Sierra Hotel -Stroke 3

On January 19, 1991, Major Emmet Tullia II ascended to a demigod-like status, towering pillars above mere mortals.

The weeks leading up to this auspicious day were furies of organized chaos. The coalition forces facing Saddam's Army were building up in rather loud anticipation. They conducted flight ops on a massive scale, with hundreds of planes in the air at a time. These formations would fly along the border just shy of Iraqi and Kuwaiti airspace.

These elephant walk-sized formations would skirt along the border, alerting Iraqi air-defense controllers. These controllers were actively shitting their pants as they saw what amounted to a massive blob of a radar signature approaching their borders. At the last moment, the blob would always turn away.

After a few weeks of that, and no matter how shit scared the radar operators were before, they now have likely become complacent. Which, of course, was the general idea, to lull the enemy into thinking this is just something we silly Americans do.

The bulk of the formations flying these feints gathered as much intel and situational awareness as possible. The information they gathered before crossing the literal line in the sand was insurmountable for the enemy.

The formations would eventually make up the largest single strike-package of F-16s in world history. Their target was the Nuclear Power plant just outside of Baghdad. The air war over the Gulf started a couple days earlier in the form of precision strikes from F-117s. So this was going to be Iraq's first experience with Shock and Awe. 

Spoiler alert: A lot of lessons were learned that day. What would amount to a series of small events that, on their own, would not have been a problem led to sub-optimal results. Most of the secondary targets were wiped off the earth, but the power plant only sustained minimal damage.

This strike would convince Air Force leadership that perhaps World War Two-style daylight raids over capital cities with non-stealth aircraft were a bit sketchy. How sketchy? We lost two Vipers to enemy fire, and two pilots were captured. It almost wound up being three Vipers lost, but for the then Maj. Tuilla had a chat with death, and he said, "Not today."

(Photo Courtesy USAF Publication)

The Major was assigned to a flight callsign, Stroke. He was Stroke—3, and they were to attack an oil refinery. Intel told his flight to suspect a lot of lead coming their way, but in a world of show, don't tell, seeing it with their own eyes was a spectacle. Thousands of AAA guns sent millions of rounds skyward.

This deadly blanket of fire was a gift labeled "to whom it may concern"; some was guided, but most were indiscriminate. The real threat was the some 10,000 Soviet-made surface-to-air missiles scattered all over Iraq.

As the Major's flight pulled off the target, they left nothing behind but rubble and the fresh smell of Brut. However, the RWR started to light up like a Christmas tree, singing to him the song of its people. SA-2s and 3s started to come up, and they were hungry.

Stroke-3 recalled later in an interview with Task and Purpose that they had been given the skinny on the Soviet Surface-to-Air missiles ad nauseam. They shot so much information at him during his training that he honestly felt it was useless. Who would retain all that information?


It turns out that good training pays off when the metal is dangerously close to meeting the meat.

Stroke – 3 stated:

“This time here it came true to life. When the thing moved, I could see that then the missile made a correction – and then on top of that, you could see that the missile is pointing at me, the missile is pointing in front of me. It was like: Wow, all this textbook knowledge comes right back into focus; and it was just pretty awesome to watch.”

(Photo Curtousey USAF publication)

                       

Unlike the AAA, the missiles are personalized gifts made special for someone special. Stroke 3 described what the old timers from Vietnam had experienced. You dip the nose, and if the missile moves with you, it's your problem to deal with. If it does not, it's someone else's, so you better start talking.

On 19 January, there were so many missiles in the air it was impossible to keep up. The Iraqi missile crew gives him everything like a waiter serving Ron Swanson his breakfast order. Stroke – 3 was now defending.

He punched off his wing tanks and threw the throttle to the firewall. Running on adrenaline, training, and a desire not to walk home, Stroke 3 went through the motions. He maneuvered his aircraft so that it made it harder for the missile to continue its track. The SAMs are fast but have limited fuel and the ability to correct their course. All the while, he was pressing the countermeasure button on his stick.

The countermeasures consist of both Chaffs and Flares. Chaffs are basically fancy and expensive utensils used to distract radar guidance. Flares are exactly what you think they are—they burn super hot, and you guessed it, they are meant to distract heaters. As he jinked and tried to gain more airspeed, he was forced to lose altitude.

Heading for the deck might help confuse the radar-guided missiles and the radar-guided said missiles, but now he's going into that blanket of firey death that is the AAA. He had made it this far and didn't intend to take it on the chin by some dickfer with a Bofors.

Since he cut loose his tanks to drop weight, he was able to increase his speed and maintain good maneuverability to avoid the missiles. However, those tanks contained fuel, which he now needed since he was burning it at an exponential rate to keep up his knots.

The physical toll the body goes through when doing harsh maneuvers is precisely why you never skip the gym. Having the force of gravity applied to you at nearly seven times what is expected is exhausting. Not to mention the fight to keep blood either in or out of the brain, making you teter on the age of passing out at all times. You pass out, you die. Simple as that.

Stroke – 3, now separated from his flight. Defending against multiple SAM threats, low on fuel, and all alone, the hits kept on coming. He had dealt with SA-2s and 3s up until now and had obviously managed to do all right for himself. He was still alive in the fight.

Now, his RWR was screaming in his ear about another threat. A SA-6 and this little son-of-a-bitch had an agenda that day. Kill Americans. With all the tenacity of a sentient being hell-bent on getting revenge, this rocket-powered murder dildo was tracking Stroke -3.

Keeping his mind on his fuel and his eye on the prize, life, Stroke -3 kept his Aircraft at military power. This meant going a lot slower than he would have at full burner, which meant less energy to maneuver.

"Well, I’m just going to do what I can do on this thing. "

Continuing his defensive maneuvers, the SA-6 roared by his canopy.

"I could hear the rocket motor as it went by – that was a little unnerving."

Having someone cut you off in traffic is unnerving. Almost being hit by a telephone pole-sized weapon filled with explosives is something much more than unnerving. It is downright spooky.

At the end of the day, Stroke – 3, Major Emmet Tullia II, avoided being hit by at least 6, possibly 7 or even 8 surface-to-air missiles. When he taxied to parking and shut her down, he did not bother to see how much fuel he had left. It was likely on vapor.

For seven minutes that each lasted several lifetimes, Major Emmet Tullia II danced with the devil with his hand on her ass. Sweat dripping out of every pore, eyes dry from the lack of blinking, hands sore from the white knuckle grip, he exits the cockpit.

I don't honestly know how he stuffs his gigantic balls into that tiny Viper cockpit, but he apparently does. I am sure it's a struggle to get out under normal conditions with those churchbells dangling, but my dude had to be physically and mentally spent.

The crew chief of his jet assists the Major by helping shoulder some of his load. Once he exits, the ground crew starts to tear the jet apart for repairs. The stresses from this deadly ballet in the sky require special attention.

Stroke -3's viper sat in her parking spot with tanks as empty as her cockpit. The ground crew took good care to ensure she was treated right. They checked her engine, intake, weapon systems, fuel systems, emergency back-ups, warning systems, and radios and made sure every part was in working order.

They also inspected the countermeasures bucket. Unlike almost everything else, this was completely full. At no point during that entire terrifying tango did Stroke-3 dispense a single chaff or flare. Due to a malfunction, the dispenser failed to operate as intended.

The now retired Lt. Col. Emmet Tullia II was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for evading multiple surface-to-air missiles by sheer maneuverability alone.

That makes him Sierra Hotel.

        

                                                             Hud Footage from Stroke - 3