FACing is a finer art than most people think. A low level jet couldn’t find its own targets. When you were a few hundred feet over enemy territory approaching Mach 1, it was nearly impossible to tell the location of the enemy and, even more importantly, of your own forces. That’s when you needed a FAC, or, as they were sometimes also referred to in-theatre, a ‘Jaytac’ – a Joint Terminal Attack Controller (the same thing but theatre specific). FACs and JTACs did the same thing.
As fast jet pilots generally didn’t have any time or inclination to loiter over hostile territory in the low level environment, the FAC’s job was to identify the target, ‘buy’ the bomb and deliver it on-target as quickly as possible.
We popped up to their south and held the Gazelle in a hover so the Pathfinders could see us. Once I was sure they had us registered I dropped behind cover and got Dom to pop up every few minutes in a different position, always to the south of them to draw their eyes away from my intended OP. Our little game of cat and mouse was on…
‘If they guess our next position, you’re going halfers on the night out.’
The colour drained from Dom’s face. The Pathfinders were known for putting it away.
A few minutes later, two fresh jets turned up and checked onto the FAC frequency.
‘Any callsign, this is Starburst Two One and Two Two. How do you read?’
I was quick to get back to him. ‘Starburst Two One, this is Spindle Eight Zero. If you work with me on this frequency and get Two Two to go onto the spare frequency, another callsign will control him later.’
‘Starburst Two One, copied.’
‘Starburst Two Two, copied and changing freq.’
I called Starburst Two One and he confirmed that they were Lockheed T-33 Shooting Stars too, jets older than my father, but good enough for my purposes. I told him that his target was an SF Land Rover, but that I was struggling to find it.
I told Dom to get behind cover then move round the range to the north-west as fast as he could so the Pathfinders wouldn’t know where we were.
They would be looking for us in the south and after that call they’d assume I couldn’t see them and hopefully sit still.
I switched to the spare frequency so the Pathfinders couldn’t hear us and contacted Starburst Two Two.
Freddie fucking Mercury would be listening out on the other frequency for me to send his coordinates to Starburst Two One, not having a clue I was actually working both jets.
‘Starburst Two Two, this is Spindle Eight Zero.’ I gave him Freddie’s coordinates first. North five-zero, three-five, zero-five, decimal six-six. West one-one-zero, four-eight, four-five, decimal niner-zero.’ Then his height: ‘Seven-six-zero metres.’
I told him the target was a Special Forces Land Rover.
I’d get the T-33 to attack from over the ridge behind them. If I did it right, they wouldn’t even see it coming.
I continued into the microphone: ‘Mandatory attack heading, two-one-zero degrees magnetic. Friendly helicopter, four point three kilometres north-west.’ He now knew where I was and, after all, we didn’t want a blue-on-blue, a friendly fire incident…
I couldn’t use my laser on the target for fear of blinding them, so called ‘Negative Lima’, which signalled as much to the T-33 pilot.
‘Readback,’ I said. He read the attack back perfectly. I pictured him turning onto this attack run.
‘Call when ready,’ I said.
A moment later, he signalled he was.
I flipped frequency back to the one the Pathfinders were on for a few seconds to put them off the scent that I was working Starburst Two Two on another frequency. I called Starburst Two One, letting him know that I had found the Land Rover to my north, but needed a few more minutes to get the exact coordinates. Without the correct coordinates they’d be too cool to run just yet.
I flipped the frequency back.
All being well, the Pathfinders would still be looking south just as we were arriving in the north-west.
‘Starburst Two Two, running in…’
Dom pulled us into our new OP. I could see the Land Rover to the east-south-east of us – 4.3 klicks away. Perfect.
A quick glance to the left and I saw the T-33 a couple of hundred feet off the deck. It could do 570 but had throttled back to about 400 knots – which still looked fast.
‘Your target is an SF Land Rover,’ I said. ‘Twelve o’clock, four miles is a depression, a wadi, running right-left. Call when visual.’
A momentary pause, then: ‘My target is a Land Rover. Visual with wadi, sir.’
I kept talking. ‘Short of the wadi is a scar on the ground. Long of the wadi is a track running away from it.’
‘I have a white scar short and can see an online track dropping into the wadi,’ Starburst Two Two said. He was homing in nicely. The Pathfinders, meanwhile, would still be waiting for me to give their coordinates to Starburst Two One on the other frequency.
I continued the talk-on, drawing the pilot’s eyes ever closer to the target. ‘Twelve o’clock, two miles, track. Target Land Rover is on that track, blind to you. Your side of the wadi. Caution late acquisition.’ I was warning him that he would acquire the Land Rover late because it would be blind to him on a reverse slope.
‘Got the track dropping into the wadi, possible late acquisition,’ he acknowledged.
‘The target Land Rover has started moving south-west.’
The Pathfinders had cottoned on and were making a break for it. They must have heard the aircraft.
The T-33 began to climb.
I gave Starburst Two Two another steer. ‘Twelve o’clock, one mile, dust trail.’
He replied almost instantly. ‘Tally target, one vehicle heading south-west.’
He had the target and began to dive directly at it.
The final confirmation I needed was unique and swift: ‘Target crossing the bridge now.’
I waited until I was 100 per cent sure he was pointing at the Pathfinders. ‘Starburst Two Two, you are clear dry on that target.’ ‘Dry’ was the command to practise a bomb-drop but not to release any actual munitions.
‘Clear dry, sir.’
As he passed over the top we heard the distinctive beep of him simulating a bomb drop off the rails.
‘Starburst Two Two, this is Spindle Eight Zero. That’s a Delta Hotel. You are cleared back onto the original frequency.’
‘Starburst Two Two, good control, changing freq…’
I took over the controls of the Gazelle, changed back onto the original frequency and flew directly at the Pathfinders. I keyed the microphone. ‘See you guys in Medicine Hat. Looks like you’re buying…’
They gave me the two-fingered salute as we passed overhead.
FACING TOMMO
I only had one place left to look. I told Andy that the tanks had to be hiding behind the small hillock in the dry wadi bed.
‘Easier said than done…’
Andy wasn’t wrong. We’d been up here training with Striker armoured fighting vehicles a couple of days before and the terrain was distinctly unfriendly: a network of narrow valleys cutting through steep-sided hills. The Strikers had fired their wire-guided anti-tank missiles from the ridgelines as we brought in fast jets. It was like a giant game of splat-the-rat. If we got pinged, we’d have to come to a hover, spot turn and fly back the way we’d come.
‘If we get caught here, the tanks will kill us. Keep it low and slow and use the pedals to boot us round if you see anything.’
‘Pedals? While we’re still flying?’
I’d forgotten Andy Wawn was a brand spanking new pilot.
‘I’ll follow you through on the controls and take over if we get caught with our pants down. If I shout “I have control” I want you to cut away faster than lightning because we won’t have time to hand over properly.’