This makes interesting reading
Cutting through the 'fog of war'
Jonathan Kay
National Post
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
On April 17, 2002, Illinois Air National Guard pilot Harry Schmidt dropped a 500-pound laser-guided bomb on a coalition firing range in Afghanistan. Four Canadian soldiers were killed, eight wounded. And yet, some Canadian journalists have openly taken Maj. Schmidt's side. He was just an ordinary American grunt trying to do the best he could in the fog of war, the argument goes. Give the man a break.
I have all the respect in the world for America's grunts, and I like to think I'm one of the last columnists in this country who can be accused of America-bashing -- but I refuse to accept this sort of apologism. As the evidence presented at this month's military hearing in Louisiana shows, this isn't about a good man taking the fall for the mistakes of highers-up. It's about a pilot who made a series of terrible, possibly reckless, decisions.
The tragic sequence began on April 17 as Maj. Schmidt and his flight commander, Maj. William Umbach, were returning from a patrol in northeastern Afghanistan, each in a single-seat F-16. While passing Kandahar at 20,000 feet, Maj. Schmidt saw fiery streaks that he mistook for vertical fire from anti-aircraft artillery (AAA). In fact, the shots were coming from Canadian machine guns and anti-tank weapons, both aimed horizontally at a tank hull they were using as a practice target.
Following instructions from controllers, Maj. Schmidt set out to mark the exact co-ordinates of the fire source. One way to accomplish this would have been to fly over the target at cruising altitude. But instead, he chose a more dangerous method -- going into a dive and aiming his plane directly at the Canadian troops. He also requested permission to spray the area with his 20 mm canon. Controllers wisely instructed him to "stand by" and then, a minute later, "hold fire."
But by now, Maj. Schmidt was low enough that he could make out shapes. "I've got some men on a road and it looks like a piece of artillery firing at us," he said. "I am rolling in in self-defence."
Maj. Schmidt then called "bombs away" and released his payload. Ten seconds later, the tragically useless message came in from controllers: "Be advised Kandahar has friendlies. You are to get ... out of there as soon as possible."
At the hearing last week, Maj. Schmidt explained: "I was called upon to make a perfect decision in a rapidly unfolding combat environment ... I had to make that decision with, what I now know, with the acuity of 20-20 hindsight, was imperfect information." But this argument doesn't fly: There was no urgency in his situation, no reason Maj. Schmidt couldn't sit tight at 20,000 feet -- where the threat from anti-aircraft artillery would be negligible -- and wait for more information.
In fact, air control personnel operating in the Afghanistan theatre testified to the coalition team investigating the April 17 bombing that reports of surface-to-air fire were routine, and that pilots operating at normal cruising attitude didn't perceive it as a threat to safe flight.
"Historically in response to [surface-to-air fire], the practice was to take a report and to process that report through the Coalition Air Operations Center," according to investigators. "This process typically required at least five minutes and was done in a non-urgent reporting environment ... [But] the timeframe in this situation was significantly compressed due to [Maj. Schmidt's] inappropriate response to the perceived [surface-to-air fire]. From the time of the transmission ... to 'lay down some 20 [mm fire]' until he released his [bomb], only 1:57 had elapsed."
So much, in other words, for the "fog of war."
Every single experienced F-16 pilot interviewed by investigators stated that, confronted with a similar perceived threat, their response would be to accelerate, climb and leave the area. According to the rules of engagement implemented during the Afghanistan campaign: "Aircraft always have the right of self-defence against [AAA, but] should NOT deliberately descend into the AAA range to engage and destroy AAA units which fire well below their altitude."
Yet that is precisely what Maj. Schmidt did: Notwithstanding his claim of "self-defence," he circled the fire source at speeds as low as 440 km/h (less than the velocity of a commercial aircraft), and descended to about 10,000 feet, an altitude within the range of most anti-aircraft guns and shoulder-mounted missiles. He never took evasive manoeuvres or otherwise signalled that he was in imminent danger. It is impossible to escape the suspicion that this was merely an aggressive pilot looking for a notch on his wing.
Maj. Schmidt's contention that he was never specifically informed that Canadian solders were active in the area seems credible: There is plenty of contradictory evidence about how well he and Maj. Umbach were briefed on coalition ground activities. But this is mostly beside the point. From the start of the Afghanistan campaign, pilots knew the ground situation was fluid, and that allies and special forces could be just about anywhere. Maj. Umbach certainly seemed aware of this. Even before controllers gave the word to "hold fire," he asked Maj. Schmidt to make sure "it's not friendlies."
This month's proceeding was not a trial. Rather, it was the military equivalent of a civilian grand jury hearing. When he rules in coming weeks, the presiding judge will merely recommend whether the charges against the two pilots -- involuntary manslaughter, aggravated assault and dereliction of duty -- can potentially be proved beyond a reasonable doubt in a general court-martial. From the evidence presented, it is impossible to know whether the pair are guilty. But at the very least, the evidence suggests that a full trial is warranted.
Jonathan Kay is editorials editor.
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