Page 118 - Never Fly Solo

SITUATIONAL AWARENESS | 91
men on my radar, and I have no idea where they are. A sense
of dread overtakes me. I am now flying solo.
As I hurtle toward the Iraqi border, my anxiety ramps up.
My inexperience is catching up with me. I am losing situational
awareness (SA) fast. With no radio contact and only a general
idea of where I am in the vast, pitch-black sky, I compile a
mental checklist of my plight as several daunting contingencies
run though my head: What if I lose my engine? What happens
if I’m engaged by ground fire? How can I call for help? Do my
wingmen even know I’m not on their frequency?
My entire focus shifts from supporting the mission to fix-
ing this communication problem. I have no mutual support,
no radios, and no clue. I’m “tumbleweed.” If I don’t get my
SA back fast and link up with my wingmen, I’ll have to abort
the mission. My wingmen will have one less pilot to support
the mission. Even worse, if this debacle winds up being my
fault, I’ll have to explain it all in the debriefing—if I make it
back.
I bark to myself as if someone will hear me, “C’mon. Will
somebody please check me in?”
Suddenly, my backup VHF radio blares with the stern
voice of Deetz.
“Two! Come up frequency 239.9!”
I immediately change frequencies, realizing I wrote down
the wrong UHF frequency in the preflight briefing! Worse, I
realize I forgot to use the backup VHF radio to ask my wing-
men to confirm the UHF frequency. This was standard proce-
dure. I had screwed up royally.
I’m way out of position now and reluctantly tell Deetz
that I am “blind” (no radar contact), and he updates his posi-
tion to me. Under his guidance, I turn forty-five degrees to the
right, adjust my radar sweep, and wonder how incompetent