CHAPTER 19

AFGHAN OPS

A century ago when the RAF (or more correctly, the RFC) began to patrol India’s wild and rugged north-west frontier, the mix of people on a station was very different from today’s. Women were few and far between; one had to be twenty-six before being allowed to be married (thirty for officers) while the few eligible daughters who would visit from Britain during the holidays were known, because of the suspicion that they were looking for husbands, as the ‘fishing fleet’. Women in uniform were unheard of. The same wasn’t necessarily true of the ‘opposition’, the fierce tribespeople of the frontier whom the British were attempting to contain. Even Rudyard Kipling, in his poems, identified their womenfolk as fearsome creatures.

Times have changed, and British forces now have many women serving amongst their number. Not least, Tornado aircrew. Several press articles on the subject have appeared over recent years, and I confess to often having been dissatisfied after reading them; most didn’t manage to get past the stage of ‘what a strange job for a woman – but she’s quite normal really – she gossips about handbags and boyfriends’. Of course one could argue that, in uniform, there’s no difference at all between the sexes – but self evidently that’s not true. There’s a difference, but not in every sense. In the background has been the army’s agonising over whether or not they should employ women in front-line roles. All in all the female aspect is well worth exploring. Extraordinarily, too, British forces have been back on (or at least very near to) the north-west frontier, so it is particularly apt that we are able to combine these two subject areas in one chapter.

I’ve known Sasha Sheard for several years and always enjoyed both working and socialising with her. When I spoke to her about doing this chapter we discussed all the issues I’ve mentioned, and I hope you’ll agree that her account of recent Tornado work in that most unlikely of twenty-first century theatres, Afghanistan, fits the bill perfectly – from all angles. She is, by the way, currently serving as a QFI.

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FLIGHT LIEUTENANT SASHA SHEARD

The final part of the journey to Afghanistan was in a C-17 Globemaster. Wedged in the cargo bay along with the rest of the advance party I wondered what was in store for us over our upcoming deployment. To pass the time I tried to drift off to sleep, a tricky thing to do given how close we were sat to each other, but was disturbed by an announcement that we were approaching the border and that we must put on our body armour. I wrestled in the confined space with lots of other troops in the same situation, and once we were complete the lights were turned off for the approach. This was when the reality of the situation started to hit.

Sat in the back of the C-17, with no windows, I could feel the aircraft commence its final descent, but with no way to gauge how close we were to the ground the landing was inevitably unexpected. We stepped down onto the ramp at Camp Bastion and the heat hit me; despite it being very late in the evening it was still over 25°C. I could hear helicopters departing on a task as we walked to the holding area, and, from this point, we collected our bags before being dropped off at our transit accommodation. I sneaked into the tented room I had been allocated, using my torch to find a spare bed. After quietly storing my kit to avoid waking others I climbed into my sleeping bag, and as soon as my head hit my jacket, acting as a make-shift pillow, I was asleep.

The next morning brought an early start to commence our in-theatre arrival training, which would consist of various briefs, lessons and practical demonstrations to provide us with a refresh of what we had learnt in our pre-deployment training, as well as specific advice pertinent now that we were in theatre. Wearing all our kit in the desert heat was quite something, given that the temperature got to 51°C that day; I had a camelback on, full of water which I drank constantly, but it felt like a one-to-one ratio of drinking to sweating. My respect for our troops on the ground, which had already been high, soared even higher. As I struggled with walking from open tent to open tent for the different lessons, I thought of our troops operating in these conditions every day, with a lot more kit on, and not in the relative safety of being ‘behind the wire’.

The Tornado detachment was based at Kandahar airfield; we travelled from Camp Bastion by Hercules, again arriving in the middle of the night, to be greeted by the outgoing squadron and taken to our accommodation. This, comparatively, was nice; shared rooms with showers down the corridor, and again we knew how lucky we were compared to our compatriots out in the field. Over the next couple of days we learnt about our surroundings; the gym, coffee shop, and dining facility. We also ‘read in’ to the in-theatre documents, an expansion on what we had covered during our preparations back in the UK; and then we were ready for our first sortie. Because we were the advance party, we paired up in formation with the squadron already there. My inexperience in theatre was countered by my navigator, Alex, who had previously completed a tour in Afghanistan and whose experience was invaluable.

I recall the build-up to that first sortie, a nervous anticipation about what was to come. Pre-flight I briefed, ‘sanitised’ my kit (dispensed with any high-security, sensitive or personal items), collected last-minute information that I needed, put on final items of flying kit, loaded my pistol, and out-briefed; so much to do before even walking to the jet. Then to the aircraft, which was sheltered from the sun. With temperatures in the high forties I was suddenly very glad I had taken advice and brought an extra water bottle. Once at the jet I was back in familiar territory and started to feel more at ease; I knew what I was doing. Before commencing the walk-round check of the aircraft pre-flight, I put my kit down on the steps. Not on the ground, for I had heard many scare stories of people putting kit down and returning to find a snake or camel spider making its home inside. I didn’t want to be one of those stories! I had heard a lot about those camel spiders, large hairy beasts which run after you to stay in your shadow (as they don’t like to be in the sun). There are certainly many myths and false tales surrounding them, but I still didn’t fancy having to remove one from my kit – or worse, find one in the cockpit. Actually, I only saw two during both of my tours of Afghanistan. On the first occasion the spider was sauntering its way down the corridor in the squadron building, quickly dividing those who were fascinated and those who were trying to get away. Another time I was sat underneath the aircraft checking the weapons when I saw something flit past me out of the corner of my eye and run under the wing. I walked over to investigate; even though it was only a baby spider, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

I clearly remember my first take-off in theatre; as I rotated, or tried to, I felt I had to pull the aircraft away from the ground. Our acceleration was so slow that I kept looking in at the engine instruments, fully expecting to see that one of the engines had failed, such was the feeling of lethargy from the aircraft. But the engines were fine – and we were off and flying in Afghan skies.

The first time I deployed to Afghanistan was in summer 2011; at that time I’d served on 31 Squadron for a year and a half. That sluggish first take-off wasn’t a surprise, as the work-up for the deployment had been well structured and had covered all the different elements we would need to operate in theatre. The flying preparation made sure that every single pilot and navigator was fully competent at all they would be required to do. This involved exams, both written and verbal, a whole host of documents to read, and regular briefs, usually last thing on a Friday as that was the only time all the aircrew would be available. The work-up was partially airborne, but also utilised the simulator; the latter involved having a QWI on the console while the crew dealt with a host of scenarios and emergency handling. Previous exercises to the deserts of North America had provided an introduction to hot and high operations, and the simulator played a crucial part in replicating how sluggish and under-powered the aircraft feels in such conditions. Indeed we had trained in the simulator for all eventualities, so I was already used to the feeling of that first take-off, and another crew was certainly thankful for the training when they lost one engine while airborne. We were thoroughly prepared.

The pre-deployment work-up had covered more than just flying aspects. We attended training courses to ensure that our military skills were not only fully up-to-date but also specific to where we would be operating. We had to receive training in and pass a weapons-handling test; for me it was my first time learning how to fire a pistol, the weapon that we would carry when flying. There were heat acclimatisation sessions in the gym, medicals, including relevant jabs, and kit issues to focus us on where we would be for the next few months. A families day was held prior to departure so that our loved ones would gain an understanding of what we would be doing. The squadron and station offered a great deal of support to the families, both in the lead up and whilst we were away, which certainly helped all of us, as we knew they would receive support while we were not physically there to offer it.

Departure day arrived. Considering what I needed to take was actually quite minimal, I had spent an inordinate time checking and re-checking that I had everything. After a relaxing day spent with my family I changed into my combat uniform and loaded my bags; holdalls, rucksack, body armour and hardened box full of flying kit. I said my farewells and met the rest of my colleagues at RAF Brize Norton. A very long journey had begun – and that’s where this chapter started.

Following that first sortie I felt more confident in my surroundings, which was a good thing given the events of my second mission. As we arrived at the ops desk for the out-brief, a phone call came in for the duty authoriser. The mood in the room shifted; there was a ‘troops in contact’ situation (troops on the ground were being fired on) and we were to launch immediately to support them. Running to the aircraft I could feel the adrenalin flowing, rapidly prioritising in my head what I would need to do. We quickly strapped in and started the right engine; as I ran through my checks I could hear my nav acknowledging as the various systems got up and running. While the left engine was starting up we were also typing information into the kit. I focused on readying the aircraft to get airborne, while Alex brought all the navigation equipment on line, checked the weapons and set up mission information. I heard our leader call for check-in over the radio and responded, before following him through each radio frequency. We taxied forward out of our shelter and stopped to make the ejection seats live, confirming this visually with our ground crew; our leader ahead of us was doing the same. Completing our pre-take-off checks swiftly but thoroughly, we lined up beside him and checked his aircraft over. He started to roll whilst I waited, allowing separation. As I selected reheat (‘engine one with a kick, two with a kick’) and released the brakes, we started to roll down the runway. On rotate I picked up our leader visually, and Alex also locked him on with the radar as I cut the corner to catch up with him.

We received further details about the situation and location over the radio and Alex typed the coordinates into the kit. Approaching the designated airspace and checking in with the joint terminal attack controller on the ground, we were briefed that a convoy had come under fire while in a valley and were stuck there, still taking fire. They had requested a ‘show of force’, a response where we would fly as low and fast over a position as we could, at speeds of up to 500 knots and down to 100 feet, creating a deafening sound and an assurance to those who we were flying over that we were present. Despite the name, the idea was to assist the army unit by using no force at all – deterring or frightening away the opposition was the aim. Our leader directed us: “I’ll sort the airspace, number two the show of force is yours” – meaning that he would organise deconflictions from any other aircraft in the area while I answered the army’s request.

Alex typed the location into the kit and I could clearly see on my moving map, in my HUD and indeed visually, the position that we needed to fly over. We ran through the checklist as we were descending and confirmed everything was set up correctly for the show of force. I had practised this many times during our training in the UK, now it was up to me to do the best job I could. As we dropped down into the valley I noted how different the landscape was to the leafy green of the UK. I parked the throttles forward to get as much speed as I could. ‘Beep beep beep’, the radalt pinged. The terrain was so featureless that I had allowed myself to get suckered into flying too low – and the kit was warning me. “Damn!” I made an immediate correction and took a mental note not to repeat the error. We continued down the valley, located the briefed position and flew over it before quickly climbing out from low level to rejoin our lead aircraft in the overhead.

Once in our sanctuary block it was time for us to go and refuel so we could be sure of having sufficient to return to the task – or cover any subsequent one. Our leader would remain on task in the meantime. My tanking experience was relatively low at that point; I had completed the prerequisite training, but not much more. I was confident that I could do it, with my only worry being the form of tanking I hadn’t practised before, the boom drogue adaptor (BDA). This was attached to the KC-135 Stratotanker and I secretly hoped that today was not going to be the day I had to master this new skill.

However, that wish was not to be granted; when we were given the tanker details my adrenalin levels increased further as I recognised the call sign as one belonging to a KC-135. We needed to return to the task as soon as possible, so this would have to be a quick introduction to this new skill. As we rolled out behind and below the tanker and received clearance to join, I could see the piece of equipment that would be both my friend (giving me fuel) and foe (making it hard to do so). As I selected the probe out and positioned behind the hose I could see the boom operator sitting facing me in the back of the aircraft. This was it!

The BDA is easier to connect to than a standard hose basket but, once connected, the Tornado must be manoeuvred forward and to the side to allow the hose to bend around to start the fuel flow. This was hard. I was concentrating so much, my breathing rate increased and my hand started to cramp as I was holding the control column so tightly. Gentle movements forward and backwards to maintain position were exacerbated due to the proximity of the ironmongery (closer than other forms of tanking) and I got myself into a pilot-induced oscillation and fell out of the BDA. “Get back in” was all I could think about; “Then stay in.” I reconnected, and with Alex offering words of guidance about positioning and giving regular calls on the intake of fuel, I fully concentrated on trying not to move out of position – still breathing heavily. Finally I heard the eagerly awaited words “we are full”, and I disconnected.

After bidding goodbye to the tanker crew we headed immediately back as fast as we could to get an update of the situation from the leader. The show of force had been deemed successful and our mission at that location was complete. We received instructions to proceed to another area of airspace where we were required, and set off as a pair. An eventful baptism for my second operational mission.

The Tornado GR4 first operated in Afghanistan in 2009, taking over from the very successful Harrier operation, and completed the mission at the end of 2014. The role of the Tornado in Afghanistan was twofold; to provide tactical reconnaissance and close air support. The first role utilised the RAPTOR pod, from which information was analysed by intelligence and used for a variety of purposes, including counter IED ops, route planning, and reconnoitring/selecting helicopter landing sites. Close air support is, in short, doing everything that we possibly could do to help and support our troops on the ground. We provided over-watch: in two-way communications with the JTAC for route patrols; in surveillance of requested areas; by monitoring suspicious activity; and in utilising an escalatory response should our troops come into contact. To aid us we carried the Litening III targeting pod, which provided visual to both cockpits. We also carried Paveway IV precision-guided bombs, the Dual Mode Seeker Brimstone ground-attack missile and the 27mm Mauser cannon, all of which we were trained to operate with both as crew and within a formation. We had a response to any situation. We flew routine planned missions and also, at times, held ground alert – kitted up and with the jets prepared to scramble at very short notice to service any task we were called to.

Operations in Afghanistan were 24/7, and as aircrew we alternated our shifts throughout the five-month deployment. Having never tried to synchronise my body clock to work a night shift I wasn’t sure how I would cope, but on a shift change we would all help each other to stay up later and ‘push through’. I surprised myself by becoming very used to going to bed at half ten in the morning and getting up at about nine in the evening. For night flying we would wear night-vision goggles, which were attached to our flying helmets so that they could quickly be flicked up and down as required. They are excellent pieces of kit, although somewhat heavy, so after a little bit of time an aching neck was inevitable. Night AAR still used the same basic principles but often seemed harder. Finding the tanker was usually easier, as the aircraft showed up well in the NVGs (although so did all other aircraft in that direction, so we had to be careful to cross check with the kit to avoid joining the wrong tanker!) Once close to the tanker we would turn off our NVGs to tank visually.

Tornado capability was the same day or night, including shows of force. I remember doing one at night in the mountains utilising the TFR (a wonderful piece of kit). We used it to fly low and fast, lights off – and the element of surprise certainly gave the desired effect.

Returning to Afghanistan for a second tour was similar in terms of our role but slightly different in respect to how I felt there. I settled in a lot faster as I was familiar with my surroundings, and was also able to take on the role of a more experienced pilot, bringing previous operational knowledge to the squadron deployment. The sorties that we flew could vary dramatically in length, although we were always airborne for several hours. Unsurprisingly, the ejection seat wasn’t very comfortable long term; I used to find myself wiggling around to ease the numbness in my back and legs caused by sitting still for so long. We could eat whilst airborne; nothing too exotic of course, and something you could take a bite of and not leave little bits everywhere. On long sorties we always tried to make sure we stayed hydrated by taking bottles of water in the cockpit; toilet breaks were thus inevitable, but I won’t delve into that any further!

This book is sub-titled ‘thrilling tales from the men and women who have operated this indomitable modern-day bomber’. As a youngster I had only one dream, which was to become an RAF pilot. It was such a different career path at that time for a girl to choose that my junior school teachers still remember me as ‘the pilot girl’. To join the RAF was a goal which I passionately pursued throughout my teenage years, and I feel very privileged now to have the job I aspired to. The response when I tell someone that “I’m a fast-jet pilot” is varied; the most common reply is a slightly surprised “really?” followed by “I didn’t mean to sound surprised, it’s just that … well … uh … you know …” I have often had “do they actually let women do that?” and even been accused of lying! I can half understand those reactions, as there aren’t many of us, but women have been involved in aviation for a long time – across the world since the early 20th century, and flying fast jets in UK front-line forces for over twenty years.

Over time female aircrew have achieved a string of notable firsts across the full range of aircraft, with female pilots and navigators flying operationally in various theatres. But let me focus for now on the achievements of the Tornado GR1 and GR4 ladies. There have been many ‘firsts’ by talented individuals; notable milestones include Flight Lieutenant Jo Salter becoming the first operational fast-jet pilot in 1994, Flight Lieutenant (now Squadron Leader) Kirsty Stewart being the first female Red Arrows pilot in 2009, and Wing Commander Nikki Thomas becoming the first female commanding officer of a fast-jet unit (12 Squadron) in 2015. These achievements are testament to the hard work and dedication put in by these individuals, the same hard work and dedication displayed by the talented men who achieved similar successes when they started flying. Modern-day culture highlights and focuses on these female achievements, not just for aircrew but across all walks of women’s lives.

I alluded to the surprised responses which I occasionally receive; this actually comes more from people outside the RAF than from those within it, where the reaction is usually negligible and no one makes an issue out of it. In the earlier days the big battles that women faced involved the lack of kit – they had to make do with the often much larger (and differently shaped!) men’s kit. Squadrons didn’t usually have toilets for the ladies, separation came from a sign placed on the door. Quite a few women experienced the squadron ‘preparing’ for them, in short making sure there wasn’t anything lying around that a lady would be offended by. However, time has progressed and now female aircrew, though very low in numbers, are more the norm, with facilities and kit to suit.

I have had the privilege of speaking to a number of successful female aircrew whilst researching this chapter, and all are of a similar mind set. They are rightly proud of their achievements and just want to get on with their jobs, be the best that they can be, improve as professionals and not make a big thing of being female. I don’t get treated any differently from the men, which is exactly what I have always wanted, and I don’t expect it to be an issue. Women go through exactly the same selection, training and qualification process and reach the same standards, proving to ourselves as much as to our male counterparts that we can do it. The male-dominated environment doesn’t really exist when airborne. Our role on the front line is obviously the same; without reading the introduction you could have read this chapter not knowing what sex the author is. Outside of the airborne environment, one of the best pieces of advice I have received and stuck to is to maintain my femininity; just because women can match the men in the air doesn’t mean we have to in all aspects on the ground.

I have flown with male and female navigators, with no difference bar the obviously higher voice. On my second tour of Afghanistan I was paired up with a wonderful female navigator, both in talent and personality. We flew together not least because it made sense practically; we were sharing a room and were crewed up so that our shifts coincided. We were not the first all-female crew; in 2009 the then Squadron Leader Nikki Thomas noted in an interview about flying operationally with Flight Lieutenant Jules Fleming that: “The only difference comes from other people. When you are air-to-air refuelling they are a lot chattier with us compared to the guys, and the guys on the ground recognise your voice very quickly.”

I’m not pretending that men and women are the same. Despite performing the same role on a professional level there are obvious differences (not least physically!) but women in any sector of society can bring a healthy change in dynamic to a social group, and that’s no less true on a squadron. I’m also not trying to generalise and say that all female aircrew are the same – any more than the men are. Despite individual personality traits, both male and female in the military seem to have a similar mindset, which is tested through the training system so that those involved appreciate the demands that will be made upon them and can be confident that the lifestyle will indeed be for them.

There are of course times when people’s reactions have created some amusing stories. I have held a debrief phone call with someone who repeatedly asked to be put on to the pilot. I’ve had a chuckle when “birds on the final approach” was called when flying circuits with a female navigator – a call made by ATC to indicate a flock of geese nearby – but that point was somewhat lost. On exercise my formation all found it amusing when my navigator and I successfully shot down (simulated) an American F-15; we never got a chance to debrief them as they didn’t make contact after the sortie. We weren’t sure whether that was because a girl or a mud mover had shot them down! On a squadron, as in the military in general, morale depends to a great extent on ribbing, and as Wing Commander Thomas noted: “The banter is always there. To be honest you will always get banter for something in the RAF, so being a girl is great because you know what it is going to be.”

I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Tornado GR4, from flying and operating the aircraft, to overseas exercises, to doing the role which we spent years training for, in Afghanistan. Working so closely with a navigator brought the notion of crew cooperation to a whole new level. Two people working independently yet together gave me an enormous sense of satisfaction about how much we could achieve. It also gave me the incentive to be the best pilot I could be so that the navigators could do their job to the highest level. Afghanistan was stressful and hard in being away from loved ones for so long, but being on a squadron was fantastic as there was an immediate support network there; the term ‘military family’ rings true. Everyone played their vital role in the operation; engineers, intelligence, squippers, ops, admin and aircrew all combining together, each element an essential cog in the squadron machine. It was challenging work, being prepared for anything and dealing with urgent situations, but we spent a long time training to deploy, preparation that was fundamental in permitting us to give the best possible support to the troops on the ground. A fantastic aircraft, supportive squadron and varied roles made my entire three-and-a-half-year tour on the front line an incredibly memorable and rewarding one.