek an alternative which would place everyone’s contribution on an equal footing, while at the same time establishing the necessary degree of authority I needed in my role. In the end I decided that the best option was to establish a single Wing under a combined identity, and I finally settled on the title ‘Combat Air Wing’. This approach effectively did away with individual squadron identities for the duration of the campaign. The advantage was that it formed a single team and more easily facilitated the mixing and matching of resources to task. It was not a universally popular approach, indeed one of the other squadron commanders was vehemently opposed, but I knew that I could sell the idea to even the most hardened detractor. In the end, I was delighted that the vast majority of personnel embraced the concept wholeheartedly and that the team spirit and Wing ethos built quickly.

Since Gulf War One the Tornado had developed enormously in capability, equipment and versatility. Stand-off weapons, advanced precision-guided bombs and long-range recce equipment were now within the GR4’s inventory; all amounted almost to specialist roles, and would have to be exploited to the maximum extent during the campaign. To deliver the best effect across the entire spectrum of combat capability, I decided to allocate discreet missions and roles to the individual squadron elements. All in all, I had thirty-six combat-ready crews, so packaging roles into specialist cadres made perfect sense. As well as conventional interdiction sorties with precision-guided munitions (PGMs) I knew we would be called upon to employ ballistic weaponry, including cluster munitions, as the campaign progressed. This was the force’s bread and butter, and any one of the crews could tackle that task. But we would also employ the Storm Shadow stand-off missile, conduct suppression of enemy air defences using ALARM, fly Scud-hunting missions at low level using the joint reconnaissance pod, and of course continue our vital medium-level reconnaissance task with RAPTOR.

It was clear that the Storm Shadow task was best placed with the 617 Squadron crews; although we had all been trained on the weapon’s use, they were the current experts in its employment. The low-level Scud-hunting task was given to the specialist crews from II(AC) and XIII Squadrons who had undertaken mission-specific training prior to deployment. The decision to give the ALARM role to IX(B) Squadron was the one that caused most angst. To me the decision was a ‘no-brainer’, but to the 31 Squadron aircrew it seemed counter-intuitive; after all we excelled in that particular specialist role. But I knew that, at that moment in time, there was nobody better with RAPTOR, and that we just had to focus in that direction.

I addressed the Wing on 18 March and announced my decision on role allocation. It was not the easiest notion to sell, with one pilot comparing my announcement to the feeling of being the last kid to get picked for playground football. I suspect that my own squadron felt a little cheated at being denied the more glamorous kinetic roles, but their loyalty to me, their understanding of the importance of long-range reconnaissance and the promise of kinetic opportunity later on quickly brought them onside.

But for two individuals the news was even more devastating – they would not be flying at all. The first of these was a navigator who, despite being an accomplished Tornado GR1 operator, had found the transition to the GR4 a real challenge. The second, and more difficult, decision concerned the 31 Squadron QWI pilot. QWIs are masters of their trade and, as such, naturally expect to be leading war missions. I totally agree with this philosophy, but being at the forefront of operations does not necessarily mean being in the cockpit. So when I was asked by the combined air operations centre to provide a Tornado expert to assist in tasking and targeting, I immediately knew the best man for the job. But that did not make breaking the news to him any easier. His reaction was predictable – he was enraged and I feared, at that moment, that I might have lost his support, respect and trust forever. But in the days following his arrival at the air headquarters the quality of our tasking improved considerably, and this alone more than vindicated my decision. I don’t suppose that he will ever fully forgive me for denying him his chance, but in later years he will come to realise that his individual influence over the campaign was immeasurably greater there than it ever would have been at Ali al Salem.

Wing Commander Paddy Teakle addresses the troops of the Tornado Combat Air Wing prior to the commencement of operations in 2003’s Iraq War.

In the build-up to hostilities I had come under some pressure to switch pilots so that I might lead four- and eight-ships into battle. But I resisted; firstly I owed some loyalty to the young man who had been my pilot over the preceding three months and with whom I had built a strong relationship; and secondly, I firmly believed that my role was to lead the Wing as effectively as I could, and that leading individual missions might not allow me to focus on what really mattered. Anyway, we had ample and excellent airborne leaders.

On the ground crew side, I formed mixed shifts of engineers drawn from across the squadrons. I had been approached by one SEngO with the suggestion that the two shifts should each be composed of personnel drawn predominantly from single squadrons, augmented by additional personnel, and that these shifts be encouraged to ‘compete’ against each other. I thought this would be divisive and would undermine the team ethos I was seeking through the Wing. I valued all of the ground crew equally and I knew that by combining them into two shifts with a single purpose we would be able to achieve an aircraft generation rate far in excess of that which would be possible were the two shifts driven by vested interests. And my approach paid off. My affection and admiration for the engineering team was such that it was to them, and not the aircrew, that I first broke the news that we were going to war. In that one moment the identity of the Combat Air Wing was cemented.

Historians will say that the war officially started at 0234 hours GMT on 20 March 2003, but certain precursor missions were flown in advance against artillery, SAMs and air defence systems in the south of Iraq. Additionally, a leadership target of opportunity was engaged, but this turned out to be a false lead. And of course accurate, detailed reconnaissance had been needed beforehand.

It all felt very different for me this time around. The fear of the unknown, which had been palpable in 1991, was entirely absent; this was familiar territory. However, amongst the team things were a little different. For the vast majority of crews this was their first taste of war, and I could feel the frisson of their excitement and sense their trepidation. In all honesty the nights of 19 and 20 March were a bit of a damp squib – not so much a case of ‘shock and awe’ but more ‘snooze and bore’. All that changed the following night, though, when cruise missiles and PGMs rained down on Baghdad and other target areas. From the slow start on 20 March, the coalition doubled its sortie rate the following night with the Combat Air Wing at the forefront of the RAF’s contribution.

From the outset it was clear that the operational tempo would be high and that we would be tasked with multiple roles within any twenty-four-hour period. I felt entirely vindicated in my decision to allot specialist roles to cadres. With astonishing accuracy the 617 Squadron element employed its first Storm Shadow missiles against hardened, strategic targets on the night of 21 March, and at the same time the IX(B) Squadron element was leading our efforts to degrade Iraqi air defence systems. Simultaneously, the low-level recce crews from II(AC) and XIII Squadrons were Scud hunting in western Iraq. Other crews were conducting interdiction missions against high-priority targets.

All the while there was an insatiable appetite for the unique product of the RAPTOR pod. The strength of that system is its ability to provide strategically important imagery through exactly the same tasking process as a tactical reconnaissance asset. RAPTOR allows the aircraft to stand off many miles from its target and yet still provide startlingly high resolution imagery, day and night. Many of the vital points of interest lay within Baghdad itself but, in an effort to deny intelligence and prevent attack from the air, Saddam had erected a potent air defence ring around the city. However, this ‘super-MEZ’ had no answer to the stand-off RAPTOR, Storm Shadow, Tomahawk, or stealthy USAF B-2 and F-117 bombers.

In similar fashion to 1991, Iraq’s SSMs posed a problem for the coalition. In the west of Iraq they were considered to present a significant threat to Israel, and politically it was in no-one’s interest for the Israelis to be drawn into the conflict. From eastern Iraq the threat to coalition mounting areas, airfields and key population centres in Kuwait was real. We became familiar with the wail of the air raid sirens and the dash for shelter – familiar yes, complacent never, and we were thankful for the Patriot batteries that had been deployed to counter that particular threat. But those same Patriots would very soon mark the nadir of our campaign.

On 23 March Flight Lieutenants Kev Main and Dave Williams were killed when their GR4 was shot down by a Patriot missile on their recovery to Ali al Salem, within Kuwaiti airspace. This book is not the place to examine the circumstances behind this tragic event or apportion blame, indeed such events highlight the inherent uncertainty of combat – the ‘fog of war’. The Combat Air Wing had taken a punch, and rocked back on its heels. In the hours that followed, as I walked amongst the team I encountered shock, disbelief and in some cases anger, but I also saw stoicism and resolve. The Wing stood firm, and we came out fighting. I believe to this day that our ‘all one team’ ethos allowed everyone to recover more thoroughly and rapidly than would have been possible had we been operating as separate squadrons.

During the first week of the war our operations were focused on attacks on the leadership, command and control nodes, airfields and armoured formations, all supported by a significant reconnaissance effort. But the emphasis was beginning to shift from relatively static units towards mobile targets, particularly those associated with the Republican Guard. In just over a week, the coalition ground forces had moved to within fifty miles of Baghdad and, as predicted, all my crews were now getting a piece of the bombing action. We were now very much in the close air support game, working with the US Army V Corps and the US 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. As well as traditional close air support, where we worked in support of a forward air controller on the ground, we were also using a new procedure whereby we would be directed to a ‘kill box’ which was known to be free of friendly forces and within which we were able to find, identify and engage our own targets. Clearly, a ‘hunter-killer’ tactic such as this requires an accurate picture of what is happening on the ground, so our reconnaissance efforts remained as crucial as ever.

On 3 April, coalition forces took control of Baghdad airport. The Republican Guard was taking a hammering, and by early April many units were no longer capable of coherent defence. The tempo of our offensive air operations was on the wane and we were beginning to see preparations for the final assault on Baghdad. There was a marked increase in reconnaissance tasking and a completely different emphasis on the points of interest we were looking at. Our tasking was taking us further and further afield, including reconnaissance sorties in the far north of Iraq. We were no longer primarily collecting intelligence on the Iraqi leadership and military, we were now helping to build the picture of the humanitarian situation on the ground so that aid could be rapidly brought to bear where it was most needed.

According to US records the air campaign ended at 0259 GMT on the morning of 18 April 2003. Reconnaissance and other support missions continued until the end of the month but, to all intents and purposes, offensive air operations ceased four days after the fall of Baghdad on 14 April.

We wuz there! Evidence of the long-standing Tornado detachment at Ali al Salem, Kuwait.

On 26 April, Pete and I flew our last operational mission, a flight which also turned out to be my penultimate Tornado sortie. My thoughts now turned to our recovery to RAF Marham and to my handover of command which was slated for 23 May. 31 Squadron left Ali al Salem on 28 April; sadly our departure also marked the end of the Combat Air Wing. Despite elements of more than one squadron continuing in theatre, the remaining squadron commander was an advocate of the lead-squadron construct and reverted to this approach the moment our TriStar was airborne. After a night stop in Cyprus, where the amount of steam let-off could have powered the Victorian railway system, we were finally reunited with our loved ones on 29 April 2003.

Few squadron commanders have the privilege of leading their squadron in combat, and even fewer have the chance to lead a composite Wing. 2003 marked the high point of my association with the magnificent Tornado and a truly outstanding force. In hindsight, would I have done anything differently? Quite simply, no. The concept worked and the courage, generosity and loyalty of everybody who took part in that venture were staggering. Although commentators may now question the motivations and legality of the war, when asked to step up and deliver, the Combat Air Wing did it in spades.