After the bad news about the Operational Allowance, but insisting on no let-up in our output, we looked to the CAOC for our next turn of the wheel.
To take us away from Zlitan, Jack and Chris in the CAOC proposed a new area to the west of Tripoli, and we were happy to take up the offer. They had argued hard to get us into a raiding strategy by which we could sting pro-Gad in one place, move hundreds of miles up the coast, then take him on in a new place the next night. This was more relevant to ‘cognitive effect’ and it kept us away from pattern-setting in one place, in which case we would surely be shot down. This was safe regime territory full of smuggling routes from Tunisia further to the west and it provided Gaddafi with all the lines he needed to keep the FLF tied up in the Nafusa mountains to the south. The capital was his, even though NATO restricted regime movement. Despite this, the familiar face of the regime, Moussa Ibrahim, regularly issued statements from Tripoli proclaiming impending victory and denouncing NATO.
Where Zlitan and Al Khums offered local depth to Khamis, the area west of Tripoli was his father’s and their combined existential and strategic depth. This was where 80 per cent of their fuel was coming from and it was running out, with an estimated three months’ supply remaining. The regime had to control the capital and the roads west to Tunisia. Oil, fuel and weapons filled those arteries and gave sustenance to the man who saw himself as both a Nasser-like Arab nationalist and a uniter of Africa.
Raised in the desert during Italian colonial rule, Muammar Gaddafi grew up to loathe Europe and develop an extraordinary sense of his own heritage and entitlement. His ideas and his zeal were infectious. He joined the army, continued to recruit support for a utopian Arab Libya at the centre of Africa and in 1969, at the age of twenty-seven, overthrew King Idris in a bloodless coup. Wealth redistribution, expunging foreign influence and consolidation of power were his priorities. The ludicrous three-part counterblast to liberal democracy, Al-Kitab al-Akhdar (The Green Book), followed, and he slipped from revolutionary to eccentric sponsor of much of what ailed the West. Insisting that democracy and capitalism were evil lies and that his skewed version of social revolution be taught weekly in all schools, Gaddafi set about educating Libya from the top and at its grass roots simultaneously. He centralized power, stamped on political dissent, amassed huge wealth and filled the prisons. His sponsorship of terrorism in the 1980s, killing British, American and French citizens in large numbers, set him apart as a uniquely detested leader internationally. However, despite his continued sense of regional importance, the 1990s and early 2000s saw him being brought back from international isolation. Steps towards resolving the Lockerbie criminal trial and the payment of compensation to victims’ families were accompanied by an easing of sanctions. The final big-ticket move was his buying of the ‘if you have weapons of mass destruction we will come and get you’ message on the banner carried by Rumsfeld and Bush as they rattled into Iraq in 2003. Gaddafi had some and he didn’t want to get invaded, so he handed them over to Blair and everyone had a big hug. Now, eight years later, NATO leaders were over the happiness of tea in a tent and a dismantled nuclear programme. Gaddafi had killed hundreds through his sponsorship of terrorism, he was promising carnage to his own people, and now it was time to unseat him. By July 2011 both the rebels and the regime had everything to gain, and the civil war showed no sign of easing. The wicked colonel had to protect what he had left while squeezing the FLF on all fronts.
In Tripoli the well-groomed and melodiously articulate Moussa Ibrahim continued to court the captive media and control the narrative. The regime’s line was consistent: NATO is a foreign invader after our oil, the rebels are sponsored by NATO and are not true Libyans, and we are winning – these were the central themes. Ibrahim held daily press conferences in the Rixos Hotel and churned out the story with unfailing passion. His face was always on the 24-hour news feed in the operations compartment in HMS Ocean – his personal message to us was that he wanted to resolve our differences over a cup of tea. Every now and then he also called us murderers.
The surreal narrative of conflict, in which we were part of the plot, was being played out all around us. Walking from the flip-flop to the Go/No Go brief took me past the big telly and whoever was on CNN, Sky, ITN, BBC or Al Jazeera. Occasionally it was Sarkozy or Cameron, but more often it was Ibrahim. Launching into combat with the political rhetoric of all sides fresh in my mind lent an unexpected psychological edge to the operation. The physical and emotional overload of June had a profound effect on us all. Every aspect of our work was scrutinized, it seemed, by both our own people and the regime.
After Brega we were all ready for a change. More of 32 Brigade was not how we wanted the summer to unfold, and Chris James had just the tonic to soothe our nerves. Having given Khamis a bloody nose in Brega and around Misrata and Zlitan, he recommended that we go west to his barracks and knock out the rear party. Anything military that could be used to reinforce combat effort on the front line was a target, as long as it was not parked up and clearly out of commission. Khamis had attempted to hide several T-72 Main Battle Tanks and other armoured vehicles in the forest behind the barracks. And, unknown to us, he had scouts and radar systems on the beach waiting to spot a maritime landing or helicopter assault. The proposition was perfect: go to Khamis’ house and smash it up while he’s out. The message would be impossible to ignore – helicopters are rampaging around the country, you can’t take them down and now they are targeting your safe places. There is nowhere to hide.
Chris and the team had cleared several targets to be struck over two or three nights in quick succession. The effect of this would be to make the regime look behind themselves as well as at the front line, and to deliver the message that if you go to work and threaten Libyan civilians NATO will come and get you, wherever you are.
The first week in July was set for the raids. More VCPs were on the list, and while the intelligence people finalized their assessments and the legal people gave their view, we got ready to visit the Al Maya barracks.
We had no interest in the barracks itself, or anything inside its perimeter. What NATO’s reconnaissance aircraft had detected was the gradual movement of machines of war, Main Battle Tanks and Armoured Personnel Carriers, into the wooded area outside the barracks. Khamis either wanted to hide his reserve firepower or he was getting ready to bring it east to Zlitan or south to the Nafusa Mountains. NATO wanted to dissuade him from either option, and we drew up plans to come in low off the sea and add Hellfire to his problems.
On the afternoon of the raid the CAOC confirmed up to nine armoured vehicles and Main Battle Tanks dispersed in what looked like an olive grove just to the south of the barracks. The satellite image made it look simple – come in from the north, confirm the picture on the FLIR, fire and leave. It looked like Khamis had taken the vehicles out of the back gate and stuffed them in the woods. They were only 700m from the low tide mark and in fairly thin woods. We wouldn’t need to get over the land. Feet-wet, all good.
John Blackwell and I got the plan together along with Mark Hall and Charlie Tollbrooke. There wasn’t much to do. We knew where Ocean would launch and then recover us, then it was a straightforward low-level sea transit and strike. All done in an hour, maximum safety – resolving the risk and reward equation back to where we wanted it.