Repost: Not Over Yet

[Matt Wiser]

While I'm working on the next Wolverine and Chiefs piece, here's some stories that were on the Old Board but haven't been reposted yet. First up: The 335th's war in Texas is done, but their war's not finished..

Not Over Yet


0600 Hours Central War Time, 5 October, 1989, Laredo AFB, Texas


Major Matt “Guru” Wiser walked into the briefing room used by his squadron, the 335th Tactical Fighter Squadron, “The Chiefs”. Though there were rumors going around of a cease-fire, what he had to tell his aircrews would scotch those rumors. For a while, anyway. And he heard the buzz of his people chatting amongst themselves as he came in. Only a shout of “CO on the deck!” silenced everyone, and one thing that he could tell who was new and who was an old hand in the squadron was that the new people always shot to attention, and only his “as you were” got them to sit down. The 335th had been run by a string of officers who'd paid no attention to peacetime regulations, and had quickly realized what they could keep and what they could throw away-not to mention having superiors above them who understood the same thing. Even if some regs had to be folded, bent, stretched, or downright mutilated, so be it-as long as it got results. But the new people still had that officer-training habit, whether Academy, OTS, or ROTC, and it took a while to get that out of them. “All right, people, settle down.”

Conversation stopped as everyone paid rapt attention to the CO. “Okay, here's the deal: there is a cease-fire in Brownsville only. We're still at war south of the river, so it's the same deal we've been doing the last few days.”

Captain Valerie “Sweaty” Blanchard, one of his flight leaders asked, “More armed reconnaissance?”

Major Wiser nodded. “Yep. And the usual variety in ordnance loads. Weather is CAVU again, and it looks like we'll be at it-AF, Navy, Marines, all day.”

“ROE for air-to-air?” asked Captain Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, his Operations Officer, and probably the best stick in the 335th-even the CO felt that she was the best Phantom driver in the squadron. She had good reason to ask, as she'd escorted in a Mexican defector who had not only been nearly 17, but had only been flying MiG-21s for a week.

“Same drill as it's been the last three days: visual ID before shooting. Unless AWACS clears you to engage otherwise. And there's somebody else out here: Probably an RC-135 or somebody like that: call sign Rivet. Treat any Rivet calls as gospel.” the CO told his people.

Guru's WSO, Captain Lisa “Goalie” Eichhorn, asked, “What about Monterrey? That's still no-go, right?”

“Absolutely. Now we know where the air-defense people who got run out of Texas wound up. Nobody goes there until the “teenage” SAMs-the SA-10s-and there's even a report of -12s, get suppressed or better yet, destroyed.” Major Wiser said.

Aircrews looked at each other. SA-10s and -12s? Oh, boy.... “Anything else, boss?” Captain Don “Hoser” Van Loan, the squadron executive officer, asked.

“Yeah. If the cease-fire in Brownsville sticks, you'll hear this call: 'Utah, Utah, Utah,' on GUARD,” replied the CO. “That means it's over on this side of the river. But it's still a hot war south of the Rio Grande, and don't anybody forget that. And nobody gets shot down, not today. Is that clear?”

“YES, SIR!” the room shouted.

“Anything else?” There were no more questions. “Okay, let's hit it,” Wiser said, grabbing his helmet.

And the crews assigned to the first sorties of the day went out to their aircraft, with the Marine and Navy squadrons based there as well getting ready to go. It was going to be another busy day.


1050 Hours: Over Northern Mexico:


Guru and his wingman, 1st Lieutenant Kevin “Cowboy” McAllen, were on their third flight of the morning. So far, they'd been paying attention to any AWACS transmissions, and nothing yet from Crystal Palace. While the pilots were concentrating on flying, the WSOs-Goalie and 1st Lieutenant Toni “Nooner” Grey, were scanning the terrain below with binoculars, looking for a target. Guru called Goalie on the intercom, “Anything?”

“Not yet,” Goalie replied.

“Can't keep this up, you know. And the tanker track's well north of the Rio Grande.” Guru reminded his backseater.

“Guru, Nooner's got something,” Cowboy called. “We're going down low to check it out.”

“Be careful: SA-9s and -13s can still hurt you,” the CO reminded his wingman.

“Copy, boss.” Cowboy said as he rolled his F-4 in on the suspected target.

“Goalie, where are we, TACAN wise?” Guru asked.

“Laredo TACAN zero-zero-two for eighty-five,” Goalie replied. “Or, near the town of Paras on Route 34.”

Guru watched as Cowboy's F-4 rolled in, then pulled up. “Guru, Cowboy. There's a small airstrip down there: several choppers, and what looks like a pair of An-26s.”

“Got it.” Goalie called. “At one o'clock.”

All right, Guru thought. So this one's not a wasted trip. “Set it up: everything goes in one pass.”

“You got it,” Goalie replied, setting up the weapons panel to enable Guru to drop their six Mark-82 500-pound bombs on centerline, and their six 750-pound M-117 bombs on the inner wing pylons. “All set,”

“Cowboy, Guru. One pass only. South to north, and follow me in.” Guru called, rolling in on the target.

“Right behind you, boss,” Cowboy called.

Down below, Soviet and Cuban airmen and engineers were preparing this strip to hopefully handle Su-25s, several of which were based at Monterrey, and needed a forward base in case the Americans invaded Mexico. But right now, the only aircraft there were two An-26 transports, as well as several Mi-8 and Mi-24 helicopters, a number of which had escaped from the Brownsville Pocket before the end. The field had no radar, and no real defenses. And thus, the first sign that they were under attack was a cry from some Cubans digging trenches south of the field, who saw Guru's F-4 coming in.

“Lead in hot!” Guru called, coming down onto the target. He picked out the two An-26 transports, and lined up the pipper. Then he unloaded his bombs at 3,000 feet, pulling up right afterwards. He placed his bombs perfectly, blasting both transports apart, and also killing an Mi-24M Hind for good measure. “Lead off safe.”

“Two in hot!” Cowboy called as Guru pulled off target. He saw his CO's bombs explode the parked aircraft, and walked his bombs across the improvised runway, cratering it, and exploding an Mi-8 Hip. “Two's off safe,” he called.

“Good work, Two. Form on me.” Guru called. As Cowboy's Phantom formed up on Guru's- in Combat Spread, Crystal Palace came up on GUARD.

“This is Crystal Palace on GUARD: Break, Utah, Utah, Utah, Break.”

“That's it! Guru, it's over!” Cowboy called.

“Calm down, Two. It's not over on this side of the river, remember that.” Guru reminded his wingman. He kept swiveling his head for threats: something he'd had drummed into his head during his fighter training days prewar. And then he saw it. “Two, Break! MiG at Five O'Clock!”

Both F-4s broke left as the MiG-21MF came in, and two AA-2 Atoll heat-seeking missiles came off the MiG's rails. Neither missile guided, and as Guru rolled back right, he saw the MiG fly past, with the FARM insignia on its wings and fuselage. “Guru, was that a Mexican?” Goalie asked. She only saw the MiG, not paying attention to the markings.

“It was. Crystal Palace, Mustang One-One.”

“Mustang One-One, Crystal Palace, go.” AWACS responded.

“Got a Blue bandit here, he just took an Atoll shot and missed. You have him?” Guru asked.

“Copy, he just showed up. Rivet says he's no-go.”

In the Phantom cockpits, both crews scowled underneath their oxygen masks. One of Ricardo's classmates had nearly gotten lucky and splashed himself an F-4. “Copy that. He one of the...junior MiG drivers?”

“Mustang One-One, Crystal Palace, that's affirmative.”

“Roger that, we're Winchester and are RTB.” Guru called as the MiG flew off into the distance.

“I don't like it,” Goalie said over the intercom. “That was too close.”

“I know, he almost had one of us, and be glad Atolls have a hard time guiding,” Guru said. “Cowboy, on me.”

“Roger, Lead,” Cowboy called, getting back into Combat Spread.

Both Phantoms flew back to Laredo, and both crews realized the narrow scrape they'd had. As they entered the traffic pattern, they noticed Marine and Army artillery was still firing into Nuevo Laredo: obviously, the war was still on. Soon, they brought their birds in and landed. When they taxied in, both crew chiefs were clearly excited, but still businesslike as the Phantoms came in and shut down.

As Guru popped his canopy, his crew chief came up. “Good news, Major! It's over this side of the river!”

“I know, Sergeant, but it's not over down there,” Guru said. “Get her turned around ASAP.”

“You got it, Major. This time's M-117s and Rockeye CBUs. Be ready in thirty minutes,” the crew chief replied.

Nodding, the crew got out of the aircraft, and both Cowboy and Nooner joined Guru and Goalie. They walked into the squadron office and found Capt. Darren Licon, the SIO (Squadron Intelligence Officer), and described the mission. And they pointed out on the map the location of the airfield they'd found and hit.

“Thanks, Major. I'll pass that up the line. Maybe somebody'll do a mini-Arc Light on that and put it out of commission for a while.” Licon said.

“Yeah. And while you're at it, mention that those kids in the MiGs almost got lucky: we had a MiG-21MF come in behind us and take an Atoll shot. Rivet says it was one of Ricardo's classmates.” Guru told the intelligence officer.

Licon stared at his CO. “Boss, they might change the ROE because of that.” Licon said. “Nobody wants to kill those kids if we can help it. But if you're right....”

“Yeah,” Goalie chimed in. “Then we'll have to splash 'em, like it or not.”

Then one of the Operations NCOs came in. “Major, there was a phone call for you from Tenth Air Force a half hour ago. I told them you were in the air, and they'll call back later.”

“What was it?” Guru asked.

“They didn't say, sir. But it was important enough for 'em to want to talk to you, sir.” the staff sergeant replied.

“Maybe a stand-down?” Goalie thought out loud.

“Could be: we could use one,” Cowboy agreed.


Guru nodded, but looked at his flight. “One thing at a time, People. We've got twenty minutes to wheels up. Let's get something to eat, because we'll be at this the rest of the day.”

They had a quick bite to eat, then remounted their aircraft. And sure enough, Mustang Flight was busy the whole day-as was everyone else at Laredo.


1750 Hours: 335th TFS, Laredo AFB, Texas.


Major Wiser and his flight were coming into the squadron offices, having flown their last mission of the day. Everyone was tired, but they knew that tomorrow would be another busy day. Then Guru saw Don Van Loan come up. “Don?”

“Colonel Brady just called: all MAG-11 units-including us, get a stand-down, effective immediately.”

Everyone in the office grinned at the news. Maybe, just maybe, the Mexicans called it quits. “Anything about a cease-fire south of the river?” Guru asked.

“Nuthin' on that, boss.” Van Loan said. “All we have is this stand-down order.”

“All right. Pass the word around: no flying tomorrow-and for several days at least,” Guru said.

Van Loan nodded. “Will do, Major. Oh, some light colonel from Tenth Air Force has been trying to reach you all day, the Ops NCOs say.”

“Yeah, I know. He keeps calling while I'm in the air,” Major Wiser said. He noticed Goalie and the others going on ahead. “They say why he's calling?”

“No, other than he needs to talk to you.” Van Loan said.

“Well, I'll be in my office. For a few minutes. Then it's time for the O-Club. And some....private time with Goalie.” said the Major.

“Like that time you and her were out on that off-road trip? You know-the one where....”

“You remember that?.” asked the CO. He was referring to a weekend off that Guru, Goalie, and several other squadron members had taken in October, 1986, west of Phoenix. A couple days of off-roading, camping, and at night, some.....intimate time. Only this time, they were rudely interrupted by some Cuban SOF, and a CSP captain who was the girlfriend of Guru's then wingman went off after them-waving an M-16 and wearing only combat boots. She'd killed two Cubans, and dragged in another-who was begging the Americans to shoot him when he realized he'd been captured by a naked woman. They'd dropped him off at Luke AFB-who sent the Mescalaro Apache trackers after the culprits.

“Sure do,” Van Loan replied.

“Well..now that you mention it...” Guru said. “And you and Sweaty are an item, as I seem to note.”

“Major!” Don said. Then he smiled. “Yeah. We've been seeing each other for a year now. And R&R in Vegas....”

“Be glad those regs are gone, because everyone's done something along those lines that prewar, would've gotten an Article 15 at least,” Guru observed. “OK, pass the word to the crews and the NCOs: no serious property destruction, no felony arrests, and stay away from any 'happy fire'. Maybe tomorrow the maintenance guys can get start to get caught up, and we'll know when those two new birds from Japan are due.”

Van Loan nodded. “Got it, Boss. I'll let Kev O'Donnell know.”

“OK, see you in the Club in a few-where's Goalie?”

Nooner came out of the women's locker room. “She'll be out in a few, Major.”

Guru nodded, and went in to his office, where he found the squadron's mascot dog laying on his couch. Somebody'll find you a good home when this is over, the CO promised. He checked his desk: nothing new since he'd taken care of some squadron paperwork after lunch. Guru checked his office TV, which was tuned to CNN: there was plenty of talk of a possible cease-fire with Mexico, and the celebrations of the Soviet surrender in Brownsville were turning the day into another Fourth of July. Then there was a knock on the door. “Show yourself and come on in,”

Goalie opened the door and came in. Her wavy blond hair was about as long as regs permitted, and even in a flight suit, she looked like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. And numerous times, he'd seen her out of that flight suit...... “Well, think it's over?” Goalie asked.

“When I see the Mexicans quitting, I'll believe it. Not before,” Guru observed. “Want something out of the fridge?”

“Whatever you've got 'll do.”

He turned his back to her and opened the fridge, then pulled out two bottles of Sam Adams. “I was telling Don that maintenance can get caught up, and maybe we'll get those two new birds from Japan,” he said. Guru stood up, closed the fridge, and turned.

“Enough shop talk,” Goalie said, unzipping her flight suit, and then she got out of top of the flight suit. The T-Shirt and sports bra she normally wore underneath were not there, and things were....revealed.

“Up for a more....heated celebration?” Guru asked as he took a pull on his Sam Adams.

Her expression went coy, and then she grinned from ear to ear.

“That's what I figured....” He put his beer down, but just as he did so, the phone rang. “Of all the....” He picked up the phone. “Wiser!”

“Major, this is Sergeant Campbell in Ops. Some officer from Tenth Air Force Ops is on the line.”

Guru looked at Goalie. “Tenth AF?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Guru sighed. “OK, put him through.” The connection was made, then Guru said, “This is Major Wiser.”

“Major, this is Lieutenant Colonel Jerry Shaw in Tenth Air Force Operations. I hope I'm not bothering you.”

“No, Sir, Not yet,” Guru said, looking at Goalie's chest. “What can I do for you?”

“Major, I don't know how to put it, but the orders will be cut and sent to you tomorrow. You're going north.” Shaw said.

“WHAT?” Guru yelled, startling Goalie, who hastily covered up again, and closed the window blinds.

“Major, Eleventh Air Force in the Pacific Northwest asked for the best from Tenth and Ninth Air Forces. Your squadron was high on the list from Tenth.” Shaw said.

“Colonel, no disrespect intended. But this squadron's been in combat ops since Day One! We've done our bit for God and Country, and frankly, we deserve a lengthy break before going anywhere.” Guru shot back. “At the very least, send us back to our parent wing!”

“Major, I understand. General Tanner went to bat for you, all the way to the top,” Shaw replied. “But General Cunningham told Eleventh Air Force that they could have whoever they wanted, and so...”

Guru nodded. General Larry “Sundown” Cunningham was the new Air Force Chief of Staff, and had the reputation of telling officers who displeased him to get off base by sundown-hence his nickname. “And so, Sundown told Eleventh to take whoever they wanted. Wonderful,” Guru sighed. “Very well, Sir. So where do we go?”

“Fairchild.” Shaw replied. “Your ground echelon goes by road, though your equipment and a few ground crew does fly. Once they're at Fairchild, your planes fly in. The orders say you're to be at Fairchild by 12 October, Major.”

Guru was taking notes. “Lovely. All right, ground echelon by road, at Fairchild by 12 October. That's it, Sir?”

“Your two new birds should join you before you fly north. I'm sorry to ruin your evening, but you've been a hard guy to find all day.” Shaw said. “Do you have any questions, Major?”

“Only one,” Guru said, not hiding his anger. “Who do I KILL?”

“That would be someone at Eleventh Air Force, Major.. Like I said, General Tanner went to bat for you-and the others going north. But General Cunningham was firm. And you're not the only angry CO we've been dealing with today. The ex-IIAF guys in the 450th, among several others.”

“All right. Thank you, sir.” Guru said.

“Have a good evening, and again, Major, for what it's worth, we tried to keep you here.”

“Yes, Sir,” Guru said, waiting for the officer on the other end to hang up, then he slammed down the phone. “Asshole.”

“Fairchild?” Goalie asked.

“Fairchild,” Guru said. Fairchild AFB outside Spokane, Washington. Guru had been there once, for SERE training after he'd finished his F-4 RTU course. Not a place one wanted to visit more than once-the winters could be wet, rainy, and snowy, and not only did it house a SAC B-52 wing busy with EASTERN EXPRESS missions, but also TacAir supporting the American, British, and Canadian forces in British Columbia and Alberta. Guru picked up the phone again and dialed Van Loan. He was lucky: Van Loan was still at his desk, still dealing with some of his own paperwork.

“You rang, Boss?”

“Yeah. Tenth AF is cutting us loose. And Eleventh AF is picking us up. We're going North. Fairchild is our next stop,” Guru said.

“Great. Two hundred or so days of either rain or snow, the base is SAC's, and a lot of folks have not-so-nice thoughts of that place because of the SERE school,” Van Loan commented. “When?”

“Formal orders come down tomorrow. Ground echelon has to be there by the 12th. We fly in that same day.”

Guru heard a sigh on the other end. “OK, that shoots tomorrow all to hell. Officers' meeting, then get packed?”

“Yeah. Still...wait on the meeting until 0900. Everyone's earned the right to sleep in. And have the ground officers and senior NCOs there too,” Guru said. “And pass the word: no overzealous celebrating. Our war's not done yet.”

“Will do, Boss. You coming to the club?” Van Loan asked.

“Yeah. We'll sort all of this out tomorrow. At least we have a fun night,” Guru said, “See you in a few.”

“Right, Boss.”

Guru then hung up. He took a pull on his beer, then looked at Goalie. “Now we're off the clock.”

Goalie nodded, then unzipped her flight suit again, and this time, she got out of it. “Fairchild. Lots of rain, some snow, then lots more rain. Who do we kill?”

“Somebody at Eleventh AF,” Guru said. “Oh, well. At least we get a fun night.”

“Yep,” she said, pulling on her beer. “And it'll get...heated later. But there's one other thing.”

“Oh?” asked Guru as she came closer and began to unzip his flight suit.

“Remember what Yogi Berra said once?” Goalie asked. “'It ain't over until it's over.'”