THE BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA FOR CCT
As the new millennium opened, combat control history was being written in huge chunks. Early in the new decade, the global war on terrorism (GWOT) dominated world events and combat controllers found themselves key players at the center of the fray.
AIRMEN ON THE GROUND
Reprinted with permission from VFW Magazine - April 2002
by
Michael E. Haas, Colonel, USAF (PJ/CRO), Retired
Deputy Commander, 720th Special Tactics Group, 1990-1993
Special
tactics in action: the least known of U.S. special operations units,
the 720th STG —
combat controllers, pararescuemen and combat weathermen
— is perhaps the most unique of the military elite as is
recently
demonstrated in Afghanistan - War On Terrorism.
"Are you in the same Air Force I am?"
The startling question instantly spiked the briefing officer’s voice, terminating his update on the progress of the ongoing, tactical air-ground exercise. For long minutes the general had simply stared in bewilderment at the tall, tough-looking captain speaking to him in the command tent.
As sweat-stained and mud-spattered as the boots and BDUs he wore, Combat Control Team (CCT) officer Craig Brotchie spoke like an airman, but looked more like some swamp-savvy Ranger or Marine.
The general could be forgiven his outburst of curiosity. Brotchie was indeed a USAF officer and a highly trained one at that. But the tactical performance of his small team in that exercise represented a little-known aspect of air-ground operations that routinely surprises even those within the Air Force.
The 720th was activated in October 1987 at Hurlburt Field, Fla. By 1996, combat weather troops–used to support Army Special Forces–were part of the team. All told, Special Tactics numbers only some 800 operational personnel.
The Air Force Special Operations Command (6% is ST) now possesses a potent air-ground capability so versatile that Special Tactics airmen are invariably deployed with their U.S. Army Green Beret and Navy, SEAL counterparts.
The 720th STG presently supervises seven Special Tactics squadrons stationed elsewhere in the U.S., as well as Europe and the Far East. The squadrons are designated the 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 24th and 10th Weather; and the 320th and 321st. The latter two are based on Okinawa and in England, respectively’.
The Group’s mission is presented in deceptively simple language” … to organize, train and equip Special Tactics forces worldwide to establish and control the air-ground interface in the objective areas.”
These often-classified, high-risk missions take place in a world that seems light-years away from the public’s perception of the “wild blue yonder” Air Force. But in fact, they represent an evolution in tactical joint-force operations that is as sophisticated as any of the much more visible weaponry now in the U.S. arsenal.
The key to the effectiveness of the Special Tactics concept is the combination of superb human talent with the latest advances in technology. And for years, the mainstay of this concept has been the all-enlisted pararescue and CCT officer-enlisted teams working together to execute their separate missions.
RESCUE, CONTROL, WEATHER
Pararescuemen
(”PJs”) are arguably the finest combat trauma medics in the armed
forces. Their motto–”That Others May Live”–is a commitment that has
been paid for with pararescue blood on battlefields as far apart as
Laos and Somalia. These personnel recovery, specialists in their
distinctive maroon berets made their first official combat jump into
Panama in 1989 during Operation Just Cause.
They have subsequently conducted numerous, open-ocean parachute rescue missions to aid injured sailors, and work closely in their rescue role for all NASA space shuttle launches. For a force that has seldom numbered as many as 400 strong, the PJs have compiled an astonishing history of valor and achievement.
The scarlet beret worn by CCT operators is seldom seen during their operational deployments overseas. This is a prudent decision considering the extremely sensitive nature of their mission in the combat zone. The versatile CCT have good reason for their motto (”First There”) because one of their missions resembles, in many respects, that of the famous U.S. Army WWII-era Pathfinders.
The first of the first to enter denied territory, usually at night and often by parachute, CCT establish assault zones for follow-on airborne forces.
Chief Master Sgt. Wayne Norrad, then with the 23rd STS, remembers his first combat jump on one such mission during Operation Just Cause. “I jumped in as part of the command group of the 3rd Ranger Battalion, and even though we jumped low, they were still firing at us as we came down in our parachutes. Strings of red tracer rounds from automatic weapons stitched the sky all around me. A real eye-opener for my first combat jump.”
They also are trained in the tactical art of calling in air strikes on enemy positions. And they have developed an unparalleled expertise in controlling the devastatingly accurate firepower of AC-130 Specter gunships. (CCTs, however, should not be confused with Tactical Air Control Parties, whose members are not part of the 720th.)
The latest example of their courage and skill was demonstrated yet again in Afghanistan, as CCT “eyes on target” brought to bear hand-held laser designators to pinpoint Taliban targets with precise selectivity. An 11-man team from the 23rd STS called in many of the 175 strikes conducted during 25 consecutive days.
As the New York Times reported in January, 100 combat controllers, pararescuemen and weathermen served there. A CCT staff sergeant named Mike called in air strikes. “I’ve trained for a lot, but this was the first time I ever rode on horseback,” he said. Mike nearly lost his life when a bomb exploded nearby. “Everything went black, and I thought I was dead,” he said.
The latest increase in Special Tactics versatility is represented by another group of specialists, the combat weathermen with their gray berets and motto, “Weather Warriors.” Five detachments field about 120 men.
As Senior Airman Edwin Gideons, then an airborne weather observer, once explained to Airman magazine: “The Army uses our weather data to decide what they’re going to do, as far as weapons and tactics. Our missions turn into direct action.”
Their participation in dangerous missions can–and has–prove critical to successful accomplishment in some spectacular operations.
Such was the case, for example, when in November 1970 a combined U.S. Army-Air Force commando unit waited impatiently in Thailand. Clear weather was necessary to launch the daring Son Tay POW rescue attempt into North Vietnam.
Within the short, 38-day time frame available to the commandos, foul weather grounded the rescue attempt. That is, until the task force’s assigned weathermen detected a single 12-hour “weather window” of opportunity. Placing both their faith and their lives on the weathermen’s judgment, the commandos launched their now-famous mission that brought them to the outskirts of Hanoi.
In Vietnam and Laos, 20 pararescuemen and seven CCT were KIA. (A memorial to the CCT was dedicated in 1980 in Hurlburt Field’s air park.) One of the pararescuemen, Airman 1st Class William H. Pitsenbarger, became the only man of his military occupational specialty to earn the Medal of Honor. Killed on April 11, 1966, he was posthumously awarded the MOH in December 2000.
Since Vietnam, STG elements have served in Grenada, Panama, the Persian Gulf War, Somalia, Haiti, Bosnia, Kosovo, Colombia and currently in the Philippines and Afghanistan.
In Somalia, some of the 11 airmen from the 24th STS who fought in Mogadishu on Oct. 3-4, 1993, were wounded. Bravery Was abundant: a pararescueman earned the Air Force Cross, another the Silver Star, a CCT the Silver Star and Bronze Stars for valor went to the other 8 team members.
On Feb. 22, 2002, two pararescue jumpers from the Okinawa-based 320th STS were killed in a helicopter crash in the Philippines during anti-terrorist operations. On March 4, a pararescueman and combat controller were KIA in Afghanistan.
WARRIOR SPIRIT
As
always in the conduct of risky special operations missions, the most
critical weapon present is the human warrior. Operating in small groups
and armed only with light weapons, often in company with Green Berets
and SEALs, Special Tactics airmen work in an extremely lethal,
unforgiving environment.
Human failure can prove catastrophic in such situations. That’s why the CCT/PJ selection-training pipeline makes an enormous effort to weed out all but the best of the candidates who volunteer for such duty.
“The biggest problem we have is that Hollywood hasn’t made a movie about us,” Sr. Master Sgt. Mike Breeden (now with the 22nd STS) once told the Air Force Times. “We’re looking for a mental character who is independent and is strong-willed and who doesn’t quit, but by the same token is also a team player.”
Those who complete the initial selection phase can look forward to further training in their core skills specialties. These include basic and advance parachuting, open and closed-circuit Scuba tactics, Survival School and other specialty courses.
No doubt, as the war on terrorism continues, the highly skilled 720th STG will play a crucial yet virtually unknown role.
MICHAEL E. HAAS was the deputy commander of the 720th STG from 1990-93. He was a flight platoon commander in the Army’s 173rd Assault Helicopter Co., based at Lai Khe, Vietnam, 1968-69. A retired Air Force colonel, he is the author of: In the Devil’s Shadow: U.N. Special Operations During the Korean War (2000) and Apollo’s Warriors, US Air Force Special Operations during the Cold War, http://aupress.maxwell.af.mil/Books/Haas/Haas.pdf
COPYRIGHT 2002 Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States --- COPYRIGHT 2003 Gale Group
REPRINT PERMISSION
1. Email to EDITOR dated 12/19/2007 (1150PM) from Kelly Lanigan,
Senior Writer, VFW Magazine.
2. Email to EDITOR dated 12/21/2007 (1207PM) from Michael E.
Hass, Colonel, USAF Retired.
COMBAT CONTROLLERS IN AFGHANISTAN
by
TSgt Ginger Schreitmueller
Air Force Special Operations Command - Public Affairs
FEBRUARY 2002 - HURLBURT FIELD, FL (AFPN) —Among an Air Force combat controller’s many missions is the ability to provide air traffic control under the most austere conditions. Within the first few days of Operation Enduring Freedom, one combat controller proved his long years of training in this skill as a valuable asset to the mission.
Master Sgt. Bart Decker, an 18-year combat control veteran, was among the first to arrive at a forward-deployed base in Uzbekistan in October to support America’s war on terrorism. Within days of setting foot in country, Sgt. Decker put his expertise to the mettle. In order to bring the force, needed supplies and equipment to the fight, Sgt. Decker and his fellow combat controllers had to tackle the antiquated air traffic control systems in place.”
The tower and the runway was not in bad condition, and the host nation was actively using it,” he said. “However, the control tower was set up with Cold War-era equipment with 1950’s technology. It had fairly old systems that weren’t in the best of shape.”
Since combat control teams had surveyed the tower equipment and runway systems in advance, the controllers who deployed in came prepared to augment the existing gear. As a standard, controllers deploy with portable navigational and communications systems in order to establish austere runways and landing zones without the benefit of an existing tower or large communications or navigational systems.
In this case, the controllers knew existing systems were usable but more modern equipment would better meet the needs of the mission.”The in-place radar system was not up to today’s technology and would limit the ability to bring U.S. aircraft in bad weather and if visibility was not perfect,” said Sgt. Decker. This was a critical factor as winter was moving in and dust storms are common occurrences in the region.
After integrating a U.S. navigational system and portable lights along the runway and approach end, the controllers set up their mobile microwave landing system.
“MMLS is a mobile antennae system that enhances our ability to keep the air flowing going. Weather and dust storms could limit the ability of the aircraft to get in and out of the airfield,” said Sgt. Decker. “The MMLS provides the aircrew a ’stair-step down’ through cloud or dust storms, to bring them in to be able to see the runway. The radar system in place at the airfield was a basic system, which would limit our ability to bring the airflow in to the base.”
Though the MMLS was used during peacekeeping operations in Bosnia, this is the first combat employment of the system.
“We train on the system and know it would provide us enhanced air traffic control capabilities under the circumstances in country,” added Sgt. Decker. “Based on information from the advance team, we arrived at the site with the system so we could begin air traffic control operations quickly. It worked perfectly and ensured we could bring in the aircraft safely,” he said. “We averaged about 15 sorties a day, around-the-clock airflow; bringing the aircraft in, getting them moved and unloaded, and flying them back out again.”
MSgt
Bart Decker, an Air Force Combat Controller, rides horseback with the
Northern Alliance in Afghanistan.
Before entering Afghanistan, Sgt.
Decker provided air traffic control support for the initial airflow
supporting
Operation Enduring Freedom. (USAF Photograph)
A
team of combat controllers worked 24-hour shifts throughout the first
weeks of the operation to bring the force to the fight. They worked all
the air traffic control expertise during this time.”Our team brought in
the initial air flow of C-17 aircraft to the forward location,” said
Sgt. Decker. “The C-17s brought in everything needed to establish the
base camp - from people to supplies.”
Despite the obstacles faced with
the equipment, Sgt. Decker said working with host nation controllers
was a positive experience. The host nation controllers and combat
controllers worked in unison to bring in the airflow.”
They received the initial call from another tower that aircraft was inbound,” he said. “From there, they passed us the information and we began interfacing with the main radar to pick up the in-coming planes.”
The working relationship did mean overcoming the language barrier, but Sgt. Decker said the connection was good. “We had interpreters who helped with the language barriers, but after a few days of working in the tower together we developed a good rapport with our host nation controllers,” he said. “One of the host nation controllers even brought in a chess board and we all started playing chess during any quiet times.”
After several weeks of providing critical air traffic control for the U.S. military transporters, Sgt. Decker and his team brought in the bare-base support, supplies and people to turn the dot on the map into a forward operating site.
"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his."
General George Patton, WWII
AIR COMBAT CONTROLLER “LOWERS THE BOOM” ON TERROR TROOPS
by
Gerry J. Gilmore
American Forces Press Service
FEBRUARY 27, 2002, WASHINGTON, DC -- Air Force special operations trooper described moments of danger and levity when he and Army compatriots were hunkered down atop an adobe building north of Kabul last fall.
Air Force Tech. Sgt. Calvin, an air combat controller, said he arrived in Afghanistan Oct. 19, shortly before the start of the Northern Alliance’s drive on Afghanistan’s capital city. Less than 30 hours after his arrival, Calvin said he was directing U.S. military “smart bombs” and other ordnance onto key Taliban and Al Qaeda targets.
Calvin, who didn’t release his last name for security reasons, said he and his group were about 25 miles north of Kabul when the Northern Alliance’s offensive kicked off. The bombs he directed from U.S. Navy and Air Force planes, he noted, helped shatter Taliban positions that had held firm against opposition troops for three years.
When the offensive got going, Taliban and Al Qaeda troops were firing at his special operations unit with everything from small arms to bigger-bore weapons, he said.
The Taliban “would take their heavy anti-aircraft artillery, turn it horizontal, and shoot it at us,” Calvin recalled, adding that’s when his group began joking to one another that it was time to get off the roof.
“That particular day we were getting shot at pretty bad even when things get grim, you see the lighter side,” he explained. No one on the roof, he said, thought about retreating.
“The mindset is to get aircraft on the scene to eliminate that target,” Calvin emphasized. “That’s everything you train for, it comes down to that moment. You’ve got to eliminate that threat so they don’t have it anymore.”
The campaign for Kabul was expected to last six months, Calvin noted, but ultimately took just 25 days because of the successful use of close air support against the targets. That campaign ended, he said, when terrorist troops abandoned the city. Calvin’s special operations team, he noted, liberated the American Embassy in Kabul.
Calvin said Northern Alliance leaders and troops appreciated close air support provided by the Americans in the campaign for Kabul.
“It doesn’t matter what country you’re from, there is that common bond of military camaraderie. Once they saw that we were a definite asset for them, there was immediate rapport,” he noted.
Calvin is slated to share his Afghanistan experiences with other Air Force combat air controllers. He noted that U.S. and coalition military successes in Afghanistan demonstrate the effectiveness of joint special operations forces warfare.
“You have your intel(ligence) guys, weapons guys, medics, engineers,” he explained. “You take all that technical expertise and you have a force to be reckoned with.”
MARCH 2002 - RAF MILDENHALL, ENGLAND -- When Master Sgt. Paul “Vinnie” Venturella leaves for the
office, he’s got a variety of transportation options.
“I can get to work in any manner — jumping, diving, walking,
vehicle, boat or submarine,” the 16-year combat controller said.
That’s because when they “punch in” these warriors of the 321st
Special Tactics Squadron at Royal Air Force Mildenhall, England, are expected to
get to work fast. So there’s no time for a coffee break.
“We have to be able to get in immediately and establish terminal control providing both air traffic control and, when necessary, close air support [of fighters] without any infrastructure and little airlift,” said Maj. Michael Sneeder, squadron commander.
“Rockin’ on the mike” is what Tech. Sgt. James Pulaski (foreground) considers
one of the most rewarding aspects of being a combat controller.
While he relays
geographical coordinates, Tech. Sgt. Calvin Longton (left), noncommissioned
officer in charge of combat controller training,
and Tech. Sgt. Robert Jeeves,
combat control operator, patrol the area
For example, when conducting combat rescue operations, special
tactics operators are trained to push a boat out of a plane over the ocean in
the dark of night, freefall parachute into the water, inflate the boat and get
to the mission. They’re equipped to endure any environment on land, sea or
sky.
Although this operational version of extreme transportation
sounds like something out of a James Bond movie, these ironmen don’t have the
luxury of wearing designer suits. And instead of hidden pocket-sized gadgets,
they’re sporting more than 100 pounds of equipment, including chemical gear,
rucksack, parachute and radio equipment, on their backs when they hit the ground
running.
“When we get to work, our job is to talk on the radio and make
things happen,” Venturella said. “We’re an air-to-ground interface — a conduit
of information that ties the ground to the air operationally.”
Making things happen requires these camo-clad comrades to adapt
to any environmental condition. And training takes care of this, physically and
mentally.
“Basically we have to drownproof our people to develop their confidence so when they’re in a tough situation they can survive,” Sneeder said.
Combat control airmen like Senior Airman Kristopher Lankert store their gear in
walk-in type lockers at the unit.
Because the airmen maintain a wide variety of
equipment, lockers not only minimize what’s in their closets at home,
but also
keep equipment centrally located in case of last-munite deployments.
More than confidence
But dropping into austere
locations in extreme conditions takes more than just confidence. Speed is the
name of the game when an operation depends on controllers setting up an
airfield.
“I can put a guy on a motorcycle, and he can pull portable
lights out of his rucksack, shortly after landing at the location, to mark a
runway,” Sneeder said.
In Somalia, one of many examples, combat control teams landed
and set up landing zone operations and communications immediately with equipment
they carried in rucksacks. Then for three weeks, they safely controlled a large
volume of air traffic before a mobile air traffic control unit was airlifted to
the location to relieve them.
The nature of the business requires these guys have the “juice”
it takes to be in top physical condition.
“We jump out of airplanes, scuba dive, shoot and rappel,” said
Tech. Sgt. James “Ski” Pulaski, Blue Team flight superintendent. “Combat control
requires us to maintain a high level of physical fitness.”
And at least once a year, that fitness level is put to the
test. Standard physical training evaluations measure the warriors’ ability to
perform under physical pressure. They must complete a three-mile run,
1,500-meter swim, push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups within an allotted time.
Training for this takes hours at the gym and pounding the pavement. But there’s
more to working out than evaluations.
“Developing muscle mass through weightlifting ensures the body endures the trauma of jumping out of an airplane,”Sneeder said.
Communicating the details of each mission before combat control teams head to
the field is essential.
Master Sgt. Paul Venturella (top) reads coordinates from
an escape and evasion chart to
TSgt James Pulaski. Pulaski keys the
coordinates into a global positioning system so
the team will know its location
at the touch of a button.
Pickin’ up what’s goin’ down
Beyond the brawn, brains
keep them performing. Although prioritizing can be hectic, situational
awareness, constant flexibility, forward thinking and problem solving are skills
that make or break a mission. And they are skills that must be mastered.
“Being in charge as an air traffic controller, you’re the man
in charge of the airfield. Nothing goes on without you knowing it,” Pulaski
said. “I get a real rush when I’m ‘rockin’ on the mike,’ separating air traffic
and keeping things moving.”
According to Venturella, that’s a reason he fondly refers to
combat controllers as “sled dogs.”
“The lead dog is the number-one, go-to guy. The ‘musher’ is the
team leader and the sled dogs are the work force — the muscle behind getting the
job done,” he explained.
The sled dogs are part of what he’s enjoyed about the Air
Force.
“The people I’ve been associated with — from day one — have
been the highlight of my career,” Venturella said.
He summed up his time as a controller with a “misery-loves-company” comment. “The best part of the job is knowing when you’re in ‘deep suck,’ your buddy is with you.”
Blazing a trail
Ironically, despite the heavy
operations tempo, many of the “sled dogs” are so motivated by their jobs they
can’t get off the ground enough.
“They feel like they’re chained down if they can’t go TDY,”
Pulaski said. “It’s hard to explain the dynamics of the job — you gotta do it to
know it.”
Venturella agreed.
“These guys want to get out there and prosecute the mission,”
he said.
And these airmen not only do it, they’re experts at it. In
lockers the size of small bathrooms, their military-issue equipment is stored in
the hangar they call home. This makes deploying rapidly, as a prepared team,
possible.
“We need to be able to make the leap from air operations to
ground operations.”
Although he’s more removed from the trail, as the senior
enlisted manager, Venturella said being a sled dog during real-world missions is
where it’s at.
Pulaski agreed and said keeping things in perspective helps him
facilitate what the “musher” needs done.
However, he admitted, “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to grasp sand in your hands. But if you prioritize and delegate, you can get the job done.”
Force recognition
Unfortunately, many people have no
idea what combat controllers actually do when it comes to getting the job
done.
“Among Air Force members, there are noncommissioned officers
who don’t know we’re Air Force special operations forces. Every other service
knows who their special forces are,” Pulaski said. “No one really understands.
They think we control combat. Even my wife has a hard time explaining what I do,
so she tells people I’m a cook.”
With only 350 combat controllers in the career field and six
bases they can move to and from, it’s not surprising they’re an elusive bunch to
most of the force. But it’s more surprising that even airmen at bases they’re
stationed at don’t know about the “scarlet berets.”
“I was at my first duty assignment, at McChord Air Force Base
[Wash.], and this airman came up to me and asked ‘What do you do?’ When I told
him I was a combat controller stationed there he couldn’t believe it,”
Venturella said. “He was at my base and didn’t know we were there.”
He believes the lack of recognition and misunderstood role
stems from not having a direct correlation to a civilian job.
“Most Americans aren’t aware of what we do, and much of what we
do isn’t very sexy,” he said. “We don’t have movies made about us — so education
is the key to understanding our mission.”
He summarized what they do with three simple words — shoot,
move, communicate.
Brothers in arms
But it takes more than squared-away
operators to keep things on track. Mission support airmen perform combat arms
training and maintenance, vehicle and radio maintenance, intelligence and
logistics functions to keep the brotherhood moving. Every 120 days, members
enter into a training cycle that incorporates shooting on the run to keep
proficient using the M-9 semiautomatic pistol and multifunctional M-4 rifle — a
shortened version of the M16A2 rifle.
“Our guys know what to do in the field so when we attach to a
joint unit it’s seamless,” Sneeder said. “Because if you’re not communicating,
you’re not doing your job. You’re just a cool guy with neat merit badges.”
With these adrenaline hounds, it’s all about the excitement of
the mission.
“How could you give this up when there’s so much to get out of it?” Pulaski asked. “Even though there are sacrifices, you’re always learning in this career field.”
Unlike his medical counterpart who may use a scalpel, sutures and bandages to
treat a patient, Elsharrawy usually only needs a pair of pliers, a screwdriver
and some black spray paint.
His charges are specialized motorcycles and all-terrain vehicles used by the
squadron’s special tactics teams at Hurlburt Field, Fla.
Elsharrawy is one of two vehicle maintainers who keep about 12 four-wheeled
ATVs and 30 motorcycles in tip-top shape. The teams use the vehicles for getting
around in austere environments.
Special operators have used motorcycles and ATVs for missions since the
Vietnam War. They give the operators versatility, flexibility and speed. Both
men and machines can be air-dropped into a mission area, or rolled off transport
aircraft when possible. Plastic gas tanks not only help keep the vehicles
lightweight, but ensure there are no sparks upon impact.
The most common “injury” Elsharrawy and his boss, Tech. Sgt. Eddie Cooper,
treat involves collisions with immovable objects.
“ ‘A tree got in the way,’ is what we usually hear,” explains Elsharrawy
about the motorcycles’ most common ailment.
Also on the list of common ailments is dehydration — no gas.
Like any good doctor, Elsharrawy feels for his patients.
“It hurts my feelings when I see one of them broken or damaged.”
The motorcycles are a mixture of all the major brands in various sizes such
as 250cc, 100cc and 80cc. They have to be specially ordered, but that’s because
the bells and whistles are removed, not added.
There are no radios, signal lights, tail lights or speedometers.
“It’s not like there’s cops where these guys go,” explains Cooper.
And there are no snazzy paint jobs. Everything is painted a dull, flat
black.
One special vehicle the pair maintains is the rescue all-terrain transport
vehicle that has a Porche 914 2.0L Type 4 Engine and an Audi 5000 transmission.
It was partially designed by special tactics members and built by an off-road
racing company. It’s used primarily by pararescuemen, with each vehicle capable
of carrying up to six patients.
Maintaining such a special vehicle can prove challenging, especially when it
ends up in a swamp.
“It took us three days to get that thing out,” Elsharrawy said.
But that’s part of the job, explains Cooper. “We’re the squadron’s AAA.”
UNDER CONTROL
by
Master Sgt. Lance Cheung
MARCH 2002 - NAVAL STATION ROOSEVELT ROADS, PUERTO RICO — Captain Paul Soomsawasdi
wanted excitement in his life. So he joined the Air Force nine years ago to be a
combat controller.
But he didn’t make the initial officer selection board. The Air Force made
him an acquisition officer and sent him to Los Angeles.
That was a long way from the special operations world he wanted to join. A
world where combat controllers are the first to arrive in hostile territory.
They set up landing or drop zones and provide air traffic control. They also set
up navigation aids and command and control communications and remove obstacles
so aircraft can land on the battlefield.
“I was disappointed because I just couldn’t see myself sitting behind a desk all day,” he said.
Swimming is one way Capt. Paul Soomsawasdi, a combat
controller, keeps in shape.
And the waters off Naval Station Roosevelt Roads,
Puerto Rico, afford him many opportunities to do that.
But Soomsawasdi didn’t give up on his dream. Instead of stewing, he found the
military pentathlon, which involves shooting, cross-country running, land and
water obstacles and grenade throwing. It put him in top physical shape and
helped develop the mental discipline to overcome adversity. To his surprise,
many people he competed against were special operators.
The physical and mental conditioning the sport demanded helped him achieve
his goal. Three years later, he applied to be a combat controller again. The
board chose him to enter the training pipeline, starting with the grueling
12-week indoctrination course at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas. But the
pentathlon training paid off. He made the cut.
“It helped me get through the selection process and the combat control
pipeline,” he said.
That pipeline is one of the toughest in the world. For more than a year,
Soom-sawasdi went through combat diver, airborne, military freefall, combat
survival, air traffic control and combat control training.
He went on to serve with the 321st Special Tactics Squadron at Royal Air
Force Mildenhall, England, and then the 23rd Special Tactics Squadron at
Hurlburt Field, Fla. He honed his skills at both squadrons and took part in
several “real-world” contingencies.
Today Soomsawasdi’s a special tactics liaison officer at Special Operations
Command South’s joint operations center at Roosevelt Roads. He advises his joint
comrades on how to best use Air Force special tactics.
He’s back behind a desk. But he doesn’t mind because he’s seeing his job from
a new angle.
“You learn, real quick, to appreciate what the staff does for the operator,”
he said. “And working with the Army and Navy lets me see the big picture of
special operations.”
Special operations is playing a key role in the United States’ war on
terrorism. Combat controllers will be the “first there” to establish any assault
zone and provide the air-to-ground interface needed to succeed in such a joint
effort, he said.
It’s not a point lost on Soomsawasdi’s wife, Caroline. In August the
couple had a son, Eli. She knows Paul could go to war, and she worries
about that.
“I know Paul is physically and mentally ready to do his job anywhere,” she
said. “That makes me worry less if he has to go somewhere.”
Of course, Soomsawasdi would rather be in the fight. “But we also have an
important mission in this theater,” he said. “The work doesn’t stop.”
— Master Sgt. Louis Arana-Barradas
THE BATTLE OF ROBERTS RIDGE
Developed from online resources
by
Gene Adcock, CMSgt, USAF (CCT) Retired
MARCH 2002 - TAKHUR GHAR MOUNTAIN, AFGHANISTAN -- In the early morning of 4 March, an MH-47, call sign “Razor 03,” approached Takhur Ghar Mountain, preparing to deploy a joint special operations team. The helicopter was met with a fusillade of enemy fire as it prepared to land. The pilot immediately departed the helicopter landing zone (HLZ) despite a crippling blow from an RPG. In the chaos, US Navy SEAL Petty Officer 1st class Neil Roberts fell out of the helicopter. With the controls freezing up, it was all the pilot could do to limp North and put the helicopter down in an area about 7 kilometers away out of immediate danger. Once on the ground, Combat Controller TSgt John Chapman rapidly established communications with an AC-130 gunship to ensure their area was secure. He then directed the AC-130 gunship to fly over the initial insertion point to search for his missing teammate. He quickly coordinated the movement of his team and aircrew from their emergency landing area, thus limiting exposure to enemy attack.
http://www.pjsinnam.com/War_on_Terror/Chapman/Chapman.htm
Sergeant Chapman, and his team, volunteered to mount a rescue mission, back into the enemy hornet’s nest where PO-1 Roberts had fallen. The team reinserted and almost immediately made contact with the enemy. Sergeant Chapman immediately advanced toward the fortified position, from where they last taken fire; he dispatched two of the enemy with his M-4. Simultaneously, he and his team came under withering fire from three different directions. From close range and with minimal cover, Sergeant Chapman engaged a well-dug-in heavy machine-gun position; allowing his team time to take cover and provide flanking fire. While engaging this heavy machine gun, he was mortally wounded. TSgt John Chapman was the first CCT combat death since Vietnam; he died with his weapon in his hand, providing covering fire in an effort to save his teammates’ lives.
TSgt John Chapman Memorial, Arlington National Cemetery
http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/jachapman-memorial-at-anc.htm
A quick reaction force (QRF) was inserted to rescue the SEALs and eliminate the enemy. One of the QRF’s insertion helicopters was hit with another RPG and amazingly was able to land safely, if the middle of a firefight can be considered “safe.” Enemy troops were less than 20 meters from where the helicopter came to rest.
SSgt Gabe Brown was the combat controller attached to the QRF. For the next 15 hours, he directed close air support in a series of “danger close calls” that can be only described as heroic. A senior Air Force pilot said, “It was the most incredible close-in close air support operations that I’ve ever seen.”
On that day in March, seven brave Americans died on Roberts Ridge. But countless others were saved by SSgt Brown’s actions.
As of September 2002, Combat Control, in Afghanistan, had controlled the delivery of more than 2 million pounds of CAS-ordnance. Although steel on target is a more direct and visceral methods to fight the war on terrorism, all the skills of a combat controller are needed to win. DZ/LZ surveying, CSAR, and especially ATC were essential to combat operations in Afghanistan.
WE TOASTED CHAPPY; THEN DRANK HIS BEER
an email vignette from
Mark J. Hughes, SrA, Pope CCT, 1981-1985
Guys
Just got back from the Chapman funeral in PA yesterday.
The town really treated us with a great deal of respect and dignity. They closed off streets and the whole 9 yards. Tons of media coverage, and there were American Flags everywhere. All of the services were quite moving and tastefully carried out. I guess the family wanted the casket open to show that war is hell, and to let us all say a proper farewell. No sugar coating the harsh reality of what we do (or did). Considering what he’d been through, I guess he looked pretty good. Not much like himself though. I’d never met Val before Monday night, but she seems like a great lady, and Combat Controller’s wife. What a tragedy.
About 3/4 of the way through the second viewing, Don Robinson, Randy Blythe, and 15 or so of us walked down the street to one of the local bars, with a picture collage of Chappy in tow that one of the other guys brought along from the funeral home. We set it up on the bar and bought him a beer in absentia, which we placed in front of the photo. When it was time to leave, we toasted him, and then passed Chappy’s beer all around and everyone took a drink until it was gone. Oh, well. CCTers have never been known for our good hygiene practices. Too bad Jeff Hitchcock didn’t arrive until later that night with Col. Holmes. It just wasn’t the same for me without him there. It would have been nice if John Scimeca could have made it too. Has it really been over 20 years since CCS? Anyway…
Later, I bought out the bar for everyone back at the hotel after the wake, and it wasn’t over until about 2am. It was nice to meet Lt. Col. Rodriguez, and many others over a couple beers. There must have been more than a few headaches the morning of the funeral and burial to be sure. We had those two girls behind the bar hopping. The USAF sent one of its official honor guard units for the burial, and they were flawless. Three A-10s did a fly-by to wrap-up the graveside service.
In 20 years, I’ve never seen so many active duty CCTs in one place before. As out-of-place as I must have looked to outsiders with my long hair, beard, and diamond earring, I was seated and or standing in formation right in the middle of that sea of blue and scarlet, and feeling the warm embrace of our Brotherhood. For those moments, we were all the same. The reception afterwards in the basement of the church had some excellent home cooked food that was actually brought to the tables instead of the usual buffet thing.
I just wanted to post this for you guys that couldn’t make it, so consider yourselves filled-in. As somber an occasion as this obviously was, it was still great to see a lot of old friends and make some new ones of the young kids. I’m glad I took the time to go, and hope it’s a good long time before we have to do anything like this again. Here are some pics from the service:
http://www.post-gazette.com/headlines/20020313funeralnat1p1.asp
Just paste them into your address bar if they don’t show up in html, and go to the web site. I understand we made the cover of Popular Mechanics too.
Mark Hughes, CCA LM-746
His duty to our country is always clear,
He travels to lands far and near,
He jumps, he dives, he knows no fear
Well, that's never clear.
Training and teaching as hard as he can,
Operator, Planner, Silver Team man,
Superintendent, Instructor, to name just a few
Combat preparation and more he will do.
He serves our country and serves it well.
What does he do? He'll never tell.
Special Tactics is his game,
Don't ask, he won't give you his name
It's not always easy to be a CCT wife,
But, to him, I have dedicated my life.
My heart is with him when he goes away,
And, for his safety, each night I pray.
This job is left behind today,
Our lives will be lived a different way.
To protect and serve was his career,
His memories and friends will stay very dear.
It's been twenty-one years since you raised your hand,
And pledged your loyalty to our land.
We thank you my Love, you have served us so well,
You've left a proud legacy for all to tell.
_________________________________
SMSgt Brian Shreve's wife read this poem during his retirement dinner, there was not a dry eye in the house.
_________________________________
COMBAT CONTROLLER RECALLS OPERATION ANACONDA
by
TSgt Ginger Schreitmueller
Air Force Special Operations Command Public Affairs
MAY 29, 2002 - HURLBURT FIELD, FL (AFPN) — On a small hilltop in a remote region of Afghanistan, an Air Force combat controller put his training to the test to save the lives of his teammates and those they were sent in to help.
Staff Sgt. Gabe Brown was part of the response force sent in during Operation Anaconda, March 4. What began as a rescue mission would end with a fierce firefight during the battle of Takur Ghar.
Operation Anaconda was part of the ongoing effort in Afghanistan to root out Taliban and al-Qaida forces holed up in the Pakitia Province area of the country. The operation began March 3, with the insertion of U.S. and coalition forces into the region south of Kabul. The helicopters took fire, landing a few miles away from their objective area.
Miles away at the base camp, Brown was roused from sleep and told to start “spooling up. A helo is down.”
Knowing little more than they were flying out for a rescue operation, Brown grabbed his gear and headed to the departing helicopter.
“We only had a bit of information on what was happening,” said the sergeant, a nine-year combat controller assigned to an operating location of the 22nd Special Tactics Squadron at Little Rock Air Force Base, Ark.
Nearing the scene of the downed helicopter, Brown and others on board prepared for the landing. The other Air Force special tactics people on board the helicopter with Brown were Senior Airman Jason Cunningham and Tech. Sgt. Keary Miller, both pararescuemen.
“The helo was (hovering close to) the ground when we took fire,” said Brown. “We were shot at by several (rocket-propelled grenades) and small arms fire. The padding that lines the inside of the helicopter was flying around like confetti. All I could think of was, ‘Here we go!’”
The helicopter had landed on a flat area of mountainside. Half the area faced a cliff side with a drop off of more than 1,000 feet. The other half was dotted with trees, rocks and pathways.
Less than 20 meters from where the helicopter came to rest, a hostile group just started shooting at us nonstop, said Brown.
Four members of the rescue team were killed instantly, as the rest scrambled out of the helicopter seeking cover.
“One of the Rangers opened fire and killed one of the enemy troops,” said Brown. “The shots were coming from every direction.”
Knowing air power was essential, Brown took cover by a rock near the landing zone. He grabbed his communications gear and linked up with airborne aircraft.
“All I kept thinking was we needed (close air support) and we needed it now,” said Brown. “My job was to concentrate on bringing in the bombs to knock out the enemy, and I knew I needed to do it fast. It was almost surreal in the sense I didn’t feel as if I was in the middle of all that was happening.”
From his position, the combat controller could see the enemy fire coming from a small bunker off to his left.
“I had an aircraft overhead carrying 500-pound bombs, but the ‘bad guys’ were too close to our position to drop that much ammo without risking our lives. I waved the pilot off the bomb run. I had him come around and strafe the area with guns,” said the sergeant.
The aircraft made a low and hard sweep over the entrenched area, popping off rounds at the enemy troops.
“You could see the snow flying off the ground near the bunker and I knew he was hitting it,” said Brown.
The aircraft made several more passes at the enemy before indicating he was out of ammo.
Despite the thousands of rounds pitting the area, the al-Qaida forces kept firing.
“I kept yelling across the area at the platoon leader about our options to eliminate the bunker,” said Brown. “We coordinated on what we needed to do to ‘frag’ out the enemy and blow the bunker. We knew the bad guys were still hiding in the bunker. We were already two hours into the fight and it was only going to get worse if we couldn’t take down their position.”
Using his close air support training and skills, Brown targeted the spot using precision bombs. The need was urgent as additional al-Qaida troops were pulling up the mountaintop toward the U.S. team.
“If we couldn’t kill the bunker, we were going to be surrounded,” said Brown. “We knew that we had enemy soldiers hiding in the terrain to our (right). Effectively, they were moving in on us and we had nowhere to go.”
The danger-close call proved effective, as the bombs skidded across the side of the mountain just in time and collapsed the bunker.
“The noise was just like it sounds in the movies,” said Brown. “You could smell the burning pine off the trees and see the snow kicking off the ground.”
Staying on the “comm” link with his airborne support, the sergeant kept glued to the rock protecting himself from the volley of enemy fire. The temperatures were extreme, barely hovering above freezing. Minutes seemed like hours, and hours passed in minutes.
“It is not a stress I’d recommend to anyone,” he said. “Our training prepares us for the worst possible scenarios, and this was one of those scenarios you pray is never a reality. The intensity is there and the longer it goes on the harder you fight.”
But with the bunker out of action and the enemy forces moving up toward the Americans, Brown turned his attention to the rock and tree cluster on the other side of the landing zone.
“Since I couldn’t use target designators, I needed some marking to be able to talk the bombs onto target,” said Brown. “I used a small tree I referred to as the bonsai tree as a reference point.”
Brown cleared a fighter pilot to drop bombs. When the smoke cleared the tree was now just a stick in the ground, he said.
Enemy resistance waned and Brown took a breath. The reality of the firefight sank in. Somewhere in the midst of the battle his friend and teammate, Cunningham, had been hit, the wounds fatal. The pararescueman was among seven killed on the mountainside that day.
“A lot happened in those 14 to 15 hours,” said Brown. “There will always be the variables you can’t control. Throughout the events you are mentally tired and mentally alert. You can only focus on what needs to be done right then and there. You grieve later.”
As the Americans gained control over the maddening firefight, other teams were cleared to come in and pull them out.
“We should all stand tall and take pride in knowing that all our men — those who made it off the mountain and those who did not — are heroes,” said the senior ranking special tactics officer in theater. “In sacrificing their lives and facing down a numerically superior enemy, they set the standard for all of us. I can tell you unequivocally that everyone performed with great valor … on that there is no question.”
The close air support had stopped the enemy from overrunning the Americans on the mountain, and provided a show of force against those seeking to reinforce the enemy troop movements.
With the landing zone cleared and darkness falling, the Americans were extracted from the mountaintop. Two helicopters moved in to pull out the wounded, the survivors and those who had given their lives in the fight against terrorism.