By Robert K. Wilcox
When Navy Commander Joe Aucoin, CO of the VF-41 Black Aces fighter squadron, gathered his aviators the night before the Kosovo War there was little of the usual laughter and banter. His men listened attentively as the Gulf War veteran described the fear and trepidation they would feel. It was natural, he said. But if any of them were too afraid, he invited a private visit. He’d remove them from the flight schedule, no questions asked. Better now than in the heat of battle when it could jeopardize the safety of others.
What’s it going to be like for American fighter pilots and crews when the war with Iraq begins? It’s a good bet it will be much like that fateful night in 1999 aboard the USS Roosevelt, one of America’s biggest carriers. The Black Aces, in fact, are readying to fly in the coming war.
Going to war in a combat plane is always stressful. Although the pilots and crew have trained endlessly for it, the fact that this time is for real can be very unsettling. They all have their assignments and know what to do. But unlike in training, now they’ll be shot at. Someone will be trying to kill them. For many, it will be the first time in war - a crucible that they’ve both sought and dreaded. Now is the time most will find out who they really are.
I was on a carrier during the Kosovo War to write a book about fighter pilots and I got an inside look. Some of the aviators were raring to go. You could see it in their eyes. Others were overwhelmed by the enormity. Only one aviator had that talk with Aucoin. Most of the others just glued on the skipper's words, trying to absorb as much as they could. Many then went back to their small staterooms and wrote the letter that most in their situation do.
It’s a letter they hope is never delivered.
Lieutenant Commander Steve Carroll wrote his wife, Donna: "If you have opened this...things have not gone the way I planned...Now know you have someone watching over you..." Lieutenant Brian Fleisher told his wife, Laura: "Some minutes I am really excited and think this will be one of the most exciting things that I will ever do. At others I am really scared. I might not make it back." Lieutenant Clay Williams wrote his wife, Lisa, that if anything happened resist talking to the media. The enemy would surely use whatever facts they learned in torturing him. He closed with "Be strong."
Still, for some, what they are about to do won’t fully register until, just hours before launch, the squadron’s strongbox is opened and they are handed a pistol, live ammunition, encrypted codes for cockpit communications, and a "blood chit" for use as a last-ditch bargaining chip if they are shot down and lucky enough to survive. The chit is, in effect, a check for gold or cash, whichever is wanted, if the bearer will help the aviator. Written in the enemy’s language, it is redeemable at any American installation, military or diplomatic.
It’s largely a solemn time before they go up on deck. Not much chatter. Some sick at their stomachs. Once at their jet, they’ll make a careful circular check. The tiniest thing wrong could kill them - a lose nut, a hidden hanging wire. The butterflies will be like a kicking fetus in their innards as they strap into the cockpit and perhaps exchange final thoughts with each other or their plane captain. One pilot told me he was so scared he worried he suddenly couldn’t function. Then the burly noncom helping him shook his hand and said, "I’ll be waiting for you when you come back." Somehow those words reassured him and he knew he was going to be all right.
Once the big jet’s engine is spewing fire and they roar down the deck to launch, most will go into automatic. Fears and apprehensions should dissipate and most will revert to being the highly-trained, very talented and skilled operators of rocket planes that America has produced. The fear might still be there, but it will be compartmentalized, somewhere out of the way, for the most part, so they can do their job.
From that point on, the bulk of the fear should begin to shift to the enemy.
This editorial is available for reprint. Contact the author. E-Mail R.K. Wilcox ©2003 Robert K. Wilcox