The first time I saw my name was scheduled to fly in a strike mission, I felt as if I just swallowed a cantaloupe whole. I was excited, glad to have a chance to go, but concerned about the deadly nature of our business that my good friends and me were about to undertake. But, in good fighter pilot tradition, I looked at our task and set out to prepare the best way I knew how. Many of the exercises we have participated in (Red Flag at Nellis, various NATO exercises in Europe) were the perfect preparation for the type of missions we were going to fly. We spent the next few hours making maps of our route to the target, studying target photographs, learning about the projected threats we may encounter (aircraft, anti-aircraft artillery, surface to air missiles, etc.) When all the planning was done, the last thing to do was get a good "nights" sleep (actually, we were beginning to report to the squadron at about 10:00PM.) That was pretty difficult. Thoughts that evening ranged from "…I hope I can find the mark and put my laser guided-bomb right on the money" to "…I wonder if this is the last night I may spend in my house."

I saw some friends on my way to work and there was a very uncomfortable silence as they and I did not know quite what to say. The best thing I could think of was, "I’ll see y’all tomorrow."

We briefed the sortie, walked out to the airplanes, shook the hands of our crew chiefs (holding hands a bit longer than usual,) and settled into our "offices." The best thing to compare it to is the anxious feeling one would have before a very important sporting event. All the preparation and teamwork comes down to one defining moment and you want to perform your very best. Butterflies, no, bats were flying around my belly as I waited for the time to start engines; however, after I threw the switch to get the jet engine turning, all the nervousness was replaced with anticipation because I began to realize I was in a very familiar environment and my training was going to serve me well.

We took off with all the lights off the airplanes because of the threat of small surface to air missiles even in our home of Italy. The more time I was spending in the cockpit, the more confidence I was beginning to have in our plan and our abilities. We air refueled then proceeded to a point to hold and wait for our turn to "press" or begin our attack run. One of our displays shows us precisely when we are crossing the border into Serbia. I could not help but feel uneasy because I knew we were quite unwelcome here and there were some people that if they knew where I was they would do their best to at least disrupt our flight, or worse, to harm my airplane or even me.

We could see anti-aircraft artillery shooting up at us from the ground very easily since we were wearing night vision goggles. It looked exactly like a Fourth of July show except we knew that at the end of those small explosions in the air were deadly pieces of metal, looking for steel or flesh. We could tell it was low altitude artillery and not a viable threat because we were so high. About 50 miles from my target, I began to get indications in the jet that a surface-to-air missile radar was "looking" at me. No sooner than I began to look in the direction I thought the radar would be, I noticed a large plume of flame erupt from the ground in the distance on the left side of my cockpit. Then I could see a smaller fireball begin to rise in the air. "Missile launch west" I called out to the rest of my flight, making them aware of an SA-6 launch, definitely aimed in our direction. We began to make some evasive maneuvers, closely watching the track of the missile as it climbed further into the night sky. We became concerned when we noticed the plume of the rocket motor stopped climbing but remained steady on the windscreen, letting us know it was guiding towards us. We turned further away, watching the missile, when suddenly the flame disappeared and we could see a smoke trail bending towards the ground. Relief was certainly felt in my jet when we knew we were out of range of the missile and we were flying even further away.

Now 20 miles from the target, we began to focus on the display that allows us to guide our laser-guided bomb onto the target. I found the point I wanted to put both my 2000-pound bombs, hit the little red button on the stick, and the fire computer figured the proper release point. The airplane lurched left then right as two tons of explosives left the wings. I turned to the left then began to refine the spot I wanted my laser to shine on to help the bombs find their target. On the display there is clock that counts down the time till impact. My eyes were welded to the display, making sure the laser spot did not move and waiting for the clock to count to zero. The last ten seconds were quite uncomfortable; knowing I could not move my airplane if shot at because I had to keep the laser steady, knowing I was deep in the heart of "bad guy land." I said a quick thank you to the engineers of Lockheed as I saw the clock reach zero while at the same time my display was flooded with light as both bombs impacted right on target, on time.

The jet was now a sports car with all that burden now gone (physically as well as emotionally) and all I could think of was, "Let’s get the &%$@ outta here!" We turned, climbed high to get out of range of more missiles, and went as fast as we could. We air refueled one more time before heading home, and then had the chance to let the jet (autopilot) do some flying and let me relax for the first time in 48 hours. Landing was uneventful, except for the fact that there was a cheering mob waiting for us on the parking ramp of the squadron.

All bombs hit their targets and all pilots made it home.

It was one of the most intense, definitive moments of my life. The years of training had come to a denouement with this flight and I was very proud to be a small part of a very concentrated effort to help restore justice and peace to a very sad, ravaged part of the world. I have flown over there many times since the first and, unbelievably, it has almost become routine. Since they have so sheepishly opposed our air campaign, we have to actually remind ourselves that there is a very real threat that is very angry with what my comrades and I are doing. The butterflies still take flight as I cross the border night after night but with certainly less intensity as the very first time. Each flight breeds more confidence in the airplanes, the weapons, our training, and especially the whole reason we are here.

But believe it or not, I (and most pilots feel the same) cannot wait for the resolution of the insanity across the Adriatic. I can now say, from personal experience, the old adage is quite true: No one prays for peace more than the people who would go to war.

Enough said.