Roland Emmerich’s long-awaited Midway opens with a clear statement that the film to follow is a true account of events.
The events of the Battle of Midway are well known. The smashing American victory was built on superior radio intelligence and crypto-analysis, of determination and courage, and a will to give battle. Emmerich’s film captures much of it, but it falls short of recounting one of the most important naval battles in world history in a way those who fought it truly deserve.
Emmerich opens Midway by setting the stage for the battle. Prewar tensions, the Pearl Harbor attack, the shocking Doolittle Raid, and the Coral Sea setback that caused Japan to realize the urgency of seeking battle to put the American carriers on the bottom, now.
Here the character of Edwin Layton is introduced. In a superb performance, actor Patrick Wilson portrays Nimitz’ Intelligence Officer as capable and prescient, which he was. Woody Harrelson delivers a matching interpretation of Admiral Chester Nimitz, and, with well-done historic accuracy, the two prepare to meet the Japanese off Midway.
The computer-generated images (CGI) that Emmerich is known for dazzle as a December 7th scene pans from the sea to the massive bow of USS Enterprise (CV-6) that steams right into the viewers lap. However, as the camera pans up further, the view becomes a flight deck covered with crew in t-shirts and shorts doing morning calisthenics, a full-motion cliché. When Midway hero and legend Lieutenant Richard Best (played by Ed Skrein) is introduced slipping his SBD Dauntless toward Enterprise, scaring his nervous radioman-gunner, pulling out just above the wake and plopping his CGI plane aboard the ship like a dog jumping into a pickup truck, knowledgeable viewers may wince.
Sadly, much of the movie may be characterized as cliché. We see tension and drama aboard ship, which is good, because it certainly exists. However, variations of the lines, “That’s a direct order!” and “I’m your superior officer!”, on the American side, are repeated more than once throughout the movie, and are distracting. In Emmerich’s defense, hokey-sounding lines like, “Here’s the man we should have listened to,” and “I’m gonna drop a bomb right down his smoke stack” were actually spoken by American officers at Pearl Harbor and Midway and are part of the historic record.
What may further grate on those familiar with the military is the robotic saluting, the atrocious appearance of the actors’ service dress khaki uniforms (certainly Hawaii and Enterprise had dry cleaning and starch in 1942), the whiny atheist Sailor, whiny and cowardly fliers (one named, a real life hero whose name is besmirched), the brusque “my-way-or-the-highway” chest-thumping of fliers discussing their manner of attack – on the American side. It reminds one of American wartime propaganda films of the period, which featured similar two-dimensional and stereotypical characters.
Emmerich’s interpretation does have its moments. Students of the battle will detect numerous tidbits of historic fact sprinkled throughout the film. The CGI is spectacular, and indispensable to bring the battle to life for today’s audiences. In his story, Washington is proven wrong, and the use of subtitles during scenes of Japanese dialogue enhance realism as they struggled with their difficult decisions that involved the realities of rearming and when to launch and recover their planes. The faces of young actors playing pilots in the ready room is a sobering reminder of the dangers our young fliers faced and the courage they displayed – repeatedly – during the battle and throughout the rest of 1942. Featuring the heroism of little-known radioman gunner Bruno Gaido, played by Nick Jonas, was refreshing.
However, CGI tracers and antiaircraft explosions filled the screen in a manner that distracted from the action. Historical accuracies – and there are many – merely flashed past the viewer while laborious scenes of overwrought dialogue in the wardroom, flight deck, and ready rooms fill long minutes of the two-hour film. The inaccuracies may be overlooked. After all, Midway is meant to entertain the movie-going public, not historians. But Emmerich claims that his film is a true account of events. If so, it failed to recount the most vital actions and dramatic dialogue of 3-7 June 1942, events that need no embellishment. Regrettably, the portrayals of Joseph Rochefort drinking on the job, of Raymond Spruance as nervous and severe, of a weak Wade McClusky, and even Richard Best’s surly arrogance amped up for gratuitous effect, do a disservice to them, their descendants, and ultimately, us.
While Midway falls short of what it could have achieved, Emmerich and Hollywood took a risk and made a film about something other than the usual fare movie audiences are fed. In that sense, the better-than-expected opening weekend box-office is encouraging, and while there is a time and place for escapism, audiences respond to historic films too. We learn through stories, and we can hope for more like this.
At the premier held at Washington’s Navy Memorial, actors Wilson and Skrein, humble to portray the men they did and honored to help tell this story to the public, conveyed their appreciation for the veterans of the battle and to those who serve today. They and all involved with the film performed their roles from the heart. At the end of his film Emmerich pays tribute to Best, Layton, McClusky, Nimitz and others. Despite its shortcomings, Midway may inspire those unfamiliar with the story to dig deeper about this fascinating battle and its meaning in world history.
Bottom line: Go see the flawed Midway with family and friends, and reward Hollywood for making a movie about naval history. Perhaps someone else will make another one.
Published in Fall 2018 issue of Hook Magazine. Republished with permission.
(Official U.S. Navy Photograph by Photographer’s Mate Third Class Timothy S. Smith, USN.)//CINCLANTFLT/
By
Captain Kevin P. Miller USN (ret.)
Carrier aviation is designed as a raiding force, self contained and quick reacting. Throughout the 1980’s and 90’s carriers participated in several limited pulses of national power to include Operations Urgent Fury, El Dorado Canyon, Deliberate Force, and Allied Force. These code names evoke memories of distant times and places — Grenada (1983), Libya (1986), Bosnia (1996), Kosovo (1999)— and ships like USS Independence (CV 62), Coral Sea (CV 43), America (CV 66) and Theodore Roosevelt (CVN 71).
Among these historic combat operations is Operation Desert Fox, a series of joint and combined airstrikes into Iraq which took place in December, 1998 involving the carriers Enterprise (CVN 65) and Carl Vinson (CVN 70). Desert Fox was concurrent with Operation Southern Watch, which for twelve years enforced the no-fly zone in southern Iraq. When Iraqi President Saddam Hussein refused to allow UN inspectors into his WMD sites, a coalition of the United States and Great Britain acted to degrade his WMD capability. The operational pace was comparable to Desert Storm seven years earlier, delivering roughly 10% of the weapons tonnage in four nights that Desert Storm expended in forty. However, Desert Fox was a transitional bridge to today’s precision, exacting training standards, and C2 connectivity that were among the lessons learned from Desert Storm.
By late 1998 carriers and carrier air wings had undergone numerous upgrades in materiel and training that made carrier aviation much more lethal and efficient since Desert Storm. During that conflict the United States operated six aircraft carriers in restricted waters, some air wings flying hundreds of miles from the Red Sea while others conducted single-cycle sortie generation from the Northern Arabian Gulf.
For carrier aviation, Desert Storm was characterized by high-dive deliveries of iron bombs and the use of paper. While stand-off precision weapons were employed and to good effect, naval aviation lagged behind the U.S. Air Force in precision guided munitions (PGMs) and sensors to deliver them. The strike-fighter concept was proved early when two VFA-81 Sunliner F/A-18s downed two Iraqi MiGs before delivering their bombs on target moments later. However, shortfalls in positive identification hindered the use and effectiveness of the F-14. Meanwhile, S-3 Vikings from each carrier had to fly daily trips to the beach to pick up and deliver the ponderous Air Tasking Order back aboard ship, where strike leads dissected the tasking. With limited ability to query the sometimes ambiguous tasking, and strike planning with imagery that was not the latest, aviators did the best they could.
Another shortfall was in the area of training. Something as simple as comm-brevity was a challenge, and again USAF and coalition air forces were not only dominant but also aligned on this matter. Almost all of the carrier aviators had experienced a Fallon “Strike University” air wing training detachment, but the Naval Strike and Air Warfare Center (today’s Naval Air Warfare Training Center) had only been in existence for five years, formed when training deficiencies where identified from Grenada and Lebanon operations in the early 80’s. Carrier aviators performed admirably throughout Desert Storm, but unequal to Air Force weapons, sensors, and training standardization…and naval aviation’s leadership knew it.
Former Tailhook Association Chairman VADM Marty “Streak” Chanik, USN(Ret), was the commanding officer of VF-84 during Desert Storm. A career Tomcat pilot, he was enthusiastic about the air-to-ground capabilities inherent to the F-14 when introduced to the fleet in 1974, capabilities that had atrophied during the Cold War focus on the Outer Air Battle and traditional fighter escort missions. “The fighter community saw this coming, and in the fall of 1990 there was a move afoot to revive the air-to-ground capability of the Tomcat. We loaded up inert Mk-84’s and dropped them on a nearby range as proof of concept. The accuracy of the F-14 was pretty good, but higher-ups precluded us from participating in the strike mission over Iraq.”
Carriers were still returning home from Desert Storm as the fighter community – with remarkable speed – jump-started the F-14 iron-bomb circuitry and aircrew training. By fall 1991, the VF-142 Ghostriders and VF-143 Pukin’ Dogs on board Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN 69) deployed with Tomcats that routinely flew with practice ordnance and aircrews trained in their delivery. When the Navy retired the venerable A-6 Intruder, the F-14 community assumed its precision bomb delivery mission. Martin Marietta, in an unsolicited proposal, demonstrated how a USAF Low-Altitude Navigation and Targeting-Infrared for Night (LANTIRN) pod could be rapidly integrated onto the Tomcat. The VF-103 Jolly Rogers deployed with LANTIRN in June 1996.
It was also during this time the WTI program was birthed. Exchange tour cross-pollination that put junior tactical aviators from the three American air arms in squadron environments led to training standardization and a framework for qualifications – today’s Air Combat Training Continuum – was also established. Fleet Weapons Schools embraced this concept, and the first SFWTI aviators were selected and designated as such in 1994.
Carriers also received upgrades. Challenge Athena was outfitted aboard USS George Washington in time for her 1994 maiden deployment which allowed for broad satellite bandwidth to facilitate data download, plus a boost in crew morale with the ability to “call home” from the ship. Carrier Intel Centers received banks of workstation computers for strike planning and videotape players for Bomb Hit Assessment. Indeed, if an aircrew could not produce an image of their bomb hit, it didn’t happen, and squadron Intelligence Officers held their aviators to high standards. More and more JOs learned and made improvements to the Tactical Automated Mission Planning System (TAMPS). During Desert Storm, aircrews entered waypoints once strapped inside their cockpits before taxiing to the cat. Later in the decade the practice of “loading bricks” full of required navigation information became the norm. By the time of Desert Fox, computers printed color strip charts with equivalent quality to Tactical Pilotage Charts and Operational Navigational Charts produced by the Defense Mapping Agency.
Such was the state of carrier aviation as Enterprise, with CVW-3 embarked, operated in the Arabian Gulf. Arriving in late November 1998, CVW-3 spent the three weeks prior to Desert Fox flying double-cycle OSW patrols and “strike fams” into Iraq. The situation at the time was tense; earlier in November Dwight D. Eisenhower had loaded jets taxiing to the catapults when word was passed to cancel what would have been Operation Desert Thunder. VADM Cutler Dawson, USN(Ret), who today is the CEO of Navy Federal Credit Union, was then Commander, Enterprise Battle Group, and knew offensive action was possible. “We deployed from Norfolk in early November and made a high-speed transit to the Arabian Gulf, relieving Eisenhower as we did. En route, CNO (ADM) Jay Johnson called me and said to be ready on arrival.”
We Own The Night
The night operations showcased the improvements made in this arena of air warfare. CDR Guy “Beav” Varland, USN(Ret) fought in Desert Storm and was the commanding officer of the VFA-37 Ragin’ Bulls during Desert Fox. “Night vision goggles were the biggest difference between my two combat experiences.” Too late for Desert Storm combat, early-90s deliveries of Lot 12 and subsequent “Night Strike” Hornets and the first generation “Cats-Eyes” Night Vision Goggles transformed naval tac air. With the increased situational awareness NVGs provided and the upgraded AN/AAS-38A laser targeting forward-looking infrared (TFLIR) pod and improvements in the inertial navigational system and color displays, the Hornet now had true all-weather precision night strike capability, and laser-guided training rounds were introduced and allocated. At the same time the A-6 and F-14 communities provided NVGs for their aircrews.
In Desert Fox, all the strike aircraft had laser targeting capability, and the weapon of choice was the laser-guided bomb (LGB). Using self-escort tactics, the weapons were delivered from altitude. Single-seat pilots released and controlled their weapons until impact, recorded the hits, and egressed, all while maintaining formation with NVGs affixed. Indeed, Desert Fox weapon deliveries were conducted at night, and “we own the night,” a slogan heard in the 1980’s, was validated.
Not all the deliveries of Desert Fox were of the level LGB variety. Some aimpoints were weaponeered for high-dive deliveries of iron bombs…with unsatisfactory results similar to the majority of Desert Storm visual deliveries. However, recorded LGB hits had a success rate of over 80%, unheard of seven years earlier. Even the F/A-18 autopilot relief modes added to the tactical effectiveness of these deliveries, as pilots could “couple” the jet and concentrate on their TFLIR designation. The “Bombcat” came of age as VF-32 Swordsmen F-14s with LANTIRN delivered their LGBs on challenging aimpoints.
The 1998 threat environment was permissive, with aviators seeing nothing more than high-caliber anti-aircraft artillery. CAPT Eric Rasmussen, USN(Ret), then in the VFA-105 Gunslingers, was also a nugget Hornet pilot in 1991 aboard America. “In Desert Storm, we didn’t know what to expect. There was apprehension at the Iraqi threat, and the fear of Chem/Bio attack. However, that abated after several days. We would sometimes dive with a peel off roll-in like Pappy Boyington. Delivering LGBs in Desert Fox on goggles was easier, and JDAMs in the last decade easier still.”
Despite their relative ease, LGB deliveries require pre-strike study and active control by the aircrew. Breaking out the aimpoint seconds prior to release was the norm with TFLIRs of the day, and during the time-of-fall, formation position-keeping competed for time “sweetening” the aiming diamond on the DMPI. Some strikes were assigned multiple DMPIs separated by tens of miles. Giving each target the commensurate pre-strike planning and briefing attention before pickling the weapons proved to be a challenge. In post-9/11 combats, widespread use of the GPS-guided Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAM) mitigates this challenge. Far from denigrating today’s aircrew professionalism, JDAMs may be released “in the basket” (Ed. Note: The region that the aircraft must be in to launch the weapon and hit the target.) which is much easier, more accurate, and serves to enhance survivability. Precision results evidenced during Desert Fox became the new normal, and soon Pentagon requirements officers and planners spoke of, “one bomb, one aimpoint.” Alas, US air power today finds itself victim of its own precision success, as “one bomb, one aimpoint” is the perfect expectation every time, with anything off-aimpoint a political failure.
To an extent not seen in Desert Storm, surface ships and submarines participated. The Tomahawk Land Attack Missile was used to great effect in Desert Storm, but mission planning was a challenge. With planning software improvements and strike leader training to incorporate the cruise missile as part of their strikes, the TLAM was employed against targets sets directed by Washington and individual strike leaders from a carrier. During Desert Fox, aviators observed TLAM impacts in and around the targets they were prosecuting. The “finality” of the Tomahawk – no ability to recall – made an impression on all who saw them launch from combatants near Enterprise.
CDR Kendra “Yukon” Bowers (nee Williams), USN(Ret), was a nugget in VFA-105. Knowing how Ike had stood down at the last minute, she was overhead Enterprise with a load of bombs when she witnessed bright TLAM launches from Battle Group ships. Only then was she convinced that Desert Fox was a go. She formed up with her division and attacked an Iraqi surface-to-air missile site, a portable system that she was able to find with her TFLIR, one partially hidden in a tree line. She released her weapons and destroyed the system, which was key for follow-on strikes. She then checked into marshal and recovered. Unknown to her at the time, she had just become the first female U.S. fighter pilot to expend weapons in combat.
Before she could remove her flight gear in the squadron paraloft, Bowers became the sought-after media “get” of the operation, with outlets from US News and World Report to People Magazine vying for her time. With professional grace and humility she touted the teamwork of carrier aviation and that she was just doing her job. After several days she declined any more interviews. When the Secretary of the Navy called Cutler Dawson to ask if his lieutenant could be made available, Dawson respectfully declined. The Secretary withdrew the request, and “Yukon’s” proverbial 15 minutes ended.
Combat assignments opened to female aviators in 1993, and by 1998 both fleets fielded one “integrated” air wing. Today, virtually the entire Navy is integrated, and approximately 15% of fleet personnel are female. However, a quarter of a century later, fewer than 5% of Navy tactical aviators are female; the number is approximately 10% for all Navy aviators. The daughter of a Vietnam War F-8 Crusader pilot, CDR Bowers is philosophical about these numbers. “There’s no need to force quotas. In my case aviation was available, and I was privileged to serve and do my job.”
All-Navy Show
To preclude tippers and remain as covert as possible, the first night of Desert Fox consisted of air strikes and cruise missiles launched from the Enterprise Battle Group. U.S. air power in the region was and remains today extensive, but in the span of little more than seven hours Enterprise launched four strikes, each with 12-14 strikers and self-contained airborne early warning (AEW), signals intelligence (SIGINT), tanking, and electronic attack. Touted as an “All Navy” show, it was actually a Navy and Marine Corps show with the VMFA-312 Checkerboards embarked with CVW-3.
The big-wing tanking of carrier-based aircraft was the new normal in Desert Storm joint power projection. However, the “iron maiden” basket attached to KC-135 Stratotanker booms in order to refuel carrier aircraft was sub-optimum for both USAF providers and USN receivers. With NATO allies and carrier aviation as regular customers, a method to flow more aircraft across a hose was needed. Operational flexibility also drove the development of the Wing Aerial Refueling Pod (WARP). KC-135’s with WARP systems could tank two probe-equipped aircraft simultaneously and still refuel USAF aircraft on the same sortie. This system was used with great success in Desert Fox.
Electronic warfare was another area that had changed since Desert Storm. By the time of Desert Fox both the EF-111 Raven and the F-4G Wild Weasel had been retired from USAF service. The USN/USMC EA-6B Prowler provided the only U.S. Airborne Electronic Attack capability, along with Navy and Marine Corps F/A-18s fitted with HARMs and crews trained in their delivery. During the operation, Air Force F-16s, RAF Tornados, and notably the B-1B bomber enjoyed the benefits – coordinated by embarked strike leads – of carrier-based EW suppression.
The B-1 participation is noteworthy as Desert Fox was the first time the strategic bomber was used in combat. With Cold War alert requirements loosened, the Bone was now available for these types of conventional operations. In Desert Fox, B-1s dropped impressive stiks of iron bombs on point targets. Since Desert Fox, Air Force bombers have been tasked in all manner of routine combat operations to include close air support.
Several intra-service stovepipes that hindered tactical efficiency were removed. Tailhook Vice President CAPT R.W. “Brick” Nelson USN (Ret.) was then CVW-3 Deputy CAG. “The Warfare Commander construct was a big plus. The CO of the Aegis cruiser had a better air picture and it made sense for him to task our fighters in that role. The Wing Commander was responsible for Strike, and we could task combatants for TLAM employment and more.”
Desert Fox reinforced the “ready-on-arrival” ethos of naval forces. RDML Dave Crocker, USN(Ret) sprinted his carrier USS Carl Vinson at a flank bell to join in the operation on the last night. With coordination between Battle Group Commander VADM Al Harms, USN(Ret), and Air Wing Commander, CAPT James “Gyro” Knight, USN(Ret), and their Enterprise counterparts, CVW-11 launched a long-range strike from the bottom of the Arabian Gulf into southern Iraq, demonstrating the long arm and self-sufficiency of naval aviation.
The changes to carrier aviation that occurred in the seven years from 1991 to 1998 were indeed remarkable, all the more so when compared to previous eras. For example, in 1965 A-4 Skyhawks and F-4 Phantoms launched from Yankee Station were rolling in on targets with iron bombs in dive deliveries. Seven years later, Skyhawks and Phantoms (albeit later model) launched from Yankee Station were rolling in on targets with iron bombs in dive deliveries. Carrier Air Wing Three is another prime example; the only difference in the aircraft make-up of 1971 aboard Saratoga (CV 60) and the air wing of 1991 aboard John F. Kennedy (CV 67) was that F-14s had replaced F-4s, plus the addition of the S-3. To be sure, many improvements to carrier aviation occurred in the ~20 year span between Vietnam and the First Gulf War, notably in training and readiness, but they were not game-changers like NVGs and precision laser-guidance in every strike cockpit, Joint C2 coordination at the embarked strike-lead level, reliable encrypted communications and digital mission planning.
One constant during this period is the adaptability of the aircraft carrier itself. Five of the six carriers that participated in Desert Storm combat had the Vietnam Service Ribbon displayed on their bridge wings. Remarkably, four Vietnam veteran carriers brought the fight to the enemy over Afghanistan and Iraq early this century. Built tough, with inherent flexibility and sustainment of operations and programmed to serve for five decades, these indispensible ships remain the asymmetric warfare game-changers they were 75 years ago. The aircraft, weapons, and human beings that make it all happen come and go, but the ability of a carrier to deliver sustained combat power on arrival – like Enterprise and especially Carl Vinson proved 20 years ago – and to deliver it precisely hundreds and hundreds of miles inland, is an ability we too often take for granted.
Today, it is routine for carrier aviators to fly 1,000 miles to deliver their weapons with an accuracy that battle group commanders of 1991 would never expect, and they do it the next night and the night after that, with digital displays and instant communications. And with highly trained aviators, “strategic” lieutenants and lieutenant commanders, captains and majors, who make real time decisions when called for involving tremendous national import. VADM Mike Shoemaker, USN(Ret), recently retired as naval aviation’s “Air Boss,” was the executive officer of VFA-105 and led strikes during Desert Fox. “Bulk precision and Night Strike improvements characterized Desert Fox, but we also saw the early benefits of a highly structured training regimen for our aviators. Today, all from wing commanders to nugget wingmen must progress through qualification wickets that squeeze the most from each training sortie and produce professional aviation warriors of a quality far superior to my cohort of the 1980’s and 90’s.”
Modern Strike Group Commanders expect that when, say, 32 weapons are sent over the beach on fighter weapons pylons, 32 separate aimpoints will be serviced with 100% accuracy, and this expectation is largely met. Incomprehensible 50 years ago, the foundation of today’s high standards of kinetic effectiveness and aircrew training has its foundation in the missions flown over southern Iraq in Operation Desert Fox.
This photo of the aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson returning to her San Diego home early on an autumn morning is dramatic. Many see grandeur and commitment. Others see human service. Others see mind-boggling dollar signs. Some see a force to be resisted, or sadly, not trusted. And others, many others, do not have any idea of what they are seeing.
It is said that of the five (let’s count the Coast Guard here) American military services, the United States Navy is understood the least. All understand the role of an Army. The Air Force flies planes, of course. The Coast Guard guards the coast and rescues people. The Marine Corps? A few good men, our 911 force.
That leaves the Navy. In public messaging, it’s a force for good. It’s around the world, steaming under giant red dots. You can join it and see the world. It’s TOPGUN…or is that an Air Force movie?
Congress has raised armies and maintained a navy since the beginning. Our Navy’s mission calls for prompt and sustained combat operations at sea. While its history is storied, since the end of World War II the U.S. Navy has been dominant throughout the seven seas, and has underwritten free trade on those seas that has led to economic development and higher living standards for billions the world over. Considered a birthright for Americans, free trade on the high seas benefits everyone on earth. This benefit faces severe challenges.
America is fated to lead, and the costs of words like presence and deterrence, response and credible, increase every year. The costs are staggering. That carrier in the photo above? Billions of dollars for one ship, and we won’t even count the billions of dollars for the airplanes that fly from it it, and billions in personnel costs for the 5,000 human beings inside it. One ship.
And here, on the other side of Coronado, is an oiler, with another carrier in the background. Both are undergoing refit and replenishment, repair and upgrade, and ships need that on a routine basis. To me, that crane is representative of our industrial base. How many naval shipyards do we have, and where are they located, and can they handle increased demand, or are they at the breaking point, beyond what even billions of dollars thrown at them could change? Right now…we’re good, but what if we really, really needed them to step it up like the Arsenal of Democracy did to produce the materiel that defeated tyranny so long ago? And once produced, how will our materiel get to the scene of combat, where we want it to be? Ninety percent of it will travel aboard ship. Do we have enough cargo ships, properly manned, and state-of-the-art efficient?
Look at this desert wasteland in the American mountain west. Actually, down there is an overland training range for our front line air crews. Some of our citizens don’t like it there, even some that live far away from it. They just don’t want it to exist. Is the desert wasteland down there important to our national defense? Don’t we have plenty more? Must we argue over that piece of wasteland?
Recently I was in Portland at the annual Navy League of the US convention. One morning I walked along the Willamette River where the cutter Steadfast was moored. On the bridge wing is depicted Steadfast’s record of drug busts on the high seas. Cocaine and marijuana. Extremely dangerous. The young Coast Guardsman standing watch on the quarterdeck was proud of his ship and their mission. I thanked him and wished him a fun time during the port visit, knowing that what this one cutter could do to interdict the drug trade – what every cutter in the Coast Guard could do – is a mere fraction of what is shipped to criminal elements here and then distributed into our society, causing untold damage. Our Coast Guard needs help, and yes, the irony of the cutter moored in Portland given the societal views of much of its populace was not lost on me.
In today’s world we see challenges to seaborne trade. History returned on 9-11, and the 20-year peace dividend is long gone. Prompt and sustained costs money. We need more, better, newer and everything faster. What can be done? What can you do to help address the reality of serious challenges to our sea services?
President Theodore Roosevelt founded the Navy League in 1902 to educate the public about the importance of the sea services and sea power. Today’s Navy League describes itself as “a civilian organization dedicated to the education of our citizens, including our elected officials, and the support of the men and women of the sea services and their families.” There are nearly 50,000 members who advocate for a strong and credible Navy, Marine Corps, Coast Guard and Merchant Marine.
It is a civilian organization, with an independent voice. While former military are certainly welcome, the Navy League not only educates and advocates, but serves the fleet by adopting ships and hosting events such as commissioning ceremonies. It serves society by affiliating with the Navy Sea Cadet Corps, a vital pathway for young people learn about and oftentimes enter the Sea Services. If nothing else it enhances their citizenship. Chapters award and honor the enlisted personnel in their communities, and help support families when the military member is deployed.
The Navy League is a way to give back, to express appreciation, to advocate for the sea services and stress their importance to our nation and the world. As our national “guns-and-butter” debate rages as it has for decades, our sea services are stressed across the board. With a broad swath of our public that has little understanding of their value, Navy Leaguers are there to gently inform, to invite, to support.
Join the Navy League. Be informed. Lend a hand. Throw a party. Whatever your area of expertise or desire, there’s a place for you.
Think the sea services, our merchant marine, and the industrial base to support them is expensive? Try life on this planet without them. And the carrier that costs billions? A bargain.
Ever hear of the Spratly Islands? If you haven’t, don’t feel too bad. They are a group of small islets, coral reefs, cays, sandbars and exposed rocks in the bottom half of the South China Sea. They are located in a large area off The Philippines and Malaysia, with shallow banks and sea mounts teeming with life, and evidence of oil deposits below. Seafarers know it as “The Dangerous Ground” with numerous shoals that have claimed many a wayward vessel over the millennia. In addition to The Philippines and Malaysia, the Spratly’s are claimed by Brunei, Taiwan, Vietnam and one significant country some 500 miles to the north, The People’s Republic of China.
Not only does the PRC claim the Spratly group, it claims the entire South China Sea, from Taiwan down to the Sunda Shelf north of Singapore, from Vietnam in the west to the PI’s Palawan Island in the east. To put this in perspective, lets think of the South China Sea as equivalent to the United States east of the Mississippi River. Using this example, China claims from the Canadian border with Maine to Atlanta, over to Jackson, MS, then up to Chicago. According to international law, in this example China is entitled to only 12 miles south of Canada, granting it greater Buffalo, Erie, and Detroit. That’s it.
How do they “get away” with this? Well, China, which was a sovereign country in Biblical times, claims the SCS as their own from some 1,400 years ago. Dynasties came and went, but the 19th and early 20th centuries were quite troubling times for China, characterized by the “Opium Wars” and “Treaty Ports.” Humiliated by foreign occupiers from Britain to Japan, and with a long memory, China emerged in 1949 with the rise of the communists and a focus on claiming what they feel rightly belongs to “the people.”
In 1947, even before the PRC had defeated the Nationalists, future Prime Minister Zhou Enlai drew a nine-dash line which is viewed as the historical background of PRC claims of the vast SCS. China was impoverished and unable to back this claim, which was ignored by the West anyway as absurd. But the People’s Republic, suspicious of the West and under no obligation to assert their claims, didn’t give it a second thought.
In 1996 an incident occurred off Taiwan that in my view is quite similar to the Cuban Missile Crisis. The PRC fired missiles near Taiwan when Taiwan flexed its political muscles. The United States sent the carriers Independence and Nimitz to waters off Taiwan to send a signal of resolve. The Peoples Liberation Army Navy was then a coastal patrol force and in no position to confront the U.S Navy off their shores. The PRC backed down, as the Soviet Union did in 1962 when faced with the American blockade of Cuba, turning their ships around. The Soviets then embarked on constructing a blue-water navy that by the 1970’s was a peer competitor to the U.S. fleet. In much the same manner China, on the cusp of an economic boom the world had not seen since the rise of the industrial United States some 100 years earlier, set out to build a blue-water navy to control not only their “near seas” such as the SCS, but one that today is deployed to the Horn of Africa and the Seychelles in order to secure the “Road” in China’s Belt-and-Road economic initiative.
Regional powers that claim the Spratly group – and the Paracels and Scarborough Shoal – have built up austere “outposts” to cement their claims. However, in recent years the PRC, seeking no one’s permission and for the most part ignored by the wider world, have built significant installations in the Spratly’s, installations with deep-water ports and runways capable of operating all manner of aircraft, the so-called Great Wall of Sand.
In the 19th century the United States built Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas off Key West, on a beautiful and pristine cay set on a turquoise sea. This is unthinkable today. While we have the technology to build, gathering the political will to do so in the face of strident environmental objections is just this side of impossible.
Not so for today’s China. The Spratly Islands are no less pristine and unspoiled, and are vital fishing grounds for countries that neighbor them, but China – in a matter of months – has poured dredge sand on coral reefs and built islands capable of supporting thousands of people and runways of 9,000 feet in length. A giant B-52 bomber could land safely on such a runway, and the fact that the pristine coral reef is destroyed is of no consequence. The PRC has the political will, and the usually strident protests of global environmentalists are meek compared to transgressions they find elsewhere in the world, none of which are on the scale of a newly-constructed Spratly outpost.
The People’s Republic ignores what meager protests are lodged, considering the waters their own, their “blue-territory.” China does not feel pressure to allow anyone use of waters it considers theirs. The West cannot understand this, but that’s the situation today. China wants to control trade in its near seas, and considers the fish under the surface and resources under the seabed as exclusively theirs. Still not familiar with the Spratlys? I believe that Chinese schoolchildren are.
Enter the United States Navy. Our Navy is the guarantor of free trade on the worlds oceans, and has been since 1945. China is a huge beneficiary of this trade, but now that they have built their own fleet up into a legitimate blue-water force, it is taking great control of international waters on its periphery that the rest of the world considers international. Today there is big-time tension in the South China Sea, and a careless spark can ignite it.
This is my premise for Fight Fight. Set today, such a spark occurs. Pol-Mil denizens around the world consider such a conflict to be inevitable, much the way the U.S. Navy and Imperial Japanese Navy viewed each other in the early 1930’s. How will a modern Air-Sea battle be fought there today, and who will fight it? Is it inevitable?
My interest in writing my novels is to explore how the human beings at the tips of both – both – national spears deal with combat in support of national tasking. Such a battle will be fought with missiles – right? How will the expected loss of communications and navigation satellites affect them? The Western Pacific puts the “T” and “D” in Tyranny of Distance, and ships must steam for days and aircraft need in-flight refueling – there and back – to transit vast open-ocean expanses. How will the humans on both sides deal with these challenges?
I’m in good company. Techno-thriller authors of great and lesser renown are publishing their novels of how this notional fight will occur, from cyber to kinetic. For research I spoke with subject matter experts from four-stars to two stripes, read about the geopolitics of the region and social construct of China, read their history, and imagined being inside their ships and aircraft and living on their outposts. My memories of time spent on flight decks and inside cockpits are vivid, and just sitting quietly thinking “what if?” is what techno-thrillers are made of.
Another benefit of novels such as ours is to inform. I could point out the reference materials I used for this novel, but how many readers would read them? Always greater than the sum of the research materials, a novel allows the writer to bring the reader into the world, into the minds of the characters dealing with the man vs. man/machine/nature conflicts in a way that entertains and resonates with the reader, whether familiar or unfamiliar with the subject. After reading Fight Fight you’ll have a feel for the South China Sea and todays geopolitical challenges. Fiction has it’s place, as do war games…and sitting quietly.
Fight Fight, like my others, has what a friend calls a “leadership challenge” that involves one of the seven deadly sins. Each of my novels have subplots centered around our human flaws, and those flaws when placed under the pressures of combat can, well, you be the judge.
I’ve never been to the “Far East” but found my study and the experience of writing this novel fascinating. After Fight Fight was complete, then edited by Linda and tweaked by Jeff, I said wow. Hope you do too, and enjoy this fictional story about what could happen on The Dangerous Ground this autumn of 2018.
Yes, flying high performance aircraft off a ship was fun. Well, maybe not like the goofy grin you have on an amusement park roller coaster when you roar past the camera that captures it. It’s a different kind of fun; exhilarating after the fact, challenging, rewarding. My memories are vivid, but in 17 years of active military flying, one day stands out.
In my career I knew many Blue Angel demo pilots. The Blues are superb aviators and great guys; all of us looked up to them. It’s a demanding job; from January till November they are first training then on the air show circuit, away from their home of Pensacola most of that time, and flying intense practice and demo flights 5-6 times a week. When they aren’t flying they are in the gym (more on that later) or at a social “commit” to meet show-site heavies or visit a hospital, etc. For ten months a year they must be “on” and their performance is scrutinized daily.
LCDR Mark “Gucci” Dunleavy was a Wildcat squadron mate, and in 1998 he was Blue Angel #4, flying the slot in the trademark Delta formation in his second season. The Boss was CDR George “Elwood” Dom, a contemporary and friend. Earlier that year Gucci invited me to fly with the team. It is that easy to fly with the Blue Angels.
We selected July 9, 1998 as a demo practice I could join. This was not just any practice. It was practice for the annual Pensacola Beach show, and would be conducted the Friday before the Saturday show. The “Beach Show” is Pensacola’s biggest event and attendance is well into six figures. We would take off from NAS Pensacola, fly the ten or so miles to the beach, fly a 40 minute demo, and recover back at the air station. Cool.
As a squadron Executive Officer everyone is nice to you, and my request to fly a Hornet to Pensacola was approved. Those of you familiar with the forested monotony of I-10 from Jacksonville to Pensacola will appreciate the 45 minute flight in an FA-18. (Once flying from Pensacola to Jacksonville I accomplished it in 38 minutes. You could do it in under 30, but only once.)
I landed at Pensacola’s Sherman Field and taxied up to the Blue Angel flight line. A razor-sharp crewman in blue coveralls and Ray-Ban shades directed me in to my parking spot with crisp signals. With a smile he said not to worry about the jet, he’d button it up.
Gucci welcomed me and we departed for Perdido Key to stow his ski boat. The team had spent the day waterskiing with finalists “rushing” the team in a last opportunity to get to know them before selection. One of them we had served with was Tater, who we would meet later at Pensacola Beach.
At the Sandshaker we ordered Bushwackers and caught up with all the aviators in familiar fashion, filling the air with jargon and acronyms. There I caught up with Tater and Elwood, and met the others on the team whom I had not met. We had a fun night on beautiful Pensacola Beach, with the finest sugar-white sand in the world. Tater was excited at the prospect of joining the team, and was envious of me flying with them the next day.
The team invited me to sit in on their preflight brief, an honor I appreciated. From a checklist Elwood went over the maneuvers, and in a way that allowed the pilots to envision themselves flying it. The Blue Angel flight brief is likened to a séance, and I spied pilots with eyes closed moving their hands as if they were flying as Elwood described each sequence. Think about it; this is halfway through the season of flying demos almost daily, they’ve got it, but they still cover each maneuver in detail. Frankly, it is a hallmark of tactical aviation, but nonetheless I was impressed with the level of detail and concentration in this “routine” Blue Angel flight brief.
I walked to the jet early to get myself situated in the back seat of the two-seater Gucci would fly for this practice. In the paraloft I was asked if I wanted to wear my G-suit. There is only one answer when flying with the team – no.
The Blue Angels do not wear G-suits, which can add an extra 2-3 g’s of g tolerance. They can interfere with their flight control; going 350 knots only 18 inches from another jet requires fine adjustments. They are also cumbersome to put on and off and don’t look cool on a blue flight suit. The pilots spend hours in the gym most days; they are world class athletes who can crank on 6 g’s for 40 minutes, then step out of the jet looking fresh as a flower.
With me already strapped the team marched down the line and each pilot peeled off to his jet as they would in front of a crowd. On signal Gucci started us up and in no time all six jets were ready for taxi. I got the aft cockpit energized and the jets taxied in formation to the hold short line. Like the pilots, I was fitted with a boom mic, leaving my oxygen mask behind.
We took position on Runway 25 and got the weather report; thunderstorms to the northwest. We could see them, but Elwood decided we had enough time before they arrived. His wingmen each acknowledged his radio calls in rapid fashion. They were pumped up, excited, ready to fly a perfect demo. In my experience, us pilots on radio check-ins try to sound too cool for school, just another day at the office. But the Blues are almost childlike in their enthusiastic radio comms. It’s concentration, from when they march to the jets to when they salute at the end of the demo, and the radio enthusiasm helps them stayed focused.
We rolled down the runway as a division, four jets maintaining position on Elwood as we gained flying speed. As the Number 2 jet lifted off and raised the landing gear, Gucci, feeding in left rudder while holding his wings level, slid under #2, our nose moving into the position #2’s main mounts occupied as they retracted into the aircraft. Wow.
We turned south and crossed Johnson Beach, heading out to sea. “Wanna fly?” Gucci asked. I said, “Yeah, I’ve got it,” and took control. On occasion fleet aviators fly the diamond formation returning from a hop, and as a senior aviator it had been a while since I flew as #4 in a diamond. I allowed myself a smile; flying form in the Blue Angel Diamond is heady stuff, and soon it was the Delta as Numbers 5 and 6 joined. Elwood led us in a wide arc to the east at 500 feet as I maintained a “fleet” distance on him. Approaching Pensacola Beach, Gucci said, “I’ll take it back now.” We transferred control again, and he then positioned us “Blue Angel close” to #1. I was amazed how close we were; the exhaust nozzles of Elwood’s Hornet were right above my head, and it was loud.
With smoke “on” we thundered over the familiar “beach ball” water tower and the two solos broke off. The beach was packed with people and boats jammed Little Sabine Bay. Skies to the west were graying, and lowering.
With a sing-song cadence over the radio Elwood led the diamond through each maneuver. The radio chatter was heavy as the diamond and the solos hit their check points, the object being to keep jets in front of the crowd to the maximum practicable.
We set up over Fort Pickens for the Double Farvel. Zipping down the beach at under 500 feet – me waving at people on the shoreline – the formation loosened up and on signal Elwood and Gucci rolled inverted, which is a cool way to say upside down. The formation tightened again, and I found myself looking “up” at the bottom of Elwood’s jet with shoreline breakers in the background. Hanging in my straps I waved at the Casino Beach crowd as we rocketed past and once clear of show center opened up, rolled upright, and back into the normal diamond.
The weather continued to come down, with a ledge of overcast that prevented us from conducting iconic overhead maneuvers like the Line Abreast Loop or Delta Break Cross. We continued in the “Flat Show.”
Halfway through the demo the diamond “breaks up” for certain maneuvers allowing the pilots to pull hard and put some g on the jets. I was able to withstand the g, but one time Gucci reefed on a turn to rendezvous on Elwood over Gulf Breeze. Tightening my leg and abdominal muscles I was ready for it, and felt my vision gray and then tunnel – not unfamiliar sensations for tactical aviators – before finally going black. I was awake with eyes open, but could not see. Gucci let off the g and my vision returned at once.
Along for the ride, watching a Blue Angel demo from inside it, I caught myself smiling that goofy roller coaster smile. While fun, I was impressed with everything. The level of precision and commitment to excellence were an order above what I had experienced in my naval aviation career, and that’s saying something.
The weather was about to hit Sherman Field, and Elwood had to get us home. With a final Delta Flat Pass to wave good-bye, we headed west to Fort Pickens where Elwood detached us in order. Each pilot slowed in trail, dropping their gear and flaps for landing on Runway 36. We rolled to the end and into a sheet of rain, rain that followed us back to the flight line. After scampering through the deluge to the hangar – not cool! – we took a “six-man” photo as the thunderstorm beat up NAS Pensacola.
They invited me to the debrief, another honor. Every military flight ends with a debrief and receiving frank, constructive criticism is a daily occurrence for aviators, but the Blues take it to a higher level. Constructive criticism was delivered among the teammates and in no uncertain terms; even Elwood received his share. While fleet Commanding Officers are debriefed by juniors on their flight performance, I was taken aback. There was no sugar coating, and each pilot raised his hand and admitted a shortcoming on that flight that they would fix. Another friend who served on the team said you must put on your big-boy pants and take it. These transgressions were transparent to me, but they detected them in themselves and each other and did not ignore them.
Once the debrief ended I showed them the newest fleet gizmo, the Anvis-9 Night Vision Goggles, which they took turns with as the ready room lights were extinguished. With smiles and handshakes they then bade me farewell…it was after 5pm on a Friday with the big show Saturday but they remained behind to pick the new demo pilots for the 1999 team.
The maintenance crew was all there, and despite their friendly smiles I knew why – me! I quickly filed my flight plan and started up. My plan was to wait till sunset to rendezvous with an Air Force KC-135 tanker over the Atlantic that my squadron arranged for night in-flight refueling practice. I saluted good-bye and taxied to the hold-short line where I sat at idle power for 45 minutes as the sun lowered. Timing it, I took off early and conserved fuel over north Florida enroute to the tanker off Jacksonville, as planned.
Driving home I reflected on the experience. What an unforgettable day, amid friends, with can-do professionals delivering a precision performance, exhilarating and fun. Everyone was terrific and could not have been nicer. Each Blue Angel I’ve ever known, from pilot to support crew, is friendly and personable, with self-deprecating humor and humble appreciation to be part of the team. Simply put, the Blue Angels are good, and know how to have fun.
On occasion my wife and I will find ourselves in a sidewalk art gallery in a sunny park or outlet mall plaza strolling past booth after booth of paintings, sculptures, photographs, and carvings. People can make things out of almost anything, and while we browse – and sometimes actually break down and buy something – we can marvel at human talent and abilities we do not possess. The works are awe-inspiring. As children all of us knew we could draw, and we proudly showed our works to anyone who would stop long enough to look. Children receive praise for scribbling, and that praise encourages them to keep at it and get better. Then adolescence happens, and at the other end of that almost none of us can draw or think that we have a shred of talent for art. We become our toughest hyper-critics…and in dark moments can turn green with envy.
I’m guilty of it. A major league baseball player can line a base hit – it is an incredible accomplishment just to be able to step into a major league batter’s box – and then be picked off base. “What an idiot!” I’ll cry at the TV as the runner trots back to the dugout with his head down. Now, I never was a major leaguer – never played little league! But as a fan I know a base running mistake when I see one, and as a fan I can boo the player from the safety of my living room or safety of the stands. It’s expected, and players take it from fans who are not qualified to carry their bat bag, etc.
One thing I would never do, even if a stadium usher escorted me to the dugout and then introduced me to the player, is to then call him an idiot to his face. He’s an accomplished professional and here I am in my dad jeans with mustard on my shirt. I might say, gosh, tough break out there, but was that a curveball you lined to left? Wow, great to meet you. May I please have your autograph, for my son, of course?
We’re safe in the stands, and safe behind the wheel when a less talented driver than we are does something less talented than we would. Yeah, we let them have it, you idiot! knowing deep down that we would be mortified to say something to their faces. Most of us anyway…about 98% of the population by my reckoning.
Which brings us to the internet.
It’s easy to rate things on the internet. I’ve always wondered why five stars is the standard from which to deviate. Why not six, or ten; don’t we like to rank things from one to ten? Regardless, five stars is what we rate restaurants, hotels, and products from grass trimmers to software – and books.
Authors, who in some respects are the kids who pushed through the internal and external attacks of adolescence and take a chance to produce something, knowing that someone is going to reject it, crave reviews of their work. On one hand we want to get better, but deeper down I believe it is natural for an author – artist – to ask a reader or viewer what they think. Did we get it right? Did we connect with you?
Reviews – good reviews – help to sell anything. They are social proof that something is good – or “other.” We give greater weight to a review by a total stranger than one from anyone close to us; Jesus talks about his aspect of human nature in the Bible.
Peter Reed – a reader from Australia whom I do not know – wrote the first review for Raven One. It was four stars, and instead of thanking him I asked (in the comments) what would it take to earn five. That was a mistake and my publisher quickly corrected me. Just accept it, taking the good with the bad (or vice versa). (Thank you, Peter, glad you enjoyed it.)
Sometimes reviewers are effuse with praise – and give four stars. Other times a terse “good read” comment is accompanied by five stars. Sometimes reviewers are upset with the E-reader software and give one star with no comments about the quality, good or other, of the story. For the most part, however, readers that are motivated to review are kind and encouraging, even where they see shortfalls. Comparing the numbers of reviews to numbers of units sold/downloaded, I’ve found that about 2-3% of my readers take the time to leave a review.
Reviewers on Amazon and Goodreads are, for the most part, amateur book reviewers. That said, they are readers and customers, and their comments influence the buying decisions of others…and we are not even talking about how Amazon bots treat reviews and put products in front of potential buyers. As a writer, and maybe a writer with my background, I respect the trends gleaned from reviews. If a sidewalk art show artist heard a passerby say that he or she thought there were too many brush strokes used in a painting or they preferred oil to acrylic or watercolor, I think the artist would just smile and ignore them. When I receive similar constructive criticism about placement and numbers of words, I’ll listen. The scouting report on me? Too technical. That said, readers appear to love the authenticity and realism my story immersion provides, and stay with my epics till the end. As writer I must cater to my audience in the techno-thriller genre. Sure, I welcome all readers and for less than five bucks one can take a chance and try something new. My job then and always is to keep the reader turning the pages to see what happens next. (After Raven One, I cracked the jargon back about a quarter turn.)
Should a writer (service provider? manufacturer?) respond to reviewers? As a writer, I believe no. Maybe I should, but being human it would be a challenge to thank a reviewer who just threw a flaming one-star javelin into my computer screen. I do appreciate all reviews submitted; I’ll just say thank you here or if you contact me. However , there are exceptions when the reviews are especially kind and poignant, or when they are exceptionally cruel and personal and have their facts wrong. The internet has a way of bringing out the worst in us; 99% of the time we writers should just ignore it and drive on. Me personally? My book reviewer average is pretty much 4.99 stars, but I was always a Santa!
Thank you, readers and reviewers. Your reviews encourage and refine; all businesses and organizations crave feedback and for this writer it is no different. That said, I’ll keep writing the books I want to write, offering them for you to read and to comment on their quality, focus on the positive, and stay true to myself.
WJXT Sports Director Sam Kouvaris has been a fixture in the Jacksonville sports scene for over 35 years. With Tom and Deb, and George with the weather, Sam and the Channel 4 anchor team were familiar and friendly faces at 6 and 11pm. Pre-ESPN sports junkie viewers like myself enjoyed Sam’s commentary on the sports news of the day. More than just reading scores, he gave insight and even meaning to the “human drama of athletic competition.” With nearby Daytona, Sawgrass, and Gainesville and Tallahassee in their football heydays, Sam was conversant in everything sports and well connected.
In late 1992 naval aviation in general and carrier aviation in particular was reeling. The Tailhook scandal raged, and senior aviators played rope-a-dope, waiting for the media, political, and even intra-service pummeling to pass. It was also during this time that the resurgent Dallas Cowboys were marching to the Super Bowl, and the “America’s Team” hype was back. We at Cecil Field were America’s Team, but how to convey that? Movies like TOPGUN and shows like Supercarrier didn’t help matters, and my neighbors in Jacksonville would see a Hornet high overhead but have no idea how they were flown or why. So I opened the yellow pages and got the address for WJXT, then wrote a letter, in longhand, to Sam Kouvaris and invited him to go on a training hop with us. Then I mailed it, with a postage stamp. Two weeks later he called.
We chatted about doing a story on my squadron, the VFA-131 Wildcats, and how we trained. Sam was a bagger from way back; flying with the Blue Angels is something media personalities around the country do on a weekly basis, but bagging a carrier landing off the coast with my friend Brillo at the controls of a two-seat Hornet is more than most reporters get. Sam said sure, if you can swing it, I’m game. He played it cool…inside he must have been thinking are you kidding me! Hell yeah I want to go on a training hop!
So, prepared to ask forgiveness as I did throughout my career, I pitched it to my CO, Hawk. My vision was an air wing practice strike; Hornets and Vikings from Cecil, Tomcats, E-2’s and A-6’s from Norfolk, Marine EA-6B jammers from Cherry Point, all refueled by Air Force KC-10’s from North Carolina. We’d have the 125th Fighter Wing from Jacksonville, flying F-16s at the time, oppose us as we would fight our way into Pinecastle, bomb it, and then fight our way back out. And, ah, oh yeah, Skipper…I invited Sam Kouvaris to ride along. Yes, sir, the reporter.
Hawk was all for it, and I got to work coordinating it, again with good old fashioned phone calls, paper and pen. Time on target; 30 April 1993.
Sam got his medical and seat check updated, and in the months running up to it I mailed letters explaining what we were doing – deep background – and described a typical training hop that we flew daily to the local practice targets or over the ocean as pre-game warm up drills. The practice strike was likened to a college spring game football scrimmage, and training and learning never ended. Sam and his cameraman Kevin, who has been with him for three decades, came out to Cecil and we showed them around the squadron and put them in the simulator. They spoke to the sailors – the pit crew – and many of them were on the broadcast, with Senior Chief Murchison and Chief Langham featured. They asked questions about flying. I think it was Kevin who asked me if it was possible to fly under the Main Street Bridge or some such thing. I replied that you can do anything once. Sam tells me that quote lives on in the TV-4 newsroom.
Beaner took the reins of the Wildcats and together we brought this project to the Wing Commodore, Spock. Now early 1993, Navy was dealing with the increased budget pressures of a new administration to the already Draconian “peace dividend,” plus the distraction of the “gays in the military” issue which became Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. The Tailhook fallout continued. In this high-threat battle space everyone was gun-shy, and my project had a low positive benefit and a very high negative if it went south.
Spock liked it, but was concerned about a civilian in the middle of a practice strike formation, regardless of the risk-management measures we applied to it. I would lead a two-plane “section” to the Pinecastle target complex with Sam flying with a VFA-106 instructor. After I bombed and strafed, we’d go out to the area and meet up with a Topcat S-3 for tanking practice. So it is written, so it shall be done.
On 29 April Burner and I, with Sam in Burner’s trunk and armed with an 8mm camera, took off for Pinecastle. I’m not sure if formation dive deliveries are done anymore, (guess I could find out!) but in the video Burner is flying formation on me as we overbank and pull down to the target. Sam is not used to this, and must hold the camera on me; once my bomb comes off you can sense him fighting the sudden g force as Burner follows me on the pull off. The strafing clip is excellent, with Burner stabilized right there. That’s the sound of my 20mm cannon on the video, unedited, coming through the Plexiglas canopy from 300 feet away – cool!
Everyone loves their jargon, and Sam stopped me once after I referred to “filming.” We don’t film, we tape, get it right! So we flew over Daytona and over the Atlantic where I demo-ed in-flight refueling as Sam taped with Burner flying form. After some intercepts we flew over the city and into the break at Cecil. That afternoon, Air Wing Seven squadrons arrived from Norfolk, as did the Marine Prowlers.
April 30, 1993 was a severe clear day in Jacksonville – one less variable! – and we briefed this gorilla. It had 8 of us Wildcats and 8 Gunstars from our sister squadron. Two divisions of Dakota and Dog F-14’s and four Blue Blaster A-6’s, plus E-2s from the Bluetails, and the Marine EA-6Bs. Roles were assigned and fuel was allocated, as were take off and target times. The guys that helped me plan it flew it; you’ll see my roommate Bullet (who remains on active duty, and yes, we called him Bullet then) who was alternate lead, with Comet, who later became the Commodore, Box, Tails, Gucci, Possum, Smack and Bags. There’s Biff, of whom Rick Reilly told his Sports Illustrated readers to run from, and Durt who survived a night in the gulf and took it all in stride. Smurf, and Leo – what a great guy Leo was. Air Wing Seven’s call sign was Freedom, as it is today.
Walking to the jet I was pumped, and Bullet slapped me on the back; “Freedom freakin’ Lead!” The size of the strike didn’t really hit me until on the taxiway and seeing all the Toms and Intruders – uncommon to Cecil – taxi into position. Game time.
We joined on the KC-10’s off Savannah, got our gas, and then pushed south. Every mile and minute is structured, but you must be ready for what-if pop-ups. You, listen, monitor, decide, and talk only when required. The Vipers intercepted us and the sweep Tomcats and Hornets dealt with them. About 16 of us pressed down to Pinecastle, going feet-dry over Ormond Beach and rolled in from a high dive, a tactic passed down from our ancestors.
We flew back out the way we came, then knocked it off. Sam and Kevin met me at the flight line and I didn’t spike the ball, acting as if we’d been in the end-zone before. You know, the image-is-everything routine. He prompted me to show some emotion, c’mon, man! Guess I needed Crash Davis to coach me up on post-game media interviews.
They then got to work editing, and decided to call it Patriot Games, after a recent title of another best-selling techno-thriller from a remarkable new novelist.
Two weeks later Channel 4 aired the story over two nights, in reverse order of how the events occurred. Lites, then the Gunstar Commanding Officer and no stranger to squadron press coverage, laughed as he bowed down to me in mock supplication; you win, you win!
Bullet soon departed for Pentagon shore duty, and months later told me he had seen the clip in a Public Affairs briefing of what Navy needed more of.
Sam, with Kevin alongside, serves ably at Channel 4, delivering a first class broadcast night after night in a town he loves and where he raised his fine family. The local P-3 and Seahawk guys got with the program, and Sam has flown with them too. He is a loyal advocate of naval aviation, and cites his experiences with us as the highlight of his career. Check out his unforgettable Rampager Change of Command speech sometime.
He said people would often ask him if he was a pilot, and he was tired of saying no. He did something about it, and today is an instrument and multi-engine rated general aviation pilot. Me, I just write about flying.
Hope you all enjoy watching Patriot Games, which was taped 25 years ago this week.
Next to the academic building at Naval Aviation Schools Command in Pensacola is a F/A-18 Hornet painted in the livery of Strike-Fighter Squadron 81, the Sunliners. All who begin their naval aviation adventure begin it in Pensacola, and this building and the jet parked next to it are familiar landmarks. There is a name painted under the canopy, a high honor for such an iconic static display aircraft, one that is viewed by hundreds each month as they take the first steps in the long journey to wings. The name is a challenge to them, a name carefully chosen of one to emulate. Be like this name, the stenciling suggests.
CAPT SCOTT SPEICHER
It is doubtful that any of today’s students were alive when this name was in the news over 27 years ago, but certainly some are aware of this man and his actions in combat. To Americans of a certain age – a nice way of saying much older – this name may jog a memory. Where have I heard that name before?
To me, and many readers of this blog, the callsign under the stenciling conveys warm feelings of friendship and shared good times, of loyal devotion to duty, of trust, and courage. And an infectious smile.
SPIKE
I first met Spike in 1986 at Cecil Field when, due to hangar overcrowding, our A-7 squadrons were shoe-horned together for a period of time. Spike was in VA-105, a squadron that years later would hold special meaning for me. What a great group the Gunslingers had; Shoe, Mongo, Duck, Lady, Bone, Bud-Man, Frailes, Roots. We had fun hanging out in the cramped ready room, and it was evident all the guys had high regard for Spike.
Spike was a year or two senior to me, and before I could become a shore-duty instructor in the F/A-18 I had to first learn the jet. Spike was one of my instructors in the Gladiators. My logbook records that our first “flight” together was March, 12, 1988, each of us in a Hornet conducting 1v1 Basic Fighter Maneuvering training over the Atlantic. I do not have a memory of this hop, but later that month my class went to Fallon for Air-to-Ground training and Spike was one of the instructors. It was on this det we got to know each other better as squadronmates. I’m sure he led formations I was part of, and I probably bought him a beer or two at the Silver State O-Club as penance for small in-flight infractions
With the airline good-life beckoning, junior aviators were resigning from the Navy as fast as they could. Back at Cecil the JO’s were herded into the ready room for a meeting with the Wing Commodore. Like any good leader he wanted to know what was on our minds and what could be done to keep us in uniform. He got an earful, and, exasperated, he asked, “Is anyone going to stay in?” In a room with Frailes who would one day command a carrier and wear stars, with Irish who rose to CAG, with Kid who 15 years later commanded the Gladiators, and others like me who stayed for careers, only one lieutenant ignored the peer pressure and raised his hand: Scott Speicher.
That August I was hanging around the ready room and Spike had an open back seat for a Fighter Weps hop he was instructing. I asked to jump in and he said sure. The set up was Spike leading a student in another Hornet against two A-4 “bandits.” I’m sure we had an enjoyable chat over the cockpit ICS as we led the student out to sea south of Ponte Vedra. However, once over the Atlantic it was all business. With a 40 mile split both formations came at each other as the Hornets worked their radars and communicated what they were seeing to each other on the radio. This is intense, fast, difficult, and at the merge damn dangerous. It is fun to be sure, but professional reputations are on the line and all of it will be debriefed in detail. Spike had to fly our jet and in a sense that of the student he was instructing. All I had to do was observe and keep a lookout. I think it was on this hop we were coming down the back side of a loop – we were inverted! – about 16,000 feet and a single red party balloon floated by our left wing, both of us incredulous that it was “out here” at least 30 miles east of St. Augustine.
The following is a vivid memory.
We were egressing west after an engagement, unloading for airspeed and with our wingman in sight. I saw an A-4 about two miles at our three-o’clock going to four and nose-off. I keyed the ICS.
“Tally one A-4 three-o’clock, two miles!” As soon as the words came out of my mouth I regretted them.
Spike snapped the jet right and into the “threat.” At once he saw the Skyhawk was no factor and yanked it back to the left to resume. “That guy’s no threat!” he scolded me with an edge and made it clear that future bad calls from me were not appreciated. Spike was easygoing and relaxed, but in this environment he was a fierce competitor first, even in this canned training scenario.
A minute later all was forgiven and forgotten, replaced with the exhilaration of flying a Hornet and enjoying Florida’s First Coast float under us on the way home. He led us into the break and let me fly a landing from the backseat. What a great time. They were all great times.
Though Spike was taller and better built, we resembled each other. One day as he picked up his daughter at the Orange Park preschool, my 2-year-old toddled over to him with outstretched arms thinking it was time to go. Another time I was summoned for a fitness report debrief. The skipper placed the paper in front of me and I read it. After I finished I said, “Skipper, this is a great fitness report. Unfortunately for me I’m not Scott Speicher.” He said something like “Doh!” and gave me my fitrep, which was more like what I was expecting.
Needling is part of squadron life. With my brother arriving at the airport in three hours, I led a division gun hop. In a hurry, I left the power up and “cruised” the formation at .93 Mach all the way out to the area off Amelia Island with Spike and the others hanging on. We shot the bullets, joined up, and hauled for home, also at .93. Spike laughed at me in the debrief as the lead of the shortest air-to-air gun hop he’d ever flown. I met my brother on time.
Spike left for his department head tour in VFA-81, and I saw him shortly before Saratoga deployed. He was genuine, and when he said let’s get together after the cruise, he meant it. In August of 1990 our world changed, and in the ensuing months many of my friends deployed to the Red Sea and Arabian Gulf. My ship didn’t go…I watched Desert Storm on TV…but steeled myself for losses. We didn’t know what to expect from a combat-experienced Iraqi Air Force in a new and unproven environment.
We received a call the Spike was missing, and that morning SECDEF himself declared him KIA. We were stunned. Not Spike. A month later we were stunned again. Not BJ.
The years rolled on, and rumors surfaced that things did not happen the way we were told that night. Spike ejected, we found out, with evidence he was alive on the ground.
Twelve years later Baghdad fell. Then at the Pentagon, I was told that finding Saddam was job one, with finding Spike a close #2.
Spike didn’t come home, and his story has been told and will be told better in time, but Spike was a shipmate in the truest sense of the word. An uncompromising warrior, those of us who knew him knew him as a devoted husband and father, a devout Christian who lived his faith, a superstar athlete, a model officer and superb aviator, a fun guy to be around…a great guy. There are a lot of great guys out there, but he really was.
Yes, the years roll on. It doesn’t happen often anymore, but being of a certain age there are occasions I am asked if I knew Spike. Yes, I smile, and tell them that he was one of the greatest guys I ever served with.
This A-4E Skyhawk, on display outside the main gate at Naval Air Station North Island, is for the most part ignored by thousands of motorists each day. It is somewhat hidden by a tree, and of course each driver is digging in pockets for an ID card or drivers license to show the sentries as they approach the gate. Being an airplane junkie I glance at it most every time, having flown the two-seat training variant of the A-4 in flight school. A fun little jet, and I’ve bombed, strafed, shot rockets from it, trapped aboard USS Lexington in them off Pensacola, fought them in multi-plane engagements over east central Mississippi. One of the guys I fought in training was Major “Tamer” Amos, who had a successful career in the Marine Corps. As a Hornet pilot I fought quite a few “adversary” A-4’s, and one of those pilots was a cool guy named Lex Lefon. Roughly 100 TA-4J hours in my logbook prove that I was technically a Skyhawk pilot, but I would never claim that I flew the legendary Skyhawk in my career, because it would dishonor those who did, like the man who flew a Skyhawk into combat in September of 1965.
Commander Jim Stockdale was the Wing Commander, the “CAG,” when, flying a VA-163 Saints A-4E as replicated on this jet, he catapulted off USS Oriskany and headed west into North Vietnam. CAGs and squadron CO’s like Jeremiah Denton who led from the front were targeted by North Vietnamese gunners; anyplace in the skies of North Vietnam was dangerous, but flight lead losses were fearful, as they were for the eight-plus years of that conflict. Stockdale’s Skyhawk was hit and he ejected.
That morning in Oriskany’s wardroom he ate breakfast on china plates and white linen. For the next 7.5 years it was meager rations, solitary confinement, threadbare clothing and torture, brutal torture to include the dreaded ropes. The North Vietnamese were quick to identify and punish resisters, to break their will, and finding himself as the senior POW, Stockdale was targeted for more than his share of punishment. During this time – years of misery we cannot fathom – he led, from the front as Wing Commanders do, and organized the prisoners into a military organization that allowed them to not only draw support from one another but to serve with honor. And survive.
Vietnam was tearing the country apart, but in San Diego…and Lemoore, Oak Harbor, Jacksonville, Virginia Beach…families of POWs were hurting. Missing absent husbands and fathers was one thing, but not even knowing their fate or being denied even a letter was itself torture. Like her husband, Sybil Stockdale was a leader, and founded the National League of Families to call attention to the plight of the POWs and petition the government to lean on North Vietnam for humane treatment. Our government, and the Navy, consoled Mrs. Stockdale, saying they were doing everything they could and to please refrain from more public statements. She had none of it, and like her husband in captivity 8,000 miles away, she also led, working for the families to find resolution and pressure the enemy to improve the treatment of their loved ones.
At the time I was a boy living in San Diego’s University City; children of POWs with the names Burns, Shumaker and Rutledge were my schoolmates. We knew things were bad for POWs and many like my parents wore POW bracelets. “POWs never have a nice day” – remember that bumper sticker? To a large extent it was through the efforts of Sybil Stockdale, and others, leading from the front, in this case the home front.
We watched the POWs return home in 1973 and I get emotional thinking about it, seeing my schoolmates on TV run up to their fathers deplaning at Alameda or Miramar whom they had not seen in years. The family of one absent aviator who lived up the street didn’t have a joyous homecoming; their dad was Missing-in-Action, and decades later I read his remains were finally identified.
Stockdale was a legend I knew about as I entered flight school, as was Denton, John McCain (who also flew a Saint A-4E from Oriskany when he was downed), Bud Day, Leo Thorsness…names few Americans could remember by the early 80’s. But in 1992 America was reintroduced to retired Vice Admiral James Stockdale, the presidential running mate of billionaire Ross Perot. At the televised vice-presidential debate, standing alongside Dan Quayle and Al Gore, neither of whom was qualified to carry his helmet bag, he opened with this line to try to generate interest in this newcomer to national politics. “Who am I? Why am I here?”
The line backfired, and the white-haired grandfather, appearing confused and hard-of-hearing, was transformed into a national laughingstock, ridiculed for not being as sleek and smooth as Quayle or Gore. Maybe the Perot-Stockdale ticket cost Bush the 1992 election, but regardless, James Bond Stockdale retired from public life having tried to again serve the public through servant leadership. By the early 2000’s Alzheimer’s set in, and he succumbed in 2005 at the age of 81.
Once you go through the VADM James B. Stockdale Gate at North Island, the birthplace of naval aviation with piers and runways familiar to Commander Stockdale, you’ll see the Stockdale Training Building, and drive on Stockdale Boulevard. Go south along the bay, under the bridge to the 32nd Street Naval Station piers and you may see USS Stockdale, an Aegis guided-missile destroyer named for the Medal of Honor recipient, a warship bringing the Stockdale name back to the Western Pacific on each deployment. And there is the Stockdale Leadership Award, a coveted award one can receive only after nomination by ones peer group. Stockdale Award recipients are considered the best of the best, and good people.
Several years ago we were at a Change of Command ceremony aboard the carrier John C. Stennis at North Island, and during the hangar bay reception spied Sybil Stockdale. Elderly and suffering from Parkinsons, guests whispered in reverence that “Mrs. Stockdale is here,” and all were honored by her presence. There’s no escalator from the pier to the quarterdeck; she walked up the brow on her own power. The ladies present honored her with their gentle greetings, knowing exactly who she was and how special her being at the ceremony was for everyone there. The living legend passed away later that fall at the age of 90.
She and her beloved husband wrote a book about the Vietnam experience they shared half a world apart called In Love and War. It is a story of faith, in God and one another, of conviction, of devotion to duty, and courageous leadership in the face of enemy fire and US government bureaucracy. Published in 1984, it is only available “hard copy,” but it is a priceless story, a true love story, and one that is required reading for today’s generation of military couples. Anyone who has experienced a deployment homecoming can relate to this cover image, but imagine coming home after 7.5 years to a teenage son taller than you.
In Love and War by Jim and Sybil Stockdale is unforgettable. Do not pass it by.
This photograph, that I took 20 years ago over the North Arabian Gulf, is still a common sight. Those F/A-18C Hornets are still flown today and with similar weapons on the wings, and that Iranian oil-rig flare-stack down there is probably still burning as bright as it did in the 90’s when it served as a landmark for us. There is an American aircraft carrier nearby, such as there has been in the Gulf for almost every day of the past 20 years, and seven years before that.
I am not acquainted with Harlan Ullman, the author of the recently-released Anatomy of Failure: Why America Loses Every War it Starts, but was aware of him through his writings and guest appearances on cable news and CSPAN before I picked up his thought-provoking book. He is a naval officer by trade, a combat-experienced Vietnam swift-boat commander who went on to serve in “The Building” and defense think-tanks. He is a product of the Washington defense establishment, and is a sought-after commentator on defense issues. He has quite the pol-mil pedigree, and comes across as a serious guy who is speaks truth to power.
At its core, Anatomy is a study of the presidential administrations and the conflicts each has presided over since and including Vietnam. Though Ullman touches on the post-WWII world order, he cites military actions the United States has engaged in since he came of age in the 1960’s. It is not a record of success. While military men and women are justifiably proud of their service in combat, it is Washington, and primarily the White House, that almost every time manages to lose the peace. So then, why are we still patrolling the Arabian Gulf, and with airplanes and weapons that are 20-years old and older? Why is our annual defense budget some $700 billion with a new-normal of behind-schedule and over-budget acquisition programs? Why?
Ullman’s primary causal factor is that the occupants of the White House, even ones with résumés that say otherwise, are not well-versed (or just versed) in the realities of geopolitics. Unwilling to learn – they are already the Commander-in-Chief so why should they? – a succession of presidents and administrations, congresses, defense departments, diplomats and even uniformed commanders make blunder after blunder with lasting consequences in their wake. Groupthink takes hold, and I am reminded of my time in Washington after 9-11. By early 2002, going to war in Iraq to finish the job – regime change – was next; it was in the air. Look at the above photo; I knew the situation better than most citizens, had a sense of the risks involved, and supported the effort to change Iraqi governments. Ullman did not, and calls 2003 a catastrophe of the highest order. I would point to 2011 and the unilateral pull-out – abandonment – of Iraq on an artificial timeline, but serious political and diplomatic mistakes were made in 2003 and 2004 that made the situation much worse. Reasonable – and informed – citizens can disagree. This brings us back to Ullman’s first point. To have these educated conversations and debates, one must be educated. Short of sending every American to War College for an advanced degree in National Security Policy and Strategic Studies, self-study through reading is the answer.
Ullman’s book is not tearing up the charts on Kindle. While it is well-written and thorough, it, like most pol-mil literature, is dry and frankly over the heads of most Americans; not you, Dear Reader, but most and particularly our young Americans. If you admit to liking War College reading assignments (okay, okay, I read most of books assigned, but late at night…after the kids were asleep!) you’ll enjoy Ullman’s book. Alas, most of our citizenry has never heard of it and would not even crack it open were it handed to them. That’s fine…except every 2-4 years those same citizens wield a very powerful weapon – a vote.
If non-fiction books like Ullman’s are not going to be read by even a fraction of 1% of our population…how do we expect our population to know anything about the current challenges we face? We learn through stories. Movies are the easiest way, just sit back and watch, but even movies about real events can be quite flawed. Black Hawk Down and We Were Soldiers are exceptions. Movie fiction can be even worse, but there is a place for fiction.
Luke Ryan at SOFREP says it well that fiction allows the reader to get inside the character, multiple characters, on both sides of a conflict, and experience the drama and emotions of a fictional occurrence that could happen. To use hard-hitting and direct language to convey the feeling of being terrified or confused. Autobiographies do this well – hard to argue with a first-hand account – but fiction can take that to a higher level, and history is full of compelling stories that resonate with readers long after they’ve finished.
“Thank you for your service” rings hollow when the person saying it has no idea, zero, on how our men and women in uniform are deployed and what it is like for their families left behind. Especially today with instant global communications and 24-7 news. Our population is not being taught much of this in school – I assure you – and if they do not have a basic understanding of history and geography then geopolitical life is going to be harder for us as a society. Each of you have a favorite book, fiction or non-fiction, that encapsulates to you a story that every American should know. Give the gift of a book, as many do, to help friends and family understand.
Regrettably, Ullman discounted the 30-year “War on Drugs” as not worthy of his study. Those I know who have spent careers “fighting” it quip that our efforts such as they are only serve to prop up the price for traffickers. Books, more than movies, can deep-dive into philosophical questions of warfare and when to wage war, and when not to.
In Washington’s where-you-sit-is-where-you-stand political coloring (pretty sure I know where Ullman sits), Ullman does a good job calling them as he sees them, giving it to both parties who have much to be ashamed of. Our country and especially the active-duty military serving it deserves better, much better. It is not too much to ask of our elites in high-level defense, legislative, and diplomatic positions to read works such as his, and other works by well-known authors such as Stavridis and McMaster, to name a few. We should demand it of them. Popular market biographies of such as Powell, Cheney and Rumsfeld are also helpful to educate the public on how DoD functions and the realities of geopolitics, and there are plenty of authentic stories out there. Every American, and there is no excuse if you have a college education, should read at least one true-life account or authentic novel about our military in their lifetimes. That is supporting our troops, and that helps when making an educated vote every-other November.
And if you or your family cannot find the Arabian Gulf on a map, you have work to do. (I and others can help.)
