Will Laidlaw - Apache over Libya

‘Ready laser,’ I called, noticing our range rapidly closing with the copse. Silence. ‘Ready your laser,’ I called again, expecting Nomad to shine his laser on the ZSU so my FLIR, searching for his code, could identify the target. Still silence.

I could make out the copse but I needed that final confirmation from the Nomad’s laser. There were similar bunches of trees in almost every field, some with buildings close by. I had to be sure. But Nomad was silent: no laser and we were getting closer to the shore, dangerously close, well within ZSU 23-4 range. With no laser spot handover I broke the patrol away. John banked hard left, calling Little Shippers to follow.

‘Too close, with no confirmation,’ I transmitted to Nick.

Little Shippers interrupted on the inter-aircraft frequency, ‘He might be thinking you want to fire on his laser, tell him exactly what you want.’

John continued the turn and we immediately re-set for an attack. I got back on the net.

‘Nomad, this is Machete, can you identify the target with your laser? I do not intend to fire using your laser, I just need you to identify it for me.’

Both aircraft were now well inside the crucial 5km range and I was very nervous in the knowledge that all ZSU man needed to do was switch on his radar and he could rinse us out of the sky in three seconds.

‘Roger, laser on, call when you have the target.’ All was calm in Nevada, but I was getting frantic over Libya. His laser brought my sight right into the middle of the copse, exactly as the CO had described.

From the rear seat John called to me, ‘Ready when you are!’

I let Nomad know the handover was complete: ‘Got it, my target, your laser off, engaging in ten seconds.’ Then I actioned the Hellfire with my left thumb and pulled the right-hand trigger, sending a constant pulse of my own laser to the ZSU and back to my missile. There was no time to re-plan or think. The common language misunderstanding and lost seconds in translating my needs had put both aircraft well inside the engagement zone for the ZSU; it was now only about self-preservation.

I transmitted to Nomad and Machete 2, ‘Firing!’

The Hellfire symbology in my right eye showed the missile was locked on and ready to launch, and with my right hand laser providing the guidance I pulled the left-hand trigger, sending the missile towards the copse. A few seconds later the copse erupted in fire and shrapnel, but to my horror a rectangular, car-sized silhouette appeared, apparently untouched by the strike, just in front of the trees. In my wide-open infrared right eye it seemed to me that the ZSU was still there and that the Hellfire had gone long and missed. I immediately pulled the left-hand trigger again, sending another Hellfire into the object.

Whatever the second object was, it was not a ZSU. The missile impact lifted it high into the air, sending it end-over-end across the field before landing, bouncing and rolling to a halt.

‘Nomad, what can you see?’ I called up again.

‘Machete, that looked beautiful to me! Good strike on the ZSU with the first missile. Not sure what that was with the second one. I’m off, out of fuel, out.’

And that was it. One ZSU 23-4 down and some other nameless object too.

Perplexed but pleased to be alive and ready to get away from all the unknowns around us on the ground, I got on the radio to Nick and Little Shippers: ‘Machete complete, regroup at waypoint five, my lead.’

This was pro-Gad territory and I needed to return to the sanctuary of the sea to plan our next move. As we manoeuvred away from the coast, over the huge empty space of the Med at night, Nick was mocking me on the radio. ‘Hay bale?’ he enquired.

At the same time a flare launched from the ground less than a mile to the east, in the vicinity of the target VCPs given to us by Chris. Anxiety, relief and mild confusion were replaced by hostility from the ground once more. This was the primary combat indictor that bad things were about to happen, and both aircraft went to guns. We had no surprise left. The unseen pro-Gad on the ground would have heard the 30mm going into the sea half an hour earlier and seen and heard my Hellfire just up the road where they knew their ZSU was positioned. If a MANPAD was going to be launched, now was the time.

I slaved my FLIR to the VCP. The linear checkpoint was strung out for 800m along an east-west road linking Zlitan with Misrata, and it was rushing with pro-Gad. Some were hiding, others hurriedly moved equipment about, all keeping to the cover of trees and ditches. Everything about the scene was military. This was the gateway to the regime front line outside Misrata, and vanguard units from 32 Brigade manned it. If they had a ZSU 23-4 on their flank they were highly likely to have SA-24s all over the place, particularly working alongside the scouting screen on the coast. The flare going up was them getting ready. We needed to be fast and decisive to complete the mission and get away untouched.

From a point just over the beach I issued the quick battle orders and we turned our weapons on the VCP and its scouting screen.

The sustained and persistent use of attack helicopters, from the initial strike against the speedboats to this onslaught against front-line troops, had spread panic on the ground. In between the 30mm and Hellfire detonations the low altitude thunder of our rotor blades hidden in the night sky ranged in and out of earshot. Listening pods flying miles above Libya recorded the troops’ confusion and lack of coordination. When SA-24s and NVG were requested the reply was too slow and they didn’t know where to aim them. The weight of fire we sent into the VCP prevented any meaningful retaliation and left Khamis with a huge gap in the front line.

The initial assessment of that night’s work was positive. The rebels moved forward, up to 5km. Pro-Gad had taken a hit, their coastal SF option was closed and the front-line troops were temporarily in disarray. Sadly, this progress did not last; by sheer weight of troop numbers and a well-organized supply chain Khamis was able to restore his stranglehold on Misrata. We, too, were unable the take advantage. The moon was up and we had to wait a week until the night conditions were suitable for us to go again. We took heart in the small advance, however transient, but at the same time realized that the task was vast and we were no quick fix for the problem.

Each month when the moon was at its fullest pro-Gad could use his NVG to target us. This tipped our risk equation too far in his favour and we sought to avoid flying on those nights. To take advantage of the break from missions Ocean returned to port to re-stock, conduct maintenance and give her crew some respite from defence watches.

After three weeks on the line Ocean pulled in alongside in Sicily, over a month since we had last stepped ashore in Crete. First nighters was about to be launched once more. One of the peculiar things about fighting a war from a ship is that you can go to sleep at the end of a combat mission and then wake up in a harbour in a different country, in a very different world. This time, when we woke, the concrete that we found ourselves attached to was the industrial port of Augusta.

A high-tempo programme of maintenance was scheduled for the ship. For 656, aircraft maintenance continued too. For the aircrew it was a chance to reflect on what we had done and to consider how we could do it better and safer. Jack Davis and Chris James brought the Attack Helicopter Force Commander over from Italy. The lawyer and the senior RAF officer in the CAOC came too. We pored over the guntape, read the initial SA-24 analysis and discussed the best way to fly in the coming weeks. It was great to see some friendly faces and share some stories, and these visits were vital face-to-face links with the planning centre. But what we all wanted was to step ashore and put combat aside for a night or two.