by Amir Bohbot
Lt.-Col. G. discusses the tense moments of firing on Iranian missiles moments away from launch, and the pressure of knowing what would happen if he failed.
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There were many moments of professional pressure inside the control trailer of the drone operators in the IAF's “Headbutting Ram” Squadron. At times, the tension was so high that the operators sweated profusely despite the air conditioning.
One of the recurring challenges involved flying over Tehran, some 1,500 kilometers from Israel, with a limited weapons load. In such situations, every missile launch required exceptional judgment. What if intelligence uncovered a more critical target just moments later—one that demanded immediate destruction? A target capable of endangering Israel’s home front with casualties and widespread devastation. The ability to rearm the drone was far away—too far.
Lt.-Col. G. (39), married to an electrical engineer and father of two, began his IDF service in humble fashion: as a detention NCO at the army’s induction base, distributing chocolate milk and buns to detainees. Later, he worked as a clerk in the IAF commander’s office. But his ambition had always been to become a pilot or join the elite Sayeret Matkal commando unit. Just before boot camp, however, a medical issue disqualified him from pilot training.
During Operation Rising Lion, Lt.-Col. G. led “the Headbutting Ram” Squadron in drone operations targeting Iran.“I believed from the first moment that we would succeed,” he said. “Why? Because we have good and committed people, and defense industries that understand the scale of the challenge.”
On the eve of the operation, he presented a briefing in the squadron’s operations room. One prominent slide read: “No stopping.”
Not the drone that fell, but the launcher it missed
One might assume that losing an Israeli drone over Iran would be the worst-case scenario. Lt.-Col. G. sees it differently.“Taking enemy fire is the easy part—that’s what we call a ‘downing,’” he explained. “It hurt to see our drone shot down. But what pained me more was the launcher that wasn't struck. The media focused on the drone crash, but Elbit will build another. What I think about is the missile that might fall on Israel because its launcher was left intact. That kind of damage is far worse than rockets from Gaza or Lebanon. This is a different war altogether.”
Fighting over Iran required a completely different mindset than operations in Gaza or Lebanon, he added.“During the fighting, we received new recruits from the training school. I placed special emphasis on mental resilience and team cohesion. Every operator has a family. We’re more than 640 days into combat. Reservists aren’t getting promoted at work; families are under strain. That takes immense psychological endurance.”
He described a typical moment of psychological stress. “What happens when a commander, in the middle of an attack, suddenly sees a barrage of missiles on screen—possibly aimed at his own home? Where is his head at that moment?"
"And yet, he continues the mission. He doesn’t stop. I always knew we’d go on the offensive. This is the mission of my life—eliminating an existential threat to Israel.”
The dilemma: Fire now, or wait?
A core dilemma facing the drone teams was whether to strike immediately or hold fire for a potentially higher-value target."Should we launch now or wait? Maybe a more valuable target will be discovered in a moment? The disturbing thought that recurs in every operation is the possibility that immediately after launching the weapons, intelligence will arrive on an even more critical and complex target, and then we will be left unable to act."
“Every launcher we hit means one less missile that could land in Beersheba, Bat Yam, Holon, or Tel Aviv,” said Lt.-Col. G. “So yes—it hurts less to lose a drone than to miss a launcher or missile we didn’t strike.”
The squadron quickly learned how to assess the “strategic weight of each strike,” even when forced to return due to fuel constraints rather than a lack of targets.
“In the background, there’s a mission commander who knows we need to return for fuel. I receive policy from the IAF command. I provide input—but ultimately, I follow direction.”
The IAF, he said, “quickly broke through” the IDF’s traditional operational limits—a breakthrough noticed by Western militaries, including the United States.
“I admit—I was positively surprised by how effectively we disrupted Iranian launches. Sometimes, just hearing the drone’s buzz was enough to deter a launch. That’s when you realize our presence alone has real strategic value.”
“These missions carry enormous responsibility for protecting Israel’s home front. The IAF commander simply told me: ‘This is the mission—take down the surface-to-surface missiles. Now, tell me how you plan to do it. I trust you.’ That kind of trust is powerful," he added.
Writing the pages of history
Reflecting on what it meant to fly drones over Tehran, Lt.-Col. G. said, “From above, a building in Tehran looks the same as one in Beirut or Gaza. But emotionally, it’s different. You cross into enemy territory, and suddenly you’re over Tehran. It becomes a mental event. You turn a 1,500-kilometer range into something that feels like something next door. All for one goal: removing an existential threat.”He then described the emotional complexity of actually conducting strikes on targets. “When a missile misses the target, you must immediately fire again and hit. Then move on. There’s no time to dwell. The complexity is far beyond anything we’ve done before. This isn’t chasing a terrorist through a Lebanese alley. When you see a missile launch on your drone’s screen, it’s not like Gaza, where you tell yourself Iron Dome will intercept it. With Iran, it makes you want to scream. You want better intelligence. You want to be faster. And even if you hit one launcher, but two missiles were already fired at Israel—that’s a heavy burden.”
A slide in his team presentation read: “You wrote the pages of history.” “The fact that we got a drone over Tehran—that’s historic,” he said. “It’s an old squadron that once flew manned aircraft. I’m a combat heritage geek. During the operation, the widow of Aryeh Ben-Or, who commanded Squadron 147 during the Six-Day War, wrote to me: ‘I can’t stop thinking about you and your squadron. Please pass on my pride.’ It moved me deeply.”
The biggest missile and the moment of silence
Among the most emotional moments was the successful strike on the Khorramshahr-4—also known as the “Haider”—one of Iran’s most dangerous missiles. “It’s their biggest missile. Range of over 1,500 km. A 1,500-kg warhead—three times more than those fired at us—and it can carry a nuclear payload,” he said. “We smashed it. Then we saw all the Iranians fleeing—and there was no site left.”That same day, his five-year-old daughter said: “Today there was no Red Alert.”
Between science fiction and October 7
Lt.-Col. G. acknowledged the contrast between the technological achievement in Iran and the traumatic failure of October 7.“Yes, October 7 was a failure. But since then—Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, Judea and Samaria, and Iran—we’ve corrected course. We failed. We recovered. We went to war.”He added: “It did something to the country, too. It created a feeling of unity. When egos are set aside, and everyone in the security establishment works together, it works. There’s still a bitter taste, but we are trying to change, to do things differently—to bring a new message. To the soldier. The citizen. The fighter. To ourselves.”
And as for the future? “As a commander, I must look ahead. There may be something even greater than the Iranian threat. I don’t know what it is yet. But I remember what former IAF commander Eliezer Shkedi once said: ‘He who leans on his past has a brilliant past ahead of him.’ That line stays with me. I must aim for the next thing. That’s what I’m projecting to my people—and to the future of the force," he concluded.
Amir Bohbot
Source: https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/article-860777
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