In harm's way

Approach, June, 2003 by Adam DeJesus

The Tigertails were controlling the airways in support of Operation Enduring Freedom on a bright, sunny day over Afghanistan. As the primary controller of the AEW South airspace, I provided flight-following and administrative services for Air Force and Navy assets headed into the coalition-operating area. Tire mission was long and tedious, and it was only half over, but my crew and I were ill for real excitement.

We were proceeding south on the "driveway" when a track appeared on my scope. The track was all aircraft headed south, about 75 miles behind us. Using their squawk, I identified it as Reach, a C-17 cargo jet, undoubtedly ferrying implements of war to and from the front. Because the aircraft would be transiting the airspace under my control, I labeled it, noted its altitude, and continued my scan of the area. We only had been ill theater a little over a week, but the routine already was second nature to everyone on board.

At first, I was not concerned when Reach began to overtake us. At 160 knots, flying a max-endurance profile, an E-2C is the airborne version of farm equipment riding the shoulder of the road. We were used to just about everything out there passing us. Reach also was co-altitude, which wasn't surprising. The airspace over Pakistan is limited to a few specific altitude blocks, with lateral separation built in for traffic flying opposite directions. We were VFR, had an operating radar, and were in control of all aircraft within line of sight.

After half an hour of watching the C-17 close on us, I became concerned since he had not checked in with us. I made a flew queries on the control frequency to see if Reach had been switched to us but received no answer. At 20 miles of separation, the air control officer (ACO) told the pilot and copilot a co-altitude aircraft was overtaking us. "Roger," came the reply. I continued to scan the airspace, expecting Reach to check in at any time.

Suddenly, it was apparent to all of us at the scopes we had a problem on our hands. A very large aircraft was closing on us from behind, at our altitude, and we weren't controlling it. We had no way of knowing whether that crew could see us, or whether they would climb or descend to avoid us. With a little more inflection in my voice, I again called for Reach but got no answer. It now had closed to within seven miles, and I would lose track of it soon because of our minimum-detection range.

The ACO again called traffic to the pilots and recommended we climb to FL260 to avoid it. The CAPC responded, "Aren't you talking to him?"

"No, we're not," replied the ACO, as I spit out a desperate call in the blind.

"Reach, Tigertail is on your nose, four miles, co-altitude, and climbing to avoid," I called.

The radio panel lit up like a Christmas tree, as all of us began talking on other control nets to get the word to the C-17. Finally, I heard our pilot call on guard, "C-17 aircraft between points two and three on driveway two, this is Tigertail on guard, switch AEW South."

I felt our aircraft attitude change as I watched the scope. Reach now was tracking directly below us. I wondered whether both airplanes had the same altimeter setting dialed in. I wondered if weather had closed in around us. Mostly, I wondered whether Reach was under any kind of radar control at all, and whether he already had called visual to some other controller.

As we climbed, my pilots reported seeing the jet about 500 feet below us and slightly offset to the left. Moments later, I heard from the C-17 for the first time, "Tiger, this is Reach, have you been calling me?"

After both aircraft were well-separated and back on course, a brief discussion brought light to some of the confusion. Reach had not been switched to our frequency, and they depended on a controlling agency too far away to provide flight-following. The pilots in our aircraft had heard and understood the 20-mile traffic call, but had assumed we were in contact with the C-17 and would vector it around us. For our part, all three NFOs agreed we neither had foreseen nor planned for a traffic situation in which we were not in contact with both aircraft.

The lessons learned were humbling as well as crystal clear. Don't take your controller's picture for granted. As an airborne command and control platform, we should have been able to steer clear of all traffic. We delayed our decision to alter course because we assumed the controller (me) would move the traffic around us.

Situational awareness and procedural knowledge are useless if you fail to take action. I was the only person who knew the whole story; yet, I did not take advantage of the tools I had at my disposal to correct the situation.

We learned to plan for the unexpected. You simply cannot hope the other guy always will be in the right place at the right time; you must have a plan for when others are operating outside the norm. Whether it's your wingman, your tanker, or an asset under your control, watching out for the next guy may be the best way to keep yourself out of harm's way.