We briefly discussed the meaning of cost and its importance as Ocean made her way to Libya. We joked about the living conditions on board and compared the ship to a hotel more precious aviators would refuse to stay in: ‘Pilots sharing cabins! How could I possibly go to work under such circumstances? Soldiers and engineers stacked three bunks high in berths of six; surely there is a publication somewhere outlawing this!’ Then ‘where’s the swimming pool?’ brought the biggest laugh.
As for ammunition, we knew the situation on the ground was not going to mirror Helmand, and we would do a lot of firing. Engagements would not be fleeting, they were likely to be numerous, frequent and simultaneous. Our view was not complicated by economic concerns. We had hundreds of Hellfire. There were hundreds of targets. We would shoot until one or the other ran out, or until an accountant told us to stop. Until then we would keep going.
In the end we fired 99 Hellfire, 4,800 rounds of 30mm and 16 rockets on 48 sorties, striking 116 targets. The numbers of chaff and flare fired in self-defence against incoming missiles and radar lock-ons remains secret. There were plenty, and they worked. Our targets ranged from T-72 Main Battle Tanks, the ZSU 23-4, BM21s and buildings to the ubiquitous technicals. In fact, the technicals, all capable of shooting us down with their heavy calibre weapons, made up around half of our total targets. These were the main weapons of the regime, and our work against them certainly made a difference to the rebels and to Libyan civilians.
During June, July and early August NATO flew 3,194[13] strike sorties,[14] of which we flew 48, just 1.5 per cent of the whole NATO operation![15] Total targets struck by the UK over the same period are not available, but the total from 31 March to 31 October was around 640,[16] of which we struck 116, or 18 per cent. If we spread those 640 UK targets evenly across the full seven months approximately 92 were hit each month. The Apache flew for 2.25 months, during which 206 targets were likely to have been engaged, making our 116 targets 56 per cent of the UK effort while we participated. Just numbers, that’s all.
If there is any value in this potted maths exercise it is that we flew little, fought a lot and, as you will note if you have read the preceding chapters of this story, got stuck into some vicious fights and got away with our lives. The taxpayer, even the critic, might conclude that this represented value for money!
By deploying seaborne helicopters, both British and French, NATO forced Gaddafi to picket the coast, all 900 miles of it, with scouts and MANPAD teams. This tied up a lot of his might and must have had a degrading psychological effect on those soldiers who spent weeks and months dug in, looking out to sea. After the first few missions, when these defences were tested and breached, the coastal scouts must have suffered from very low morale. The menace of the helicopter, its low-level loiter, the thunder of the blades and the almost personal message its munitions deliver were unique in the campaign. No other asset could have the same psychological impact, but it brought risk with it. The delicate risk-versus-reward estimate for every mission had to be captured, assessed and signed up to by the big hitters on Ocean and in the CAOC. It was their responsibility to see us safely through – but it was our place to deliver the plan.
All that was behind us now. We had made the journey from experimental exercise to surprise newcomer in a very hostile warzone. Ocean and her sailors had carried us, launched us and welcomed us back. They’d tolerated our mistakes, left the bar open and let us sleep when we needed to. The ship had been our protector and comfort and she kept us going when the world beyond the horizon seemed an awfully bleak and threatening place.
So our work was done. After that final unlaunched deck alert on 21 August we folded away the aircraft, signed in our morphine, Sig Saur pistols, Carbines and ammunition, signed ‘not flown’ again on the authorization booklet and went to the wardroom. Mark and John were invited in and we emptied the fridge of warm Carling while Sky’s Alex Crawford followed the FLF into Tripoli on the telly. Those fighters who had watched Nick and his team strike in the Nafusa mountains just two weeks before had rattled through Zuwara, Sabratah and Az-Zawiyah on the way. There were no more front lines, the civil war had turned completely in favour of the uprising and the regime was in terminal decline.
Gaddafi was on the run. Khamis had been killed, by an Apache, or so the regime said. Moussa Ibrahim was silent, his brother killed, again by an Apache, or so the regime said.[17] The inner circle were running for their lives and the Apache was being cited as their nemesis. Tripoli fell first. Brega and Zlitan came next. There was no place for us in the confusion that followed, and we stayed afloat, an option waiting for politicians to time our redeployment home.
A whole new team had trained to replace us: 664 Squadron spent the summer flying from HMS Illustrious back home. They had two tasks – be ready for Libya and be ready for Helmand. By the end of August there was no more need for the Apache, but politicians pondered, and no decision was the best decision, so 664 got on the bus. They came out to Ocean. We trained together. We planned. The CAOC hinted at Bani Walid. We did our calculations and the engineers installed extra fuel tanks. We were ready, Hellfire, guns and fuel. They eventually said ‘no’ again. Then it came. At about half past two one busy Thursday afternoon in late September the Captain piped the end of our Ellamy commitment. We could be home by the weekend. Time to pack, so we did. All ready. Plane booked and Ocean made best speed for Crete.
We had one last day of work in the flip-flop, processing all our reports, writing everything down, storing guntape, getting the Operational Record ready. Then a last blast in the wardroom and a signal from the Commodore: ‘BZ to the Apache team.’[18]
It was the end of war for us. A man called Dave, plucked from the desert by the SBS in February, tracked down by the Navy, flown out to us, boiler-suited and stained with decades of oil and grime, hammered the tired diesel generators into action and Ocean tracked for Crete. The Navigator said 20 hours. We were ready to go home.
We had survived. On that last night, sailing back to Crete, in a quiet moment on the quarterdeck with Wings I remarked, ‘When we got into this, we didn’t know how it would unfold. After those first three or four missions, I expected someone to come unstuck. Now that we haven’t, I can’t quite see how we all made it, but this is an enormous relief.’
‘Yes it is, isn’t it. But it’s changed you, all of you. I can see that. This is going to stay with you for a long while. Cracking job though, cracking job.’
Chapter 15
Six Weeks Later
‘Never smile when you pack your bags.’ Advice from JB on how to keep a happy marriage in the Army. Going away on operations is a challenge we relish. We are about to do our jobs in an unforgiving environment where all our training will be tested. Going away is exciting for the soldier, but anyone at home watching us pack is in a very different place. We have a sense of mounting excitement; they are faced with the big dark space of monotony, hard work and single parenting, bills, insurance renewals, the school run, work, poorly animals and no reward. No thanks or acknowledgement, they are just expected to get on with it. Meanwhile, we are flying the best helicopter in the world in the most demanding places, with our friends. When we are packing our bags we are already there. In our minds we’ve left home and made the journey. Those we leave behind have none of that nervous anticipation; they are developing coping mechanisms to fill the space, to deal with the unrewarded hard work. We try and make the most of the final few days together, but we are in separate worlds. We argue. We fall out. We make up. Then the soldier leaves again.
13
Extrapolated from the NATO daily briefing sheets found at http://www.jfcnaples.nato.int/Unified_Protector/page1915311.aspx
14
Strike sorties are intended to identify and engage appropriate targets, but do not necessarily deploy munitions each time
15
The UK flew a total of 2,100 strike sorties during the entire campaign, with our 48 contributing 2.3 per cent
16
UK Ministry of Defence website https://www.gov.uk/government/news/deputy-pm-welcomes-home-uk-forces-from-libya-campaign published 3 November 2011
17
It is very difficult to measure ‘cognitive effect’ – the degree to which the regime feared the Apache. However, when Khamis Gaddafi was allegedly killed on 29 August the regime announced he was killed by an Apache. This was reported by CNN and Sky among others. Hassan Ali Ibrahim, brother of government spokesman, Moussa Ibrahim, was killed in Az-Zawiyah on 18 August. Moussa Ibrahim blamed the Apache once more and again this was widely reported in the international media. Whatever the truth in this, it is clear the regime feared us
18
‘Bravo Zulu’ – ‘Well done’ in Navy parlance. To receive a ‘BZ’ by Signal from the Commodore was high praise