The first mission was to destroy a set of buildings just five miles west of Zlitan. They were only two miles south of the beach. On the map it looked straightforward – come in off the sea, identify the targets, strike, return to Mother. We would probably only need to be feet-dry for a matter of minutes. The reality proved not to be so simple. The ground between the target area and the coast looked good for a SAMbush. There were also other areas of military interest which could become targets for future missions. We didn’t want to be circling above this, inadvertently telegraphing our future intent or inviting a fight. Flying around conducting attack profiles seemed unnecessarily risky. If we had to fly in that area we would want to do so only once, low and fast, gun actioned, ready to defend ourselves. So we chose a long navigation track, entering 30 miles to the north, flying inland and then sweeping south and east before taking on the target from the south. This unexpected approach would give the impression we had come from far inland. Of course this came with its own risk. Would we give ourselves away with a long land track? Would we be engaged on the beach on the way in? The long land track gave no choice but to undertake the short escape route back to Mother via the low, fast, gun-actioned dash through SAMbush territory at the end of the mission. We would be low on ammunition and fuel, leaving very little margin for the fight and survival. Being behind enemy lines, possibly battle-damaged and low on essentials, is a difficult plan to sign up to. But as we considered the options it was clear that the land track, attack from the south and dash offered the best chance of success for this mission, as well as following our modus operandi of surprise and firepower.
Mark and John had recommended the route to me, highlighting the pros and cons. The launch was a long way north of the target and we would arrive at the coast near Al Khums, where Gaddafi’s SF were based. There would be a long land track through the hinterland and across the desert. Fuel would be tight, but surprise would be on our side. Shooting from the south gave us the best chance of a quick and devastating attack. We discussed the various points of entry and exit as well as the likely threats on each leg of the route.
These were two experienced operators with well over 1,000 hours flying in Afghanistan between them. More important than that, they were crafty, independent thinkers. I could expect them to consider all the possibilities and present a plan that embraced the unorthodox while making the most of the aircraft’s capabilities. To continue to survive and win on this operation we had to be agile planners. A well considered plan would help us cope with the combat reality. This gave us the best chance of making the right decisions on the spot in those chaotic combat moments when risks become real and the enemy makes a determined attempt on your life. Surprise, speed, firepower and darkness were top of our planning needs. With a team like this, all I had to concentrate on was the target set and how to attack it.
On mission day, when it came to reviewing the route in the afternoon we spent a long time poring over the satellite imagery of the land track. Maps of Libya were adequate around the cities, but not so accurate in the hinterland or the desert. Among the hazards we had to be sure of were the various wires, electrical and telephone. Almost all of Libya’s industrial infrastructure was on the coast, and that meant massive, high-tension, helicopter-catching wires were everywhere but seldom marked on the map. We would be flying low-level at night, and those wires presented a very real threat to our flight safety. Adding that to the fact that we would spend almost the entire sortie over enemy territory at around 100ft, I knew I had careful planning and risk-mitigation to consider.
I looked at the route: fly right past Gaddafi’s SF base; a long low-level transit, lower than the wires, past miles of industrial complexes; push south-east into the desert and then swing up from the south to strike the targets; then a dash at full tilt over two miles of perfect SAMbush country with little fuel and perhaps just a round or two of ammunition left; finally, go and find Ocean somewhere in the darkness at sea. After seven weeks of missions over Libya this was accepted as a normal night out. It was a ‘yes’ from me.
When it came to the mission brief, Doug and his team had already loaded our Hellfire and 30mm. The 5th crew had proved the systems in each aircraft, Ocean was ploughing onwards to the launch point and the weather looked good. It was now a matter of getting a ‘Go’ out of the CAOC, a ‘Go’ from the Commodore and any last-minute discussions with the CO. I highlighted the risks and indicated where aircraft could escape to the left and right of track if things unravelled. I showed the team where we could break off the mission and turn for home. I discussed the likely enemy response at every phase – his weapons, how he might use them and how we would respond. Finally, I detailed the target, dividing up responsibilities between the two aircraft, describing which weapons were to be used and in what order. We checked our understanding of radio frequencies, heights and speeds to be flown, attack headings and the sequence of firing.
Finally, we confirmed with each pilot what his actions would be if the worst was to happen over either sea or land – a forced landing due to mechanical malfunction or enemy fire. The 56th Rescue crews, callsign ‘Jolly’, were always keen to listen to this part, and their mission commander would note all routes, radio frequencies and likely escape and rendezvous points. They would sit in the Operations Room throughout the mission, ready to launch when needed. In rehearsals and exercises, which they continually conducted, the Jollys proved they could get two HH60s packed with PJs[7] and medical kit off the deck and on mission within seven minutes of being notified in the Operations Room. From the day they arrived on board we flew reassured that determined, courageous and experienced combat operators stood ready to come and get us if the call was made.
There was a lot activity in the target area that night. The usual fast air missions were going in all around the country, but there was also naval gunfire to the east of Zlitan, not too far away from our target. As part of her mission, HMS Liverpool would be firing illumination rounds that hang in the sky under parachutes, turning dark into light for miles around. Acknowledging our need for darkness and their need for light, our missions were scheduled to take place at different times – mine some twenty minutes after the naval gunfire was complete.
At the conclusion of the mission brief, we heard it was a ‘Go’ from the CAOC – targets good, support aircraft on task.
And then the ritual begins: the transition from planner and risk-mitigator to man about to rush into the fight and pull the trigger again. I would lean on the railings of the quarterdeck in the early evening light with a cup of tea. It was always too hot at the start and the wrong side of cool at the end, and every time I would tip away the dregs and watch the falling liquid separate out into mist and settle in the ship’s wake as we ploughed steadily forward to our launch point. This was my least favourite time in the day. I was always nervous. Waiting was difficult.
With the tea done, I’d head for my cabin and close the door behind me. There I’d sanitize my clothing, removing badges of rank and identity, ensuring my escape map was in my pocket, that I had a tourniquet in my upper arm pocket and another one in my thigh pocket. No money, no wallet, no photos, no letters, nothing that made me anything other than just a man in a military uniform. The last thing I’d do was touch a photograph of my girls. It was summer where they were too. Summer and smiles and hats and dresses, sitting on a picnic rug on the lawn in the garden, dog asleep on the right-hand side – K had sent me out a collage of happiness. I would turn away and swallow down the fear.