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RED FLAG Shenanigans Part 1
RED FLAG is a two-week exercise held several times a year at Nellis Air Force Base several miles northeast of Las Vegas. It’s an advanced air-to-air combat training event that “aims to offer realistic air-combat training for military pilots and other flight crew members from the United States and allied countries.” Since my first squadron, the VF-24 Renegades, obviously qualified for the event, we volunteered to go……twice….in two years. Multiple DACT events?? VEGAS??? Sign us up!

The following five vignettes are offered to explain how these kinds of events went for an early 90’s Tomcat squadron. They’re pulled from both of our visits there in 94/95 and are representative of each of them. The first one in 1994 we all got to stay in a Howard Johnsons near the airport (decent breakfast!) and for the second one we got to stay in a “No-Tell Motel” across the street from the city jail (syringes and hookers!). Life was good, as we’d all fly once a day and have some of the best Liberty imaginable in Sin City, USA. I’ll use vignette #1 to illustrate how fun that nightlife was (names and callsigns changed to protect the innocent).

Who’s Got the Spike Watch?
As you may imagine, cutting 28 Fighter Pilots and RIOs loose in Loss Vegas can be rather…..interesting. Per usual, we’d tend to travel in large packs (10-12 wasn’t unusual) and we’d roam the streets going to various casinos (“always bet on Renegade Red!!”), consuming the local food and beverage (shrimp cocktails and bourbon), and communicating with the indigenous peoples (showgirls).

We had a RIO in the squadron (“Spike”) that was from North Carolina, complete with heavy accent, that would on occasion imbibe just enough bourbon to cease conscious brain function but not quite enough to make his legs stop working. One fine evening, Spike was right there with us and then all the sudden he was not. Shit. We searched a bit but no joy, so ended up going back to the hotel to get some shut eye.

Morning arrives and Spike had returned sometime late in the evening. We’d heard he’d banged on some of the Sailors room doors while in his underwear and they eventually steered him to one of the Officer’s rooms. We’re all downstairs for breakfast just waiting for Spike to tell us what the hell happened. He didn’t remember, naturally. But he DID say “I have a pocket full of receipts, ATM withdrawal slips, and I can’t find my wedding ring.”

Uh-oh. So we lay out all the paperwork in chronological order. Apparently, he’d hooked up with some honey (not physically, just out partying) and they: withdrew $500 in cash for gambling, had a $140 dinner at a steak restaurant, and spent $600 at a handbag store. Oh, and he gave the girl his wedding ring. Skipper hears about this and he appoints us all as having the “Spike Watch” for the rest of the detachment. Spike was not happy but managed to stay married because his wife is a Saint.

Beating Up on Eagles
Our primary role is (again) Red Air, the bad guys, with very limited A/A missile capability and our job was to suck up Eagle AMRAAM and then get to a merge and have some fun. My favorite engagement occurred mid exercise. We were set up in the west of the working area in the low 20,000’s and the Eagles were in the east way up in the ionosphere in the high 30s, probably 60 miles away. At the “fights on”, we push east and descend a bit to try and pull them out of the high block. They didn’t bite.

At about 40 miles we can see them waaaaaay up there; a wall of eight Eagles each with a contrail. Now normally, if you’re emitting contrails (“marking”) you want to get out of that block because the bad guys can see you. But a wall of EIGHT Eagles at 38K’ with 4+ AMRAAM each is pretty formidable so at that point, they have an “I don’t care if you can see me, you’re going to die” advantage. Sure enough, the whole wall of eight turns 45° to the south; they’d sorted and shot missiles at all of us hapless Red Air missile sponges. After 30 seconds or so, “Timeout kill; all Red Air is dead.”

With that part out of the way, the “continue” call comes and now we roll up our sleeves for some turning and burning. The Eagles know we’re not coming up there so they come down to meet us. Perfect. Their wing is optimized for the thin air; the Tomcat swing wing is optimized for the thicker air below 20K’. We’d all broken up and were now raging singes, and I get radar on an Eagle that’s headed right at me. We’re all the way north and clear of the rest of the jets, so it’s just me and him mano a mano.

We close, and then we’re visual, and it looks to be a left-to-left pass. I’m at my best corner speed (320 kts) because I know that down here our degrees of turn per second is pretty close but he has a slight advantage. I need to find a way to get some angles and I hit upon a pretty basic intimidation move as we’re about to merge. Normally at an ACM merge, you pass wingtip to wingtip at 500 feet separation and when you pass, you start your turn, either into him (2 circle) or away from him (1 circle). My plan is for a 2 circle fight to maximize my turn rate. But what I DON’T do is wait until our wingtips pass to start my turn.

I wait until we nearly merged, throw the stick hard left with some rudder while I’m at his left 11 o’clock and put a BIG OL’ TOMCAT right in his face, like I’m early turning him. All he sees is this aluminum overcast right in front of his jet, seeming to be digging for a turn before even passing. Our jets then actually pass and I snap on 6.5 Gs and max perform the Tomcat across his tails and nose low. And my gambit works. As I visually acquire him in a couple seconds, he hadn’t started turning….and THEN he snaps on his best turn. But it’s too late. I’ve already got 20° or more on him, I’m below the horizon, and in 2 circle flow it’s just a matter of time. I pull harder to to scoop the turn out across the circle and get into a firing position pretty quickly. Worked out real nice for me on that one. Naturally, there were other merges that didn’t. In the debrief we met up and chatted and he was a newer Eagle pilot and said “I’ve never seen a jet that big move like that.”

BUFF Too Tough
At one point, we had a B-52 show up. Affectionately known as the BUFF (Big Ugly Fat F**ker), she’s a remarkable platform and it was an honor to see one in flight. On one particular run, she was making her way across the area up in the ionosphere with the Eagles there to protect. We all REALLY wanted to bag a BUFF as it would be huge bragging rights. Our division of Red Air starts this particular run and with four Eagles/one Buff in the East, we turn in and head for ‘em. Our plan is to break up into four raging singles about 40 miles and dive for the deck and hope to ingress get under the Eagles and behind the BUFF and do our best to cornhole her from behind.

Things are working pretty good, but the Eagles have a GREAT system and they managed to bag 3 of us. But not me, luckily. I’m in the weeds in the high desert roving through a valley and my RIO is doing his best to get his radar up and on the BUFF. Sure enough, there she is at 4 miles in the medium 30’s. Now, remember I’ve related before that the F-14A with the TF-30s didn’t do so well above 30K’ (as in “could barely get there”), so I know we wouldn’t have much time for the shot, basically making a stern conversion in the vertical. So we light the cans, accelerate to ludicrous speed and start a climbing 50° nose up slight turn to the right.

Once we’re visual, it’s just a matter of timing your turn and climb to arrive in a firing solution at the BUFF’s 5 o’clock position and start blastin’ away. That’s the plan anyway. What ACTUALLY happens is this. We’re about 3 miles at her 5 o’clock, the heart of the envelope for the stern quarter Sparrow shot, and my RIO tries to get a radar lock. I see the diamond/symbology bounce around, feel the antenna thumping at my feet and SCHWACK the radar antenna hits the stops hard low and right. RIO tries again, same result. At this point, I figured out that a jet as big as the BUFF must have a jammer suite as big as a tractor trailer. Sure enough, no WAY we’re going to get a radar missile on her. Fair enough, switch Sidewinder (heat seeker). I didn’t know if I had enough ‘Winders to bring down a BUFF (two 20-pound warheads against a 200,000 pound jet), but I’d give it a try.

‘Winder up, good seeker symbology, try and maneuver to get the seeker on one of the motors…..and….remember when I said we didn’t do well up above 30K? Well, controls are getting mushy and if I put any kind of pull on the jet I’d probably stall one of the motors, and I’m getting slower a little at a time. I keep fishing for a bit but the seeker didn’t want to give me a good lock. A couple growls, but no tone. Dammit. No way guns were going to work in this scenario, so discretion being the better part of valor……let the nose drop, abandon my one shot at a BUFF, and on the descent shake my fist while screaming at the sky “Curses!! A curse on you, BUFF!!!!”

This is part one of "Red Flag Shenanigans".  Tune in next week when we finish the series with "Mirage 2000, Dammit" and "Area 51 is Real."
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