Repost: Going Downtown

[Matt Wiser]

First strike on Mexico City by 12th Air Force:

Going Downtown


419th Tactical Fighter Wing Crew Quarters, Tent City, LeMay AFB, La Paz, Baja California, 1 January, 2010. 0430 Hours Pacific Standard Time:


“Colonel?” The voice said in the Colonel's ear. “This is your 0430 wake-up call.”

Colonel Matt Wiser slowly woke up. He saw Master Sergeant John Nesbit, who was also his crew chief, standing over him with a cup of coffee. “Sergeant. Please tell me there's not a mission scheduled in the next two hours.”

“No, sir,” Nesbit said to his CO. “Just that there is one set for 0800, and it's all out. Both the 419th and the 366th.” He handed his CO a cup of coffee.

“Swell,” Colonel Wiser said, taking the cup as he got out of his cot. The tent, which normally slept a half-dozen officers, was his alone, as CO of the 419th, and it doubled also as his office. He drained the cup, then nodded. “Has Twelfth Air Force given the ATO?”

Nesbit nodded, then handed it to his Wing Commander. “Yes, sir.”

“All right: get everybody woke up.” Colonel Wiser ordered.

“Sir.” Nesbit said, then he left the tent.

Colonel Wiser got into a flight suit, shaved, and then headed to the Officer's Mess Tent for breakfast. He found his wife, Colonel Lisa Eichhorn, who commanded the 366th TFW, already there, along with several people from his wing. “After Culican for us, and Los Mochis for you, six hours' sleep doesn't seem like enough.”

“Like in the old days,” Colonel Eichhorn, call sign Goalie, said. “Guru, it's been a long time since we've done any of this.” Guru was Colonel Wiser's call sign.

“Tell me about it. You and me, we're getting too old for this,” Guru replied. “Anyway, you guys must be going with us, because this is supposed to be all-out.”

“Yeah, but we don't know squat. You, me, and some of our people are to be in the planning cell in a half-hour.”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Well, at least we get a good breakfast.”

“Another reminder of the old days,” Colonel Eichhorn told her husband. “PRAIRIE FIRE, remember? Same thing on the menu today.” She gestured to the board above the chow line.

“Steak and eggs, hash browns, and toast,” Guru said. “Oh, well....at least Kara's not here, with some snide remark.” Then a voice near the tent entrance put paid to that hope.

“The condemned get a hearty meal,” Lieutenant Colonel Kara “Starbuck” Thrace said as she came into the Mess Tent. She was one of a few World War III vets still flying, along with the two full Colonels. “And there'll be dead people walking coming through the line.”

“And good morning to you, too,” Goalie said. “Kara, you trying to scare the newbies?”

“Me? Scare newbies? No, Ma'am,” Kara said. “Just getting them in the mood. We're at war, you know.”

“You noticed,” Goalie told the CO of the 390th TFS, the Wild Boars. “After yesterday, every pilot and WSO on this base is a combat veteran.”

A few days earlier, both Wings-and the 419th was an Air Force Reserve Wing-had deployed to LeMay because of the impending admission of Baja California into the Union as the 51st State. The Mexicans had shrieked very loudly about “Stealing the Rightful Territory of Mexico”, and the day before, had not only moved armor north of the World War III Armistice Line, but had fired Katyusha rockets into Nogales, El Paso, Laredo, and Brownsville, as well as shooting Scud missiles at Davis-Monthan and Holloman AFBs, Fort Bliss, and Laredo AFB as well. And the U.S. Military had responded, with air strikes all across Northern and western Mexico, imposing a naval blockade, and the U.S. Army and Marines had crossed the border into Northern Mexico. Now, everyone was hoping that this new war would be over quickly, but not before old scores from World War III were settled.

“Yeah, and we still have fire-eaters, because smashing up some armored column-which the 390th did yesterday, is a far cry from going someplace hairy and having them throw everything but the kitchen sink at you. And we've been there, done that.” Colonel Thrace replied.

The two bird colonels nodded. All three had been in the same squadron during the Third World War, and had some hair-raising experiences, both in and out of the cockpit. “Just as long as we get this done without anyone we know getting killed,” Guru said.

“Or captured,” Lieutenant Colonel Kelly Ann Ray said as she came into line. She was a legend, one of a handful of ex-POWs from the big war still flying, either active or Reserve. Her captivity in Cuba had lasted four years, and had been harsh and brutal. “I don't want anyone from us or the 366th going to Mexico City the hard way.” Colonel Ray was Colonel Wiser's Operations Officer, and her feelings about the matter were understandable.

“Sorry for the delay, folks, but the chow line's open,” the mess officer announced, and people began filing into the Mess Tent. Sure enough, the breakfast menu was steak and eggs, with hash browns, toast, and coffee. Seeing that, the old hands looked at each other.

“Dead people walking,” Kara quipped. She had said something similar the morning Operation PRAIRIE FIRE had kicked off, lo those years ago. “The condemned got a hearty meal.”

“Same old Kara,” Guru quipped as he got his tray, silverware, and then his meal. He and the old hands all sat together, with their crew members.

“This tell you something, Colonel?” Capt. Melissa Bryce, call sign Shadow, asked. She was Colonel Wiser's WSO.

Colonel Wiser nodded as he ate. “Yeah. The Air Force isn't above wasting good steaks on aircrew unless there's a good reason.”

“Like a hairy mission?” Capt. Deanna DeSilva asked. She was number four in his flight.

The old hands looked at each other. “You got it, Captain,” Colonel Eichhorn said. “Like the first day of PRARIE FIRE, or BORDER FURY: we got the same meal for breakfast both days.”

“Eat, drink, and be merry in the morning, because you might be eating kasha and borscht in the afternoon,” Kara explained.

“Over there, it's some kind of soup with greens and some rice,” Kelly Ray said. “Just wish they'd fed us this kind of breakfast before Mariel.”

“What'd they feed you, Colonel Ray?” One of the 366th pilots asked.

“That morning? Hotcakes, eggs, and sausage,” she replied. “And that meal got me through three days.”

They were almost finished eating when a harried-looking Major came in. “I'm looking for Colonels Eichhorn and Wiser,” he asked.

The two motioned him over, and Colonel Eichhorn asked. “You found us, Major. So what's the big deal?”

“Ma'am, Sir,” the Major said. “I'm with Twelfth Air Force Operations. General Hildebrand would like to see you, your XO, and Wing Ops officers.” Brig. Gen. Ken Hildebrand was the deputy commander of the Twelfth Air Force, and he was running the air operations out of Baja California.

“When?” Colonel Wiser asked.

“Now, Sir.”

Both full Colonels nodded, and got up. So did Colonel Pete Shaw, the 366th's XO, and Col. Brewster Higgins, the Wing Operations Officer. The 419's Lt. Col. Mike Dale, and Kelly Ray also got up. “We'll fill you in, Kara,” Colonel Eichhorn said. “If they'll let us.”

“Same old same-o,” Kara replied.

The officers went to the Air Operations Center, a building that hadn't been part of La Paz International Airport before the U.S moved into Baja after World War III ended, but had been built as part of the LeMay AFB side of the field. Clearly, somebody had anticipated that renewed conflict with Mexico might just happen again, so “be prepared” had taken root at the base. An armed Combat Security Police airman opened the door, and the officers went into the Operations Room, where the screens were showing the air war over Mexico as it was unfolding.

“Wish they had that in the big one?” Kelly Ray asked.

“You betcha,” Colonel Wiser said.

Then General Hildebrand came over. He'd been an F-16 pilot last time around, and he was an ace with seventeen kills. Now, this side of the air war was his show, and he had only one thing on his mind: maximum damage to the Mexicans' war-fighting capabilities at the lowest cost in aircraft and aircrews. He knew that despite the Mexicans not being a first-rate opponent, like the Russians and Cubans had been last time, they could still cause losses, and he didn't want to lose anyone on his watch. “People, glad you're all here. You all know Colonel Sharp?” Col. David Sharp was the CO of the 352nd TFW, and LeMay was their home station. After heads nodded, he went on. Clearly, he was in no mood for spit-and polish this morning. “And you're probably wondering why you got the big breakfast.”

“That had occurred to us,” Colonel Wiser said. “Uh, sir.”

“Well, like General Tanner back in the '80s, I'm honest with my subordinates, and since we're at war, we can do without the spit and polish,” Hildebrand said. “Long story short: you're all going to Mexico City.”

Jaws dropped at the news. “Sir, did you just say 'Mexico City'? Colonel Wiser asked.

“You heard right, Colonel,” Hildebrand nodded. “There's a Ninth Air Force strike going in, and you guys will be coming in right on their heels. Twelfth Air Force wants sixteen aircraft from each F-15E squadron, plus Weasel Vipers and Albino Eagles, over Mexico City. Time-over target is 1145, people. Wheels up at 0800.”

There was silence for a minute, then Colonel Sharp, who had been in the 388th in the big war, and had been flying at the start, said, “That's a different day two than last time, General.”

Hildebrand smiled. “It is that, Colonel. Now, Colonel Wiser? I want sixteen aircraft from the 419th. Your target is the Benito Juraez International Airport.” He handed Guru a large packet. “This has photos, notes on defenses, and your actual aimpoints.”

“Yes, sir,” Guru nodded as he took the packet.

“Colonel Eichhorn? I want thirty-two aircraft, sixteen from each squadron, from the 366th.” He handed her a larger packet. “Your two targets are the main rail yard and the Military Garrison just south of the city limits. That houses the Presidential Guard Division, and is one of the reasons the regime there is still in charge.”

“Yes, sir,” Goalie replied. “Sir, who's coming along?”

“I'll be with you,” Colonel Shaw said. “I'm leading sixteen Weasel Vipers from the 486h TFS and there'll also be sixteen Albino Eagles from the 487th TFS for MIGCAP.”

“Defenses?” Colonel Ray asked. “Mexico City's no Havana, if you don't mind my saying, sir.”

“Understandable,” General Hildebrand said, “given your experiences in Cuba, Colonel Ray. They're no Havana, or Hanoi for that matter, but they can sting us if we give them a chance. Two Prowlers from MCAS Cabo San Lucas will be coming with you for EW support. As for defenses proper? SA-2s and -3s, plenty of guns, and MiGs from both Juraez International and Santa Clara AB east of the city. There are reported SA-10s as well.”

“SA-10?” Goalie asked, surprised. “How....?”


“We think they're leftovers from the war, and may be operated by Soviets or some Mexicans with Soviet training.” Hildebrand nodded.

“Sir, they said something like this at Maxwell when I went through the Air War College,” Colonel Wiser said. “The Russians and Cubans all left their equipment behind when they left, Just because they have all this stuff is one thing: whether or not they know how to use it right is something else.”

Goalie nodded. She had heard the same thing when it had been her turn to go to the AWC. Several others did likewise.

“Quite right, Colonel,” Hildebrand said. “Let's not find out the latter, shall we? All right: your intel officers are being briefed right now. Go over the briefing packets, and before I forget, any questions?”

“Sir,” Kelly Ray asked. “What about rescue forces?”

“129th Rescue Wing from Moffett Field arrived yesterday,” Hildebrand replied. “Nobody's going to Mexico City the hard way if they have anything to say about it.” He looked at the assembled officers. “And they'll keep you from being shark food in the Gulf of California.”

“Sir, that's good to hear,” Lt. Col. Mike Dale, the deputy CO of the 419th, said.

“It is that,” Hildebrand agreed. “Anything else? Okay, think Havana during the big war, or LINEBACKER I or the daytime strikes in LINEBACKER II; this is a major package, people. And you'll be flying one more mission-likely armed recon, or four-ships to specific targets. Then tomorrow's another day.”

“Yes, sir,” several officers said.

“All right, then. Brief your people once you've gone over the packets, and be on the flight line, 0730.”

After saluting, the officers left the AOC and headed to their respective unit areas. “Well, looks like this is one strike we fly together, even if we're not in the same airplane this time.” Goalie said to her husband.

“Yep,” Guru nodded. “When we get back, this is one war story we can tell the kids. Though their friends at the Academy won't believe it. Mom and Dad on the same strike.”

“They'll believe it,” Kelly Ray said. “But what's the saying? Cry Havoc?”

“And let slip the dogs of war,” Guru finished. “Julius Caesar. My assistant crew chief is an English major at BYU. He knows Shakespeare like the back of his hand.”

“They let the dogs loose yesterday,” Goalie pointed out. “Their problem, not ours.”

Both Guru and Ray nodded. Then they came to the 366th's area. “See you in the air,” Guru said to his wife.

“Will do.” She opened her packet. “I'm Outlaw One-one.”

“Mustang One-one,” Guru replied. “I'll be listening.”

“Same here. You take care, flyboy.” Goalie said.

“You too,” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“You too.” She returned it, then headed to her Wing Ops.

“Who would've thought?” Kelly observed. “Husband-and wife team, going off on the same strike.”

Guru nodded. “Nobody did.” Then it was back to business. “Okay, get the wing planning cell together. Mission brief at 0630.”

“Got it, Boss,” Mike Dale said, and Kelly nodded.

“Let's go,” Guru ordered. “Lot of things to do and not a hell of a lot of time to get them done.” With that, the three senior officers in the 419th went into their operations area and got the planning cell underway.


419th Wing Briefing Tent: 0630 Hours:


Colonels Wiser, Dale, and Ray headed to the Briefing Tent to give the crews flying the mission their briefing. “Deja vu, Kelly?” Guru asked. “This is probably like going to Havana for you.”

“It is,” Kelly admitted. “I went to Havana five times before I was shot down. The last time?”

“Yeah?”

“Day before my shootdown. It was a bear, I'll say. SAMs, flak, MiGs, you name it. They threw everything up at us.”

Mike Dale looked at her. “Anyone go down?”

“From the strike birds?” Kelly asked, and she saw a nod in reply. “No. But one of the two RF-4s that came behind us....they swallowed an SA-3. The pilot didn't get out, but the nav did. The rescue guys got to him-two miles off the entrance to Havana Harbor.”

“Won't have to worry about that here,” Guru said. He took a deep breath. “Here we go.” The three went into the tent, and as they did, a voice shouted. “CO on the deck!”

Colonel Wiser saw the crews coming to attention, out of habit, he knew. “As you were. Like I said the day we got here: we're in a war zone, and now that the shooting's started, we can dispense with this jumping up and down business. Right now. There's a time and place for spit and polish, and guess what? This ain't it. So settle down, people, and we'll get the show on the road.”

The aircrews murmured and took their seats.

“Okay, listen up. Be glad you got that big breakfast, because we have a big target. Hang onto your hats, people, because guess where we're going?”

“Where, Boss?” Capt. Kevin “Dusty” Morgan, Colonel Wiser's wingman, asked.

“We're going Downtown. That means Mexico City.” Colonel Wiser said. “First tacair over Mexico City, period. Almost the first: there's a Ninth Air Force strike going in before us, and the defenses will be alerted.”

“Whose bright idea was that?” Shadow Bryce asked as jaws dropped at the words “Mexico City.”

“We don't know, and I don't think General Hildebrand knows either,” Colonel Wiser replied. “We have a target, and it's an important one. Benito Juraez International Airport is ours, people.”

“Which means we're up against their varsity, such as it is,” one pilot said.

Colonel Wiser looked at the man. “And remember, a MiG-21 that rolled off the assembly line thirty years ago can still kill you if he's in your six. Do not underestimate the enemy, people. Doing that is asking to be popped into the bag.”

Maj. Bob Toland, the Wing Intelligence Officer, nodded. “You pulled the words right out of my mouth, Colonel.”

“Glad to hear that, Major.” Guru said. He turned to Colonel Ray. “Kelly?”

Kelly Ray called up a PowerPoint to do the mission brief. “Sixteen crews will go downtown. The other eight will be spares. If nobody aborts, you turn around.”

“Time over target, people, is 1145,” Colonel Wiser said. “Now, we'll have Weasel Vipers and Albino Eagles from the 352nd with us, and the 366th will be right on our sixes.” The screen showed an ONC map with the mission route: east from La Paz, refueling over the Gulf of California, and a straight shot to Mexico City and back. “Next.”

The next image showed the capital's defenses. Then Major Toland took over. “There are six SA-2 sites, and four SA-3 sites around Mexico City. SA-10s are reported, but so far, unconfirmed.”

“SA-10!? Capt. Deanna DeSilva asked. “Where'd they get those?”

“Leftovers, most likely,” Toland said. “We don't know who's operating them. Whether there's Soviets-and there is a military advisory mission still in-country.”

“That's an armistice violation, by the way,” Colonel Dale pointed out.

“It is that, sir,” Toland replied. “The systems are believed to be SA-10a, the trailer-mounted version. The only one Ivan deployed to North America. There's plenty of guns, also. From ZPU-1s all the way up to KS-19s: that's 100-mm by the way.”

“Bob, where'd they get these?” Colonel Wiser asked.

“No way to tell for sure, but North Korea is highly likely: the Mexicans have oil, and the NK regime needs oil, so they barter.”

“Swell, Bob. And MiGs?”

“MiG-21s and -23s are known to be in-country, with both types stationed at the target. More are at Santa Clara, east of Mexico City, and at Guadalajara, though the Navy ought to be there by now.”

“Never thought I'd say this, but let's hope the Squids did their job,” Mike Dale commented.

“You can say that again,” Colonel Wiser said. “Kelly, call up the targets.”

The next image showed Juraez IAP, and the target areas at the airport.

“Right: Mustang Flight: that's my flight,” the Colonel said. “The military hangars are ours. Here, on the east side of the field, there's four of them. I'll take the northernmost one, then Two, Three, and Four, in that order.” Guru saw his flight members nod. “Mike?”

The Wing Exec took over. “My flight, we're Camaro Flight. These hangars on the west side? They're normally used for commercial aviation, but they've been taken over by the military. Like the CO, I'll take the northernmost one, then two, three, four, in that order. Clear?” He saw his flight members nod. “Kelly?”

Then the Ops Officer came up. “My guys, we're Cobra Flight.” She looked and saw confusing looks on her flight members' faces. “Come on, you guys forget about the Ford Cobra?” There were several laughs at that, then she went on. “There's four Soviet-style munitions bunkers, here, near the military ramp. They're ours. I'll take the middle one, Two, you get the northernmost one, Three, takes the southernmost, and Four gets the leftovers” Then she pointed to Capt. Stacy Jordan. “Stace?”

Captain Jordan, a Utah State Highway Patrolman in civilian life, came up. He could have been a linebacker in college, for he was built like one. “The last flight is Dodge Flight. We've got four different targets. I'll take the Military Ramp Area, near the hangars. Two, you've got the ramp near the former commercial hangars. Three, you get the Control Tower. And Four? Best for last. You get the fuel storage area.” He saw his flight members nod. “Boss?”

“You guys will have the appropriate ordnance loadouts. Everyone gets two AIM-9M and two AIM-120s, and both a full load of 20-mm and full LANTIRN. Those going after point targets get four laser bombs: either GBU-10E or GBU-10G as appropriate. Those of you going for the ramp? A dozen CBU-87s should do the job.

“Now,” the CO continued. “There are NO opportunity targets here, people! This isn't the big war, where if you couldn't hit your assigned target, you could troll around and find something. Not today. If you can't ID your target, keep your bombs.” He heard some moans about that. “Not my call, people. This is in the ATO from Twelfth AF, so keep that in mind. Questions?”

Capt. DeSilva's hand shot up. “Boss, what's the weather?”

“Fair to good is the forecast,” Major Toland answered for the CO. “You should be clear to partly cloudy in the target area. Not perfect bombing weather, but good enough.”

Hearing that, Kelly Ray whispered to the CO. “Guru, you do know the Intel community's motto.”

“Yeah. We're betting your life,” Guru replied. “If there are SA-10s, chances are, whoever's operating them speaks Russian, not Spanish.”

“Or Korean,” Kelly whispered. “NK, remember?”

The CO nodded. “Any other questions?” He saw Capt. Brianna Mercer put up her hand. She was the XO's wingmate. “Bailout areas?”

“Good question,” Guru replied. He pointed to several areas north and northwest of the capital. “Here, in these mountains, are several possible bailout areas, and they're also where some of the insurgent groups operate. If you are hit, people, stay with the aircraft as long as possible, and get to either one of these areas, or get south, and the coast near Acapulco. The Navy's there, and there's plenty of rescue assets on standby. There are HV-22s on some of the amphibious ships, I'm told, and the Navy's CSAR guys will come after you. The 129th Rescue Wing came down from Moffett, and they're on call over the Gulf of California and the West Coast. Just remember that there's five major, and who knows how many minor insurgent groups are operating, and just because they're anti-government doesn't equal pro-American. Avoid contact with locals if at all possible.”

Another hand came up. “And when we get back, Colonel?”

“They turn us around, and we go out again. What, exactly, I don't know yet, They'll tell us when we get back,” Guru replied. “Anything else?” There were no more questions. “All right, get to the latrine, get something to drink, and gear up. Be on the ramp at 0730.” He looked around. “Let's hit it.”


419th TFW Ramp Area: LeMay AFB, Baja California: 0745 Hours Pacific Standard Time:

Colonel Matt Wiser and his WSO, Captain Melissa “Shadow” Bryce, were in the middle of their preflight walkaround. They were checking control surfaces, intakes, and the ordnance before Colonel Wiser signed for the aircraft. Satisfied everything was in order, he signed the release and handed it back to Master Sergeant Nesbit, the crew chief. “Here you go, Sergeant.”

“Thanks, sir, and bring her back. She may be the Wing King bird, and have your name on it, but she's still my airplane.”

Colonel Wiser nodded. “Sergeant, you know how many crew chiefs over the years have told me that?”

“Enough, sir. Have a good flight, and Sir? Kick a few and take a few.”

The CO grinned. “We'll do that.” He turned to Shadow. “Ready to rock, Shadow?”

“I am, Colonel. Just hope the Mexicans aren't.”

“Let's go,” Colonel Wiser said, and the two climbed aboard the aircraft, and went through the preflight. “Different than PRAIRIE FIRE, LONG RIFLE, or BORDER FURY.”

“Let me guess: the preflights were so rushed the flight instructors would've gone batshit crazy,” Shadow said from the WSO seat. “Ejection seats?”

“Armed top and bottom, check yours. And yeah. Those were bad enough; the first few days of the war were a nightmare.”

“So you've said, Guru,” Shadow replied. “Preflight complete and ready for engine start.”

Colonel Wiser looked at Sergeant Nesbit, and gave the “thumbs up.” Then Nesbit gave the “start engines” hand signal. The aircraft's two Pratt and Whitney F110 engines came to life, and as he looked around, he saw the other aircraft in the wing starting up to his right, and to his left, the Beagles of the 366th were coming to life as the Albino Eagles and Weasel Vipers were already taxiing for takeoff. Then it was his turn. “LeMay Tower, Mustang One-one with four, requesting taxi and takeoff instructions.”

“Mustang One-one, LeMay Tower, clear to taxi to Runway One-eight. Hold short of the runway.”

“Copy Tower, Mustang One-one rolling.” Colonel Wiser lowered the canopy and began to taxi. He saw Sergeant Nesbit give a salute as he taxied by, and he returned it. The rest of Mustang Flight followed, and they held short of the runway to allow the armorers to remove the weapon safety pins. Then he called again. “Tower, Mustang One-one requesting clearance for takeoff.”

“Mustang One-one, Tower, clear for takeoff. Winds are two-seven-two at five. Good luck.”

“Roger Tower,” Guru replied. “Shadow, get set.”

“Ready.”

Guru taxied onto the runway, and saw Dusty Morgan, his wingmate, tucked in beside him. He gave a thumbs-up, and both Dusty and his WSO returned it. Then it was time to go. He pushed the throttle forward, released the brakes, and the Strike Eagle hurtled down the runway and into the air, with the rest of his flight following. The rest of the wing followed, and they set course southeast, for the tanker rendezvous over the Gulf of California, with the birds from the 366th right behind them. Only after the refueling would the whole package assemble and head into enemy territory.


Over West-Central Mexico: 1140 Hours Pacific Standard Time:

Though Mexico City was on Central Time, the inbound USAF aircraft were going by California clocks, so it was still 1130 by their reckoning. It would be 1330 for the Mexicans as Package Alpha, as it was now called, came into Mexican territory and began to close in on the Capital.

In the 419th Wing King bird, Colonel Wiser looked around. Everyone who had made the rendezvous and tanked had no issues, so the eight airborne spares reluctantly turned back for LeMay. The same had gone for the 366th's aircraft, Up ahead, he could see F-15Cs and F-16CJs from the 352nd, getting ready to do their thing. “Just hope, Shadow, those Jarheads in the Prowlers are on the ball.”

“Not the only one thinking that, Boss,” she replied. “Two minutes to IP.”

“Must've picked up a tailwind or something,” Guru said. He could see Mexico City off in the distance, and so far, so good. No signs of enemy radars or SAM activity. “Maybe those guys from the 9th AF, whoever they were, are...whoa!”

“What?”

“Big fireballs on the ground. At Eleven O'clock. Somebody just hit the PEMEX refinery.”

Sure enough, the initial strike on the capital had just gone in, with a dozen F-111Gs with both Weasel Eagles and F-22s in support, had just gone in on the PEMEX refinery outside the capital. Only then had the defenses awakened, for radars had started to go active, and some flak was coming up.

“Weasels going in,” Shadow said. “Holy Shit! SA-10 up!”

“Bob was right,” Guru called. Then they began to hear “Magnum” calls on the radio as the Weasel F-16s went in to kill the SAM radars, as not only SA-10s had come up, but also SA-2s and -3s. “Mustang flight, Lead. Music on, switches on, and time to go to work.” That meant to turn on their own ECM, and arm their weapons.

“Copy Lead,” Dusty.

“Three copies,” Capt. Dan “T-Bone” Newsom replied.

“Four, Roger,” Capt. Deanna “Lobo” DeSilva called.

“Flak coming up,” Shadow noted. “At least we don't have to go way down into that stuff.”

“No kidding!” Guru shot back. They were at 26,000 feet, and the target was at 7,300. “Got the aimpoint?”

“Got it,” Shadow replied. “Zooming in...and locked. Designating now, and laser on.”

“Mustang Lead rolling in hot!” Guru called as he put the big F-15E into a dive, and rolled in onto the target area.

“SAMs dropping off,” Shadow said. “Steady...steady....HACK!”

Guru pushed the pickle button, and four GBU-10Es came off the airplane. He then banked off to the northwest, just enough to enable the laser to stay locked onto the target. Then, just as the bombs were about to hit, he saw them. “MiGs on the roll!” Two MiG-23s were thundering down a runway, with two more following.

“Got 'em, Lead,” Dusty replied.

“SHACK!” Shadow screamed over the intercom as all four bombs blasted apart their target hangar. “Laser off.”

“Good girl,” Guru replied. He saw the MiGs. MiG-23s by the look of them. Now, how good were the drivers? “Floggers inbound.”

Two of the MiGs turned toward him as Dusty made his hack call. “One-two off target.”

“Going Slammer,” Guru said as he switched to air-to-air on his radar. It didn't take long to lock up the lead MiG. “FOX THREE!” He called as he sent an AIM-120 towards the MiG leader.

In his cockpit, the Mexican flight leader was seeing his radar screen turn to hash as the American jamming took effect. He cursed, then switched to his R-60 (AA-8 Aphid) heat-seeking missiles. The only problem was, he had to look down at his switches to do that. He had just switched over and, as he looked up, he saw Guru's AIM-120 headed straight for his cockpit. “Madre...”

“SPLASH!” Guru yelled as the Slammer flew right into the MiG's left intake and the MiG-23 fireballed. The wingman, to no one's surprise, turned and headed north.

“Good kill, Boss!” Mike Dale in Camaro Two-one yelled as he was rolling in.

“Copy that. Mustang Flight, let's get the hell out of here.” Guru said as the three other Strike Eagles formed on him.


South of the Capital, as the lead Strike Eagles of the 390th TFS were approaching their target, the main military garrison, Colonel Lisa Eichhorn was listening in, as her pilot, Major Brian Cox, led the strike package from the 366th TFW. He may have been leading the wing, but she was commanding in the air. And she heard Mustang One-one's call. “Hot damn!”

“Guru got a kill?” Cox replied. “Coming up on IP.”

“He did,” she replied.

“Goalie, Starbuck,” Kara called. “Did I hear what I think I heard?”

“You did. Now let's get this done. Switches on, and let's go in.”


At the airport, Cobra Flight had just pulled off their targets, the munitions storage bunkers. Just as Kelly Ray in Cobra Three-one pulled away, she saw the second MiG flight coming in. “Flight, Lead. Go Slammer.”

“Copy Lead...” her wingmate called.

“FOX THREE!” Kelly yelled as she fired a Slammer at this MiG flight's leader. The two MiG-23s broke and tried to run, but the AIM-120 ate up the distance to the leader, and the missile speared the MiG just behind the cockpit. The MiG exploded, and both halves of the Flogger tumbled down to the ground in flames. “Three-one's got a splash!”

“Where's the wingie?” Capt. Jody Tucker, Kelly's WSO, asked.

“Going away. He lit his burner and ran,” she said, seeing the MiG-23 turn tail and run in full afterburner.


Over the military garrison, The Wild Boars were rolling in on their targets. “Outlaw One-one off target,” Goalie called. They had been carrying a dozen Mark-82s to deposit on the motor pool, and they were rewarded with a number of fireballs on the ground, as fueled vehicles and several buildings exploded.

“Hear that?” Cox asked.

“What?”

“Kelly Ray got a MiG.”

“Celebrate latter,” Goalie said. “Still a game going on.”

“Roger that,” Stumpy (Cox's call sign) replied.

“Chaff and flare into automatic.” Goalie said. Then she saw it. “MiG-23 at Two O'clock!”

“Got him,” Stumpy said. He rolled the F-15E in behind the MiG, and went for Sidewinder. “Six clear?”

“Six is clear, Stumpy. Take him.”

“FOX TWO!” Stumpy called as an AIM-9M shot off the port inboard rail. The Sidewinder tracked right, and appeared to “go dumb”. Then it jerked to the left, and flew up the MiG's tailpipe. The MiG exploded, and the Flogger tumbled out of the sky. “That's a kill.”

“SPLASH!” Goalie shouted. “Outlaw Lead's got a Splash!”

Then Kara called. “Goalie, Starbuck. Good kill!”

As her F-15E moved away from the target, Goalie replied, “Jealous?”

“We'll sort that out on the ground, Boss.” Kara said to her CO.

“Copy that,” Goalie said.


In his F-15E, Guru had heard both kills. “Shit Hot!” He said to Shadow.

“How about that, Boss?” Shadow replied. “Husband-and-wife MiG-killers.”

“Kelly's made ace, don't forget,” Guru reminded her. “Threat?”

“SAMs all dropped off. Nobody's out there.”

“Teaball, Mustang One-one,” Guru called the AWACS. “Say Bogey Dope?”

“Mustang One-one, Teaball. Negative Bogeys,” the AWACS controller replied.


“Roger that,” Guru replied. The coastline was dead ahead, and it wouldn't be long until the tankers.


After hitting the tankers, the various elements in the package then headed to LeMay. A couple of Albino Eagles and a Weasel Viper both did victory rolls, and then it was Mustang Flight's turn in the pattern. Guru led the flight in, then he did a victory roll of his own. Then he brought the flight in and landed. As he taxied to the 419's dispersal area, the ground crews and the aircrew who hadn't made the mission were all clapping and cheering as he popped the canopy, When he taxied in to his dispersal shed, Sergeant Nesbit was waiting, and after Guru shut down the engines, Nesbit gave his own thumbs-up.

“Hot damn, Sir!” Nesbit said as the crew ladder was rolled to the aircraft. “That's what, two for this one?”

“Two for the deployment,” Guru said as he climbed down. “Plus the fourteen from the big war.”

“Good work, sir,” Nesbit said. “Anything I need to know?”

Guru smiled. “No, Sergeant, 489's working like a charm. Get her turned around ASAP.” F-15E 91-0489 was Guru's Wing King bird.

Shadow came out from beneath the plane, where the LANTRIN pods were mounted, and she had a videotape in hand. “Bob Toland's going to want this. It has both the strike, and the MiG kill.”

“It had better,” Guru nodded as the rest of the flight came over to congratulate him. Then Kelly Ray came over. “Good kill, Kelly.”

“You too, Boss. And Goalie got one too.”

“You're an ace now, Kelly. Welcome to the club.” As other crews came up to shake Kelly's hand, Guru nodded to Sergeant Nesbit and several others. They all had buckets of water. Guru, Shadow, and several other pilots and WSOs grabbed the buckets and doused Kelly with them. “You only make ace once.”

“That you do, Colonel,” a voice said. It was General Hildebrand. “As Colonel Wiser said, welcome to the club. You're now a fighter ace, and nothing can take that away from you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Kelly said. Then everyone saw the birds from the 390th and 391st coming in. And one aircraft from the 390th did a victory roll. “Goalie?”

“That's her,” Guru said. “Number twelve.”

“Husband-and-wife MiG-killers,” General Hildebrand said. “First tacair over Mexico City, a new fighter ace, and husband-and-wife MiG-killers. Hell of a thing to put in the press briefing.”

Guru nodded. “It is that, Sir. Excuse me.” Then he, Shadow, Kelly, and several others went over to the 390th TFS dispersal. Goalie and Stumpy had just climbed down from the 366th Wing King bird. “If you're asking 'Honey, how'd it go at the office?' You already know.”

“Got one yesterday, got one today, so, you going MiG-hunting tomorrow?” Goalie asked. “If you are, I'm coming along.”

“You know we're tied to the ATO,” her husband shot back with a laugh.

“Congrats, Kelly. You're an ace,” Goalie high-fived Kelly Ray.

“So everybody keeps telling me,” Kelly said. She was still soaked from the dousing.

“If it ain't the husband-and-wife MiG-killers, “ Kara said as she came over to offer her congratulations. “And a new for-real fighter ace,” she said as she shook Kelly's hand.

Everyone started walking off the ramp in high spirits-and were hoping to lift some spirits in the Officers' Club when General Hildebrand came over. “Good work, people! Get debriefed, get some chow, and then you're going back out.”

“What's next, uh, Sir?” Goalie asked.

“Mission packets will be waiting for you in your respective ops areas. Two- or four-ships. The twelve-hour rule kicks in at 1900. Get back soon, because we've got some things to celebrate, so I hear.” Hildebrand replied.

“Yes, sir,” Guru said as all three MiG-killers grinned at each other.

“I heard everything on the radio,” Hildebrand said. “Good work, all of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Goalie said.

Hildebrand nodded, then headed back to the AOC.

“All right, people! Get back into game mode, because there's still this war on. We'll celebrate later.” Goalie said. And the crowd broke up and headed to their respective Ops Tents.

“See you in the O-Club?” Guru asked his wife.

“Why not? We've got some things to celebrate.”

“Okay...so who e-mails the kids?” Guru asked. “I'd rather one of us told them, than they hear through the Air Force grapevine, or on CNN.”

Goalie nodded. “Rock, paper, scissors,” she said. “Ready?”

“Go.” Guru said. He had rock, while Goalie had scissors. “Sorry.”

“So,” Goalie nodded as he got ready to go to his tent. “What are you going to tell them?”

“Just that Mom and Dad killed MiGs today, and their Aunt Kelly is a fighter ace now,” Guru replied.

“Sounds fine with me,” Goalie said. She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“You too,” her husband said, returning the kiss. “See you later.”

As they headed to their respective Ops Tents, General Hildebrand was watching. Something came to him, then he turned to his Ops Officer. “Colonel, do something for me, if you don't mind.”

“Sir?”

“Unless it's a Gorilla Package like today, try and arrange things so that Colonel Wiser and Colonel Eichhorn are not on the same mission. “ Hildebrand ordered.

“Sir, that's not always possible, and you know that,” the Ops Officer replied.

“I know, but...they've got three kids. Two are at the Academy, and a third's going to UCLA. Don't do it for me or for the two Colonels. Do it for them.”

The Colonel nodded. “Yes, sir. But you know how ATOs can work out.”

“I know, Colonel.” Hildebrand said. “Still..do your best. And one other thing.”

“Sir?”

“Don't tell the Colonels, or anyone from their units. Is that understood?” Hildebrand turned to his Ops Officer.

“Perfectly, Sir.”

[Matt Wiser]

A fitting conclusion to the day:


Over Mexico Federal Route 15: north of Tepic, Mexico: 1705 Local Time (1605 Pacific Standard Time):


“See anything?” Colonel Matt Wiser asked his WSO.

“Nothin' yet,” Capt. Melissa “Shadow” Bryce replied. “Scanning with FLIR, and ground radar set to MTI.” MTI meant Moving Target Indicator. The F-15E's APG-70 radar had not only air-to-air and air-to-ground capabilities, but could take accurate pictures of the ground below, and in MTI mode, could track moving vehicles on the ground.

“Call out if you see something, Shadow.” Guru replied. “If they're moving troops north on 15...”

“Their problem, Boss. If we find 'em,” she replied.

“Yeah, and you see a Highway of Death,” Guru said. “Contributed to some of those back in the day.”

Shadow nodded. She'd heard the stories about I-19 and U.S. 89 on Day One and two of the war, where not only the 335th, but A-10s from Davis-Monthan, had turned both of those highways into junkyards of Cuban and Mexican armor, along with dead and maimed men. Not just that, but the ComBloc trying to escape the Pueblo Pocket, and down both I-27 and U.S. 287 in Texas. “If we do find 'em, we'll make some local junk dealer happy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Guru replied. “And I wonder where the reporters were who made those claims on Invasion Day.” Hearing the words “Highway of Death” only reinforced his loathing of media types-especially those who didn't understand the military.

“Guru, Dusty,” Capt. Kevin Morgan, his wingman, called.

“Dusty, Guru, go.”

“Got some MTI down here. About two miles south of you.”

“Coming around.” Guru banked the F-15E around, and then he saw it on his own display. “Good Lord! That's a battalion at least.”

“Got it,” Shadow replied. “More than that, I'd say.”

“Weapons hot,” Guru ordered. “Teaball, Chevy One-one."

“Chevy One-one, Teaball,” replied the AWACS controller.

“Teaball, we've got some armor down here. Battalion-plus at least. We need some help here, fella.”

“Copy that,” the controller said. “ETA nearest birds, one-zero minutes.”

“Roger,” Guru replied. “Dusty, you take the column's tail end, I'll take the lead.”

“Read you, Boss.” Dusty replied.

“Shadow, any radars down there?”

Shadow checked her TEWS display. “Negative.” Then she checked the FLIR. “There's a bridge dead ahead on the road. Single span.”

“Two for one, Shadow. Designate that bridge, and set things up. Both GBU-10s on it.”

“Gotcha,” Shadow replied as she worked the controls. “Target lit and pickle is hot.”

“Bombs away.” Guru called as he hit the pickle button, and two GBU-10E laser bombs followed the laser beam to the bridge.

Down below, the Mexican Division Tepiec was moving north along Route 15. The division had only been mobilized in the past seventy-two hours, and was ready to move out, but had been told to hold, then move, and then hold again. Now that the Yanquis had launched their long-promised invasion of Mexico, the Division had finally been ordered north to the front, but it was a long drive to Hermosillo, where they had been ordered to move and take up defensive positions. In his command vehicle, the divisional commander cursed whoever in Mexico City had thought that provoking the Yanquis was a good idea, and doubly cursed the idiots who had issued such vague and confusing orders. Now, though, their mission was clear, and the soldiers were in good spirits as they moved north. He had decided to move with the lead battalion of the division's lead regiment, as a good commander should, and ignored the protests of his deputy commander. As his command APC, a BTR-60 left behind by the Russians, pulled up to the checkpoint at the bridge, the guards-a mix of police and militia, came towards his vehicle. Then they scattered, pointing up as they did so. He looked up, and saw an American attack fighter bearing down on him....


As Guru pulled away, he watched the FLIR display on one of his Multifunction Displays (MFDs). The bridge was plainly in the crosshairs, and sure enough, one, then two, bombs slammed into the bridge and exploded. As he banked around, the bridge had been blown in two-it appeared to be a single-span bridge, and the vehicles approaching it had stopped.

“Good hits!” Shadow called. “Laser off.”

“Nice work, Shadow,” Guru called. “Okay, set up the Rockeyes. One pass and we're gone.”

“Copy that,” she replied as she worked the armament display. “You're set.”

“Dusty, how copy?” Guru asked his wingman.

“Tail end of the column is blocked,” Dusty called back. “Waiting on a Rockeye pass.”

Guru nodded. “Follow me around, and then come in with me. One pass south to north.”

“Guru, Starbuck,” a familiar voice called. “This party got room for more guests?”

“Plenty of room, Starbuck,” Guru replied. “Nice of you to drop by. What's your ordnance?”

“Six Rifles (AGM-65 Mavericks) and ten CBU-87s,” Kara said.

“Roger that,” Guru said. “We're going in, then it's all yours.”

“Copy,” Kara replied.

“Dusty, let's go,” Guru said as he rolled in.

“Right with you, Lead.” replied Dusty.


Below, the Mexican general was shouting into his radio, calling up both Regimental and Divisional engineers to the bridge location. He was so engrossed in the conversation he was having with his Engineering Chief, he ignored the calls outside his vehicle. He then heard the sound of jet engines, then his vehicle suddenly exploded around him. His last sensation was being engulfed in fire.

“HACK!” Guru called as he pressed the pickle button, sending six Mark-20 Rockeye CBUs down on the lead vehicles. He then pulled off, and as he banked away, the FLIR showed the results as vehicles exploded from the CBU bomblets.

“Got secondaries,” Shadow said.

“Copy. Chevy Lead off target,” called Guru.

“Chevy Two's off target,” Dusty added.

“Copy, Starbuck, Guru.”

“Starbuck here,” Kara replied. “Go.”

“We are Winchester,” Guru said. “They're all yours.” The Winchester call meant “Out of ordnance.”

“Roger that,” Kara said.

“Chevy One-one, Cadillac Three-one,” Kelly Ray called. “Got room for two more?”

“Ask Starbuck,” Guru said. “We're RTB.”

“Come on in, Cadillac Lead,” Kara said. “Always room for more.”

Guru smiled under his oxygen mask. These two finally get to work together in combat. After so many exercises and drills, they were doing it for real. “Teaball, Chevy Lead. We are Winchester and are RTB.”

“Copy, Chevy Lead. Your vector to home plate is two-seven-five.”

“Roger that, and thank you, Teaball,” Guru said. The two F-15Es then headed for home in the setting sun. As they formed up in the pattern, Guru saw the 366th's Wing King bird, 96-0200, in the pattern, with a four-ship of its own. After the 366th birds landed, it was his flight's turn, and he came on in. As he taxied to the 419th's own dispersal, he saw his wife climbing down from her mount. He smiled, then taxied into his own space. And Master Sergeant Nesbit was waiting, as usual. He popped the canopy, then shut down the engines. “Good run, Sergeant.”

“What was it this time, Sir?” Nesbit asked as the other ground crew brought the crew ladder forward.

“Stopped an armored column by busting a bridge. Then gave 'em a CBU wake-up.” Guru said.

“Good for them, sir.” Nesbit said.

Guru checked his watch. 1730. “Time enough for a beer or two before the Twelve-hour kicks in at 1900,” Guru said. He and Shadow, along with Dusty and his WSO, went to the Wing Ops Center and had a quick debrief with Bob Toland. After that, they went over to the Officer's Club tent, where the people from the 366th and the 419th, and the new arrivals from the 129th Rescue Wing, were hanging out. Before he went in, he noticed a new PX tent set up, so that those in the tent city didn't need to go far to get whatever small items they needed. And that included magazines and paperback books, along with snacks. He didn't pay much attention to that as he went into the tent, and found his wife talking with one of the new Lieutenants in her Wing, 1st Lieutenant Brewster Holland. “Imparting your experience to the newbies?

“You could say that,” Goalie said as her husband pulled up a chair. “Where'd you go?”

“Highway 15, north of Tepiac,” Guru replied. He waved a waitress over. “Sam Adams. “

“Si, Colonel,” the waitress replied. As she went off, he made sure not to look too much....

“What'd you hit?” Goalie asked, bringing him back to business.

“Armored column,” he replied. “Took down a bridge ahead of them, then we did a CBU pass. Kara and Kelly showed up as we left. I imagine they turned a lot of armor into scrap after that.” Guru said. “You?”

Your old stomping grounds from yesterday,” Goalie said. “Culican. And no, it wasn't the airfield. We hit the army base instead.”

“Empty by now, I'd say,” Guru noted.

“You're wrong there,” Goalie replied. “It was about half-full still. Guess they haven't gotten all their reservists yet. Or some of 'em know it's a lost fight, and didn't bother reporting.”

“Their problem,” Guru said. “They should've thought of that yesterday.”

“Yeah. And the news has been pretty intense. Ever see live coverage of a tank battle?” Goalie asked. “They had one just before you got here. The reporter said it was like War of the Worlds, only we were the Martians.”

Guru nodded. “Patriotic zeal can only get you so far when you're using thirty-year old castoffs against Abrams tanks or the M-60A4.”

“Enough shop talk,” Goalie said. “One hour to go before Twelve-hour kicks in. If we had the old Kara, she'd be busting her ass to get here in time.”

“Uh, Sir, Ma'am,” Lieutenant Holland asked. “If you don't mind my asking this, but how do you tell if the stories about Colonel Thrace are true?”

The waitress came back with Colonel Wiser's beer. He paid her, and took a swallow. Then Guru looked at his wife, who nodded. “Son, take our advice on that, since we both served with her during the big war.”

“Sir?”

“If you hear Colonel Thrace vehemently deny a story, it's more than likely false.”

“And if she doesn't?” Holland asked.

Goalie smiled. “If she doesn't respond, or gives a noncommittal reply? It's more than likely true.”

“I see, Ma'am. So she didn't take on a B-52 crew once? That's one that keeps going around.”


Guru and Goalie laughed. “Lieutenant,” Goalie said. “That one, she strongly denies. Though she did admit to the pilot and copilot.”

“But if you hear about her at Fairchild with two B-52 crewmen who couldn't pay after losing at the pool table?” Guru asked. “That one's quite true.”

Then the waitress brought Guru's beer. He paid her, then took a swallow as Goalie said. “Just remember, half of the things about your squadron commander in the war-well, at least her off-duty antics? Those have been wildly exaggerated. But others...”

“They're quite true,” Guru finished.

At that moment, Lt. Col. Mike Dale, Guru's Executive Officer, came in. “Colonel?”

“Boss,” Dale said. “You might want another beer. Kelly Ray just landed.”

“So?”

“I was in the PX tent, and checked out their magazines.” He tossed a copy of Maxim on the table. “Have a look at page forty-five.”

Guru took the magazine and went to that page. There, on a beach in Puerto Rico, was a very familiar figure. “They did this when she went down to be technical advisor on the movie, right?”

“You got it,” Dale said. “Some scum-sucker with a long lens camera caught her when she was on a break from the movie shoot. He put two and two together, and....”

“Great,” Colonel Wiser said. He read the paragraph that accompanied the picture. “America's greatest war hero to come out of Castro's Prisons, then-Major, now Lieutenant Colonel Kelly Ann Ray, soaks up the sun on a break from the movie about her experience as a jailbird in Castro's Cuba.” He didn't bother reading the rest of it. “Lovely.”

“Guru, here she comes now.” Goalie said as Kelly came into the O-Club, with Kara right behind her.
And someone else: General Hildebrand.

“Folks, we're all off duty,” Hildebrand said. “And as I said earlier, we've got a couple things to celebrate. First, a new member of the club of Fighter Aces, Lieutenant Colonel Kelly Ray from the 419th, who splashed number five today. There was a round of applause, and then Hildebrand continued. “And we have an Air Force first: First husband-and-wife MiG killers in Colonel Matt Wiser from the 419th, and Colonel Lisa Eichhorn from the 366th. They both got a MiG kill today in the Gorilla Package to Mexico City. Though in separate airplanes, I might add.” There was some laughter at that. “And I'll buy a round to celebrate.”

After they got their drinks, and a toast to the day's MiG-killers, Colonel Wiser waved his Ops Officer over. “Kelly, there's something you need to know.”

She was curious. “What is it Colonel?”

Guru showed her the magazine article. “ Those slimeballs. I ever find out who did this, I'll kick his ass six days from Sunday. Then I'll kick it on Sunday, too,” she promised. “After I do a low-level flyby of his house.”

General Hildebrand came over. “Colonels,” he nodded to Guru, Goalie, Starbuck, and Kelly. “How's it going, now that you've made a little history today?”

“Fine, Sir,” Goalie replied. “But there's a little problem.”

“Problem, Colonel?” Hildebrand asked.

“Sir, have a look at this,” Guru showed the General the magazine article.

“That's just great. The movie's supposed to be good publicity for the Air Force, you surviving four years in Cuba and all, Colonel Ray. Now this...not what you were expecting when you went to be tech advisor for the movie, I imagine.”

“No, sir, it wasn't.” Kelly grumbled. “And the Salt Lake media got me on film as I boarded my aircraft at Hill, and they know my serial number. All it takes for these pests to know I'm on base is to go to the civilian terminal and look out from the observation deck. They need a long-lens camera, but if they see 91-318 at the dispersal, on takeoff, or on landing, they know I'm here.”

Hildebrand frowned, and so did both Colonel Wiser and Colonel Eichhorn. “Not to worry, Colonel Ray,” said the General.I'll talk to OSI, and since we're operating under wartime security, I'll have that observation deck closed. And there'll be CSPs patrolling the perimeter. Any of these idiots tries taking photos of the military ramp? The CSPs will arrest them. We may not be able to hold them for a while, but they'll be out of everyone's hair for a few days.”

“Thank you, General,” Kelly said.

“And I'll notify the local authorities. You guys might go into town once in a while, and those vermin might cause trouble.”

“Sir, that's good to hear,” Guru said. He'd been wondering about that himself.

Kelly added. “Sir, if they ask, 'Colonel, just one picture', I'll smile, nod, and let them take a photo. It's the numbskulls who ambush their subjects I'm worried about. Somebody does that, I'm breaking a finger or two. And breaking his long lens.”

“You're a sheriff's deputy in civilian life, correct?” Hildebrand asked, and he saw Kelly nod. “So you know the line.”

“Yes, Sir, I do,” Kelly replied

“Good. Hope you don't have those pests bothering you.”

Then Bob Toland came. “Excuse me, General, Colonels, but you'll be interested in CNN.”

“Bob?” Guru asked.

“Just have a look.”

Guru nodded, then asked the bartender to switch one of the TVs to CNN. Sure enough, there was a report from Christiane Armanpour from Mexico City, and the film showed F-15Es over the capital, with flak coming up at them. “Well...somebody was watching us at work.”

“The intel guys have it on tape,” Hildebrand said. “I watched you guys live.” He got up to leave. “Colonels?”

“Sir?” Guru and Goalie said almost at once.

“Good work, both of you. Well done, and pass that on to your Wings.”

“Yes, sir.” Both replied.

“Have a good night, and tomorrow's another day. You'll have the ATO at 0600.” Hildebrand said. “Good night.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Guru said.

After the General left, the four Colonels looked at each other. “Well?” Kara asked.

“Forty minutes to the twelve-hour rule,” Guru said. “Curfew for aircrews at 2100.”

“So...” Goalie said. “Eat, drink, and be merry until then.”

“For tomorrow, they may not separate us from the rest of the airplane,” Kelly finished.

“Right on that,” Kara nodded.

And sure enough, the twelve-hour rule kicked in, and everyone retired for the night at 2100. For tomorrow was another day of combat.

[jemhouston]

I wonder who in the regime got the 9mm retirement after this.

[Wolfman]

After a couple of weeks, everyone because of a coup…

[Matt Wiser]

More like three, but the point is the same. They were shooting people for battlefield failures after the second day, though....