These comments were not made in isolation; there seemed to be an undercurrent of misinformation in some corners of Defence. Some curious opinions were offered: ‘they needed their hands held by the jets’ and ‘they were in the way’ were popular comments among some who weren’t there. These might seem fair when considered from the viewpoint of jet man, but from where we flew, approximately 24,900ft beneath him, it did not feel like our hands were held. The jets were packaged with us to mitigate risk. But a jet wasn’t going to stop PKM man or SA-24 man or triple-A man, the three biggest threats to our lives. They weren’t going to spot the wires or stop us crashing into the sea while chaffing away from a radar lock-on. Each time those events occurred we dealt with them ourselves. The jets never shot a target for us, nor did they ever find one for us. In that final mission, when the patrol almost ran out of ammunition, jet man said he couldn’t see anything ‘down there’.
I suspect the jets were as bored by this task as we were frustrated with its insistence. They were happily launching big munitions with great accuracy from miles out, until we came along and made everything complicated. This blurred our worth among colleagues in Gioia del Colle, the airbase in southern Italy from which most UK fast jet sorties were launched. When Apache missions flew, the jets were there in case something really big got up and launched; then perhaps, after the first helicopter was downed, they could engage the missile site. But the reality of our missions bore out the truth that it is the shoulder-launched missile, the triple-A and the man with the machine gun that can damage helicopters. In combat in Libya, we discovered, the only thing that looked after an Apache was another Apache.
A much more credible blend of jet and helicopter came with the combined missions, packages where we simultaneously attacked the same target area – as we did in that week in late July. These were a fast, lethal and accurate use of composite jet and helicopter power. They dealt with risk and targets all at once, and left pro-Gad vulnerable to attack by the rebels. But these represented less than a quarter of our missions. The rest, when we went to our own targets, required jets to ‘hold our hands’, whatever that meant.
Spending the summer and autumn at sea gave us no exposure to the critics; it also allowed them to mount their narrative unchallenged. By the time we came ashore we had two reputations: one positive, a story of courage and innovation in a risky place; the other much less so, one of hollow opinion and bad science. We should have been able to brief our experience, show some examples of new methods of using the aircraft, write a report and see what could be taken forward from our evolution of flying the Apache in combat. But division had been established.
Some stayed behind desks on the day of the Post-Operational Report, and I presented our experience to the Attack Helicopter Force with empty seats in the front row. Some even lent their ignorance to journalists. Then the journalists published it, and the real story started to get lost. This is how innovation dies in a vertical hierarchy. This is where we start losing wars that haven’t even begun.
An exhaustive ‘lessons identified’ process was conducted. Reports were written, both secret and open. We filed all our post-mission reports, target packs and trigger pulls. Everything that had been part of our experience was written down, filed and stored as our Operational Record. The truth is there. I lectured at home and abroad, speaking in France, Italy, the USA and Canada. I briefed our own people, too, but those who showed up were the ones who wanted to know.
Much was made about the cost of flying jets from Britain to launch expensive missiles at targets in Libya. Much was also made of the comparison between keeping a ship loitering off the coast of Libya and deploying a squadron, lock-stock, hotels, mini-buses and jets, to Italy. Questions were asked and answered in Parliament, and taxpayers got regular updates on where their money went. In the end, the cost estimates varied from £300 million to £1.25 billion for the whole UK contribution to the operation, depending on how the costs were calculated and attributed. MPs and commentators disputed each other’s claims and the House of Commons Defence Committee recorded the lot.[12] They also detailed the sorties flown, aircraft and vessels deployed and numbers of personnel committed to the operation. Cost as the deciding metric in conflict is a peculiarly political obsession. The delicate balance of doing the right thing against how much of the national revenue should be spent can make or fail a government. And it is important to the man watching the news on the telly that he knows his taxes are being spent wisely.
History will often be unkind when finance trumps defence needs. But the fact remains – far-off places with a coast are best reached by sea. The fourth Ark Royal and her Buccaneers preserved British Honduras in 1972, and most likely saved the ship and her air capability. The South Atlantic in 1982 repeated the lesson, this time with Hermes and Invicible. Again, in the early 1990s, the fifth Ark Royal launched Harriers over Bosnia, and finally, in 2003, both Ocean and Ark Royal went to Iraq in the helicopter role. One may conclude that expeditionary maritime power, complete with soldiers, helicopters and jets, is a most versatile way of projecting defence.
But in 2010 savings had to be made, and big-ticket items had to go. We were broke. There was no more money. And when government realized they hadn’t quite saved enough, more cuts, mostly to people, followed. The recession, financial sobriety and fiscal responsibility drove thinking across all departments. The economy was the highest priority and nothing would be allowed to imperil its shoring up and recovery. Savings were made in every aspect of public finance.
Sadly, the frugal lens reached the front. Pretend men renting time on operations brought thrifty bywords with them. Emulating the parsimony of the man in ‘town’ was in fashion. I remember listening to a combat description from Afghanistan where, it was said, a passing officer commented on how expensive it was to fire Hellfire missiles. This story duly made its way around the aviation community and still gets the occasional mention when aircrew review guntape.
So, as the righteous accountant trundled off, leaving soldiers stunned, wise incredulity in mock enquiry broke the silence: ‘When a soldier calls for assistance, do I need to tap in the cost of that assistance and ask him if he can afford it? I think not…’
And they all went back to work, unchanged. The aircrew had all killed men with Hellfire, expensive Hellfire. They all continued to do so. As the tour went on and more Hellfire were used, no further mention was made of money. Perhaps it fell out of fashion.
Alas, the 2010 Strategic Defence and Security Review did not predict the Arab Spring, the last incarnation of the great Ark Royal with her air capability was cast aside and a chip was knocked out of the national deficit. Had this not happened she would probably have sailed for Libya, Harriers embarked, in 2011.
In their place, seven months later, sat Ocean and the Apache and much, much higher risk. Had nothing changed in 2010 we might still have ended up in Libya, but the blend would have been different, the options much wider, the fast jet operating costs likely to be lower and the utility of ships with strike assets embarked clearly underlined. In 2011 history’s rhythm tapped on and conflict did not acquiesce to the economy.
12
House of Commons Defence Committee, Operations in Libya, 9th Report of session, 25 January 2012. http://www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm201012/cmselect/cmdfence/950/95007.htm