a caricature of the Brit abroad: a smattering of American muscle cars and motorbikes hint that several boyhood fantasies are being lived out by some nearby ground-dwelling Top Gun wannabees. Tom greets me cheerily with that most British of welcomes, ‘Dr Lee, I presume!’ Livingstone and Stanley in the searing Nevada heat.
Tom has, no doubt, been volunteered to make the practical arrangements for my arrival. He has done the job well and hands over a folder of useful information, the most important of which is a provisional list of people who have agreed to be interviewed. I heave a huge sigh of relief; I’d travelled all this way with only one confirmed interview in place. The second thing he hands over is a swipe card and security code number. ‘This will get you in everywhere. Don’t lose it.’
I played it cool and nodded knowingly: ‘I’ll be careful.’ But inside I was thinking, ‘Secret shiny drone lair here I come.’
The revolving security gate is particular effective at keeping out intruders. And at keeping out those who should be getting in. Multiple swipes of our passes are accompanied by beeps, red lights, muttered curses and a complete lack of access. We shall not enter. There is something mildly ironic about the being able to fly a Reaper thousands of miles away while being thwarted by a temperamental electronic lock.
Some helpful assistance gets us past the blockade and into the Squadron Operations building. The main door opens into the crew room and tea bar. This is definitely not a secret shiny drone lair. If the interior designer is aiming for jumble sale chic with shades of unwanted military supplies, all decorated with uneven standard issue framed pictures of the Reaper and other RAF aircraft, then the look is a triumph. The ambience is completed by the lingering scent of microwaved curry, the sound of the BBC News channel and an air conditioner losing its rear-guard battle against nature.
I quickly lose track of the introductions and names. The daily briefing is due to take place in a few minutes and nobody is loitering. More instructions as I am steered towards an internal security door. My electronic equipment – laptop, tablet, digital recorders and mobile phone – is abandoned with everyone else’s outside the SECRET operations area. I grab my notebook and pen. The swipe card works first time and gets me into the secure zone. More introductions and the occasional promise of ‘I’ll speak to you later.’
Around me, last-minute preparations are taking place for the briefing. To my left the Duty Auth’s (Authoriser’s) desk would be familiar to anyone who has ever visited an RAF flying squadron. Any lingering vision of a chrome and glass wonderland is replaced by the reality of varnished plywood topped by Perspex: a classic air force design. Its angled top surface holds the documentation for the Reaper aircraft that is thousands of miles away, but which the pilot will later sign for before taking command of it.
In the Ops Room across the corridor from the desk, some footage of a strike the previous day by XIII Squadron in the UK is being examined. I ask a passer-by if there is something unusual about this particular video but it turns out to be routine: footage of every weapon release is shared between the squadrons for training purposes. Various levels of critique are being offered involving angles of attack and weapon settings, all underpinned by a general sense of ‘39 Squadron would have done it better.’
I smiled and thought: Everyone’s an expert. My second thought was: Actually, everyone watching is an expert, and they are analysing the minutiae of destroying and killing in forensic detail. I can just see past the small group huddled around the screen but cannot quite fathom the details being discussed. In a few weeks’ time an instructor at RAF Waddington would talk me through a broad selection of different weapon strikes, what the crew are looking at, how the pilot is flying the aircraft to set up the shot, and so on. I’m not sure how I would feel about every lecture I deliver being dissected, line by line, by all of the other lecturers in my department but I am certain I wouldn’t like it.
The screen goes blank and everyone makes a final move for the seats in the Briefing Room. A junior officer is on the receiving end of some banter about the length of his hair. He shrugs it off with threats of revenge and vague promises to get to a barber. I am struck by the banality of the exchange. The comments seem simultaneously appropriate, given that this is a military unit, and inappropriate – given the significance of an extra 5mm of hair in the context of what the squadron will do today.
The room itself is nondescript and functional, maintaining the ‘every expense spared’ theme of the building. A few maps enliven the walls. The INT board with the latest intelligence updates reminds me of the local Items for Sale boards in many supermarkets. Useful for the right person at the right time with very specific needs, but otherwise generally disappointing.
The focal point is the lectern where last-minute adjustments are being made. Beside it, the screen onto which the first PowerPoint slide of the pre-flight briefing reminds us where we are. The mission crews are going to spend the day, mentally at least, in another country and in a different time zone. The relief crews – who will step in to provide rest and lunch breaks for the mission crews – could be operating in two different places throughout the ten to twelve hours ahead, depending on what and where the missions are.
When we start to take our seats the bonhomie subsides. Notebooks appear, quiet descends and attention turns to the screen. Everyone stands when the Commanding Officer enters. As he walks past he taps me on the shoulder and says quietly, ‘You’re flying with me today.’
‘Great,’ I whisper in knowing agreement. I don’t know exactly what he means but things are getting more interesting by the minute.
‘Good morning sirs, ma’ams, ladies and gentlemen.’ The Auth, who must have at least 500 hours’ experience on the Reaper to qualify for this particular duty, begins the briefing. It is one of several responsibilities he will hold for the duration of his duty period. The most important of these is being legally empowered by the Station Commander, via the Squadron Commander, to ensure that flying and legal standards are maintained throughout the day’s missions. He will sign the crews out, sign them back in, be available for advice and, in between, monitor what they are doing through the live video feeds from their respective aircraft. He has hotlines to the Command Headquarters, lawyers and anyone else he might need to speak to.
The briefing replicates that found in every RAF squadron, for every type of aircraft, everywhere in the world. It begins with the MET (meteorology) briefing, which provides a detailed weather forecast for the transit route of the Reaper, from its launch site to the day’s area of operations over IS-held territory near Sharqat in Northern Iraq. The next image on the screen depicts what the wind, cloud and temperatures will be in the area for the next twenty-four hours and at different flight levels. The daytime reading can be summed up as ‘hot and sunny’ followed by ‘hotter and sunnier’, all interspersed with limited viz (visibility). A thirty-year-old memory resurfaces. I recall drawing a similar MET map on acetate as a university air squadron flight cadet at RAF Leuchars in Scotland and presenting it on an overhead projector. It probably said ‘cold and cloudy’ followed by ‘colder and cloudier,’ all with zero viz.
Important information follows, signposted on the screen by ‘IMPORTANT INFORMATION’ for the inattentive. A general recap of the last few days of the campaign against IS follows, updating those who are returning to work after a couple of days off. Actually, instead of IS the Auth actually uses the term ‘Daesh’ – an Arabic term with vaguely insulting undertones – as mandated for all UK government departments. Recent activities by both 39 Squadron and XIII Squadron are summarised. Short videos are played of the destruction of both a pickup truck with a weapon on the back – mobile light artillery known as a ‘technical’ – and a bunker system. ‘Squirters’ appear from both strikes.
Squirters are enemy fighters who somehow survive a missile or bomb strike and run off; depending on the RoE they may be re-attacked by the crew. It is a lucky
